(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

What I Wish I Could Write: For You Mama

May 12, 2012 01:10 am | Stephanie Bryant

{She said it better than I ever could. I knew I'd found a small treasure. It's absolutely perfect.

With the launch of Mother Letters – art that I love – and the celebration of Mother's Day, the longings for motherhood can be overwhelming to my waiting heart. And that gets me thinking about you. Those of you that dread tomorrow, miss your mama or your child, or have a reason to be in pain.

I know you be will encouraged by Adriel's words like I was, no matter what stage of motherhood — or if you're still waiting for that part of your journey to begin.}


Dear Mama,
You're hoping to be Queen for a Day.
You're hoping your labor of love and daily sacrifices and long hours and sleepless service and hard, hard work might be acknowledged in a way that will make your mama-heart go flutterflutterflutter, I. am. seen.

And I hope that for you too.

Your love runs deep. Your reach stretches far. Your presense breathes safe. Your work speaks holy... and so you deserve to be honored, oh Mama-Queen for a Day.

But this year, as you prepare for the day that's all about you...
Remember her who has no babies to embrace.

Remember her who has experienced loss in the womb or loss in her arms.

Remember her who reluctantly entrusted her heart-in-the-shape-of-a-child to someone else's care because, at the time, it was the highest form of love.

Remember her who is separated through deployment or assignment or illness or disease.

Remember her who aches in her soul while her baby is in prison.

Remember her who has waited and counted and worn her knees ragged praying for the day when those two stripes would appear.

Remember her who loves our babies because she's not yet found a man to give her some of her own.

Remember her who burns with regret for letting go when there seemed no other way.

Remember her who parents alone, with those sweet littles still too young to form the words "I love you" on their lips.

Remember her who waits in agony for applications to be approved and a judge's ruling telling her what she already knows. (That she, too, is a mother.)

Remember her who's broken-hearted from being pushed away by a wayward teenager.

Remember her who lacks access to the kind of medical care we take for granted and instead waits in fear of her birthing day.

Remember her—in a far off land—who pushed to her death, while delivering life into the arms of the world as she said hello-goodbye.

And you, dear Mama-friend...
Your surrender is noble and your service is seen in the heavenly places.

You—who are so like God himself in your creating and nurturing and laboring and the handing over of your very glory to another—will you remember how precious the privilege of doing what he does?

Will you remember that your children, your role, your name—Mama—is not something you're entitled, but something released to you as a gift?

Your gift—the one you give and the one you receive—is far sweeter than any that could be packaged up and wrapped with a bow this Mothers Day.

Happy Mothers Day to you, Mama.

May you be celebrated, esteemed, and affirmed in your joy. May you wake up that sweet Sunday morning to recviece your beloved hand-drawn cards.

And as you do, may you remember her, and whisper a prayer for her too – the one who is unable to share in your joy.

(And please, for the love of all that's good, may you also receive your breakfast in bed and a tidy house as you undoubtably deserve. And flowers, many flowers!)

Love,
Another Mama Trying to Remember



This post is part of the Mother Letters project. Read them, mama-friends, and find nourishment for your soul.

[Judy Harder]

A Sunday Scripture: For the Mothers

May 13, 2012 01:20 am | incourage

I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.

For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

2 Timothy 1:3-7

[Judy Harder]

Don't Despise the Small
May 14, 2012 01:20 am | Lysa

What seems small in your world?  That place where your vision is grand but your reality isn't. Your influence?  Your opportunity?  Your business?  Your blog?  Your ministry?

Look at that small place and tell me what you see.

Now, might I be so bold as to slip a little note into your world to tell you what I see?

I see the place from which humility is birthed.  That glorious rare quality that doesn't take too much credit.  That knows real success is laced with upward glances, bent knees and whispered praises to the only One. The One.

He who gives.

And He who withholds.  Not out of spite, not out of ignorance, not out of deafness, and certainly not out of comparisons where others are found to be more deserving.

No.  He withholds out of protection. With more urgent restraint than we'll ever possess, He presses back the big to protect the workings of the small.

The small we should not despise.

The quiet nurturing taking place, the unfolding, the stir beneath where none can see.

Soon, a fork in the soul's path must be chosen.  One way to haughtiness.  One way to humility.

If that soul has never tasted small, it will detest the humble pallet.  And crave big, only big, until it is so full of big that being big inflates and distorts and eventually bursts.  All things haughty will eventually be made microscopic.

But for the soul that has tasted small, humility becomes their richest fare.  The taste that fits.  The thing most desired to be be consumed. All things humble will eventually be made great.

Oh the beautiful gift of small.

The delight of knowing what small really is.

Small isn't a belittling of one's calling nor an indication of one's future.

It's a place. A grand unnoticed place.  A place to be protected and remembered. A place that keeps all things big in good and right perspective.

Small isn't what keeps us from that grand vision.

Small is what keeps us for that grand vision.

By The Dance of Unspeakable Joy


May 14, 2012 01:10 am | Melody Day

In the spring of 1993, I was a senior in high school. I was preparing to graduate. But graduation was the farthest thing from my mind. As spring came into full bloom and May drew closer, there was one thing and one thing only that I was thinking about and that was Prom. And I, I was a Baptist pastor's daughter.

In case you don't know what that means, I'll tell you: most Baptists don't dance. I had a very tall hurdle in front of me. I wanted to go to the prom so badly that I begged, I pleaded, and I bargained with my dad. Finally he acquiesced. I could go to the prom, on one condition: I had to lay low... I was absolutely not to make a big deal of this. We didn't want the deacons finding out, right?

On the evening of the dance, I donned a beautiful bright pink taffeta dress, I hopped into my date's freshly washed shiny red Toyota and we were off to have fun and be as inconspicuous as possible. And oh, did we have fun!

I didn't realize until the following morning that I had been unsuccessful with the "inconspicuous" part of the plan. There on the very front page of my hometown's Sunday morning newspaper was a picture of me, arm in arm with my date, large as life in our fancy prom duds, our names in the caption box below.

So much for incognito...

Twenty years later, I can laugh about the story with my parents. Sort of. But, I still feel the details of the story like it was yesterday; my face flushes several shades of bright red and my pulse races to new heights.

Back then I was so nervous to see my dad's reaction! I wanted to hide the Sunday paper, but that was futile since I was sure that all of the deacons got the Sunday paper. There was one thing that had been impressed on me long before that day, but now it was stuck permanently to me like glue : dancing is wrong. Except, its not. At least, that's what I've learned since then.

Actually, it was only a few weeks ago that I realized just how right dancing can be.

My children and I were sitting at the breakfast table, getting ready to start our school day. The atmosphere was a bit heavy because of a few things going on in our family; a sick friend was in genuine need, an uncle of mine had passed away recently, and of course there were all of the other frustrations and plain old junk that happens. We were life-less while we sat munching our cereal, completely weighed down by it all.

Instead of beginning our day with the usual memory work that goes with our home school curriculum, I decided to put on our CD of Scripture songs by Seeds Family Worship. We started bee-bopping at the table, singing along. Songs from Matthew and Jeremiah and Isaiah, were ringing out with truths we needed to hear like, "Ask and it will be given to you," and "Call to me and I'll answer," and "Do not fear for I am with you."

We'd heard these tunes before, but they were new that morning. And then something indescribable happened. There was this unexpected, blissful freedom lifting us right out of our seats and propelling our bodies into movement. Singing along was just not enough.  Before I knew it we were up dancing and giggling and jumping right out of our sorrows.

Now, I'm sure we looked funny. As you can imagine, I am not a dancer in a groovy, "Oooh! That girl's got moves," kind of way. But, we were moved by the exciting truths from God's Word – and when that happened, there was such a release of joy right in our living room!

Should I be surprised? In Ecclesiastes, it says there is a time for mourning, but also for dancing. Psalm 30 talks about how HE is able to turn our mourning into dancing. It makes so much sense to me as I think about it now: when I begin to meditate on the power of His promises, the burdens are lifted and my feet really do become light.

I'm so thankful for a Heavenly Father who inspires new dance moves at a moment's notice, just when I need to "get moving" with a new attitude! The life He gives really does turn sadness into a dance of unspeakable joy!

By: Melody Day, Daily Portion

Lysa TerKeurst

[Judy Harder]

Is Radical Change Possible?

May 15, 2012 01:20 am | Dawn Camp


For the past few months I've intended to write a post with this title here at (in)courage, but other ideas kept pushing it aside. I'd planned to share testimonials from friends and family who've experienced real, long-term change in their lives, change that impressed and encouraged me. As it turns out, apparently I wasn't supposed to write until I'd also experienced radical change firsthand.

Major changes can be difficult to make and to maintain, just ask anyone who's tried to lose weight, stop smoking, or quit a bad habit. We've all heard the stories; however, there are successes, too, and that's what I'm interested in examining.

What does it take to make a radical change stick?

Believe in the Need for Change
I visited my doctor in early January for my regular check up and we discussed problems I was having, mostly from being out of shape. She recommend that I start walking or some other form of exercise, which lead me to attempt the 30 Day Shred workout (read my story here).

I took my doctor's warnings seriously, therefore I believed in the need for change and started exercising the next day.

Commit to Making the Change
My friend, Kathryn, decided that she wanted to change from being a night owl to a morning person and made the change in one day! She went to bed early one night, got up earlier the next morning, and never looked back. She feels better now and has maintained her new schedule for two years. I'm a night owl who sees the benefits in changing, but have I really tried? No.

You probably won't experience change if you don't make a commitment.

See a Benefit from the Change
When I first started my new exercise program, my husband asked if I wanted to take a before picture and I said no: first, I was embarrassed by the condition I was in, and second, I couldn't imagine that my results would be very dramatic.

Boy, was I wrong.

I've currently completed 38 days of the 30 Day Shred; I also walk and jog a bit now that the weather is nice. Day 31 meant the most because I completed the challenge and then I kept on going.

I haven't dieted or lost much weight, but this is the best physical condition I've been in in years. Honestly, I'd take this over a 10 pound weight loss. I feel younger, healthier, and maybe a little sassier; the problems I experienced before are almost nonexistent.

The physical and mental benefits of exercising far outweigh the time and effort it requires. I'm managing to jog a hill that usually overwhelmed me to walk. This rediscovered strength and resolve seems to make me braver in other areas of my life.

I see benefits from the change and I'll fight to keep them.

What about you? Have you or someone you know attempted radical change in your life? Did it stick?

[Judy Harder]

, Gardenias and Goodness

May 16, 2012 01:20 am | Robin Dance

Have you given much thought to the strength of sense-memory?  How a particular smell can immediately bring to mind people, places or events in your life?
Though I demanded very little in the planning of my wedding, I just had to have gardenias in my bridal bouquet. Out of season and costly, my florist allowed three.


You can almost see little hearts in my eyes. This year we'll celebrate silver!

To the sentimentalist in me, that delicately scrumptious flower paid homage to my childhood and celebrated my Southern roots.

But mostly it honored my grandmother.
Dambarr we called her, one of those made-up names invented by the first-born grandchild, the best attempt my cousin Ellie's tiny lips could manufacture when she was learning to name people, places and things.  It stuck for all the grandbabies who came after.

I liked that name for my grandmother–everyone else had a Granny or Grandma or Memaw,

but Dambarr was wonderfully one of a kind.  Paradoxically like every other grandmother.
Her death the year after my mother's was painful loss.  By the end of my fourth grade summer the two most important women in my life were gone, making precious every memory of them.

Sometime between third and fourth grade, I think my olfactory sense must have matured. I have strong sense-memories associated with Dambarr but none from my mom~

Jean Naté after-bath splash

Jergens Lotion

Face powder in a compact

A ham dotted in cloves

Toasted poundcake

And Jungle Gardenia perfume

When I catch a whiff of any of those scents, my first thought is Dambarr!

Dambarr was a master gardener, and it was among primrose and pansies that she cultivated my love for fresh flowers. I didn't inherit her green thumbs but rather her love for the end result–blindfolded, I could identify most flowers by their scent, something caught more than taught and I know due to the time we spent in her garden.

Lilies of the Valley were my second favorite; sweet and delicious, their diminutive size plus my imagination had me convinced they were actually fairy parasols.

But my absolute favorites were her gardenias, delicate and aromatic...they smelled like...well...Dambarr.

Gardenia's scent is unmistakeable; if a bush is nearby, it's not unlikely you'll smell them before you see them.

Smells are invisible, attention-getters, indicators.
Smoke in the distance, gas in your kitchen, a child's dirty diaper, flowers in the garden.

Often smells demand a call to action or serve as a harbinger of something else. Whether offensive stench or aromatic perfume, an odor is not unto itself; it emanates from another source.
And so it is with our lives in Christ ~
But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ. (2 Corinthians 2:14-17, ESV)

Don't you love how God purposes all our senses for his glory?
In light of the sense of smell and its evocative nature, isn't this passage thrilling?

Because Jesus lives in us, He lives through us; and though invisible, His aroma is detectable by others.  People process and perceive it differently based on where they are in the faith.

It has nothing to do with us and everything to do with Christ because Jesus' fragrance remains consistent.
So.  We smell like Jesus.
Is this blowing anyone else's mind or am I the only one?!

When you recall strong sense-memories, those scents that have strong association with your past, does it help you better understand what God is saying through this passage?

I wanna hear your stories.  Do you have strong scent-memories that help you make sense of this passage?  If you're willing to share one in comments, we can all "stink" to high heaven together.  Or if you have a story about a special someone (like gardenias and my grandmother), let's celebrate that together, too.

: : : : : : : :

by Robin Dance who smells like Sun Ripened Raspberry from Bath & Body (except for when she smells like Head and Shoulders?!).  She declares PENSIEVE subscribers bless her socks right off her feet and new Twitter friends are always welcome.



When There Are No Answers
May 16, 2012 01:10 am | Angela




Psalm 139:13

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

On May 14, 2010 my baby, Charlotte, died shortly after birth.  A few hours after she died my husband and I left the hospital with empty arms and broken hearts.

I let friends and family know Charlotte was gone via social networks, it was too difficult to call and tell them our baby died unexpectedly.

I wrote that she was with Jesus, safe in the beauty of heaven for reasons unknown, but hopefully in time we would know why she couldn't stay with us.

As the days without her became weeks and then months the medical files and reports rolled in.

A steady tide of questions with no answers buried beneath the waves. On the death certificate, on the autopsy report and on the insurance reports the most devastating moment of our lives was reduced to one line: neonatal death, cause unknown.

I wanted to know why she died, what I did wrong, where I messed up.

My faith in God went from true, steadfast, and trusting to confused, wary, and hurt.

I continued attending church off and on, my attendance far from regular.

I didn't turn away from God, but I set him aside, stepped around our relationship gingerly, uncertain of the Father who promised to love me, set my path, and keep me safe. (Jeremiah 29:11).

On September 9, 2011 my son, Bennett, was born healthy and safe after a long, stressful pregnancy. Carrying a second child changed my faith perspective. I slowly began shifting closer to God with small shuffling footsteps.


Prayer sustained me and gave me hope at the end of my pregnancy. On the mornings I was too scared to get out of bed I prayed for strength to make it through one more day.

And when I went into labor I prayed for courage, peace, hope and joy. I wanted to be excited to meet my baby. I didn't want to dread his birth day. I thought the fear would lead me to beg for a c-section, but the Lord gave me strength to birth naturally like I wanted to.

Since Bennett's birth my faith has increased tenfold. I realized I don't have to understand why Charlotte died.

God has a plan, He is in control, and it's okay for me to relinquish my need to know why she died.  I can accept the uncertainties and unknowns, and the fact that we have not been provided with concrete reasons, with the understanding that God's plan will be revealed someday.

I need to trust and respect the answer I've been given, even though it's not the one I would like.

I can speculate all I like. Maybe God wanted me to long for heaven. If so, that has certainly been accomplished! I can't wait to be reunited with my Charlotte. Maybe He wanted me to rely solely on Him.

Maybe I needed to be broken so I would seek Him.

Whatever the reason, the answer is in heaven. I don't have to search for it on Earth anymore.

I can be content in the knowledge that Charlotte is safe with Jesus and I will hold her again.

By, Angela Rodman, Little Bird

[Judy Harder]

Listening

May 17, 2012 01:20 am | Lisa Leonard


The other day I was driving to my workshop and chatting with a close friend. We speak often, so while I soaked up a few moments of her time, I also mentally made a to-do list and took in the morning sunshine.  In the busyness of my morning I gave her only part of my attention. Much to my surprise, in the middle of our conversation, I heard a word from the Lord.

It was too quite to hear with my ears, but much too loud to ignore. "Stop what you're doing" He said, "Listen to what she's saying. Dig deeper. Nothing is more important than this moment."

So I pulled the car over. I asked question upon question trying to uncover more of what she was feeling and experiencing. As the truth unfolded we cried together. We prayed together. When we hung up the phone I sat in stunned silence for a good five minutes. In the midst of our casual conversation, God decided He had some work to do.

I wish I could tell you the whole story of how God opened up her heart and what she shared—but that's not my story to tell. My story is just a small part of the bigger story.  It's a simple story of hearing God speak to me and taking a moment to listen.  But it was so heart-changing that I can hardly stop thinking about it.

In that moment it didn't seem strange to hear God's voice.  It was a gentle nudging paired with an unmistakable direction. "Stop, listen and dig deeper." To be honest, I can't remember ever hearing God speak to me so clearly. But maybe I'm just not listening?

I want to listen better. I want to be willing to hear. I want God to use me, in all my busyness and imperfection. James 4:8 says, "Come near to God and he will come near to you."

Pray with me? Lord please, open up my ears to hear from you. Draw me nearer to you. Amen.

By: Lisa

[Judy Harder]

Tugging Feeling

May 18, 2012 01:10 am | Shelbey


Have you ever had that feeling where you know God wants you to do something more for Him but you are not sure what it is?

That's where I am.

God has been tugging on my heart to not only do more for Him, but be more for Him. I've been questioning Him, wondering specifically what He wants me to do. Here's the problem...I need to be patient and listen more intently to God to understand His desires of me. I am naturally a very impatient person, so this is an extremely difficult position that I am in. I want to know right now.

I am sure that God is smiling down upon me shaking His head knowing that His child is struggling with this patience business. He knows that I am impatient. He knows my weaknesses and my strengths. He knows where I have been and He knows where I am going. He has plans for me.

Plans? For me? That is simply amazing.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

God wants the very best for each of us. He wants us to have joy and happiness. He wants us to succeed through Him. He does not want us to hurt, but instead wants us to grow in the Light. He is a loving Father who has created a special future for each of His children.

Be patient. Listen to Him. Focus your life on praising Him. He will provide. He will lead. He will give us the answers we need in His perfect timing.

I will continue to listen knowing that God has the perfect future for me planned out. His plans for us are more amazing than what we could create for ourselves. That is worth being patient for.

By: Shelbey Kendall, This Smiling Heart



Between the "What If's and "If Only"
May 18, 2012 01:01 am | Jennifer Schmidt


Thirty minutes, forty-five, sixty, the minutes merge together as emotions whirl.

The same woods that serve as a place of refuge and tranquility for me, now stirs desperation. This place of silence, which should be a balm to my soul, screams, and yet I hear nothing. Nothing except my own shouts bouncing off the trees echoing back, mocking me.

In the midst of this panic, I knew some of the prayer warriors I would want petitioning on my behalf, and I quickly scribbled to my (in)courage friends who were on-line,

10: 50 am "PLEASE PRAY – my 6 year old down syndrome nephew has been lost in our woods for an hour. Calling fire department. I am walking the woods (miles and miles), checking creeks. DESPERATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"



Have you felt that desperation before? Those "What If" moments that only take an instant?

What if he gets bit by a copperhead. What if he stumbles in the creek. What if....

We've had varying degrees of "What If's" with sweet Edison. You see, this is no ordinary child. As a Ecuadorian newborn, this precious blessing was wrapped in a plastic bag, and stuffed in a dumpster to die. Miraculously rescued,  the Lord has already used this little life in untold ways.

I continued to update my prayer warriors with these words. (Messages copied verbatim – typing errors from shaking fingers and all.)

11:24 am "WE still can't find him and 30 people are looking. One of the dogs is with him. which is good. Pray that the creek beds are ;miraculously covered by a shield from teh lord. he nveer wanders

12: 23 pm Still nothing. Canine units have been out for 30 minutes now. After that, will put out an amber alert. He is such an angel. Such a blessing in our every day lives, but we know God has His hand right where he is at. PRaying he is just playing mud patties somewhere and can't get home. I am HEARTSICK. It's been over 2 1/2 hours. He has only wandered one other time. and normally, never leaves the back yard woods.



Hours passed. The fallen trees where the boys built their forts and consider them fortresses, now seem as dungeons.

The peaceful creeks, where years of blessed memories were created, captivated our largest concerns.

Those "What If's" wouldn't leave us alone. We'd combat them with scripture, but they'd keep bombarding us. As the Amber Alert was issued, and we arrived at the four hour mile marker, you can imagine the brutal emotions swirling. My sister cried out to me, "Did we fight so hard to bring him home, only to have just two years with him? Would the Lord allow this?"

I could only reply, "I don't know."

In the midst of our sorrow, we claimed His promises. Yet, we knew that His promises might not be our desire. As we personally battled "What If's," stark reminders of another family's "If Only's" came calling. They came to show support, but memories of their "If only we hadn't built a pool, she'd still be with us," echoed in our hearts.

At that moment, somewhere between the "What If's and the "If Only's, God's Word transcended the situation and reminded me, "He is the same yesterday, today and forever."

His Word is TRUTH! I believe that with every breath I breathe, and regardless of the outcome, I will choose to praise You, Lord.

What happened next is one of those pin point moments in life that one never forgets.

I am going to copy and paste bits from what I personally shared with the (in)courage girls, after they found out through facebook.

"Now that emotions have settled, although tears are still so close to the surface, thank you all for yesterday and standing in the gap in the midst of a nightmare. As we combed the wilderness, literally, there was a peace in the midst of terror, knowing that you all were praying.
Over 100 people ended up coming out, many strangers who were volunteer rescue workers. Once they sent out the Amber alert, we were told to have our friends on stand by, for a mass rescue effort, so many friends did not come because it would have caused more commotion in the midst of the k9 search. We live in the middle of no where and our property backs up to miles and miles of woods.
As my sister in love, a strong and vibrant woman of God, lay sobbing on her bed, I crawled in with her. Since I really had no more words of comfort, I opened the scriptures, the only true source of hope.
It was one of those moments, when I had NO CLUE where to open. I couldn't even think. You always hear that people open the bible and He brings the right verse for their future. Well, I have tried that before and it normally opens to something like, "They ate figs or whatever" and I think...hmm, am I supposed to go on a diet?

Well, this was one of those divinely appointed moments where the Lord was SPEAKING directly into us as I opened straight to Psalms 77. Please read it, and understand this was divine. In the midst of our reading, wailing began to subside. My sister in love's shouts of anguish turned to murmurs of praise. Her shaking body completely stilled. It was SO Powerful. I felt like I was kneeling at His throne, and right then, the rescue worked screamed, "They found him." Ok, off to have another cry. Those emotions and feelings are still so close to the surface, but I just wanted to thank you all SO MUCH!!"

It's been a week and a half since our life was nearly changed in an instant. If you are curious as to how it really ended up, there's much more to the story over at my place (including some emotional pictures.) I still can't quite comprehend His sovereignty of gifting us with more Eddie time. I speak on behalf of my entire family that we don't feel worthy of such a gift,and that's why it's all grace.

We can't begin to understand why this story stayed at the "What If" stage, and never wrapped our reality around the "If only" ending, but I do know that He is right at the center of the two.


I know many of you are somewhere between the fear of "What If" and the sorrow of "If Only."

It might not be a tragedy in your life, but possibly the anguish of finances, sickness, child rearing, work, the list continues. If you are still in the middle of this, I would be honored to pray for you.

If you have your own story to share of the Lord's mighty power in the midst of your "What If," and you'd like to give praise and testimony, I'd be honored to rejoice with you.

The comments are open for both.

Story shared by Jen, from Balancing Beauty and Bedlam, overjoyed aunt.

[Judy Harder]

The Purpose of Loneliness
May 19, 2012 01:20 am | Amber Haines


from weheartit.com

Music off, television off, phone left on silent, I've been dabbling with the quiet because I need to hear from God, but the truth about the quiet is that it has opened me up wide, turned on my dulled senses, and faced me toward my rawest, loneliest places. It is a constant struggle for me to not reach for my phone, always at my side. With my mouth I say I want to walk with God, but with my actions I crave a culturally acceptable numbness that keeps me from pain.

Many of us know truth with our words and our songs and in our friendship conversations, but it feels rare to experience it in the seething corners of our hearts or in those hurt, magnified memories we keep close and shoved down. We start to feel the quiet working on us, and so we reach for the phone, scroll through instagram.

I'm finding, even as I pursue the presence of God, that the quieter it gets, the lonelier I get and the more I am left to deal with my own thoughts and what I really believe about God. I'm beginning to see how I've discounted that I have the mind of Christ, that I am actually supposed to be able to hear myself think.

I've started asking how lonely was Jesus in His flesh. Who knows what it's like to be God with breakable bones? And then I imagine the desperate, internal communion Jesus kept with His Father, the kind of communion I want with Him, too.

Because of Jesus, I'm starting to embrace the lonely, not hiding from it any more, and rather asking Jesus into it with me. Only then do I find myself truly not alone.

Even in the intimacy metaphor we receive with marriage, even in our most unified moments, we can feel most alone. Even with your most favorite sisters, in huge crowds, and with a boat load of kids, we find ourselves deep in the crevices of loneliness. We find ourselves feeling exposed and unfixed because there is no people fix, no earthly father, no covering that will do other than the covering Jesus gives, the messianic fix.

I believe we blow the horn asking all to gather in community often because we think it will save us – save us from ourselves. Community can point us in the right direction, but it still won't fix us.

We in our lonely can realize a love that hounds, the presence of invisible God, and only from the solitude found there can we reach out to community and practice the healing of togetherness in Him.

What if we allowed the quiet, faced the lonely, and sat in it a bit? Might that lonely place be exactly where the door is, the one on which we knock, the one Jesus promises to open?

***

inspired by the reading of Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen and written by Amber Haines from theRunaMuck

A Sunday Scripture
May 20, 2012 01:20 am | incourage




Blessed is the man

who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked

or stand in the way of sinners

or sit in the seat of mockers.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord,

and on his law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers.

~Psalm 1:1-3

[Judy Harder]

The Power of a Phone Call
May 21, 2012 01:20 am | Jessica Turner


Source

Why is it that we are so "busy" that we can't even take time to call those that we love?

This is a topic that has really been on my heart lately.

You see, I call friends and family every single day. It is a priority to stay connected, even though my plate is very full.

Oftentimes I'll take the 10 minutes I have in the car as I go to and from day care to call a friend just see how she's doing.

Sometimes it's a friend that I have talked to only a few days prior, other times its a friend that I haven't talked to in a couple weeks. Regardless, every time it is so good to connect.

But you see, the thing is... almost every time I'm always the one to pick up the phone.

Now, please hear me. I'm not writing this post for a pity party for my friends to give me a call.

Rather, I am writing this as a call to action.

As women we need one another. We need to invest in one another. We need to love one another by intentionally reaching out.

We need to pick up the phone - even if it is just five minutes in the car to say hey I'm here, how are you doing?

About two months ago, I called a friend whom I hadn't talked to in a while.  After 10 minutes of talking about our kids, she took a deep breath and told me that she didn't think she was in love her husband anymore. I was the only person she had told, besides him.

Had I not called her, she would still be holding those feelings in, with no one to come along side of her and say, I am praying for you. We will walk this road together.

Your friends need you. And you need them.

Today I want to encourage you to pick up the phone and call someone.  Let them know that you're there, that you think about them and that they matter.

By Jessica Turner from The Mom Creative



 
Less, More, Enough
May 21, 2012 01:10 am | Valerie Sisco



I recently had a friend ask me, "Why AREN'T you married?"

The question surprised me. And not just because it seemed a little impolite to ask that question of a single gal in her forties. When I didn't answer for a minute, he asked,

"Have you just been focusing on your career?"

It got me thinking.

Maybe I had wasted my best dating years of my twenties and thirties. Maybe I didn't pray hard enough. Maybe I should have been more diligent about going to singles' events at church. Maybe I should have made more of an effort to meet people. Maybe I'm single because I didn't try hard enough. Or worst of all, maybe I overlooked someone. Was it possible that I happened to miss the one God meant for me in one of those dates over the past two decades?

I have always thought – and still do – that I am right where God has planned for me to be at this point in my life. In the right place. At the right time. With the right family and friends God has already placed in my life. God's timing is perfect.

Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans. Prov. 16:3

Instead of feeling like I was less because I was single, I asked God if he had more for me. More to do? More to be? I felt him whisper that he might have more for me in the future, but for now this is enough.

This life. This family. This job. This church. This volunteer work. These friends.

This family is a sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew, who I am so blessed to live near, to be a part of their daily lives. This job is in healthcare communications, a field I have been interested in since my college internship at a hospital. This church, where I worship and volunteer as a kindergarten teacher, is passionate about building relationships and drawing people closer to God. These friends, who grace my life, support and encourage.

God tells me I am chosen to live this life. I am chosen to be an aunt, a sister, a daughter, a friend. And I am chosen to be God's holy daughter. I'm not less, I'm chosen.

But you are a chosen people (woman), a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.
 1 Peter 2:8-10

This life? More than enough for me.

By Valerie Sisco, Grace with Silk

[Judy Harder]

I Can’t Pick A Movie.
May 22, 2012 01:20 am | Annie Downs




I think it started right before Christmas when a group of girls and I went to see a sappy chick flick. I’m usually first in line for love stories, but as I was living the demise of one in real life that hardly even got started, I wasn’t feeling it. I went anyways, hoping that a fun film would snap me out of my heart funk.

I double wasn’t feeling it when, while waiting in line for popcorn, I spied the man in the never really started relationship come into the theater. Just. My. Luck. He’s headed to a different movie, he told me, with a different group of friends. “Cool,” I said, and carried away my two tubs of popcorn [I was the delivery gal for our group] with my shoulders back and my head held high, feigning confidence every step of the way.

Inwardly crumbling.

I was jaded from that moment on. The movie failed to please and knowing he was in the theater next door, probably unscathed by our interaction, didn’t help things. When the “we can’t do this anymore” break-up moment happened forty-five minutes into the film, and I knew we had another hour, and things were certainly going to work out, I rolled my eyes. For the next sixty minutes.

Because in real life? It doesn’t always work out. And I’m tired of watching movies where it always does.

So while I have spent the majority of my life sitting front row in a rom com theater, grinning from ear to ear, now I huff when friends suggest it and beg for a comedy or a tragedy- just something that feels more honest. I don’t find any romantic movie enjoyable right now. In fact, even writing about this, my lip is quasi-snarled and my eyes are in pre-roll mode.

[I'm sure my behavior is terribly attractive.]

I’ve never been like this before. It’s not a feeling of hopelessness. It’s not a lack of trust in God. It’s just a pure frustration. And I can’t find a movie I want to watch for the life of me.

[You're welcome.]

I’m at that place in my singleness where it all feels impossible- not hopeless, not doubtful, just not logical. Where is this man going to come from? Is it going to be worth the sacrifices I’m making now? What am I doing wrong? What am I doing right? How in the world is this going to work out?

In a movie, this is right when the plot twists and a knight comes riding in. In real life, this is right when I do another load of laundry and pay the bills and I keep living… but nothing changes.

I made a promise that when I started writing about singleness for (in)courage that I would write honestly. So even today, where this entire post feels immature and a bit embarrassing and fairly lame, I’m gonna go with it.

I often tell the small group girls that I lead of the importance of feeling the emotions you are having- don’t ignore them, don’t blow them out of proportion, but feel them. I’m trying not to wallow in this frustration, but feel it. Name it. And then recognize and remember that it is just a season in the cyclical nature of all things, including singleness.

So if you feel that today, I get it- and there is hope for frustrated ones like you and me.

This won’t last forever.

God hasn’t forgotten you, or me.

Isaiah 41:17

The poor and needy search for water,

but there is none;

their tongues are parched with thirst.

But I the LORD will answer them;

I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.

Amen.

By Annie Downs // AnnieBlogs

When Your Art Makes You Uncomfortable (and what it's really like to write for (in)courage)
May 23, 2012 01:20 am | Emily Freeman


Writing for (in)courage is some of the most difficult writing I do. Y'all, it's hard. The posts I write in this space take me a really long time. I weigh, I consider, I re-consider, I procrastinate. For a few months, I've been trying to figure out why.



It's kind of like when someone comes to my house and likes the way I decorate and then says, Hey, can you come over to my house and help me with my living room?

And I'm all, Sure, I can go to your house, but all I can do is this, what you see right here.

And they're all, Great! That's what I want!

But then I get to their house and it smells different and they have really cute pillows and fantastic taste and candles burning on the coffee table. And I really like and respect this girl and I want her to like me. She says she wants my help, but I look around and think, Why? This place looks great! There is nothing I can possible add to it.

Sometimes writing for (in)courage feels like that, like standing in the living room of a really great friend who wants advice on paint colors. But her walls are already painted awesome. So I stand there, empty handed and awkward with no advice to offer.

I'm not saying these things so you'll be all, You have so much to offer! Really, that's not my point. It's just that after two years, I thought it was time to be honest about the struggle. I write at my own space with freedom and sometimes even risk. But then I pop over here and all of a sudden, I'm so self-aware. Like there's broccoli in my teeth.

I don't smile if I think there's broccoli in my teeth. Broccoli-teeth lead to self-conscious people. Maybe that's why it's hard to write at (in)courage. Because it's one thing to be honest and dysfunctional at your own place. But it's another thing to go out, to be trusted with another audience, and still be free enough and vulnerable enough and brave enough to open up in the midst of them.



Maybe you're not a writer, but there is something else you do that you love. Maybe you are being asked to take that thing you do and share it outside your zone of comfort. I think the Lord is delighted when we delight ourselves in Him. And part of that is doing what is delightful to us.

Freely. Openly. And maybe even in public.

I'm not saying we are to the bone delightful people. On our own and by ourselves, we're quite dreadful, actually.

But we aren't on our own. And we aren't by ourselves. In Christ, we now have hope, life, freedom, fullness.

Are you being asked to share that thing you do in a way that is uncomfortable to you? What does that look like for your personally? There is no wrong. Let's hear it.

by emily freeman, Chatting at the Sky

On The Palm Of His Hand
May 23, 2012 01:10 am | Shanda Oakley




Lugging brushed and tins of paint, we climbed two flights of stairs to the children's ward of the public hospital in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. The walls and windows were bare and dirty, offering no source of entertainment or distraction. The children stayed six to ten in a room and there was one bathroom and a shower to share for the whole floor. Each room had a small sink with cold water and each patient was responsible for their own soap and towel.


We hoped to brighten up the place by painting cartoon figures, animals, and Bible characters: anything to break the monotony for the children.


Down one hall was a room with glass windows and there were twelve cribs inside. Lying on the cold vinyl covered bed closest to the window was a baby, bound in white cloth, and wrapped with masking tape. On the masking tape was written in black magic marker, "682".


I asked of an onlooker, "What happened?"


"He died this morning (seven hours ago). The morgue has not come to pick him up," he replied.


"Where is the mother?" I asked, my first thought being to comfort her and pray with her.


"There is no mother. The baby was abandoned."


This was a phrase I had heard all too often and my heart broke for little 682.  He had no name. He had died alone, and lay wrapped in cloth, waiting for the time to be taken away. No one mourned him. No one cared. He would have no burial.


And then I saw a hand. And on the palm of the hand was written, "682."


And it was the hand of God.


"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast, and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Through she may forget you, I will never forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." Isaiah 49:15-16


His earthy mother may have abandoned him, but his Heavenly Father took him home.


Five years later, I look at the women in my bible study and wonder how many of them also feel abandoned by their mothers and their sisters.  I think of the one who people avoid because she is boring.  Then there is the lady who talks too much and a greeting turns into a thirty-minute monologue. There are those whose problems seem too many and great and we have a tendency to avoid them because we feel inadequate and sometimes just do not have time.


When we ignore these sisters, are we not as the mother who abandoned Baby 682? For, they their names also are written on the palm of His hand.


Today my heart cried for these women as my heart cried five years ago. I made a point to go to each of these daughters of God and gave them a hug and ask them how they were doing.

By Shanda Oakley at A Pause On The Path