(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

A Reminder to Depend Like a Child
Jul 13, 2012 01:20 am | Jessica Turner




It's the weekend and, like I do every weekend, I sit, with my computer on my lap, loading photos and selecting the "bests" from the week before.

Walking into school, wearing his backpack

Driving his "race car"

Her first birthday

Hugging after bath time

Bubbles

Little moments of joy that make a week.

That make a life.

She just turned one and he is days away from four.

The two of them are already the best of friends and experience more joy from a bathtub of bubbles than I sometimes experience in a day. I can't help but marvel at the blessing of being their mother and the burden of doing it "right."

They depend on me for everything.

Thoughts of the weight of motherhood lead me to cross.

How I can't do it on my own.

The greatness of the love of our Father.

It's funny how God uses the ordinary to teach the extraordinary.

The more I think about the importance of pouring into the two little lives God has blessed me with, the more I realize how much He wants to pour into my own life.

This is such a simple truth that I need constant reminding of – as my Father, God desires for me to depend on him the way my kids depend on me.

As an adult, with so many things stretching me thin, I often start depending on myself and others – but not my Father God.

But thankfully, God knows those struggles and extends much grace. He gently uses simple photos from my week to remind me that He is there, and that I will be able to experience full joy when I depend on Him.

How does God remind you to depend on Him?

[Judy Harder]

I'm Weird, Are You?

Jul 14, 2012 01:20 am | Jennifer Schmidt


Our twelve year old rolled her eyes at me as I descended down the stair case on the way to my self imposed "Tacky Day."

"You're weird, Mom."

I guess in that moment I had delusions of grandeur, and that was not the Scarlet O'Hara entrance for which I was hoping. But then our eight year old rushed to my side, with arms wide open declaring, "I think you so cool, Mom."



Yes, that's more like it.

I pondered their opposite reactions that day. What happened in the span of those four short years when "Cool" was so quickly replaced by "Weird?"

This exchange brought me back to my own tender teen years when people's perceptions far outweighed the fun of spontaneity.

When the pull of conformity over ruled individuality.

When influence rooted group think and apathy, rather than bold steps towards innovative leadership.

Now as a grown woman, I look around at my peers, and realize that their response isn't that much different than my eldest daughter. I'm considered "weird" by many.

A few years ago, I had a discussion with Josh McDowell about "the church" as it is today.  As I shared my frustration regarding the difficulty in distinguishing the actions of the world from those in the church, and its apathy, he shared this fact.

Decades ago, the most notably quoted bible verse was John 3:16, now it's Matt. 7:1 "Do not judge, or you too will be judged," which quoted on it's own, is completely out of context.

As "the church," many are caught between this delicate balance of attempting to be cool and relevant, while not being too weird or offensive. Without getting into debates on the varying church models, I turn introspective to where I am called.

If I had to choose, I would rather be weird any day.

I want to live large for Him, but I wrestle with how that plays out on a daily basis.

Christ's perfect model never guarantees comfort. In fact, He requires sacrifice, and with that often comes challenges, change, and the need for a big douse of courage.   Yet, His bridge building techniques spanned chasms of hostility, indifference, and apathy.

I want that! You should want that.

We must look different.

I want to nail my colors to the mast, so that there's no doubt where my allegiance stands. My desire is to create the aroma of Christ that draws others to the fact that our lives are different, our families are different, and for that, there is only one reason.

So how do we dream those big dreams of creating irresistible influence, yet make them reality?

I am starting right where I am in my own core circle of influence.

My desire is to be known as a friend who guards confidences, and when gossip begins, I end it immediately, and point people to the biblical model. Gossip has such a strong hold among women. Sometimes we don't even realize we are in the middle of it, and we don't see the damage occurring. I want people to know that their reputations are safe with me.

My desire is to be a help mate to my husband, and build up the sanctity of marriage, when so many try to derail it.  Bottom line, marriage is hard work and half of all marriages are ending in divorce.

My desire is to be a mother who continually points her children to the infallible word of God as the only truth, the only answer to all cultural, political and societal answers. I want to be a mother who loves and encourages unconditionally,  yet delicately balances grace and truth when they fail. With their world and life view being challenged at every intersection, this solid foundation is something that takes time, but that can't be overlooked.

My desire is to encourage women to embrace their role as a Family Manager by sharing creative and relevant ways to live a beautiful life on a budget. (Yes, and many of those might be classified as "weird". )

My desire is to expose the lies that we have any hint of perfection going on in this life. I am one huge mess, and that's why I need my Savior so desperately.

I could go on and on as I share ways in which my desire to live counter culturally is just plain weird.

In fact, think back to your high school years. Who are the people you remember most fondly? I bet it wasn't even the "cool" kids.

As I tell our twelve year old, "Know who you have been created to be," (and then I might slide in something like, "and lighten up,  it's fun being weird."

Always remember,  as His precious daughters,  you are fully and uniquely accepted, attractive, significant, and most of all loved!!

Bottom line, I'm weird, are you?
Plant your flag firmly, nail your colors to the mast, and declare it.

I'd love to hear it.

shared by Jen, a woman in passionate pursuit of Balancing Beauty and Bedlam.

[Judy Harder]

A Tour That Works For Everyone
Jul 16, 2012 01:25 am | Jennifer De Groot


Jennifer De Groot co-authored That Works for Me! with Kristen Welch. She lives in Western Montana with her hilarious husband, preschool-aged daughter, and infant son. She makes frequent trips to the library and her in-laws' candy store, but her current passport is empty.

***

When I was a senior in high school, I went to Europe. My class and I took a guided tour through an absurd number of countries, led by an energetic, red-headed polyglot named Francesca. I loved waking up, eating a continental breakfast (with Nutella, of course), and lumbering onto the tour bus. Each morning the elderly bus driver greeted me with, "Ciao, Bella." Sometimes Francesca would narrate as we drove through the countryside; other times she'd hand us off to a museum tour guide who was an expert in his field.



I still have great memories of that trip, but when I became a stay-at-home mom, I wished for a practical tour of modern homemaking. I knew I wasn't the first mom having trouble with the transition.

I knew I was onto something when I found the Works for Me Wednesday blog carnival. Having seen the Mona Lisa didn't help me finish my dishes any faster. Reading posts from Works for Me Wednesday did.

When Kristen and I started working on this project, we looked at over 50,000 hyperlinks and wondered, What if we put together an ultimate blog tour guide to the best information that's been posted? What if we could help other women save time, money, and energy with proven tips?

As we found these nuggets of wisdom, we kept thinking how nice it would have been to have this information back when we started out as young women, brides, and new moms.

We call our tour That Works for Me! It includes over 800 tips in 24 very practical homemaking categories, from organization to gifts to gardening. Although we provide a synopsis of each tip, we couldn't offer the tour alone. We joined forces with over 300 bloggers for their expert advice. No one blogger had it all figured out, but collectively, we knew a lot.

Since this is a self-guided tour, we wanted to make sure you didn't get lost, so all of the posts are obsessively organized and hyperlinked for easy access. You can visit the links in any order at your leisure — and return to them whenever you wish.

We wanted to make it affordable, so each e-book costs $8, less than a day's pass to the London Underground.

Despite where you are in your journey, there's a little something in here for you.

If you're just starting a family, check out the Baby section. If you're trying to build your blog, read some Blogging tips. If you're going on a trip soon, see our Travel links. If you're only able to dream about a vacation right now, we have a recipe for homemade Nutella (Tip 712) and a romantic way to start saving (Tip 304).

Although we hope you join us, none of the posts we included are proprietary. The information is all out there in blogland, just as you can explore the streets of Europe on your own. We're just offering you the tour experience.

The tour bus is waiting for you. Ciao, Bella.

Buy your ticket today.

By: Jennifer De Groot



Read More | Leave a Comment

 
The Awe Factor
Jul 16, 2012 01:20 am | Tsh Oxenreider




Last month, I Instagrammed the photo above. I was in Australia, and the sun was rising to a new day in the land Down Under. Soon after, my husband Kyle commented: "That must be part of the same sunset I'm seeing right now!"

I shivered. He was watching the sun being pulled down our global orb over in Oregon, and I was watching the same star being stretched up on the other side. 15 time zones away, and I was starting a new day when his day was ending back in time. It kinda made my brain explode.



The day before, I went SCUBA diving in the Great Barrier Reef. I saw single fish bearing multiple neon colors; I touched the velvet soft of the interior of a giant clam. These were things most humans don't see on a daily basis. These colors and textures were not there to serve me.



I then thought about the wombats and the cassowaries and the kangaroos and the koalas and the sea turtles. This island is home to over one million plant and animal species, much of it native only to Australia.

Scientists guess there are somewhere between three and 30 million animal species on our planet. Many have yet to be discovered.

And then I watched this in my hotel room later that night, tucked away in the Australian rainforest. And I worshipped God:


His creativity, His hugeness, His omnipotence knows no bounds.

In what ways does God's handiwork give you pause to worship? What's the most spectacular piece of creation you've ever seen?

[Judy Harder]

That Works For Me {Giveaway}
Jul 17, 2012 01:25 am | Kristen Welch


tip (noun) \ˈtip\
-a piece of private or secret information
- a useful hint or idea; a basic, practical fact
The ebook, That Works For Me! is full of secrets, more than 800 to be exact!

For more than five years, the blog carnival, Works For Me Wednesday has been a hub of helpful tips for every area of a busy woman's life. Hundreds of bloggers link up every week and thousands of tips have been shared over the past years.

This e-book offers a categorized, organized place for hundreds of practical, "aha!" tips to make your life run smoother. That Works For Me! is a celebration of the WFMW community, with tips from hundreds of different blogs.

It won't organize your linen closets or remove stains, but this e-book will offer you a good place to start. We've searched and compiled and created an organized e-book with 24 popular categories, featuring the best of tips in each group.

Click to Buy a copy today.

You want to know how to take care of makeup brushes? Curious how to make a scarf wreath? How about how to plant grass over concrete? This is the book for you. I love the Internet because it truly is the world's hive mind; the ultimate chat-over-the-fence-with-your-neighbor neighborhood. And this book has compiled the best of the best tips in one place! I love that, and I love that it supports an amazing ministry. Every household could use this book. It's worth every penny.

-Tsh Oxenreider, blogger behind SimpleMom.net and author of One Bite at a Time: 52 Projects for Making Life Simpler


Today, we are giving away FIVE copies of the ebook (retail $8 each) to five lucky commenters. Just leave a comment with your favorite tip for a chance to win! Winners will be announced on Friday.

Kristen Welch, We are That Family



Read More | Leave a Comment

 
Growing Pains
Jul 17, 2012 01:20 am | Mary Carver




Last night, I screamed at my daughter, consoled myself with a handful of M&Ms and a huge bowl of cereal (the sugary kind I hide in the pantry), and ended the night by skimming through 11 chapters of Psalms to catch up on my Bible reading plan. I went to sleep mentally drafting an apology email for one of the many deadlines I've missed recently and wishing desperately for a cleaning fairy to take care of the kitchen full of dirty dishes just down the hall. And did I mention that, for the millionth night in a row, I did not step on my treadmill (despite the 5K a mere two weeks away)?

Some days, I really can't get anything right.

But these things, these little things that aren't actually life-altering or -ending, are infinitely easier to confess and address than the more serious transgressions I face in rare moments of honest reflection. It's easy – especially when I'm busy putting out fires and doing damage control for all those little things I mentioned – to ignore the pings of conscience and Holy Spirit, to sweep my sin under the rug, to simply avoid the truth of my soul.

It's easier to ignore it, after all. Who likes to be reminded of her mistakes? Who is comfortable facing her failures? In the moment when we come face to face with our deepest failings, it's tempting to look away, to move on, to pretend like that clarity never happened. Isn't it?

I'm reminded of the way I trained myself to play the piano when I was an accompanist several years ago. When you're the back-up music behind a soloist or group of performers, you aren't supposed to make any mistakes. And if, heaven forbid, you do mess up, you're supposed to do everything you can to avoid drawing attention to your clumsy fingers.

Don't make a face. Don't over-correct and hit more wrong keys. And whatever you do, don't stop.

As an accompanist, I learned the art of covering up my mistakes and carrying on as if nothing had happened. However, by not acknowledging the mistake and correcting it, I often learned the piece of music incorrectly. So instead of covering up the wrong note and moving on, I drilled the wrong note into my head and hands and proceeded to make the same mistake every time I played.

Somewhere along the way, I've adopted this same habit for the mistakes I make in life.

Don't show emotion. Don't try too hard to fix it. And whatever you do, don't stop.

See, I think that's the key (no piano pun intended!). When we don't take time to stop and reflect on our hearts and our choices what God might be trying to tell us, we can't grow. Painful as it may be to fully admit our failures and come to God and those we've hurt on bended knee to beg forgiveness, we must do it. We can't joke our way out of it or blame our way out of it or cross our fingers and hope-they-never-notice-what-we-did our way out of it.

Maybe this is an easy discipline for you. Perhaps you're completely comfortable admitting your missteps and taking full responsibility for the damage you've caused. But for me, as a barely recovering perfectionist, this is so hard.

Even though I write and talk about giving up on perfect, I still find myself believing that while I may not be perfect, I'm pretty close. I try so hard and I'm a good girl and I do all these things and – BAM! It's right about then that I get smacked in the face with a realization or confrontation about some way I have failed big time. And finding out I'm not doing so great, that I've fallen short, to feel it in my gut like a pile of bricks? It can be devastating to this not-so-recovered perfectionist.

And that's where the growing pains come in. In the past several months, my eyes have been opened several times to something significant I've done wrong or not understood or simply didn't know. Each time, I've struggled with accepting my need to grow because to grow means to admit I wasn't perfect before. But until I stop and acknowledge my need for growth (or repentance or change), I'm going to keep making those same mistakes over and over.

Change is hard. But it's so necessary and, in the end, well worth it. In the meantime, though, growing can be painful.

Have you ever experienced these kind of growing pains? How do you deal with the realization that you need to grow or change? Is it hard for you to face your failures head on, fully enough to really deal with them?



Read More | Leave a Comment

 
The Walls of My Home Are My Constant Companion
Jul 17, 2012 01:15 am | C.C. Almon


As my 12 year old daughter Damaris and I participated in the (in)RL conference several weeks ago, I cried buckets watching Sara's story.

I cried for numerous reasons.

I wished I had known Sara before she journeyed into Heaven. I grieved with those who were so affected by her words and those who hold Sara close in their hearts. And finally, I cried for me. You see, I could relate to Sara's story because I spend much of my time homebound.



Homebound, that's a word that I would never have imagined would describe me. Such a strange word, so sad, so foreign, so isolating, so alone.

I mean, I'm 34 years old. I've been married for almost 15 years and have an almost 13 year old daughter. I loved to run and swim and spend time with friends and family and as much time as I could with our church community.

All that has changed because I now have several chronic illnesses, the worst of these by far being fibromyalgia (a disease which includes many issues such as chronic widespread pain, fatigue, and sleep, memory, and mood problems). I went from doing the work I truly loved (working full-time as a hospital chaplain) to being in a wheelchair most of the time in order to work to not being able to work at all.

My life has drastically changed.

Now, I typically leave the house only one or two times a week for only a few hours at a time (to attend church when I feel up to it and to go to the yarn shop), and only after resting up for days in order to venture out. I have moved from having a very active life full of ministry, exercise, getting together with friends, etc. to spending most of my time in bed or my recliner being taken care of by my hubby and daughter.

Watching Sara's story, I connected with what we have in common.

But Sara and I have a difference as well:
~Sara didn't let her illness stop community from happening
but I have been letting my illness stop community from happening.~

I have allowed my pain and fatigue and the walls of my home to become my cave. I venture out every once in awhile when I am at the place where I just can't stay inside any longer, but then it's back to my dark corner where I feel alone and not heard and not seen.

Seeing Sara choose joy in spite of her circumstances, in spite of her health, in spite of everything that could have stopped her is giving me a new perspective. Honestly though, it is a struggle. It is hard to find community when the walls of your home are your constant companion.



I know I am not alone in this struggle. And so I write these words, knowing there are others within the (in)courage community that are in similar situations. Sisters, let's choose to choose joy and come together to form the community that we all need, that Sara found, and journey through this life together.

By C.C. Almon, "I'm On My Way ~ my journey as a Christ follower, wife, mamma, & fibromylagia fighter"

Image Credit: Home Alone by lobbiaz on Flickr

[Judy Harder]

Mother Letters: Sharing the Mess and Glory

Jul 18, 2012 01:25 am | Amber Haines


Mother Letters is art in the form of stories, letters and photos from many hearts to yours. Words and images heard and understood in the soul, now articulated about every stage of motherhood.

Mothers are curators. These letters are about capturing the messy, glorious masterpieces that you are creating. God-Art is in the person and the stories lived there.

Find joy and comfort in this collection. Feel strengthened, empowered. It's a mosaic of authentic life, a living poem. Together, we are encouraged.

***

Dear Mother,

I am writing to encourage you and I'm praying that my words encourage me. I'm just a mom, like you, with three young children. Except we spend a lot of time in the emergency room and making scenes at Walmart.

I don't know if I have any profound wisdom or life-­‐changing advice. (Because frankly, while I'm typing this, my toddler is applying diaper rash cream to her hair. And my arm.)

But I will tell you what I know today:

I know that God chose me to mother my kids.

I know He sustains me, grants me wisdom, and forgives the parenting mistakes I make.

I know that the Spaghetti-o stain will never come out of my rug.

I know that this is what it's all about. This messy house. This day. This moment.

I know that  if I wait for it to get better, for my kids to get older, for my gourmet-­‐chef-­‐gene to kick in, I will miss it all. And  I know that I don't  want to miss a second of it.

- Kristen Welch

Free Download for you:
{Subscribers, Click here to  view}

Read: Our Story
Buy: Mother Letters: Sharing the Mess & Glory
Watch: E-Book Trailer

By: Amber, The RunaMuck




Best Worst Thing

Jul 18, 2012 01:20 am | Lysa

I failed at being a wedding planner.

No one wants a planner who gets so undone by the neurotic mother-of-the-bride that she throws up in the parking lot right beside the guest sidewalk.

Really, nothing says, "welcome to my wedding" quite like that.

I failed at being a kitchen gadget saleswoman.

No one wants to see the tip of a thumb sliced off into the veggie pizza at the exact moment I was promising how safe this gadget is.

Awesome.

I failed at being a cafeteria lady at a private school.

My assistant decided her arms were so dry she needed to coat herself with our spray butter. When we took the trash out later that day, we both got attacked by bees and forgot about the pizza in the oven.

Kids don't take kindly to burnt pizza.

I failed at being a receptionist.

It's never a good idea to just succumb to those sleepy afternoon feelings and lay your head down on the desk.

Bosses don't like workers who snore—even if they are pregnant.

Yes, I failed at a lot during those years where I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. At the time each of these things felt like the worst that could have happened. Now, I think they were the best worst things.

Had these things been successful, I would have never discovered the joy of being in the ministry I'm in now.

I see this same theme woven throughout many stories in the Bible.

In Matthew 8:23-24 we find Jesus getting into a boat with His disciples. "Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat." Worst thing.

But in verse 26 Jesus got up and rebuked the winds and waves and things turned completely calm. The disciples were amazed. Best worst thing.

In Acts 5:12 we find the apostles being arrested and thrown in jail. Worst thing.

But in Acts 5:13 we find an angel of the Lord opening the doors of the jail and bringing them out. Later we find them with so much confidence they boldly proclaim, "We must obey God rather than men!" (v. 29) Best worst thing.

I don't understand why we have to go through cruddy stuff. And I certainly know there are many worse things to go through then what I've mentioned here.

We live in a broken world full of broken people. But isn't it comforting to know God is never broken? He isn't ever caught off guard, taken by surprise, or shocked by what happens next.

He can take our worst and add His best. We just have to make the choice to stay with Him and keep following Him through it all.

Even neurotic mothers-of-the-bride who make wedding planners' stomachs work in reverse-can become best worst things.

After all, she gave me some great examples to pull from nearly 20 years later while writing Unglued. Oh I kid. Kind-of.

By Lysa TerKeurst

[Judy Harder]

Mother Letters: Fly

Jul 19, 2012 01:25 am | Mandy

Mother Letters is art in the form of stories, letters and photos from many hearts to yours. Words and images heard and understood in the soul, now articulated about every stage of motherhood.

Mothers are curators. These letters are about capturing the messy, glorious masterpieces that you are creating. God-Art is in the person and the stories lived there.

Find joy and comfort in this collection. Feel strengthened, empowered. It's a mosaic of authentic life, a living poem. Together, we are encouraged.

***

Dear Mother,

I have struggled with what to write because there is so much I would want to share: the pain of infertility and of missing someone you've never even met; the whimpering of the 3-year-old mouths; the awe of listening to your own little child's voice as she reads her first book.

But, the truth is, the longer I am a mother, the less I know what you need to hear.

So I have settled upon sharing with you the truth that guides me— that my daughter does not belong to me. That my job is simply to raise her safely and as happily as I can so that she may fly toward a future of her making.

In the moments when my girl and I are knocking heads over whether she will wear a particular skirt, or whether she will taste the greens on her plate, in those moments when my head really just wants to explode, I have to bring myself back to the letting go. Sometimes, it is an hourly chore, for letting go is not my default, but rather a place I purposely seek.

I grew up in the warm bosom of a tribe that moves with the beat of accents and tildes, a people exiled from its own home and country. It was a childhood of many kisses, big sweaty gatherings with tias and tios and cousins twice removed, and so many delicious Sundays at the beach. I often wish I could give the same loud life to my child, save for some of the rules and expectations.

Even now, I don't know if it is because they're Cuban, or just because they are who they are, but in my family there was a lot of "porque,  si" and "porque, no," which basically translates to "Because." Just because. I am pretty sure my tribe would not embrace Gibran.

While I do not wallow in regret– especially when it comes to the dance of mothering– I have a few "what ifs" and times in my life when I bowed my head, followed the rules and did what was expected, not what satisfied my spirit.

And so, as I look upon my dark-haired child, so curious, so head-strong, so much herself, I know my greatest gift to her is to stand by and watch her grow into whom she is supposed to be. She came through me and I marvel at the knowledge that while in my womb she breathed because I breathed.

But she breathes deeply on her own now.

And the truth of that frees me to trust the arrow will land where it will.

Much love and peace,
Carrie Ferguson Weir

Free Download for you:


{Subscribers, Click here to view}

Mothers Letters is a collection of letters written by mothers for mothers. Curated by Amber and Seth Haines in partnership with Squee!, it's for every mama who needs to know she's not the only one. Read the complete story behind Mother Letters and get the ebook here.

By: Amber, The RunaMuck


On Hostessing
Jul 19, 2012 01:15 am | The Nester




Being a good hostess has nothing to do with how well furnished your guest room is.  Or if you even have a guest room.  And I just put that pretty picture at the top of the post so the next picture wouldn't scare anyone off too fast.

The lovely Holley Gerth, Stephanie Bryant (two of the founders of (in)courage) and my sister Emily Freeman are all spending the night at my house tonight. And this is the state of the "guest room" as of a few days ago.  Think they can all fit on that mattress on the floor?



I actually do have a bed ordered for this room but shipping was delayed and it was no big deal.  I know Stephanie will sleep just as well with a mattress on the floor as she would if it were two feet higher.

And Holley will be fine in the twin bed across the hall.

My poor sister might have to put up with some snoring but at least my bed is really comfortable.  Besides we grew up sharing a bed so we are used to it.

I used to really worry about my house when I had people over but I've learned that having a perfect looking house doesn't really facilitate whatever it is I want to foster with friends anyway.  I want us to connect, rest, have fun, eat delicious food, laugh and just be.

Lucky for me I don't need to have a matching comforter set to make that happen.

Now I'm off to do a little cleaning, because as much as it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful, it does need to be clean to smell good!

Want more hosting inspiration? Read the best post ever written in the history of the world about hospitality.

Do you have fond memories of a gracious hostess?   What is it about your visit that you remember?

By: The Nester


On Hostessing

Jul 19, 2012 01:15 am | The Nester


Being a good hostess has nothing to do with how well furnished your guest room is.  Or if you even have a guest room.  And I just put that pretty picture at the top of the post so the next picture wouldn't scare anyone off too fast.

The lovely Holley Gerth, Stephanie Bryant (two of the founders of (in)courage) and my sister Emily Freeman are all spending the night at my house tonight. And this is the state of the "guest room" as of a few days ago.  Think they can all fit on that mattress on the floor?



I actually do have a bed ordered for this room but shipping was delayed and it was no big deal.  I know Stephanie will sleep just as well with a mattress on the floor as she would if it were two feet higher.

And Holley will be fine in the twin bed across the hall.

My poor sister might have to put up with some snoring but at least my bed is really comfortable.  Besides we grew up sharing a bed so we are used to it.

I used to really worry about my house when I had people over but I've learned that having a perfect looking house doesn't really facilitate whatever it is I want to foster with friends anyway.  I want us to connect, rest, have fun, eat delicious food, laugh and just be.

Lucky for me I don't need to have a matching comforter set to make that happen.

Now I'm off to do a little cleaning, because as much as it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful, it does need to be clean to smell good!

Want more hosting inspiration? Read the best post ever written in the history of the world about hospitality.

Do you have fond memories of a gracious hostess?   What is it about your visit that you remember?

By: The Nester


Beauty In The Woman I Never Knew

Jul 19, 2012 01:10 am | Lauren Ruef

There's something in the heart of a woman that responds when she is noticed. It's that hint of enjoyment when a photograph catches her good side, that wisp of hair hinting at beauty.  It's far too subtle to be vanity—it's akin to that feeling of looking at a nice sunset or admiring the joy of a child; unexpected and lovely.

Some deep cavern inside her heart fills up as she lingers on the photograph—it echoes a remembrance of something stuffed inside the trunk of her memory. It's like a melody she can hear inside her head but can't think up the words to. She looks again and notices the curve of her lower lip, the arch of her brow and that particular way her hands are folded her lap. It's the memory of her mom.

I came to know my grandmother Marie by way of photograph. We never met but she might have touched me once or twice as I swelled in my mom's belly. I've seen her in black and white and even in my aunts when they look at me a certain way.

My grandmother was a quiet reservoir of thought. She wasn't one to speak her mind, especially about other people. She held her piece. When something was on her mind, she swept the kitchen, wordless and pacing. My grandfather was a truck driver, often on the road to support their growing family but unavailable to debrief her thoughts at the end of a long day.

She gave life to 16 children, all her own: ten girls, six boys in a healthy Catholic-sized family. Nowadays it would prompt some kind of chaotic reality TV show. But large families were a thing of the 1950's. Some people in their small town scorned my grandmother's refusal to use contraceptives, as if she would single handedly overpopulate the world.



She hardly had a room to herself or an ounce of alone time but nurtured her children to become kind people, not mere numbers in a line of many. It's not the kind of life many women would choose, but it was a beautiful picture of that first life giving vision God had for man and wife in Genesis: "Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it."

Grandma Marie died of breast cancer when my mom was 30. I wish I could sit at her kitchen table that housed pitchers brimming with milk and learn to bake bread by her side. She did things simple, living and loving in basic acts. She was a grand woman.

My mom recalls one Christmas Eve when my aunt fit my Grandma Marie in a fine purple suit, the likes of which no one had seen her in. It was a rare moment, the fabric fit her perfectly and she enlivened the room with her radiance. The hidden beauty of my grandma's quiet soul was a treasure to reveal, and a poignant moment not lost in my mother's memory.

A woman lives for these moments, for the hour she is recognized as feminine and lovely. My grandma Marie should've had more moments like this, but the demands of her everyday life made them infrequent. A woman affirmed in her beauty is something right and good. It's the way she should feel. In true form, it is not a vain or shallow thing but something to celebrate, dress up and call out when we see it in others. I wish I could celebrate my grandmother all dressed in purple like royalty. I wish I could hold her hand. But until we meet in the sweet company of our Savior, a photograph will have to do.

By Lauren Ruef, Echoes of Eve

[Judy Harder]

Are You Comfortable Wearing Forgiveness?
Jul 20, 2012 01:30 am | Angela Nazworth




A few days ago, I rediscovered a CD of praise music that I had not listened to in quite some time. One of the songs amid the collection is Tammy Trent's version of At the Foot of the Cross. It's a beautiful melody accompanied by piercing lyrics:

At the foot of the cross
Where grace and suffering meet
You have shown me Your love
Through the judgment You received

And You've won my heart
Yes You've won my heart
Now I can

Trade these ashes in for beauty
And wear forgiveness like a crown
Coming to kiss the feet of mercy
I lay every burden down
At the foot of the cross

I had listened to that song hundreds of times before, but on that day, the words " ... And wear forgiveness like a crown" sunk deep into my soul.

Sometimes I am more comfortable in wearing shame than I am wearing forgiveness. I often do this without realizing my error. Yet every time I wallow in guilt, curse my inadequacies and embrace defeat I am covering up the beauty of forgiveness that Christ won for me ... for mankind.

When I chose to wear forgiveness like a crown instead of cloaking myself with my own failures and shortcomings, I'm reduced and Christ is exalted and my confidence in who I am in Him and through Him is restored.

I John 2: 12-14

I am writing to you, dear children, because your sins have been forgiven on account of his name. I am writing to you, fathers,because you know him who is from the beginning. I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one. I write to you, dear children, because you know the Father.
I write to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God lives in you, and you have overcome the evil one.

Are there times when you forget to wear your forgiveness?

[Judy Harder]

Trailblazer
Jul 21, 2012 01:20 am | Annie Downs

I saw a picture in my head one time as a friend told me a story of his trip through the jungle. He could see the path at his feet before him, but if he looked straight ahead, the brush was so thick that he couldn't see anything but the vines and leaves tangled at eye-level.

He was leading a team, and so it was up to him to use his machete [don't you know he LOVED telling me this part of the story] to chop at the overgrowth to make a way for his people to head down the path. He got scraped up a good bit, but, as he tells it, that was just a minor setback in the bigger story where he was the hero- yes, he called himself a hero – the story that there was a way to walk and it was up to him to make sure those behind him had clear access to travel.

. . . . .

I sat across the table in a coffee shop here in Nashville as a younger single girl told me of her aches and pains and the faith issues that, in her mind, were directly related to her singleness. [I. Hear. Ya. Sister.] She didn't cry, but I held a napkin in my grip because I thought for sure, at any moment, she would. She told me stories, many that I felt she was pulling from my own journal as a 20-something single Christian gal, and I told her what I never knew to tell myself.

I know.

It hurts.

But God has not forgotten you.

He is showing you His love for you, even now.

Believe Him. Believe His Word. Believe His heart.

She asked me why I started writing about singleness this year. What was it about my 31st year, she wondered, that made me finally want to talk about it.

"God." I said, "He just made it clear that this was the right time."

Without hesitation, she said, "I'm so glad. We all need trailblazers. Now that I see that you have done this, I genuinely think I can do it too."

I almost laughed. Trailblazer? Sister, if this is trailblazing, I am the most cut up, ill equipped, whiny leader a team has ever encountered.

I frustratingly hack away at the brush that cuts me on this path of singleness, the thorns of lies that try to penetrate my skin, the leaves of worry and the vines of loneliness that weave so tight before my eyes that the only way I can even know there is a way forward is by the path at my feet. [And even that isn't so comforting because I don't know where it leads.]

"Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path...." I sing in my head as the tears pour and I push forward on this trail.

I've never noticed the innocent young faces lined up behind me, watching the clearing process, and then walking through the openings that my toiling has created.

I never knew this was for them.

If that is the case, then every day I have wrestled with my singleness and the God who knows and loves me through it was so that others behind me would see and then know an easier path?

Then every day has been worth it.

. . . . .

You, my friend, married or single, you are blazing a trail with your life for the younger women behind you. They will have their own overgrowth to challenge them, and they will lead the way for others. But for today, would you be intentional about cutting back as much brush as you can?

Because you are making a way for them, saving them some pain that your bloodied arms prove is real, and honoring their footsteps by providing a clear path.

Never forget that as you are stepping forward with your life, you are a trailblazer.

Someone is watching.

May they learn to blaze with integrity, honesty, faith, and heart.

Much like you do.

By Annie Downs // AnnieBlogs

[Judy Harder]

When You Face The Place of Empty

Jul 22, 2012 01:20 am | Bonnie Gray

I don't want to be one of those people.

Someone who is afraid. Someone who can't deal with hard things. Someone who has failed to overcome the things that could make me fall down.

But, here I was, unable to deny that –

I am afraid.

I think I am going to fail.

I'm discouraged and I can't find my way out.

What I'm really trying to say — what I'm terrified to face is this –

I can't make my place in this world.

And I'm afraid you're going to walk away from me.

You're going to turn your face away and shake your head.

And leave me here.

All alone.

Place of Empty
These are the words I found myself speaking in the dark room of my soul last week. You would've never known I had truly felt this way. Because quite honestly, I have never allowed myself stay in this place of empty for very long.

All my life, I've nurtured a determination to do whatever I could to never come close to this place of alonenness. I am a child of light. Why would I want to face into darkness? I believed that faith was relegated to creating a safe place for myself in this world and for the ones I love.

I never imagined that faith in Jesus is exactly what it takes to enter into this place of truth and vulnerability — this place of empty.

By the grace of God, Jesus knew it wasn't time for me to fully be in that place for most of my life. Jesus gave me a growing faith to survive and empowered me to have great joy to do lots wonderful and beautiful things with Him — and for Him — to serve and love Him. He's given me a deep passion to serve others, to enjoy people and extend an open heart of friendship, comfort and encouragement wherever I go.

But, recently, Jesus somehow led me on a path that He knew would place me at the doorway of fear and confusion.

Jesus knew I was strong enough to finally face the parts of me He wanted to love back to life: my wounded self.

Jesus knew I was going to experience my first panic attack.

And Jesus knew that I would no longer be able to provide for myself, using the strength and hope I have always drawn from.

He knew that I would no longer be able to create a safe place for myself in this world any longer.

Jesus knows because he's been there himself.

This place of alone.

Of truth and vulnerability.

This place of empty.

Heartsick
Did Jesus have panic attacks in the garden of Gethsamane?

I think maybe he could have.

"And being in agony... his sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground." Luke 22:44.

Jesus had escaped to a private place where He felt safe (Remember? The Jewish leaders had to pay Judas to buy this valuable piece of intel). Matthew tells us "Jesus fell on His face and prayed, saying "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me." (Matt. 26:39)

The Gospel of Mark gives us an exclusive look into a Jesus we rarely talk about: "He began to be very distressed and troubled." Overwhelmed by anxiety, Jesus confides to Peter, James and John. "My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death." (Mk.14:33,34)


Jesus is utterly heartsick, down where pain has never reached before.

No Other Way
Even though Jesus was in total control of His choice to become the scapegoat for sin, I think Jesus experienced desperation in this place of honesty.

Jesus cried out, "Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me...". (Mk.14:36) If there was any other way out, He wished for it then.

But there wasn't any other way.

I've been thinking a lot about Jesus as He faced this struggle.

His cry has been my cry. God, please. Anything but this. Isn't there any other way?

Jesus knew He had to face the toughest journey: being broken, feeling scared and enduring abuse. On every level — emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

Even though Jesus placed Himself willingly in God's rescue plan before the beginning of time, Jesus could not escape the place of empty. (Phil. 2:5-8)


I imagine Jesus falling to the ground, struggling to breathe, choking waves of tears, his body shaking, hot from crying his eyes out, his chest hurting from the intensity — and I ask, "How did you do it Jesus? How can I endure something so dark when I am not you?"

He Answers
Jesus answers me by allowing me to hear His voice — thick with sadness — crying in the garden of Gethsamne –

"... yet not my will, but Yours be done." (Matt. 26:39, Mk 14:26, Lk 22:42)


You can accept this Bonnie –

because I know how it feels when God's plan leads the world to see you as wounded. Broken.

I will give you the courage to accept this. You don't have to be strong. I will be strong for you.

Jesus points me to the scene of his betrayal, when Peter tried to stop Jesus from walking down the path of weakness,

"Put the sword into the sheath; the cup which the Father has given Me, shall I not drink it?" (Jn 18:11)


You can swallow this cup Bonnie –

because I drank from it myself. You don't have to fight it. It's time to drink it.

You can feel afraid with me. I will hold you and love you through it.

I look into Jesus' eyes. His gaze is aching. Tender with my pain.

In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus said, "Not my will...".  Jesus had a will — and it was contrary to God's will — in that moment of weakness (Heb.5:7-10).  It was the human side of Jesus, overwhelmed with the uncertainty of what He had to face.  Jesus may have cried out, "What is going to happen to me?"

It is comforting because even as I take this cup in my hand, I don't want this.

Jesus understands this. He understands my fear — and how it makes me feel ashamed because of it.

Time and Again
Unlike me, Jesus did not sin in His temptation to avoid the place of empty.  Jesus surrenders and says, "Not my will, but Yours be done."

I too want to get up immediately, like Jesus. To be resolute and face the reality of hard things. But, I want to do this act just once — when in fact, it's time and again we fall and rise with Jesus.

It's time and again. Just as Jesus falls and rises with us. Every day.

From sun up to sun down, Jesus walks with us. When we find we can't make a place for ourselves in this world, Jesus gently whispers –

Come here.

Collapse into my arms.

You can always stay here.

You don't have to go anywhere.


I am your place.

Here. With me.

This way.

Forever.

Are you facing the place of empty, where you once made a place of safety for yourself? Are you finding yourself holding a cup that you don't want to drink?

Maybe like me — you've always walked around that place of empty — or run away from it whenever you feel it brush by you?

If you're on the leg of your faith journey where your place of safety has become a place of uncertainty, Jesus is folding your hand into His today.

Let's embrace the reality of what has happened — what is happening — and what needs to happen.

This is a new kind of obedience, one of the highest calling that our sweet Lord Jesus had to embrace himself as well. 

Surrendering to accept where God is leading us — especially into a place of loss and pain — is a surrender to trusting God as Abba, by yielding to His will and goodness in this way.


We don't have to be ashamed.

A Place For Us
No matter what is hurt or broken – whether it's our childhood, a relationship, career, marriage, children, health, finances or ministry — or it's our dreams and opportunities — this place of empty is never out of His reach.

I'm looking into your eyes to tell you Jesus is here. And He's not going away.

Jesus gathers us into His arms to a place where we are truly safe. Safe to experience our traumas, safe to be real, loved and accepted.

I'm smiling, as I show you my tears. We're alike you and me.

We are both stepping into a place of vulnerability.

We are exposing our hurts, so that we can feel the touch of His healing.

We are coming alive in our dying. And my friend, this is where Jesus is shining through – with new strength and new hope – to walk in new ways in this world.

You and I — we are one of those people.

We are safe, hidden in the heart of Jesus.

You and I — we have a story to tell.

Yes, you and I — He's prepared a place for us — the most beautiful place in this world.

It's Jesus in us.

~~~~~

"In the days of His flesh, Jesus offered up both prayers and supplications
with loud crying and tears to the One able to save Him...
Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered."
Heb 5:7-10

~~~~~

"This hope we have as an anchor of the soul,
a hope both sure and steadfast
and one which enters within the veil [our hearts],
where Jesus has entered as a forerunner for us.."
Heb 6:19-20
(Jesus has entered our hearts.
This is where our faith rests, hope that anchors us to God.
He is our place in this world.)

~~~~~

How has God led you to your Gethsemane — where you face the cup before you?

What is Jesus saying to you in this place?

Pull up a chair and stay awhile.  Click here to share a comment.
I love hearing pieces of your story, as it's unfolded and unfolding in you today.

~~~~~

By Bonnie Gray, the Faith Barista, serving up shots of faith for everyday life.

Join Bonnie at her blog as she journeys ahead with faith friends along the way.

[Judy Harder]

Launch A Life in Just A Minute

Jul 23, 2012 01:25 am | Wess Stafford


Wess is an internationally recognized advocate for children. Since 1977 he has worked with Compassion International, serving as their President since 1993. Wess' own life experiences have uniquely prepared him for his role. He often says, "Everything I really need to know to lead a multinational organization I learned from the poor, growing up in an African Village." Wess now lives on a small ranch near Colorado Springs, Colorado, with his wife Donna. They are the parents of two daughters, Jenny and Katie.

Just A Minute, Wess' second book, was released by Moody Publishers in January 2012. More information, including free study guides, can be found at http://www.justaminute.com

***

I sincerely believe an entire life can be launched with as little as a single phrase, an uplifting word or an act of kindness.

Who believed in you before you believed in yourself? Who said, "You have a beautiful voice; I loved your song," and now you sing for a living or get great joy from singing for others? Who said, "My, what a lovely picture you drew," and now you make your living as an artist?

For me, it was my father who first believed in me. He changed my life in one moment, one sentence, at the age of fourteen. My family had just arrived from Africa—the only country I had ever known—to the United States. While in Africa, I lost nearly half of my village friends to measles, malaria, smallpox, hunger, or snakebite. I had cried myself to sleep hundreds of nights after we buried my childhood buddies.

Now stepping off the ship that had carried my family across the Atlantic, I was a lost soul in this new and foreign place. I had been torn from a gentle African village to land a month later in the biggest, most intimidating metropolis known to humanity. I was shell-shocked.

A man was driving us to a church service one of those first days. My father was in the passenger seat, and I sat alone in the back. The driver glanced my way and said the familiar words, "So, Wesley, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

After a long, awkward pause, my father came to my rescue. "I've been watching Wesley for a long time," he said. "He has seen a lot of pain and a lot of suffering. He has a big heart...he loves helping people who are hurting."

I remember thinking, Really? Is that who I am? Is that what matters most to me? That was the end of the conversation, but not the end of the thought. In fact, it was the beginning for me. With those simple words, my life was launched!

Every life option now found meaning and purpose as it was put to the test of "How does it help people? If it doesn't, then is it even worth doing?"

My father's words echoed through the corridors of my life from that minute forward. Eventually, I found the ministry of Compassion International, where I could pour all my passion into my calling, my purpose, my mission.

Trust me, moments matter—for a lifetime.

Our lives are compiled of many minutes. If you're blessed enough to live out your full "threescore and ten years," you will have been given, from birth to death, the gift of nearly 37 million minutes. And each one spent in the presence of a child is a divine appointment. With each child you encounter, you have the power and opportunity to build up ... or, sadly, to tear down.

This is the foundation of my latest book Just a Minute, in which I share the stories of doctors, soldiers, international leaders, sports heroes, politicians and many more whose lives were indelibly marked by the words or actions of the adults in their lives. Through the stories of Colin Powell, Tony Dungy, Adolph Hitler and others, we see how an encouraging word, well-timed hug or hurtful comment can radically transform a childhood, or even the course of an entire life.

You don't have to be a teacher, a parent, a pastor, or a doctor to make a positive difference in the life of a child. You only have to be willing!

By: Dr. Wess Stafford



Giveaway: Answer the question(s) below in the comments and we'll choose 5 winners to win a copy of Just a Minute. Winners will be announced on Friday.

Has someone ever said anything to you that changed your life in just a minute? Is there something you can do today in just a minute that could change a child's life?



Learn more about Compassion International here and click here to purchase your copy of Just a Minute.


Why It's Okay to Not Be Enough

Jul 23, 2012 01:00 am | Amber Haines



When they took my Titus to another room to insert the feeding tube, I felt flush all over, green. My milk wasn't enough. The food wasn't enough, and so they called it "starvation mode" and "failure to thrive," his one year old body the size of a 4 month old. My tiny buddy came back with a puffy, sad face covered in tape.

After having 3 sons before him, I had decided to really do it right this time. I ate and gave only organic foods, and I wanted to nurse him for as long as I could. The truth is that my list of how to do it the right way has grown very long, and the longer that list gets, the worse I am at doing anything well. All the homeschooling, gardening, nursing, and playing in the world wouldn't add up to enough for me.

In the hospital, I had to hold Titus' feisty arms down so he didn't pull out the tube. We had an intense and demanding job in that little room, and suddenly we were the needy ones. We couldn't care for our other boys. We couldn't water the tomatoes or go make a pot of coffee. We didn't have any meals for ourselves or for our children at home.

And how could I ask for help, when I'm positive that I've failed at being a giver. One of the things I've been asking from God is that He would make me a servant. It's one of those prayers I say, "I want to be better. Make me better."

Then He answers this request in the funniest way. He allows me a position where I'm able to do nothing. Then He surrounds me with dearest friends and family, some of whom have the very least in time, physical stamina, sleep, emotional wherewithal, or material possessions. He shows me how they stop and sit with me and my children in their not-enoughness. It seems to me that those who have the very least were the greatest givers.

One friend laid next to me on the hospital bed for a while. I had no idea at the time how just having her sit right next to me helped my heart. I look back and remember our legs right there together, backs against the pillow. We were laughing. She has no idea. None of them know.

Sometimes I think about Paul's thorn, how he must have thought to himself, "if only it were gone, I would finally be enough." If only my milk were better. If only I read more. If only my kitchen were bigger or we made more money. If only I were better with people or were more loving or wasn't so selfish ...

But God's response? "My grace is sufficient for you." When He says this, it's the same as saying, "Don't give me your excuses," while simultaneously saying, "You're not the one doing it anyway."

I suddenly feel so free to shirk the pretense that I could possibly have anything together, and I'm learning that boasting in this weakness – it's the gospel.

When we boast in our weakness, our hearts hurt for the struggles of others, and we are more willing to share even in our little. A sufficient grace makes our weaknesses our power.  The accomplishments of others begin to seem right, and whatever I receive, I accept it with gratitude.

My temptation is to say that if I nurse him more or read the Bible more or pray harder, I'll be enough. Our temptation is always to say that our works are sufficient. But for me, let me tell you now, my marriage isn't sufficient and nor is my house. My kids, my friends, and my insurance plans aren't enough.

So when the mighty fall, when the rich go bankrupt, and the greatest dreams land broken, we can say to ourselves and to all the world what is true. His grace is sufficient. Power is perfected in weakness. Only after our deaths are we resurrected.

By: Amber, The Run a Muck