God's Heart for You.

[Judy Harder]

     

(in)courage
   

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What Women Fear: Introducing Week One Guest
On Empathy: Our Griefs and Sorrows
Needle and Thread
What Women Fear: Introducing Week One Guest

Oct 3 2011

Hey everyone! We are so excited to be starting the study this week.

Each Monday, we will introduce the fabulous lady or ladies that will be joining Angie and me to discuss What Women Fear. Then, on Wednesdays and Fridays we will post videos and invite you to discuss the chapter. Angie personally selected each woman based on the chapter's content, and I think you are going to be really blessed by the discussions.

Also, we tweaked the schedule slightly. Here is the revised version. Wednesday we will start with the introduction, not chapter one.

Week 4
Monday, Oct. 3 Intro women
Wed. Oct. 5 Introduction
Fri. Oct. 7: Chapter 1: Fear of the what ifWeek 5
Monday, Oct. 10 Intro women
Wed. Oct. 12 Chapter 2: Fear of rejection, abandonment and betrayal
Fri. Oct. 14 Chapter 3: Fear of being found out

Week 6
Mon. Oct. 17 Intro women
Wed. Oct. 19 Chapter 4: Fear of failure
Fri. Oct. 21: Chapter 5: Fear of death
Week 7
Monday. Oct. 24 Intro guests
Wed. Oct 26 Chapter 6: Fear of my past catching up with me
Fri. Oct 28: Chapter 7: Fear of not being significant
Week 8
Mon. Oct 31 Intro guests
Wed. Nov. 2: Chapter 8: Fear of God's plan for my life
Fri. Nov 4: Chapter 9: Fear that God isn't real
Week 9
Monday. Nov. 7: Chapter 10: Fear of God
Wednesday, Nov. 9: Final wrap-up
Okay, on with today's introduction.
For the introduction and chapter one, we were pleased to have our friend Brandi Wilson joining us. Here's a little bit about Brandi and a photo of her and her sweet family.

Blog: Leading and Loving It

Twitter (if applicable): @BrandiandBoys

Tell us about your family: My family is pure testosterone. I'm the mom to three blonde, blue-eyed stairsteps who are 10, 7, and 5. They keep me on my toes and keep life very exciting. My husband is the leader of our gang and still makes me laugh on a regular basis. In my free time I moonlight as a pastor's wife and work with a ministry called Leading and Loving It.

What type of fear you most struggle with: Fear of making a poor decision during a split second and causing harm to one of my children.

What is your favorite book: To Kill A Mockingbird... it's been my favorite book since 8th grade. It engaged me from the first word and taught me to love literature... and not just Sweet Valley High!

See you Wednesday to discuss the Introduction of What Women Fear!
On Empathy: Our Griefs and Sorrows

Posted: 02 Oct 2011 11:20 PM PDT

The closest I've every personally been to death was when my grandfather died in 1985. He died in Indiana while I was a ten year old in California.

And then when my grandmother died ten years later, I struggled to feel healthy grief when that happened because I'd had such a complicated relationship with her. Even so, I wish she was here to see my girls.

I know this makes me a bit of an anomaly, having skirted grief and loss like I have. Most of us have lost someone or something dear. Very dear.

Maybe we've miscarried.

Or lost a father.



Or we've seen a sister die unexpectedly.



Or maybe we've survived a spouse.

I know. I'm odd. I've not had someone close to me, very close to me, die.

But in the past few months I've had people very close to me lose someone very close to them. {And we've all lost a dear sister.} I've grieved by proxy and I've grieved from afar. I have made phone calls and sent cards and baked bread. Tears still fall. Wounds still smart.

But in general, my daily, mini-van life is, in a long-term way, unaffected by the losses of others.

Of this I'm certain: One reason why God allows us to travel through difficulty is so that we can truly say,

"I've been there. I have walked in those same shoes."

But what about all of the grief, pain and injustice in the world that I have NOT experienced firsthand but nevertheless come face to face with in a personal way?

I believe we are to feel as deeply as we possibly can. For others, for ourselves, and for a world that is bereft of hope. And in order to do that, our hearts must stay soft and malleable.

I will not say to one who has buried a mother, "I know what you are going through." Because I do not. But I can hold my own mother more precious than I have and let the pain of another family affect the way I conduct myself presently. The grace I give her and the grace I extend to my mother-in-law.

I have not miscarried. But I can hold a woman in my arms and let her weep. I can watch her toddler while she naps. I can love her in the way that I know how and I can weep because of her pain.

I have not lost a father yet, but I can call the friend that has and show her love thorough my presence. I can text her without needing a reply. I can simply say, "I love you," and do the things I know to do well (sweep a floor, fold a basket of laundry) without asking her,

What can I do to help?

{She doesn't want one more thing to decide. But she would love her dishes washed. I know that because, like her, I am a woman.}

So how do I help someone who is grieving when I don't even understand the same kind of grief?

Feel as deeply as possible. Carry as much as I can. And be as much Jesus as I can possibly be.

{He bore our griefs and our sorrows.}

I know empathy cannot go the furthest places of pain. It cannot be there at breakfast when that person who should be across the table simply is not. It cannot fill an empty womb.

But it can come to run along side, to encourage and to love.

What can we do to show real empathy to others? What have others done for you in grief that has helped? Have you been able to assist others because of pain you've gone through?

by Sarah Markley


Needle and Thread

Posted: 02 Oct 2011 11:10 PM



I wonder who she was.  What she dreamed about.  Did she have a husband and children?  How old was she?  Was she happy?  Was she struggling to understand her life's purpose? What did she think about?  Was she tired, drained?  I wonder if her hands were blistered or crippled with arthritis.  Did her neck and shoulders hurt at the end of her workday?

We know nothing about her; not even her name.  Yet she holds a critical place in history.  Not one of prominence or notoriety, but instead behind the scenes of a story that has been passed down through the ages and will continue to be for all of eternity.

...As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him.  And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her.  She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

"Who touched me?" Jesus asked.  When they all denied it, Peter said, "Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you."  But Jesus said, "Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me."

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet.  In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed.  Then he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace." (Luke 8:42-48, NIV)

You may think I'm referring to the woman directly spoken of in this story.  The one who touched the hem of His garment.

No.

I'm talking about the one who made His garment.  The one who stitched the hem.

The seamstress.

The one who sewed the cloak that He would wear on this very day.  I wonder if she had ever met Jesus.  If she had, did she know that this robe sewn by her tired hands would one day drape over her Prince's arms and shoulders of mercy, healing and grace?

Did she know that she was sewing for royalty?

She had probably sewn and sewn and sewn these cloaks many times before.  But did she have any idea that her purpose was to create the garment that would be the very catalyst for another woman, sick and bloody, to receive the healing power of Christ?  Did she know that God would use what she sewed to deliver healing to the life of someone she may never meet? Did she know that the legacy of her simple handiwork would live for eternity?

I wonder if she ever felt bored with her job.  Numb.  Tired.  Uninspired.  I wonder if she ever cried out to God to allow her to do something more meaningful...more impactful...more important than her seemingly mundane daily task.

I wonder if she was someone like me.

Did she know that the power of God would flow from what she created with her own two hands and a simple needle and thread?

I'll bet she had no idea...

And neither do I.  Neither do you.

By: Melissa, In Fields of Grace

[Judy Harder]

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind,
that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. ~Romans 12:2

We've homeschooled for eighteen years, but our oldest son attended public kindergarten and first grade. His first day wasn't easy for me, wondering how he fared in a new environment with new people. When I picked him up, his face was troubled.

"We colored apples today and everyone made fun of mine," he said.

"Why?" I replied—and I still remember the surprising combination of anguish and a desire to give a piece of my mind to every child in that kindergarten class (and possibly their mothers, too).

"I colored mine green instead of red."

Somewhere along the way I started purchasing other varieties, but at that time Granny Smith apples were all we ate. In my son's world, apples were green.

The next afternoon he beamed and told me that everyone liked his apple that day.

"Really?" I smiled, relieved.

"Yes, I colored it red," he replied, and something inside of me shrank from the thought that on Day 2 he learned conformity.

Behavior driven by conformity is the exact opposite of conviction-driven behavior. Conformity says, "I'm acting this way because of external pressure. This is what you expect or demand of me, but I don't necessarily believe in it or give it freely."

Conviction-driven behavior springs from within: "I'm modeling my life on principles that I believe are true. I live this way because I'm convinced that it's right."

As a parent, we recognize behavior that is governed by external pressures: threat of punishment, peer pressure, etc. Sometimes it's more difficult to identify it in ourselves.

Conformity and conviction are powerful forces. What about you? Do you feel that sometimes your behavior is influenced by a desire to conform to the expectations of others rather than by inner conviction? How does this make you feel?



31 Days of Real Life
Have you seen the 31 Days series for October that Nester started? If you want to post a 31 days series on your own blog, just pick a topic and jump right in. Add your blog's link or click through to visit participating sites from this linky. I'm blogging 31 Days of Real Life on my blog and I'd love it if you'd join me!

By Dawn Camp, My Home Sweet Home


Our gifted pastor said it one day, and when he did, my eyes widened in marvel.

"There is power in the spoken word."

Amen.

And when the words spoken are truths from the God-breathed Word, we have in our midst no ordinary power. We have ourselves a super power.

Through their Recordable Storybook line, the brilliant DaySpring folks have found a way for you to give a super dose of super power to those young'uns in your homes and lives. In these incredible books, you can record your voice reading Truth-spilling stories that will connect your heart to theirs as it points theirs to His.



Do you have or know a child whose mom or dad is deployed overseas? Do you have nieces or nephews far away? Maybe you know a neighborhood child who needs life-giving encouragement somethin' fierce. Or, perhaps you want to find a unique way to bless the kiddos living under your own roof. Whether you're across the room or across the globe, these books connect you to the child. When they are read by you or another loved one, the recorded voice tells and shows the child he or she is treasured and adored. What better gift to give children in our circle of influence than reminders of God's unfathomable love for them?

All four Recordable Storybooks are ripe with gracious words that heal and inspire. They breathe life into growing hearts. And when we speak God's truth into children's lives, those words are life. He promises it won't return empty as it moves, acts, and changes lives.

The spoken Word releases God's power to build super power faith. All He needs are a few super heroes to work through.

What child can you become a super hero for today?

Kristen Strong, Chasing Blue Skies

[Judy Harder]

     

(in)courage
   

What Women Fear: Introduction
Hey Good-Looking!
We Don't Talk About It....
What Women Fear: Introduction

Oct  5 2011

We hope you enjoy our chat about the introduction of What Women Fear. Thanks to Brandi who joined us around the table.



Please share what stood out to you in the comments.

Hey Good-Looking!

Being on campus this semester, as a student at one school and an instructor at another, has caused me to reflect on my college years as an undergrad. Of the memories of that swarm to the surface, here is the one I remember best:

As I was frantically preparing for a day of studying (the handsome men on campus), my contact lens ripped, and I didn't have another one to replace it. Opting against wearing my hideous glasses (and risk looking studious), I bravely set forth from my dorm to traverse the campus, sans vision. Immediately I thanked my lucky stars because walking towards me on the path was my tall, dark, and handsome man. "Hey, good looking," I called out to him—only to discover a few steps later that it was not my boyfriend.

It was my professor.

Smarter people than me would have dropped out of school at that point, but I wanted to correct my error. "I'm so sorry, sir," I quickly mumbled. "If I had known it was you, I never would have said that."

Somehow, perhaps in a grand gesture of grace, my prof did give me a passing grade in his class; but the real lesson I learned was that even ancient, forty-something year old college professors don't like to be insulted about their looks. The real lesson was that people are people—even if their age or gender is different than mine. I'm glad to say that I gained some much-need maturity that day.

I don't remember all my blips of maturity, all the life-lessons that have made me into the profoundly more refined person that I am today (no comments from close friends please), but I'm thankful I had them. Sometimes, when I remember events from my past, I feel like I'm in the mind of another person. Was that really me?

Change and growth are essential for emotional and spiritual health; if we're not moving forward, we're stagnating. Pursuing maturity is an essential and worthy endeavor. Perhaps, though, it's good to remember where we came from, to blush a little at our previous blunders. A little humility is worth far more than an abundance of wisdom.

By Heather Gemmen Wilson




We Don't Talk About It....

I  am a talker.

I am a writer.

I am a people lover.

I am a broken girl in love with her King. I love my children. I  love adoption. I love reading. I love africa. I love my friends. I love to laugh. I love Thai food. I love a great cup of coffee. I love the beach. I love my family. I love campfires. I love mowing the lawn. (weird eh?) I love watching worthless tv. I love catching fireflies. I love u2. I love talking about how I got to where I am today.
But there is a part of my life I don't like to talk about. In fact I am afraid to talk about it. I am even more afraid to write it down.

Yet the other day a sweet girl asked me to tell my story. She reminded me so gently that part of my story helps her. That by being vulnerable I am telling all of my story and hence His story.

I am not sure when the depression started. If I had to guess it would be around the age of fourteen. I had been sexually assaulted and we had lost in the court system.

I remember thinking that I wanted to be valued. I wanted to be loved. I wanted someone to pay for my pain. So I began to look anywhere I could for someone to pay attention to me.

And as I searched I became lonelier. I would look in the mirror and cry. How could I be so ugly. How could I be so fat.  How I could I not do anything right.  How  could I not be smarter. How could I not be loved.
As these thoughts suffocated me I began to drown in self destructive thoughts and actions. Seeking out those around me that could give me what I needed. And as I sought I began sinking deeper and deeper.
Years, decades have passed. And I still struggle. Struggle with the self perceptions.

Struggle with the baggage I have brought. To my children. To my marriage. Struggle with the darkness that tries to invade me. Struggle with the fear of going back.
Daily though I need to remind myself of these truths.
- I am perfectly and wonderfully made.
-I am a princess of the King
- I am forgiven
-I am a new creation. The old is gone, the new has come.

So if you are fearful. If you are struggling. If you feel as if you are drowning. Know this.
-You are perfectly and wonderfully made,
-You are a princess of the King
-You are forgiven
-you are a new creation. The old is gone. The new has come.

And you are not alone.

By: sheli massie

[Judy Harder]

     

(in)courage
   
How to Turn a Bad Day Around

Oct  6 2011

I snuggled down deeper in the quilt. I was sound asleep, in that dream-place that feels good from head to toe.

I was oblivious to clock and sun and in a calamity of events, neither did their job.

The frantic doorbell woke me. I sat straight up to blinking digital numbers and jolted to the kitchen, dumbfounded that I had overslept an hour. My kids were still asleep, now late for school.

I sent my carpool, doorbell-ringing friend on and my kids stumbled down the stairs, grumbling and frustrated.

I pushed them to brush teeth and hair and barked orders that come with the hurried life.

Rush. Hurry. Push. Fret.

I dropped each off at school, hoping the quick prayer and apology calmed their abnormal morning.

Pulling up the driveway, I turned the car off and took a deep breath. Still pajama-clad, with messy hair, I sat still, trying to remember if my kids ate breakfast in our haste.

Guilt hung heavy and I bowed my head in defeat. Four words flashed: It's a bad day.

The clock didn't even read 8:30 A.M. yet and my day was doomed with unspoken thoughts.

I tried to find my routine, but failure clung through the quick shower. I dressed and sat down at my desk. The house was quiet, messy, accusing.

But then my day turned completely around.

It wasn't good news that cleared away the bad morning blues. It wasn't something witty I read or said on Twitter or any one thing I can blame.

It was a simple choice.

To turn a bad day into a good one.

I started over-with simple thanks, a word to My Father, a call to my hubby (spilling it all out), a reminder to myself that I'm only human and that maybe we all needed that extra hour of sleep.

I was feeling better with each thought.

And the Scripture I rehearse, His mercies are new every morning. . .I changed to every minute. Because they are. New, all day long.

I used to think when I tried to diet and failed, I'd have to wait for an entire revolution of the the clock to start calorie-counting again. And I would just keep failing all.day.long.

But a bad moment or hour can still be a day we give thanks.

How we turn a bad day around:

Recognize it for what it is
Look for the lesson
Make a conscience choice to be thankful
Give it to God and ask for a restart
We are all going to have bad days, it's just a part of the good life.

But we always have a choice to turn the bad into good.

What's the key for you to turn a bad day  into a good?

by Kristen Welch, We are THAT family

[Judy Harder]

(in)courage
   

What Women Fear: Chapter One
He Provides
Rhythm And Balance
What Women Fear: Chapter One

Oct 7 2011

We are looking forward to diving in today to chapter one – fear of the what if – with Brandi.

Here's what Ang had to say about why she picked Brandi for this chapter.

I have had the honor of knowing Brandi for several years. Not only as my pastor's wife, but also as a friend, fellow mommy, and small group member. I respect her for so many reasons and knew that she would have valuable thoughts about any chapter we asked her to jump in on. When I prayed over the girls we chose and picked chapters for them, I remembered a conversation I had had with Brandi very shortly after Audrey died. There was such a tenderness in the way she dealt with my loss while facing the fact that the "what if" fear looms for all of us. I just know you'll love her...Brandi, thank you for being exactly who you are and for blessing us with the model of a woman who serves the Lord and also knows how to laugh her head off and cry with us when we need you. Much love.


Please share your thoughts about the chapter in the comments.

Peace,

Ang and Jess

He Provides

My mom was telling me about a bird they were watching at her work. The mama bird was busy making a nest, in a tree, right along side the sidewalk. No concern about people walking so close by everyday. I couldn't wait to see it.

What I saw was this beautiful, messy, perfect nest.

A nest complete with pieces of a blue tarp, feathers, yarn, grass, some netting, a little plastic and I am sure some things I could not quite figure out.  I admired her creative use of so many things to create her nest. To create a home for her babies.  She made perfect use of all she was provided with. She had all she needed.


It made me think... do we believe we have everything we need? Truly believe? Do we trust that we have everything we need? Everything we need. Just like this mama bird. He provides for us always and He provides for us abundantly.

They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. Matthew 14:20

Left over. More than enough. Abundance.



We may think we need this. We may be sure we need that, but what we truly need is provided to us. He knows our needs and He provides. Isn't it faith to believe that?

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Isaiah 58:11

Having the faith of knowing all is provided gives us open eyes. Eyes to not look past what is provided for us. Just like that beautiful mess of a nest. It may have not looked like something to build a home out of, but the mama used it and it was all she needed.

We have what we need provided to us. The question is do we have faith to see it?

By Jennifer, StudioJRU



Rhythm and Balance

Summer naturally is a time when we all let go of any sense of routine that we might have and let things slide. Cooking, cleaning, academics, sports and so many other things aren't quite so pressing. But as summer has come to an end, I've found myself and many of my friends declaring how desperate we all are to get into some sort of rhythm. We've been back in school for nearly a month now, and I find myself waking up every day wondering if this is going to be the day, the week, the month that we finally find some sense of routine?

It finally dawned on me that it's not going to happen.

Rhythm is defined "as the movement or procedure with uniform or patterned recurrence of a beat, accent, or the like." To be honest, most of the time my life sounds like the wonky beat of some strange jazz song. While there is a basic routine to our days: we wake up, eat breakfast, head off to school, come home etc etc, there is so much that happens within each of those moments that can throw off even the closest resemblance to a pattern.

And I realized this week, that in my striving for some sort of rhythm, I am the one creating the wonky beat.
As I try to move my family within this beat that I'm trying to set, I'm not allowing their beats to sound.

So, this week as Monday dawns and a new week approaches, I am not going to strive for a rhythm to our days; I am going to strive for balance. Like a metronome that sounds a repeated back and forth, consistent, dependable, available note.

But it's not going to be me setting that note or me trying to create anything.
It's going to be the constant balance of me relinquishing every moment to Him.
The consistent sound of me laying every second down before Him.
I'm going to strive for nothing more than resting in the comfort that
He is in control and He is going to hit that balance
back and forth, back and forth and never miss.

I'm going to pray that the rhythm,
the beat,
the balance in my life is nothing more than His refrain.

by aimee, living a constant pursuit towards the One who knows me best

[Judy Harder]

     

(in)courage
   

Musings From The Sandwich Generation

Oct  8 2011

Sometimes the only sliver of peace in the midst of a busy life is right smack dab in the middle of the shower. Many a great revelation has come to me as I stood under the flow of hot, running water with the steam rising up to meet me. I can stand there under the shower head and suddenly remember where I left my keys, or that I still haven't picked up my sewing machine from the repair shop, or that I forgot to take the trash can to the curb and now it will have to wait another week until the truck comes by again.

So it should come as no surprise when I tell you it was in the shower that one day I realized I am a piece of baloney. At least that's the way it came to me at first. And I said it out loud. "I am a piece of baloney," said I.

You've heard of the sandwich generation, haven't you? Someone, somewhere (probably in a shower with a rain fall shower head) stumbled upon the idea that those of us who care for both our parents and our children, are sandwiched between the two. It's a strange phenomenon. We wrestle with whether it's time to take the car keys from our parents at the same time we try to make peace with giving the car keys to our kids. We wonder how to ask our parents if they need help paying for groceries while teaching our children about budgets and savings and tithes. We move our parents into the guest room and then move our children into college dorm rooms. Sometimes it's a tight squeeze.

And so it came to pass that one day I stood in the shower and realized I was indeed sandwiched between the two. I was trying to manage life between my own two teen-aged children and my wonderful mother-in-law who would soon turn 90. I felt just the way a piece of baloney must feel when it's slathered in mayo and smushed between two slices of white bread.

"I am a piece of baloney," I said twice to the exhaust fan straining to empty the tiny bathroom of steam as it billowed from behind the shower curtain. I squeezed soapy water from the washcloth in my hands and watched as tiny bubbles ran over my toes and down the drain.

There was no great word from heaven. No song or profound quote that fell from the sky. Just me and the steam and the water and the washcloth. And the fact that I know I'm not really a piece of baloney. A great revelation, for sure.

[Judy Harder]

A Sunday Scripture

Oct  9 2011

Psalm 23
A psalm of David.

1 The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name's sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

{Related link: Psalm 23 Little Lambs collection}

[Judy Harder]

Snapshots of Faith: Bare Your Soul & Find Your Voice

Oct  11 2011

A snapshot I took while peddling on bike

Don't examine whether your voice is worthy. Give it freedom out of your heart and you'll be true to who God's made you.
I love my digital camera.

It has revolutionized my life.

I am no longer limited to 12, 24, or 36 exposure rolls.

I can capture the moment with as many rapid fire clicks as I want — while laughing, gulping back tears, or half-falling off my bike pedaling.

I don't have to worry. I'm sure to find one or two good pictures out of the gazillion shot.

The best ones are the unplanned moments.

Candid. Surprising. Real.

Because of faith, finding my voice has taken me on the same journey.

This journey is called freedom.

This journey is all about faith.

Keeping Me Silent
The hardest part of writing is sitting down, to just start writing. Whenever I do, competing voices often love to keep me silent.

You're too sentimental.

You're too serious.

Critical voices. Opposite views of how I sound, leaving me no room to speak.

Written out, they blink harmless on the screen.

If these are the only voices I listen to, they put a lid on my heart.

They cause me to hide.

Baring Your Soul
Writing is like life.

We all want to find our voice.

If you're on the journey to self-expression — whether it be through weaving words together, knitting new friendships, embarking on new opportunities or walking through a season of loneliness or grief — I want to encourage you.

Give voice to who God has made you.

Whatever season in life you're entering into, God is speaking through your story.

Jesus wants us to be free from the voice of critics.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." John 10:10

Jesus wants us to hear His voice.


"The sheep follow him because they know his voice.
I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." John 10:4,11

When Jesus tells us He lays down His life, He uses the Greek word "psyche" — translated soul.

Jesus bared His soul for us.

We can do the same for Him, giving voice to our likes and dislikes.  Even in our frailties and our greatest fears about our dreams.


When we tune into what God has to say about our voice, our soul is free to speak.


It's our natural human response to hide when we want to protect ourselves from criticism or comparison.

Jesus invites us to do otherwise.  Jesus whispers –

Speak.
You are safe because you belong to me.

Faith Exposures
God wants us free to live snapshots of life — in season and out of season.

As we do, we leave a trail of our true selves, pieces that reflect our days of stress, as well as days of sunshine.

The parts of us we try to hide — and the ones we like to present — all make up our whole.

Don't throw away the parts of yourself that appear to not have very much use.

Think of your writing — your living — as snapshots of the real you, which includes times of low tides as well as waves that climb so high, you can't contain the crash of inspiration and words.

Writing — or any self-expression in the moment or upon reflection — produces a beautiful set of exposures when developed by faith.

In God's eyes, the pictures of our lives capture beauty, like the trajectory of the sun rising up to meet the dawn and it's descent into the night, making use of every shade of thought and emotion.

Darkness and light over time will bring out the beauty of your life.

Step out and keep living your story.

Something beautiful is emerging.

It's Christ in you.




~~~~~

"I care very little if I am judged by you or any human court;
indeed I do not even judge myself.
My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent.
It is the Lord who judges me."
~ The Apostle Paul, 1 Cor. 4:3-4

~~~~~


~~~~~

How is God encouraging you to give voice to your soul, on your journey of faith?

Pull up a chair. I love company and enjoy hearing your thoughts. Click to share a comment.

~~~~~

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




** Don't miss! ** Today's post is { Day 11 } of a 31 Day Series on Faith Barista.  I'd like to invite you to join me on my journey this month — 31 Days to Feed Your Soul.

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One Gift That Reaches Farther Than You Think {Link up your review!}

How the gift took shape surprised me.

I assumed I would record myself reading the Recordable Storybooks for my niece and nephew. I pick up the sturdy hardbacks, flip through a couple of them thinking about which one would go to whom. Then of course, there was the question of who should get the extras.

"Hmmm," I think to myself as I tap the book covers. "My kids are probably too old for these."

So I mentally roll through names of family and friends with younger children. Just then my 8 year old {very} active daughter whirls around the corner, zooming in on the books in my hands.

"Oooooh, Mama! What are these?" she asks with doe eyes wide.

I hand her Bedtime Prayers and Promises and explain these books are stories that record the voice of the person reading it.

"Oooooh, Mama! Can I have one? Can I record myself reading it?"

"Well, of course!" I answer, a bit surprised at her enthusiasm. I guess she's not too old?

"Who are getting all these?" she asks plopping down on the sofa next to me.



"Well, I thought one could go to Hope and one to Sutton..."

"Ooooh, yes! And can I please, pleeeease record Hope's?"

I smile and hand her I Love You Head to Toe.

Later a son comes downstairs and asks if he can read his nephew Sutton's book. I hand him All Day Long with Jesus.

He reads and records. I listen happy that my big boy wants to do this.



After dinner I'm scrubbing dishes and thinking about their reaction over the books and attributing their enthusiasm to the novelty of them. That's when my daughter finds me in the kitchen. She tilts her head and holds up her book before saying,

"Ya know, Mama, there's just something special about reading these words out loud. I can't really describe it, it just feels good."

I'm holding my drippy dish sponge and staring at her. Perhaps her enthusiasm is due to more than the book's novelty? Perhaps she knows and understands there is power in the God-breathed spoken Word?

Later when she's asleep and I'm pulling books off her bed to stack them on the bookshelf, I notice she has written the name 'Philip' – one of our Compassion children – on the last page. True, his name is spelled Felipe, but no matter. I smile seeing how this power extends far beyond our walls and driveways. And I know she knows and understands.

I leave her room praying Hope, Sutton, and all those receiving the Recordable Storybooks know and understand, too.

Kristen Strong, Chasing Blue Skies

{If you are hosting your own review of these amazing Recordable Storybooks, link it below!}

[Judy Harder]

in)courage
   

What Women Fear: Chapter Two
A £2 Mistake.
Finding Time To Quiet My Soul
What Women Fear: Chapter Two

Oct 12 2011

We are looking forward to diving in today to chapter one – fear of the what if – with Trish.

Here's what Ang had to say about why she picked Trish for this chapter.

I knew Trish would be perfect for this chapter because of her personal story of betrayal and ultimately, a beautiful redemption. Trish and her husband Justin are open about a dark time of infidelity in their marriage, and in the quietness of our Bible study group, I have been able to experience the way the Lord has moved in her life. He is making beauty from ashes with their ministry, and her wisdom, tenacity, and sheer dedication to live a life that pleases the Lord is infectious. Trish, thank you for opening your wounds so that we could begin to heal our own.


Please share your thoughts about this chapter in the comments below!

Peace,
Jess and Ang

A £2 Mistake.

We had a barbecue last weekend on the huge grassy knoll at the University of Edinburgh. University students love free food, so we think it is fun to feed them and talk about Jesus. Hamburgers. Hot dogs. Cheese. We had all the things you'd expect to see at an American barbecue... except baked beans. [Um, did you know that Scottish folk eat baked beans for breakfast? Ick.]

The BBQ Master, John, needed to leave a bit early, abandoning his BBQ gear, knives, towel, and apron. I volunteered to bring his things back to my house, wash 'em up, and then return them, unharmed.

Unharmed.

[Can you see where this is going?]

Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm a good girl. I don't like to make mistakes. I especially don't like when my good intentions backfire.

[Can you see where this is going?]

Fast forward: I ripped one of the straps off the apron when I pulled it out of the washer.

I was furious. Absolutely furious with myself.

Because good girls don't make mistakes and good girls aren't supposed to screw up ESPECIALLY when the good girl is doing something, well, GOOD.

[I can feel the heat crawling up my neck just writing about it... so obviously we have an issue on our hands.]

Operation "Keep This Mistake A Total Secret And Fix It Quick" began.

I found a little alterations shop in my village and I hurried down there, dropped the apron off, prayed they wouldn't accidentally make it into a pair of trousers, and planned to pick it up later that afternoon.

Afternoon came and I was about to pass by the shop with my friend Dana. It's about half a mile from my house, so I had a bit of a conundrum.

I could pass by the shop, never say a word, walk an extra mile, save face and pride, and go back later to get the apron. Or I could stop in and grab the repaired apron.

I'm in my second read of Emily P. Freeman's Grace for the Good Girl, and I thought, "Emily would tell me to stop and confess and pick up the apron." To accept the grace for this good girl's mistake.

We stopped and picked up the apron.

It cost me £2. TWO. POUNDS. That's it. Such a cheap mistake. But man, it weighed heavy on my heart.

I told Dana the whole story and she said, "I get it. But it's no big deal."

We walked quietly for a few blocks.

Then I looked over to Dana and said, "I think that as long as I am perfect, I deserve to be loved. If I make a mistake, and people know, then they get to choose whether the love me or not. I don't want to give them that choice."

And my own depravity made me cry.

It's a mistake that only cost £2 to fix, but I think it's gonna take a bigger investment of time to fix my good girl ways.

I'm still working it out.

by Annie Downs // AnnieBlogs

Finding Time To Quiet My Soul

As a little girl, I would spend many summer hours in my parent's swimming pool.  Taking a deep breath, I would stay under water and watch as all of the bubbles around me floated to the top.  For a few brief seconds, I was able to be alone and quiet my soul before I had to come up for air to the world around me.

Today, I wished I had a moment to escape from the busyness of my life.  Between taking care of my one year old twin daughters and trying to keep the house clean, I barely have a moment to myself.  My days begin with changing dirty diapers and serving breakfast as fast as I can to avoid a morning meltdown.  After breakfast, as I scrub the leftover food from their trays, I feel two sets of little hands grabbing at my legs for attention.  Then, these hands help me unload the dishwasher, leaving me with silverware that once again has become dirty.  My momentarily neat house is quickly ambushed by my toddlers, littering the Swiffer swept floors with toys of all shapes, colors, and sizes.  When I retrieve the dirty clothes from the bathroom, I discover my grown dog inside the bathtub with the girls trying their best to get in with him.

How did this become my life?

In Psalm 23:2-3, David talks about how the Lord makes him lie down in green pastures, leads him beside quiet waters and how He restores his soul.  As moms, we hardly ever slow down and are always thinking of what we need to do next.  When is there time to find a green pasture to lie down in?  It is exhausting caring for the whole household and it is hard finding time to be alone.   But, not only do we desire to have some "me" time, we need it. Life as a mom is always going to have screaming children and houses to clean. In order for us to give to our families, we must take time to refuel and rest in the comfort of our Savior.

I could easily view each day as a chore instead of a gift. Sure, parts of the mom duties aren't so much fun, but the opportunity to love those two blue-eyed girls makes the chores all worthwhile.

If I take a moment to rest and find my own quiet waters to sit by I can get a good dose of God's peace. This peace gives me strength to get through each day and enjoy it wholeheartedly.

Till next time, let your light shine!

By: Christen,  The Uncontainable Truth

[Judy Harder]

     

(in)courage
   

--I Bet You Think This Song is About You

Oct 13 2011

I have a rash on my face. An awful, red, itchy rash. All over my face, my neck, my chest and, as of this morning, my hands.

The medical explanation is an allergic reaction, possibly to poison ivy blowing around the park on a windy day. The treatment is a long list of prescriptions, sticky ointments and hand washing until my knuckles crack. But none of that really matters.

——————————


A few days ago, my husband and I had time for a quick dinner alone before he headed to work. On the way to our new favorite Mexican restaurant, I combed my hair and reapplied my makeup. By the time we arrived I felt kinda-sorta pretty.

But the first thing my husband said when we sat down in a corner booth was, "What's wrong with your face?"

Now, he truly asked out of concern and had no idea that I'd been imagining him noticing my good hair day as we sat eating salty chips. And, he was right to be concerned. As I carefully touched my chin, I realized that spot I'd been mindlessly scratching earlier in the day was now flaky and bumpy and, yes, itching like crazy again.

As the night wore on, the rash spread over my jawline and up over my cheek. And by the time I woke up the next morning, my face was nearly covered with red, bumpy blemishes that were screaming to be scratched.

A not-so-quick visit to urgent care resulted in an inconveniently located shot, prescriptions and instructions not to touch the infected parts of my face. The doctor assured me that I was not contagious and should just enjoy myself at my daughter's birthday party that afternoon.

Easier said than done! As my family began arriving for the party, it wasn't the itching or the inflammation that bothered me so much. It was the humiliation of showing my face – my red, bumpy, ugly face.

I wished for a shirt that said, "Yes, I have a rash on my face. No, it is not contagious." I longed for a mask or a veil or a shroud of any kind to cover myself. And I wanted to just hide in my room (and scratch) until everyone left.

——————————

Several days have passed since the party, and my face is still a wreck. My mom encouraged me to look on the bright side and be thankful I don't have to go to an office looking like this. She's completely right, but I still feel like a leper, avoiding eye contact and walking on the opposite side of the street grocery store aisle.

Simply put, I feel ugly. I've tried joking my way around my feelings and acknowledging what a ridiculous situation this is and remembering that it's temporary and not the end of the world. But what has nailed me in the chest every time I leave the house or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror is this: I. Feel. Ugly.

Today, as I was wondering about the surprising strength of this reaction, I realized it stems from vanity and misplaced self-value. Immediately, Carly Simon began belting "You're So Vain" in my head, taunting me and echoing those catchy words. The song might be stuck in my head for several hours now, but I'm thankful for the reminder that focusing on my appearance, my face, my beauty (or lack thereof) is never going to make me happy, rash or not.

I turned to the Word and was reminded that God sees our true, inner beauty – and that is really all that matters. No rash, no gray hairs, no wrinkles, no chubby or skinny parts can take away what He sees when He looks at His creation, His beloved.

Perhaps today your own face is blemished, your jeans feel too tight or your hair won't lie flat. Take comfort in these words of truth and remember that you are beautiful in God's eyes.

The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart. (1 Samuel 16:7b)
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. (2 Corinthians 4:16)
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. (Proverbs 31:30)
Let your beauty not be external by the braiding of hair and wearing of gold jewelry – but the inner person of the heart, the lasting beauty of a gentle and tranquil spirit, which is precious in God's sight. (1 Peter 3: 3-4)

Are you vain? Do you feel ugly? Do you know (do you? really?) that the God of the entire world thinks you (yes, you) are beautiful and lovely and, most importantly, lovable?