(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

Why You Really Can Be Confident
Dec 12, 2012 12:20 am | Holley Gerth




photo credit:clever cupcakes

My husband holds the iphone in his hand and reads ancient words still alive today. I hold my hand up for him to pause. "Wait," I say, "Read that part again." I think in my non-morning person fogginess I must have heard it wrong.

He repeats, "Faith is confidence...." {Heb. 11:1}

Huh.

I heard right after all.

But those words made me wonder what I hadn't been hearing at all, for all my life.

Of course faith is the secret of confidence.

Why had I never made the connection before?

I tend to think of faith as external while confidence comes from within.

But isn't that where faith really comes from too? From our hearts and the One who dwells within them?

I sit back on the couch, rest my head on my pajama-pant-covered legs, sip my coffee.

It feels like a big moment. Because this changes everything.

It means not only can I be confident but also if it's part of faith then I'm commanded to be confident.

Confidence isn't prideful. In the Kingdom, it's actually a synonym for humility. Because the very act of faith means bowing our hearts to another. And only the humble can do so.

I can be confident.

You can be confident.

We can walk through this world with heads and hearts held high as Daughters of the King {who wear pajama pants and don't get up on time and who are beautifully messy inside and out}.

Yes, just as we are.

Will you join me, sisters?

Let's say together that we will dare to live with faith, confidence and joy.

Right here. Right now...

And forever.

– Holley Gerth, author of You're Already Amazing

[Judy Harder]

Ripped Jeans & Honest Friends
Dec 13, 2012 12:20 am | Mary Carver




Saying goodbye to summer is never hard for me. After all, the advent of fall weather means I can put away my capri pants, flip flops and [let's be honest] my razor. And it means I can pull out my comfiest sweaters and favorite jeans. That, of course, can be good and bad.

The bad part of jeans weather reared its ugly head last week. No pun intended.

Though I had "buy new jeans" on my to-do list (along with "balance checkbook," "trim nails" and "organize scrapbooking stuff"), I hadn't gotten around to it. Instead, I was making do with two pairs of jeans (neither of which fit well), my weekly wardrobe was depending on a precarious schedule of washing, drying and repeated wearing.

I woke up on a Tuesday morning, grabbed the jeans draped over the foot of my bed and pulled them on. I'd worn them the day before as I ran errands, attended a meeting and laughed with friends over a Chinese dinner. So imagine my surprise when I smoothed my shirt down around my hips and discovered A HUGE HOLE IN THE BACK OF MY JEANS!

I wore those jeans. In public. All day long. And nobody said a word.

After chucking the ruined jeans in the trash and pulling my other pair out of the dryer, I posted about this mortifying discovery on Facebook. I said, "To preserve my dignity and my sanity, I'm assuming that this tear just occurred yesterday and NOBODY NOTICED. Whatever you do, please do not correct these assumptions!"

This, of course, led to a humorous discussion and many kind reassurances from friends who actually have no idea if I've been walking around with holey jeans for weeks (and one promise from a friend who did see me the day before but didn't notice the giant rip between my pockets).

Later, I thought about how desperately I wanted to believe that nobody noticed that tear. And I thought about how I sometimes react the same way to mistakes I make or struggles I can't seem to beat.

Surely they didn't notice what I said . . .
Nobody noticed that I messed up again, right?
I'm just going to pretend like that didn't happen!

Been there? Done that? I have. Many times. It's as if, when I come face to face with a sin or struggle, I revert to childhood, stick my fingers in my ears and sing, "Lalala! I can't hear you!" If I act like I don't know about the problem, after all, maybe everyone else will play along.

But while I want my friends to reassure me that nobody noticed the rip in my jeans (or salad dressing on my shirt or huge zit on my chin), I don't really want them to play along when I try to hide and ignore mistakes or struggles.

It's why I'm thankful for friends who say things like, "Do you think you need to talk to someone about that?" or "Maybe you should try journaling about that . . ." or "I'm not sure that she meant it the way you heard it."

As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.
~ Proverbs 27:17

Do you have friends like that? Are you a friend like that?




To Remember Who You Are
Dec 13, 2012 12:10 am | lynne




I want to rush in and fix it, to step in and fight my son's battle for him – if necessary, knock some heads together.

"No," my husband says, "don't do it."

He looks in my eyes straight. Not blinking. Deep into the places the mother bear no longer slumbers, who has awakened to protect, to maim, to defend.

"We will support him from beside, from a position of strength," my husband says, "not rush ahead of him, putting him in a position of weakness."

He says it quietly, but there is nothing quiet about what is going on inside my heart. I struggle with this truth. Gone are the days when I held my son's hand to keep him from running across the street. Gone are the days when I entered a new classroom to meet the teacher first, while he followed cautiously behind.

At seventeen, our son stands on the brink of adulthood.

We talk about options, the three of us, he, the decision maker, we, now, the advisors.

"You could try this," we say, "or this."
"What do you think of this idea?"
"Are you prepared for this outcome?"
"What will you do if this happens?"

Our son wrestles – with himself, his needs, his pain, his boundaries, and I discover once again what every mother knows– you can cut the umbilical cord, but still be heavy with child.

For three days we talk and struggle into the night, eyes bleary, hearts worn, and darkness, darkness that is always present in the place of death, the last gasp of a dream, the withering of expectations.

I am powerless to put a bandage on his owie and kiss it better. Finally he decides.

"This is what I'm going to do," he says, and formulates a plan.

No longer bent. No longer confused. He sprawls out on the bed, relaxed, a smile on his face. He looks five thousand pounds lighter.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I remember who I am," he says.

I remember who I am. He says it simple, like it is an easy conclusion, but I know people who are three times his age who have never had the courage to declare who they are.

And who they are not.

I am reminded of a story in the book of beginnings, in Genesis 32:22-31, of a man who wrestles. He wrestles in the darkness with God, with his past, and with himself and when the night of wrestling is done, he discovers his true name.

Sometimes we can only find our true selves in the wrestling dark places. And when we discover who we are, we know what to do.

"I remember who I am," my son says and looking at him, I remember who I am too.

I am the mother of a boy becoming a man.

By Lynne Hartke, at Teeter Tottering

[Judy Harder]

Redeeming Christmas
Dec 15, 2012 08:42 am | Kristen Welch


"Momma? Christmas is Jesus's birthday, right?" She asks as we open the box that holds the new pillow, a gift from Dayspring to ou tight.

She knows the answer. I have given the same answer over and over.

She jumps up and starts searching our Christmas tree for the reminder and proclaims, "We need more Jesus on our tree!"



She's right. We always need more of Him.

We light Advent candles and hide baby Jesus.

Then we seek Him.

My kids search, we offer clues. We pepper our dinner time with reminders of the manger and questions about the foretelling.

It's hard, redeeming Christmas. It's difficult to find baby Jesus in Christmas these days. This season has become more about stuff and such and He is crowded out of His own day with each passing year.

I'm on the hunt for an advent conspiracy. I want to take back Christmas from our mixed up world who celebrates a day without The Celebrated One. I hope you'll join me.

If you are sharing about the Redeemed Christmas Line this month, link up below!








Encouragement for the Encourager
Dec 15, 2012 12:20 am | Dawn Camp




Last month I shared a project my daughter and I've begun, a wild promise to pen words of encouragement to readers unknown. Your comments touched me deeply: some brought a smile, others made me cry. I took the anonymous love letter pictured in that post—my first—and left it on a bookstore shelf tucked inside a copy of Holley's book You're Already Amazing, a good read for someone in need of uplifting words.

Last night my daughter and I led a women's meeting at church and told a group that ranged from 12 to 70+ years old about the love letter project. We showed the MoreLoveLetters.com website and watched the video (after passing around a box of Kleenex) and then discussed the power of words penned and notes cherished.

Our pastor's wife, who underwent major and life-threatening surgery this summer, carries two letters enfolded between the pages of her Bible, love notes composed by teen girls and sent when she needed them most. One lady, whose father recently passed on, treasures a box of letters written between the young man and woman who would later become her parents. A woman, recently ill, told how it thrilled her heart to receive a get-well card passed around and signed at church and then given to her.

Words strung together with pen and ink instead of keyboard and screen are far from obsolete, all the more valuable because the author consciously chooses to take time to form them, to search the physical address book instead of auto-filling the "to" line in the email field.

In our group, the younger generation treasures written notes as much as the older.

After talking, we brought out a basket of cards, pens, colored markers, stickers, etc. and began to write. Some ladies wrote anonymous letters to be left for strangers. Other cards were passed around and signed by all, based on prayer needs within the church.

One of my best friends, who produced a small stack of anonymous love letters, told me she hadn't written that much in years.



I had no idea that I would become the girl who needed encouragement in the days that followed last month's post. Ironically, writing the words you need to hear, to be read by someone else, heals you.

I left a love letter anonymously in a public place today. It didn't happen in a moment when I suddenly remembered that it sat in a pocket of my purse. It was in a moment when I felt so low—so in need of encouragement myself—that I remembered what I held and decided to set it free.

Your words of encouragement hold a power you may never realize. Release them, whether scrawled on a lovely card, a piece of notebook paper, or typed in a comment box.

Do you have a story of a special card or letter that you've saved, or one that you received when you needed it most?

by Dawn Camp, My Home Sweet Home

[Judy Harder]

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Our hearts are heavy, and our prayers are with everyone affected by the tragedy in Connecticut.

[Judy Harder]

Quiet.
Dec 17, 2012 12:04 am | Arianne




Today starts a new week. But there's something in the air. Can you feel it? The deep breath that is needed today. Even if it's still a deep sigh.

I find it hard to really talk about anything else at the moment, but I don't want to linger in the wrong spot. I don't want to hover over fear, or shake my fist at the sky or curl up in a ball. I just want to love on people. I want to pray. And I want to be quiet.

One of the lovely women I call friend and colleague lives in Newtown, CT. Her name is Jamie and she is the editor of Simple Homeschool and is talking today about what living in Newtown is really like. I encourage you to read her words and to see today as a fresh day, a fresh word and a moment of quiet.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."

– Matthew 5: 3-9

***

By Arianne, of To Think Is To Create

[Judy Harder]

When "Less" Really Is "More"
New Normal
Dec 18, 2012 12:20 am | Stephanie Bryant


A prayer is answered.

Maybe a long awaited prayer that you can't remember a time you weren't asking the Lord to intervene.

Or He's answered the under-your-breath request in a flash. Maybe before you said 'Amen.'

Either way, somewhere inside, a relieved voice says, 'Finally, back on track.'

Where are you headed? Normal.

The waiting is over. Your life can finally get back to the 'normal' you envisioned.

Why do you want to go back? Frustratingly trying to regain the control you never had. When a gust of holy wind has beautifully rearranged your hair and the pieces of your life. There really isn't a 'new normal.' Yea, you talk about it like it exists, but it's only to cope, instead of embracing the daily adventure that the Prince of Peace has set your feet on.

At this point, you can't see 'normal' in the rear view mirror even if you squinted hard to catch a glimpse. And if you try to look back, to find the way back to 'normal,' to feel safe and familiar, you'll wreck yourself, your surroundings, those you love and the miracle you've been given.

You may not have realized when you started to pray that life would be so different now. Exciting, nervous, adventurous, more Jesus-dependant than when you needed an answer.

Your prayer has set you on a daily adventure with very little that looks like everyone else. Your prayer has revolutionized your life. Your prayer has changed the face of His Kingdom. Don't live like it hasn't and try to go back to the way things were before.

Embrace His answer and love in it.



Dec 18, 2012 12:10 am | debbiemcdaniel


I walked the mall yesterday while my daughter Gracie was at a birthday party.  Should have been a great opportunity to get some Christmas shopping done as I waited, right?  Wrong.  Though I normally love to shop, I somehow felt strangely out of place in all of the frenzy and madness that filled the halls and surrounded the crowds of people.

Everywhere I looked stores, media, and advertising hype seemed to bombard shoppers with relentless reminders of what we "don't" have and what we "need" in order to be "better."

Yet, deep in my heart, I knew that God, in all of His goodness, desired simply to remind us of what we DO have and what brings TRUE peace, joy, and celebration in the midst of this season.  After all, it is Christmas!  Isn't it "our" season to celebrate?  Shouldn't such an amazing time of year be reflected MOST through the hearts of those who believe in the Truth that it brings?  Should greed be allowed to rule over generosity?  Could rudeness ever be complete master over joy?  Would the frenzied, hurried race of the season subdue any sense of peace that should naturally flow from the very reason we celebrate?  My mind raced as I walked, I seemed to go faster and faster, yet never stopping to buy even one single gift.

This morning in reflecting back, I was tempted to feel like I'd wasted my time.  Stress clung to my mind as I thought about all that still needed to be done.  I felt the weight of inadequacy sweeping over me as I compared myself to others who had seemingly accomplished so much more by this date.  Decorations still waited to be hung, shopping still needed to be done, social commitments, already on the calendar, begged for attention, yet in the midst of all, I stop.

The quietness of the moment filled my heart and I could almost hear God whisper to me, "less is more...less of this world leads you to more of Me. More of Me leads you to less of this world."

Ah yes, that's where life is.  I breathe this in, and let it sink deeper, into my mind, into my heart, into my spirit.

So, it's decided.  This year, I'm making new choices.

This year, I will choose to:

let go of the expectations and pressure to make it all Norman Rockwell-ish,

give more generously to those in need,

extend grace to others,

believe the truth that I'm not a better parent based on how much I buy or don't buy for our kids,

be content with what we have,

enjoy people more and things less,

find celebration in HIM.

He.is.the.Reason.we.have.Christmas.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all.  The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:4-7  NIV

By: Debbie McDaniel

[Judy Harder]

Parenting Years
Dec 19, 2012 12:20 am | Deidra




I heard my son's keys unlock the back door early Friday evening. He's twenty-four and in parenting years, that means six years old was just yesterday.

I hardly ever see him during the day. He's got things to do, places to go, people to see. You know the drill. He's grown. I haven't read him a bedtime story in more than a decade; and then some. He's not the hugging type, and when I send him text messages, he answers in one word. Or less.

Every now and then, we'll sit and have conversations about God and science and philosophy and art and I'm amazed by all the things he knows and how he makes me dig deep into things that matter. I don't think there's any way I could love him more. But he's not one for those mushy kinds of conversations.

All day long, I'd been checking in on the news from Newtown, vacillating between tears and disbelief. People on NPR were telling me to hug my loved ones tight and my husband and I reached for each others' hands. But, my children are grown. My daughter lives halfway across the country and my son's got things to do. So, I made tacos and cleaned the kitchen and prayed to God for people who were facing the unthinkable, and just before the news went off on PBS, I heard my son's keys unlock the back door.

I hugged him, and he hugged me back. With both arms. And he let me kiss his forehead and then hold his face between my two hands so I could see him up close. And I told him I love him, and he said it back, and I hugged him all over again, and kissed his forehead and then I held his face between my two hands. I hugged him again. He hugged me back, and I don't think there's any way I could love him more.

He's twenty-four, and in parenting years that means six years old was just yesterday.

[Judy Harder]

Behind the Camera
Dec 21, 2012 12:20 am | Melissa Michaels




I love getting Christmas cards. The smiling faces and coordinating outfits, the perfectly selected backdrops. The yearly record of amazing travels, big blessings and small joys in abundance. It's good to reflect on all that is right in the world, especially when so much seems so wrong. But yes, I know it can be depressing sometimes to get those wonderful Christmas letters, when maybe your own life isn't quite so pretty. Or you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders for others who are hurting.

Is everyone's life as picture perfect as they seem? Perhaps some are, but I'm quite certain that most are not.

We all have hurts, disappointments, frustrations, confusion and seemingly unanswered prayers. They just don't look as pretty on the yearly Christmas card.

No one really wants to get a card that tells the whole truth like that in the mail, right?

Unless it is a holiday picture card like this, then I think we can all laugh. {Go ahead and click, it's worth it}. Because we've been there. We relate.




This is the time of year where bloggers like me have parties to show their homes all dressed up in Christmas finery. Filters and careful cropping mask the imperfections. Perfectly decorated corners filled with handmade crafts and homemade treats, an abundance of holiday cheer and beautiful trees all a glow.  It's all good though, we need to find that corner of peace and beauty in a dark world.

I'm going to venture a guess, that behind the camera there is probably an "undecorated" and slightly-undone-less-than-festive scene just out of view of the lens.

Because, you know, that's life. It unravels.

The good with the bad, the messy with the beautiful. Filtered light permeating dark shadows.

Both sides of the camera tell the true story of the life we lead. Tears mixed with joy. Messes behind the camera. Seeking beauty in front of us while wanting desperately to turn our backs and run away from the sadness and pain around us.

God knew. He knew. He had a plan.

He sent His Son, a perfect gift for us that we might find joy and everlasting life.

No more pain. No more sorrow.

Joy without tears. Life where there was death. Peace where there was pain. Light in the dark.



Merry Christmas, everyone. Praying God's joy and peace for you all.






For The One Who Has Everything...
Dec 21, 2012 12:10 am | Kristen Etheridge




I have a pest control problem.  It's not in the form of rodents or roaches, squirrels or silverfish.  No, it's a bigger problem–a much bigger one–in the form of the red-headed 7 year old that lives next door–Sam.

When we first moved in, I found his frequent visits charming.  I thought the nose prints that adorned my sidelights were endearing evidence of a little boy in search of signs of life within our house.

I chuckled as another neighbor told me of seeing Sam outside our door at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning peering in intently.  I was amused that he watched for our familiar SUV to round the corner and my children to start spilling out of it before making a mad dash across the front lawn to greet us.

But, then, something changed.  And I was annoyed.

I felt like his family took advantage of my generosity and hospitality.  I had my own children, my own set of problems and issues, and it wasn't fair.  I fumed. And, although I never voiced my complaints out loud to him, I'm sure the little guy sensed the shift in my spirit.  I was justified, I reasoned.

After all, Sam would just open my pantry and help himself to snacks.  How rude.  He would whisper requests to my children and have them intercede for him and beg for him to accompany us on outings or stay for dinner or get another snack.  He balked at my rules around naptime and homework time and having no food in the living room.  I overheard him tell my children that I was 'mean.'

And then, one December day, I heard a knock at the door and there, laid at my feet, was a 'present' of sorts. It was a gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with a Diet Coke, a Coke Zero, a sugar-free chocolate pudding cup, an electronic SpongeBob SquarePants toothbrush, and a party favor from the dime section of Party City.  On the outside, written with an ink pen in first-grade scrawl, it said, 'to Abby, Daniel, and Jackson. From Sam.'

It humbled me.  And it broke my heart.

Over the next few days, I thought about the contrast between the humble shepherds and the magnificent wise men. I thought about presents beautifully packaged with sparkly bows, of gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and about dirty, worn-out shepherds with tired sheep draped around their necks–shepherds whose only 'present' was their awe of a newborn King.

The truth is, I am much more like a shepherd than a wise man, and my offerings to my Savior are much like Sam's.  They are humble, a hodgepodge, used, and come without batteries. But, it is all I have to lay at His feet.  And He tells me that He loves me and that it is enough.

I heard Ann Graham Lotz say once that every Christmas she asks Jesus what present she can give Him for His birthday.

She says the answer He whispers into her heart is always one that involves sacrifice.

As for me, I will be loving on the little red-head next door and praying for the supernatural love with which to do it.  It is but a humble offering to the One who already has everything.  It is my Ziploc bag, laid at His feet.

By: Kristen Etheridge

[Judy Harder]

When Your Soul Needs to Feel its Worth
Dec 21, 2012 12:20 am | Emily Freeman


When I was younger, some of the things my parents did sent me into full-out headache mode with all the eye rolling I did.

Why did they drive without turning the radio on in the car?

Why did they take rides together without any place to go?

Why did they continue to make jokes in front of my friends when clearly, they are not funny?



But the things I rolled my eyes at when I was younger are the very things I'm embracing as I've grown up. Give me a quiet car, a ride with my husband with no place to go, a hilarious joke that my kids won't laugh at.

So when I learned just a few years ago what my dad does as he walks the dog every the morning, I was a little more open and a lot less eye rolly. What does he do? He sets the clock.

Sets the clock?

Sets the clock.

Not the literal clock, but his internal clock. He walks outside, breathes in deep, and considers the day in which he stands. It helps him, he says, to pause and consider where he is, what season and time of day it is, and his place in it.



Maybe it's time for a sacred pause, a breathing in of the day and your place in it.

Have you forgotten who you are?

Do you remember where you stand and who stands beside you?

Do you remember Immanuel came, not just way back then, but right this minute?

Do you remember that he said It is better for me to go away – I will send a Comforter to be with you.

Do you remember that means He is not merely with us, but within us?

Do you remember why a weary world rejoices?

Do you remember why your soul has worth?

Maybe it's time to set the clock. Today is Friday, December 21, 2012.

The world has not ended after all, though for some it might seem so.

We have great hope in Christ, but we may not always feel hopeful. It's important to acknowledge where you are right now no matter what that may look like.

It's important to remember that allowing grief to do its deepest work does not invalidate your faith.

Whether your eyes are filled with love and hope or if your soul sits desperate in the midst of a dark night – might you at least remember that you have been placed on earth, fashioned with care, stunning and valuable? Might you be willing to allow the anxieties to rise to the surface and offer them up to God?

Take a moment to set the clock where your feet now stand. What do you see there?

by Emily Freeman, Chatting at the Sky

[Judy Harder]

Molded Ornaments
Dec 22, 2012 12:20 am | Annie Downs




When I graduated from high school, I began getting serious about my ornament collection.

I mean, I'm sure you understand. All 18-year-olds need to really get focused on the important stuff, like making sure you are well documenting your life through the medium of Christmas ornaments. Also, there is something grown up and forward thinking and very mature about starting an ornament collection. Or so I believed therefore so I did.

For the last fifteen-ish Christmases, my ornament collection has grown. Particularly during my mid-twenties, when I owned my first house and was building my adult life and buying lots of home decor things with my extra spending money because who needs to have a savings account anyways? I accrued ornaments that meant a lot to me.

It's not that each one has some emotional story attached, though some do. I just have a bit of a rose-colored-glasses view of that season of my life. I thought marriage and family were just around the corner and here I was setting up a home that would soon hustle and bustle with lots of stockings hanging from adorable hooks on my mantel. Those ornaments, the Atlanta Falcons painted ball, the #1 teacher star from a 4th grade student, the lace angel, remind me of a time in my life that was full of dreams.

They remind me of when I really started to grow up.

I kept each ornament individually wrapped and stored in a large plastic container, safe from all harm.

Or so I thought.

Until the Sunday after Thanksgiving when I headed down to the basement to retrieve the box of ornaments and what to my wondering eyes should appear?

Soggy ornaments.

All of them.

Wet. Molded. Stinky. Gross.

I'll spare you the details of the situation, of how they got wet and managed to remain in some sort of soggy state since the summer [Yes. The summer.], and how I ended up throwing away over half of my Christmas decor in one evening's purge.

Are you cringing? Is a little piece of you crying and looking over to your tree with a heart full of thanksgiving?

I know. It's awful.

But in some ways, it's okay. In fact, in some weird sense, it was good for me. Those ornaments were purchased to build a life that I never had. And every year, as I hung them on the tree, I remembered that.

Two nights later, after the discovery and the purge, the college small group I lead arrived at my house and they each handed me a brand new ornament. I couldn't contain the tears. While there was nothing wrong with the old, the old was gone. And here were the new – ornaments that speak of my current life, almost every one covered in glitter [it is my favorite color after all], and representing who I am, not who I wish to be.

This year, my tree celebrates a life I love – the good and the bad and the sparkle – instead of a life I want. And I think this is the better way.

PS- I learned how to clean molded ornaments. Just, you know, in case you ever need that kind of information.

By Annie Downs // AnnieBlogs