(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

"And why worry about your clothing?
Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow.
They don't work or make their clothing,
yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are."
Matthew 6:27-29

Don't worry about anything;
instead, pray about everything.
Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.
Then you will experience God's peace,
which exceeds anything we can understand.
His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7

[Judy Harder]

Is the Gospel Relevant?
Mar 18, 2013 01:20 am | Amber Haines




When I first heard the gospel, I had no idea how it would continue to change my life. That initial ticket into Glory Land seemed sure good enough in comparison to the life of pain I had been living. Then as I've matured, I've learned that believing doesn't protect us from a life of pain. It only redeems it. Then there have been the silent times of waiting on God or times I haven't felt God. Again and again, when I hear the gospel, it seems to shift my thinking, but recently I've wondered anew: is the gospel relevant in us today?


Post by Amber C Haines

[Judy Harder]

I Want to See The Person, Not the Box
Mar 19, 2013 01:20 am | Sarah Mae



It's really easy to put people in boxes and then only see the box, not the person.

I know, because I've done it.

I also know what being put in a box feels like, and it feels like one big misunderstanding. How many of us feel misunderstood? How many times do we misunderstand others?

I've been walking out this Christian life for longer than I recognize (because God chose me before I chose Him) and I'm finally getting used to the fact that so much of this life intertwined with God is mysterious, upsetting, unnerving, practical, impractical, hard, easy, ugly, and beautiful. It's complex, like I am.

Life and people are full of complexities; when we box them up we take the easy road. We can move and place boxes without looking inside. The black ink on the front says, "Fragile" or "Trash" or "Emerging" or "Fundie" or whatever and so we don't have to think. But God doesn't do that – He doesn't put us in a box; He unwraps our hearts. He pursues our souls and He invites the ugly. People are wildly intricate and messy and fascinating. If we box people up, we close up the opportunity to really love. People are one-million dimensional.

I think sometimes we create boxes because we forget that the Bible, the Word, is alive and active, able to reach deep into the complexities of the human make-up. That Word made flesh works inside, in the deep places, piercing souls and spirit, joints and marrow. There is nothing superficial about the work that goes on behind the flesh when the Spirit is moving. The knitting of our being by the Creator of everything is too much to wrap our minds around, let alone put a box around.  This is why the greatest commandment is to love. We just don't understand the big picture; we cannot see the completion that God sees.

Boxes are walls that keep us from getting too close to each other.

Boxes are walls that keep us from love.



By Sarah Mae, SarahMae.com




Thoughts of Love, Hope and Purpose
Mar 19, 2013 01:10 am | Valerie Sisco




A beautiful bouquet of flowers adorns yet another colleague's desk. I feel obligated to show interest and ask who sent them. What's the occasion? Is it a special day or are you just someone specially thought of? Women I know who have flowers sent to them swoon about how thoughtful, romantic or special their date, boyfriend or husband is. I nod and agree that their date, boyfriend or husband is indeed spectacular. I walk away. But there's that rankling thought. My mind hears that they get flowers because they are thought about. They are special, loved and extraordinary. But my heart hears that I am not so special, loved or extraordinary. I shrug it off and head back to my desk.

If flowers can speak the language of love to a girl's heart, they can also scream doubts to a girl's soul. That maybe I'm not worth getting to know. That maybe I am not quite special enough. That I don't have what it takes to be marriage material. That after years of dating, I can't sustain a relationship to the finish line.

All I hear is that I'm not. I don't. I can't.

But perfect love can. It overpowers fear and doubt. It's the love that comes to meet me in the dark places of my soul after a disappointment, rejection or regret. This love says that God will give me the courage to face my fears and doubts. It says that I have gifts that he will help me use. It says that I can have hope for new adventures that he can lead me to that just might be amazing. My heart hears it. And I know that God is thinking of me. Thoughts filled with love, mercy, hope, and so many plans with purpose.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord ... plans to give you a hope and a future." Jer. 29:11

When I visited Paris this summer, I passed a flower shop on almost every street corner. The tables of flowers spilled out on the sidewalk with beautiful bouquets in all sizes, from just a few sweet roses to colorful bunches. I saw Parisian women carrying flowers in one hand and a baguette in the other. As they hurried home, I wanted to follow them and join their party. Even though it might have just been a party of one. It made me think that if I lived in Paris, I would buy flowers every week. Just for me.

Because I know it's not the sender of the flowers that's important. It's remembering who brushed the petals with the vivid hues of a sunrise or the faint shades of twilight. It's knowing that God wants me to live out the vibrant life he has envisioned for me, far beyond my doubts and fears. From the day he first thought of me. With special attention, never-ending love, and extraordinary plans. I like knowing that I'm always on his mind.

"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us." I Jn 4:16a

[Judy Harder]

A Note For Megan
Mar 20, 2013 01:20 am | Lisa Leonard




A letter to my niece...

Sweet Megan,

Oh my goodness, you are so grown up already. I remember holding you as a tiny baby when I was pregnant with David.  I've loved watching you grow, getting to know your sweet spirit and seeing how God is already working in your heart.

As you know, I grew up as a twin, too. I was one part of a set of two. It was she and I–always together, constantly being mixed up, laughing over silly things and sometimes driving each other crazy.

Being a twin was mostly wonderful. I had my sister beside me on the first day of school.  She made friends more easily than I did and I depended on her to help me navigate new situations. Having her next to me made scary things easier.

When we were ten years old, she shaved her legs. She told me she couldn't believe how smooth they felt. It seemed so grown up. So, of course I couldn't wait to shave my legs too!

In the afternoons we practiced drawing for hours, listened to our favorites songs on repeat and quoted movie lines together.  No one knew me better than my twin sister.

And because we were always grouped together, I compared myself to her.

I noticed that her hair was a little curlier, her teeth were a little straighter and her grades were a little higher.

Of course, I didn't keep a literal list of our differences, but I kept a list in my head. And I worried that I wasn't as special as she was. I knew I was loved, but a question kept nagging at me, was I as good as my twin sister? As I compared myself to her, I wasn't certain.

One day I realized something simple but life changing. Maybe I had always known it, but I understood it for the first time.

My soul was my own.

I shared many things with my twin sister, clothes, a bedroom even the same blue eyes–but my soul was mine. It was created by a loving God, just for me.

My soul made me, ME!

I didn't need to compare myself to anyone else. I didn't need to have perfect curls or be the best at drawing or make friends as easily as she did. I just needed to see myself the way God sees me. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and even my soul, every part of me is fearfully and wonderfully made.

You are amazing, Megan. Just because you're YOU.

Psalm 139:14 {NIV} I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;  your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

[Judy Harder]

1 Way to Make Easter Everyone's Favorite Holiday {Free Printable}
Mar 21, 2013 01:20 am | Ann Voskamp


I shouldn't have been surprised when the questions came, all these questions rushing like a river searching....

God knew.

He knew how all the kids would ask questions.

All the kids asking questions — wasn't that the prophesy?

"When your children ask their fathers in the time to come...'" (Joshua 4:21).

And He prophesied our answers to all their questions: "And you shall tell your son in that day, saying, 'This is done because of what the LORD did for me... (Exodus 13:.

Come an eve in early spring, when the trees are budding and the birds nesting high, all the rivers running higher, Jewish children gather around feast tables and they ask the same four age-old questions; questions that answer everything.

Our children ring the old oak farm table and take up the tradition of the quartet of questions.

Keeping "this ordinance in its season from year to year," (Exodus 13:10), I lay the Passover emblems out on the table in the early twilight.

The matzah lies under a linen cloth.

Goblets of juice of the vine flicker in the candle light, sprigs of lush green parsley circle a tray, water drops jewelling leaf tips.

Off to the side, behind the crystal bowls heaped with mashed potatoes and glazed baby carrots, a dish of ground horseradish sits beside a dark, heavy shank bone of lamb. Not our usual fare for a spring evening meal.

Weary and worn from the all-day effort, I have my own questions: Is all this business of keeping Passover unnecessary burden?

Have we knotted the holy day up in redundant encumbrances?

Does this old covenant really have bearing on new covenant living?

Slipping my hand through my husband's, I find answers.



Children pressing in now, anxious for just this, this tradition, this meal before candles, this sipping of goblets.

"This, this is the best Easter dinner ever! Passover!" a son smiles down the table at me — "No — this is my favorite meal of the whole year!"

And the questions now trickle, the same four questions that have come rippling down from one generation, to the next, for centuries; from the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob....to our children.

Levi, his young voice pitched high but gentle, asks the first of the three-thousand-year-old queries:

"Why are we eating unleavened bread, or matzah, tonight?"

I pick up the matzah, a flat cracker of bread, striped with narrow lines, and pierced with small holes.

And I answer in the only way I know how, "Because tonight we remember Jesus. By whose stripes we are healed. Yeast leavens, or puffs up, as pride and sin inflates our hearts. Tonight we eat unleavened bread, bread without yeast, to remember Jesus who was without sin."

I break the matzah in half and whisper, "Just like He was broken for us."

These are questions to know where we come from.

Hope comes next, slender fingers reaching out towards the horseradish, face contorted in slight grimace,

"Why are we eating bitter herbs?"

Lifting a small, silver spoonful of horseradish, I trace time's prints back.

"For on that long ago night, that night of Passover for the children of Israel, God said that 'bitter herbs they shall eat' (Ex. 12: and so we do too. To remember the bitterness of the cruel slavery of the Israelites to Pharaoh, to recall the bitterness of our ugly bondage to sin."

My husband breaks off a corner of the matzah, topping it with the spoonful of horseradish and offers it to Hope.

"But we eat the bitter herbs with the matzah to remember how Jesus, our Bread of Life, has paid the price and absorbed our bitter sins."

This is the telling of the story that answers the human heart's pleas... and prayers.

Joshua, he's got his question memorized, him joining with children around the world, asking the third question on this night of four questions,

"Why tonight do we dip our herbs twice?"

Picking up the evergreen parsley, I close my eyes to see the answer. My husband speaks quiet. "Our fathers dipped hyssop branches into the blood of the Passover lamb and marked their doorposts." It's tradition now, to pass down this story.

He dips a parsley sprig into the salt water and continues. "As they wept salty tears for their life of slavery, they painted the door lintels with the blood, that the Angel of Death may pass over. For without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sins."

He dips the parsley again, this time into a small glass dish of apple and raisins.

"But now we have hope. Because of the blood shed by the thorns piercing Jesus' brow. Because of the blood from the wounds of the nails, that we, in faith, mark on the door of our hearts. Now we wipe away our tears, for we have new life in Christ. We have been rebirthed into His hope."

All around the table, you can see it in their eyes — this relief. I can feel my own.

Caleb, pensive eldest, leans his head on his hand and serves the crowning question:

"Why are we eating this meal reclining?"

I lean into the climax of the story and the traditional answer, it never gets old.





"Because our Passover Lamb has bought our freedom.

"Tonight we remember that we are no longer slaves, but children of the very King of Kings. Free men, royalty, recline while eating. So, as Jesus who reclined at the Last Supper, we too lean back this night, for we are free to come before God who is upon the Throne."

We raise glasses and toast. And there's the answer as to why we keep Passover.

Keeping Passover isn't about keeping laws and regulations.

Keeping Passover isn't about keeping our burdens.

Keeping Passover isn't about keeping some empty, meaningless customs.

On the night of four questions, the answer murmur clear in the stream of time: Keeping Passover is about keeping our way on The Way.

Passover is about keeping something worth preserving: emblems pregnant with the fulfillment of the New Covenant.

Passover is about the questions that keep time to the beat of our children's heart:

Why am I here?

What does all of this living really mean?

Where am I headed?

When will I be all that I am to be?

And this story, His story, His three-thousand-year-old Passover story has answers, told on a quiet evening in spring when the trees are budding under nesting birds.

When all the rivers run alive and swift and on forever, free...::




To Set a Table for a Christian Passover:

1. matzah (or Wholewheat Unleavened Bread)

2. juice of the vine (wine, grape juice, non-alcoholic wine)

3. sprigs of lush green parsley

4. horseradish (bitter herbs)

5. chopped apples and raisins (called haroset)

6. heavy shank bone of lamb

7. boiled egg

8. small dish of salted water

Menu:

Roast Leg of Lamb with Rosemary

Balsamic Roasted Red Potatoes

Baked Asparagus with Balsamic Butter Sauce

Haroset (Chopped Apples & Raisins) for Passover

Wholewheat Unleavened Bread

Baby carrots

And for dessert: New Life

{Free Christian Passover Meal Printable}

Including Menu, Passover Table Setting List and Program with Four Questions with Life Answers {A Messianic Seder}

Sample Pages:

[Judy Harder]

Mary vs. Martha
Mar 21, 2013 01:10 am | Emily Simmons




When I was young, my family always went out to a restaurant for Sunday lunch with my grandparents. Every week without fail my sister and I would be asked The Inevitable Question: "What did you learn in Sunday School today?"

Being smart kids, we knew to prepare a concise, one-sentence answer that would convince the adults that we listened attentively instead of eating our animal crackers in creative ways or passing notes to the cute boys.

On one particular Sunday, my little sister had her answer at the ready. She responded to The Inevitable Question cherubically: "We learned about Mary and Martha and how Mary was better because she wanted to spend time with Jesus."

And that started it.

My grandmother slapped her hand on the table exclaimed rather vehemently, "I hate that story! Let me tell you, sitting at the feet of Jesus is all well and good, but if it wasn't for the Marthas of us in this world, nothing would ever get done."

Giving a regal glance around the table and being satisfied that her point was well made, she went back to eating her lunch. We passed mystified, slightly amused looks around the table and followed suit.

Mary and Martha. Causing family disputes since the New Testament.

I imagine the story of Mary and Martha playing out in Real Housewives of Bethany style:

In her expansive kitchen, Martha is toiling over platters of appetizers laid out on granite countertops. Delectable, mouth-watering scents fill the air. Every garnish is impeccable. Flour dots her designer apron, but not a hair of her perfect coiffure is out of place. Her makeup is flawless. Her frown lines are the only thing that mar this picture of domestic diva bliss.

"Where is my sister? I can't believe she left me to host a house full of guests on my own. The nerve of that woman."

Lifting a lovely platter, she glides on designer heels across marble floors into the formal living room and surveys the scene in front of her. Jesus, her charismatic family friend, sits at the center. Arrayed around him, hanging on every word he says, are his entourage. And there, sitting by his dirty sandals, is Mary.

Martha's do-nothing, flighty, irresponsible sister is sitting there without a care in the world. She never even notices Martha enter. In fact, no one does. The savory smells wafting from her tray of heavenly delights have no effect on any of the ungrateful souls in the room.

Miffed, Martha clears her throat. "Jesus, this is so unfair! These mini-quiches don't cook themselves, you know. Mary's just sitting here while I do all the work in the kitchen! Tell her to come help me."

If the Bible was Real Housewives, Mary and Martha might have an all-out girl fight with name-calling and hair-pulling and shoe-throwing.

But this isn't Real Housewives. Jesus isn't into reality TV antics. He answers Martha gently, compassionately.

"Martha, dear Martha, you're fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it..."

Luke 10:41b-42a MSG

Can you see yourself in Martha? Have you heard yourself saying something like this:

I'd love to spend more time with Jesus, but I have to get one more thing marked off my To Do List.
If I want it done the right way I might as well do it myself.
No one appreciates everything I do around here.
Now, I'm not hating on Martha. In fact, I agree with my grandmother. We need Marthas in this world. If not for the Marthas, who would make iced tea and finger sandwiches? Organize church potlucks? Pick out curtains? Make sure the nativity is just right?

Jesus wasn't telling Martha to stop being a good hostess or neglect her responsibilities. He wasn't belittling the things that were important to her. He was telling her keep her priorities in order.

Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.

Matthew 6:33 NLT

If your life has left you holding a platter of under-appreciated mini-quiches in a room full of ungrateful people, if you have gotten so caught up in making the perfect party for Jesus that you forgot who you were celebrating, then these words are for you:

Dear friend, you are getting yourself worked up over nothing. Seek God first because time resting and receiving at His feet is never wasted. He will give you everything you need.

Did you hear that? Not just some things. Not just a little bit or halfway.

Everything. Everything you need.

What do you need, Martha?

By Emily Simmons, Emily Says

[Judy Harder]

The During
Mar 22, 2013 01:20 am | The Nester




As a home blogger most of my job is sharing the mess.

People mistakenly think that our blogs are a bunch of reveals complete with beauty shots. But I've been blogging for over 5 years. Let's say I have 10 rooms in my house. That means I'd have to redo a room every few days in order to have enough freshly finished rooms to talk about. Most of what I write about is the stuff in the process.

At first I hated that part.

Most of us don't mind showing an ugly before with the past owner's furniture and purple walls before we moved in, and then we want to show a pretty after that compared to the before wows and impresses. KaPow! Ta-Da!

I'm learning that the biggest, best and most informative part of the story happens in the during. When the mattress is on the floor and the wall color isn't quite right and there are paper streamers hanging because you are the most indecisive person on the planet. More and more I see value in sharing the how and why of my decisions, and the mistakes I've made along the way. It's the best way to connect with people.

It's the same with life. The real story happens in the mundane every-day-ness and our reactions to our imperfect world and our response to a perfect God.

I'm so grateful for people who have been willing to share their imperfect, right-now life; the good, the bad and the ugly. I look at the world through house colored glasses and this house full of half finished rooms reminds me that I can't wait to live until it's all ready for its closeup.

Because that won't happen for a long time.

[Judy Harder]

Golden Girl
Mar 23, 2013 01:20 am | Robin Dance


"This fiftieth year is sacred—it is a time of freedom and of celebration..."
~ Leviticus 25:10a (CEV)


If how I was feeling the morning of January 1st was any indication, this was going to be an interesting year.

As I blinked my eyes open through a haze of dreams, sleepily, happily I mentally replayed the night before:  In a beautiful display of passion, persistence and sportsmanship, my college alma mater had pulled out a stunning end-of-game bowl victory to usher in the happiest of new years for their fans.

"It's a new year...."  A cheerful thought shape-shifting like mercury; what started as a smile was quickly extinguished by the fire in my knee.  Due to an ARE-YOU-KIDDING-ME? temporarily debilitating injury, my room might as well have been at Everest's peak.  I was alone in our guestroom, the only bedroom downstairs.

Now wide awake but resisting morning's nudge, my good cheer was buried under Reality's avalanche:

I was born in 1963 and 2013 is the year I turn 50.

* * *

If you've been reading (in)courage awhile, you might remember when I wrote about The Year of Living Dangerously. My husband had accepted a new job that would require us to live in Germany for most of 2012 and my One Word to mark the year was adventure.  We packed our bags leaving family, familiarity and comfort zone behind in exchange for living (and for my husband, working) in a new culture and traveling to places we had previously only seen in pictures or read about in books.

It was grand adventure but we never saw it coming, how it would end:

Delays in construction at the plant back home, for us, meant an additional two-year commitment abroad.  For a host of personal reasons, that wasn't acceptable.

My husband and I concluded the best option for our family was for him to resign his position a month before Christmas, arguably the worst month of the year to job hunt.

December was a blur.

* * *

I have trudged the past several months, at times wandering in a darkness to which I'm not accustomed.

It is my nature to see bright sides and silver linings and half full glasses.

It hasn't been just one thing, it's been one thing after another; little things that exacerbate circumstance and compound the big things.

Never before have I been concerned about my age; aware, maybe, but not concerned.  My 40s have been the season of finding comfort in my skin, giving up my need to please others and discovering the ways God loves me in spite of myself.

Also, my mother died when she was 38 after a five-year battle with cancer.  Uncontainable is my gratitude to God for the 12 years I've already lived beyond her lifespan, not only because I'm thankful for life, but more so because I've gotten to know and love and be with my children for 12 years longer than she did!

But despite all of that, on January 1st turning 50 started messing with my head somethin' fierce.  To add insult to injury, my doctor's office called with news I suspected but still found shocking.

* * *

In the midst of all this, there was a prompting in my spirit to search for something in Scripture I had read before but to which I hadn't attached personal significance:  an Old Testament passage dealing with the "Year of Jubilee".  In it, there's instruction to be followed every 50 years: "...when everyone will receive back their original property, and slaves will return home to their families".  But here's what reached out and grabbed my heart with both hands–

"This fiftieth year is sacred—it is a time of freedom and of celebration..."

I read it again and again and again, and I might've added a thousand exclamation points.

Sometimes God delivers an Ancient Word exactly when a 21st century girl needs to hear it.
* * *

Seeking God in the midst of despair recalibrated my perspective.
I became Peter walking on water to Jesus, but not before first bobbing under wind and wave.

Truth I knew in my head shifted back to my heart.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 -

one of my favorite passages of scripture,

one of the wisest encouragements regarding life,

one of the most beautiful poems throughout the ages,

came alive in light of my Year of Jubilee revelation–

Now is the time to laugh!

Now is the time to dance!

Now is the time embrace!

Now is the time to seek and keep and speak!

All of life is sacred, yes, but 50...the 50th year...is set apart.  There's freedom in this age.  There's cause for celebration.

These past several months have been challenging and, at times, even defeating.  But I know...I believe...God is accomplishing a Kingdom work in and through them, whether for my good or his glory or both.  My experiences, especially the hard times, grow empathy and compassion in a way good times never could, better enabling me to minister to others who find themselves in similar situations down the road.

God redeems the broken into a thing of beauty.
Can anyone relate?  Has a milestone birthday ever rattled you from the inside out?  Has a challenging life season threatened spiritual, emotional or even physical defeat?  How were you reminded of God's faithfulness–maybe in scripture, a song, sermon or    

* * * * *

It might be my birthday, but I'm giving YOU the gifts!!  A few of my favorite friends are providing a week of FANTASTIC giveaways; click over for details (plus, my blog has a new look I'd love for you to see!).

❤,

Robin Dance

[Judy Harder]

Many people spread their cloaks on the road,
while others spread branches they had cut in the fields.
Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted,

Hosanna!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!
Mark 11:8-10

[Judy Harder]

Capitol City
Mar 25, 2013 01:20 am | Annie Downs




My friend Matt asked, on twitter, for his fans to list their favorite song of his. As a singer/songwriter with a deep well of albums, the replies began to fly in.

As a fan and a friend, my mind immediately swirled back to a few years ago, when I was deciding about moving to Nashville, and I thought of the last song from his 2006 album.

That song entered my life in a season that felt very unsafe and unknown. I was leaving my hometown alone, heading to a place I did not know full of people I did not know, and I didn't want to do it. But I knew it was the right thing, the God thing, even if it meant going alone.

No matter where I turned, God sang His reassurances to me. It wasn't always on Christian radio, in fact- it rarely was. It was at obscure concerts in downtown Atlanta and quiet crooning from indie albums. It was radio commercials and worship songs and love songs and CDs that friends handed me on a whim. God was everywhere I didn't expect to hear Him.

Matt's song, Capitol City, is the one that has long been my favorite and was, to be dramatic and over-emotional, the song that felt like a life-preserver when the waves of doubt and worry and loneliness felt like I would drown.

I heard God in it.

"As you go your own way.... remember do not be afraid...

cause you're right where you should be.... in Capitol City."

I cried when I played it, and I played it a lot those last few weeks in Atlanta and those first few months in Nashville. I heard God say that He was right with me, that He would show His nearness whenever I needed Him to, that I did not need to be afraid.

If anything has been proven true in the last five years, it is this. Nashville is right where I should be. But I shouldn't be surprised – God told me that a long time ago.

Music does that. Lyrics have that kind of power, don't they? No matter what they are written for or who it is about, when God wants to get a message across, He does it. And it can rescue us, heal us, carry us.



What songs has God unexpectedly used to speak to you?

. . . . .

By Annie Downs