(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

When All the Negativity & Pessimism is Getting to You
May 24, 2013 02:00 am | Ann Voskamp


My Grandma Barbara Ruth, she ever only saw a cup one way.

Didn't matter if the tea'd been poured out or if the sky'd tipped over or the tap was still running loud.

Every cup she ever held or tipped back or drank from, they were all right empty as far as she was concerned.

She'd been dying of old age since she was 42. Every picnic was bound to get rained out. My grandfather'd be whistling Winn-Dixie and she just knew he was brewing to pick some fiery fight. I loved her like there was no tomorrow. And for Grandma? There likely wasn't going to be another tomorrow.

The thing is apples don't fall far from trees and cups can seem empty for generations.



Seeing the cup as half empty is completely unhelpful.

Really — what's the benefit of being anything other than an optimist?

I never asked Grandma that.

Sometimes I ask that woman in the mirror who looks her, who looks back at me.

That woman who may or may lay awake nights wondering if a son's algebra grades flex enough muscle to pry him into university and if that business idea of his will leave him bankrupt and heart-rent, and if the sky will turn kinder so we can get this year's crop in the ground.

Wondering how can we spend our lives to end poverty and stop oppression and if any of them will go out into this world loving Jesus more than their own comfort and double car garages and culture's applause and their very lives and if their mother has wholly failed them or only just mildly ruined them. Kids eat garbage from dumps. I have yelled. They still bicker.

I see all who they are not. I haven't hugged and prayed and asked for forgiveness enough. The economy could implode next month. I should bake more peanut butter cookies. They should be kinder. Years are ridiculously short and minutes can be relentlessly long and failures can seem eternal.

I have known it, the mornings that I have struggled to get out of bed, the days when I've fumed about all that is wrong in them and me and the world:

When we fixate on the worst in something, we render ourselves incapable of fixing anything.

But attend to the good in something — and we act towards the best in everything.







For our science studies, I sit in the middle of the couch, in the middle of a bunch of kids and I read about weather and seasons and the pressure of air.

"What do you know about this ocean of air you live in?" I read it from the newsprint, yellowed page.

"It's hard to picture something you can't see. It's hard to believe something is real if you can't look at it and touch it." I'm reading words about air and thinking about God. "Are there ways to showing that air is real?"

The science book tells us to get a glass and a bowl of water and Malakai, he runs to the kitchen. We follow the instructions.

"Now turn the glass upside down and push it straight into the bowl of water." I look up at Malakai, Shalom, Levi, all hunched over the bowl.

Kai plunges the glass into the bowl's water. It doesn't fill.



"Why doesn't the glass fill with water?" Malakai grins, shrugs his shoulders.

"You thought the glass was right empty? In actual fact — it's right full." Malakai tilts his head at that angle.

I read the text. "The glass doesn't fill with water — because the glass is right full of air."

And I tilt my head and re-read my life.

That rhetorical question asking if your glass half empty or half full? The truth is that the glass is never half empty — or half full.

The truth is the glass is always right full.

You may not be able to picture what you can't see but only real things fill up space. And the real reality is that your glass is really right full.

And at this angle, the one with the glass so full that it pushes back an ocean of doubt, the world reads differently and the cynics don't wear wisdom but the shoddy armor of the worried and wounded.

The cynics donning armor because they're the aching, the afraid not wanting to be disappointed. It's the cynics who have a limited, bruised vocabulary of no. It can seem easier to reject the world before the world hurts you again.

It's the brave who say a prayerful yes, the brave and wise who believe that the faith-filled yes is what heals things.

It's the brave and free who are the optimists.

And to be an optimist — for a moment, you first have to be a pessimist.

Because sometimes you can only be an optimist when you have a plan for the pessimist in you. So, you play out the law of Worst Case Scenario: What is the worst thing that could possibly happen?

And there aren't wolves, trouble, kids, hatred, debts, messes, betrayal, teenagers, disease, lack, hard times, untruths, diagnoses, or disappointment that can possibly separate you from the love of God. Nothing can separate you from Him.

So the Worst Case Senario? Is only the scenario of not wanting Christ the most.

So the Worst Case Scenario — is only a possible scenario if you want something more than Christ.

If you want Christ the most — there is no worst case scenario.

Live and He's using everything to shape you more into Christ and abundant life in Him.

Die and you have eternal life in Him.

Abundant life versus eternal life — it's impossible to lose!

You can't lose.

When you have a plan in place for the worst — you never go to the the place of worry. And the plan for when all hell breaks lose is that Christ's already broken the power of hell and to live is Christ and to die is gain, so the plan is always joy.

I say yes to a boy who wants to try a crazy experiment of his own.

I begin to make loveliness by picking up one lego. Write one letter and a string of hopeful words to a child in a dump. Focus on the good in a struggler and a straggler. Believe just this moment that everything is being transfigured for His glory. Every step towards something beautiful already accomplishes something beautiful. Beauty and joy are found in every overcoming along the way.

I reach over and brush a hand with belief.

Only those who believe in the beautiful — can collaborate in the miraculous.



The new world is not a mirage. The Kingdom's already coming. If you still long enough in prayer — you can hear its breathing.

You can hear the air filling the lungs of the resurrected and risen ones, filling all the earth.

On the sill, I leave this glass out.

This glass already and always right full...



::

Q4U: How do you most often view your glass? Let's all jump in and make this a resource to help each other believe in the beautiful:  What verse, what song, what comfort, what great idea — got a link for us? What really works for you when you aren't feeling overly optimistic?

[Judy Harder]

A Memorial Day Weekend Scripture
May 26, 2013 01:20 am | incourage




We always thank God for all of you
and continually mention you in our prayers.

We remember before our God and Father
your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love,
and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.
1 Thessalonians 1:2-3

On this Memorial Day weekend, we want to take a moment to remember all of those who have given their lives for our country. Our gratitude, our appreciation, our respect – it pales in light of the sacrifices you have made. To everyone who serves in our military and to everyone who loves someone who serves in our military, thank you. Our hearts are full, thanking God for all of you today.

[Judy Harder]

On This Memorial Day :: For The Heroes And Those Who Love Them
May 27, 2013 01:20 am | Kristen Strong




If looks could kill, she vaporized me on the spot.

In spite of her laser beam pupils boring into me, I kept my voice level. Calmly and gently, I addressed my concerns with her child's behavior towards my son, behavior my husband and I believed akin to bullying. She laughed in response, only taking her eyes off me to throw them skyward in an exaggerated roll. Incredulous, she informed me of her knowledge that my husband was in the military, so if any child around here acted like a bully, it was mine. When I asked her to explain what she meant, she crossed her arms and shot words like bullets, listing a litany of lifestyle and discipline habits associated with "soldiers in the military."  It soon became apparent she believed we ran our household boot camp style, spitting out tyrannical little bully children in the process.

When I relayed the above events to my husband, he was none too happy no positive resolution to our son's situation could be found. But in regards to the other mother's opinion of the military, he encouraged me to make peace with this truth:

Sacrifice is part of the job, and losing the good opinion of a few misguided people isn't the biggest price.

So many pay a higher price by sacrificing everything.

"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."  ~John 15:13

We only have to look from one nail-pierced hand to the other to see the God-created rhythm of sacrifice for a greater good. It's true: all good things come at a cost, all things that require service require sacrifice. So brave men and women serve voluntarily so you and I can live abundantly, singing freedom's song.

To all the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine, and Coast Guard servicemen and women, we at (in)courage offer a hearty standing ovation as gratitude for your selfless service. You are brave heroes. You give so much and expect so little. It does not go unnoticed.

To all those family members of our military, we at (in)courage offer you a seat of honor at our table. You are fierce, courageous, generous, strong, flexible while unwavering. You are brave heroes, too. Thank you for all you do behind the scenes.

And to those families of the fallen, may you feel Jesus close to you on this Memorial Day and always. May you feel loved mightily by the One who knows the sting of loss Himself, the One who holds you in the palm of His hand and in the depths of His heart.

We lift you up today.

And we say thank you.

Kristen Strong, Chasing Blue Skies


Are you a military wife *or* do you know someone who is? Yes? Well then, may I hand you a carefully gift-wrapped present? To honor the significance of your own sacrifices (and those of your loved ones), I have written the ebook Serving You: 31 Days of Encouragement for the Military Wife. And on this Memorial Day as well as tomorrow (Tuesday, May 28th), you may download your copy for FREE. Click here for all the details.



Wait! I'm not done!

Today is my birthday, but the folks at (in)courage and I are offering *you* the chance to receive a few encouraging gifts: the Miss You card set, the Serving Others card set, *and* the Lisa Leonard Gold Connected Hearts necklace.





All 3 items will be given to 3 randomly-drawn commenters below and will bless military and civilian folks alike. Drawing ends this Thursday, May 30th.

If you have a loved one serving at home or abroad in the military, might you leave his or her *first* name in a comment so we can pray? And if you don't, might you leave a word of encouragement to our military and their families?

[Judy Harder]

Touching The Artistic Life You've Hidden Deep Inside
May 28, 2013 01:20 am | Bonnie Gray


"Bonheoffer said that when Christ calls a man he bids him come and die. He never said there wouldn't be brothers and sisters reaching down in joy, arm in arm, to start the long, difficult climb out from the grave together."  ~ Kevin Marks

There's an artists meeting.

Happening tonight.

A bunch of creative types. Painters, designers, illustrators, poets, dancers, musicians... writers.

I got the email a few weeks ago.

And thought, "Who... me?"

An artist.

Hmm... No one had ever called me that before.

But here I was being invited to this gathering — because a few weeks before that, I ran into a guy at church in the parking lot.

I was actually there to steal wi-fi. My son's preschool was ending earlier that day. So, I had a little time to burn before picking him up.

Church was close by. So I thought I'd swing by, drive to the back of the church where no one could see me, and try to do some writing.

But, I couldn't log on. I thought I had the right wi-fi password.

So, I looked around. And saw a guy, getting ready to step into his truck.

It was Kevin. The church's creative arts director.

I called out to him across the pavement. "Hey...Kevin...! Do you know the passcode to get to the wi-fi?"

It turns out the wi-fi didn't reach out that far. You had to be inside the building in order to get the wi-fi signal.

Something Unplanned
I hadn't talked to Kevin since last year. I said hi once. I was new to the community at the time (still am, really) and didn't know anyone yet. I was drowning in the deepest part of post-traumatic stress last year, when I would hardly venture out of my house, much less socially engage. I didn't want any talk about writing. It would trigger an avalanche of who-knows-what-kind of anxiety.

When I recovered well enough, I wanted to look into this artist gathering thing at church.

But, I didn't really consider myself an artist. The word artist sounds free. Unhindered. Expressive.

Me?  I'm just trying to figure out how to get words on a page again. Without panic attacks.

Then, I decided in the moment to do something unplanned.

I asked him if he had a few minutes.

"Sure. What's going on?" Kevin asked.

Kevin needed to transport some equipment back to the church office, so I knew there wasn't time to tell him my life story.

So, I just spit it out.

Panic attacks. I think I need to kill the book I started writing. To write a different story. The story I've been journeying through. Stress and anxiety. How I'm finding God even though it looks nothing like I'd want it to.

I'm scared to write this way. Without an outline. Without 10 main points and a pretty bow to wrap up each chapter.

That's how I've always written.

Maybe the truth is that's how I've always tried to live life.

Maybe faith is taking me beyond any points I can come up with – to free His story in me.

So that I'm no longer holding onto anything, except the hand that is leading me.

Walk Off Script
Maybe that's what it means to be an artist by faith.

To walk off script with Jesus, as that little girl out into the world.

Relinquishing any other goal, other than being honest in the moment with Jesus.

About what I'm thinking.

What I'm feeling.

About what I'm needing. And wanting.

To let Him in. So that I won't be alone.

To let others in. So that I don't have to travel the journey of faith alone either.

We are all on our journey of healing, after all.

Looking at the broken pieces that seem to fall out of us now and then.

Picking them up.

And placing them out on the open canvas of our lives.

Not because they make sense. But, because they are real.

They are a part of us.

Because those are the places where Jesus is alive in us.

Saying Yes
Kevin later asked me to come and share with the group about my journey of writing. How it led me to have panic attacks and how they have led me to re-write my life and my book in an entirely new way.

I said yes.

Because I knew behind that email was the whisper of Jesus, inviting me to sit with him there tonight.

To meet these nameless faces of brothers and sisters. With Him next to me.

To open my heart. And share from where I'm at.

The week I said yes, I immediately experienced anxiety and panic attacks. Because you see, I would definitely prefer to keep it all tucked away inside. Just like I have for decades.

This will be the first time I share my journey through post traumatic stress in the skin beyond the privacy of a friend.

And it terrifies me, even though that's where my heart is leading me.

To touch the artistic life I've hidden deep inside.

That Jesus remembers.

The part of me that has tasted pain and longs for beauty all the same.

A Deeper Story
I don't know what I'll say exactly.

But, I want to share how something unexpected and uninvited has begun a discovery of deeper, painful stories in me. But, I want to say — just as passionately — how re-living those stories is bringing me to re-write a new deeper story of faith in me.

This deeper story of faith is the one I'm journeying through with Jesus — live today — with you.

And after tonight, I will have taken one step into journeying in the skin with new friends, who are my brothers and sisters.

And maybe, what I'm attempting to put into words on a page will feel a little less scary, because I'm a little more known in the skin.

Because the parts of me that are broken are walking out into the world.

After all, Jesus gathered with his friends the night He was about to walk out into the world completely broken — unrecognizably broken — by faith too.

Do you find yourself, as I do, drawn to hiding out in the "back parking lot," outside of community, to live your artistic life with Jesus?

Have you been waiting, like me, to get better — to scale the face of a cliff in your heart — before you give yourself permission to open up with others?

That step in your journey of faith — the one you've been trying to be strong and protect yourself from by journeying alone — may be the very thing that brings you connection with others.

That wi-fi I was hoping to squirrel away without being known, to write alone?

The signal was strong and clear, as I opened my laptop, inside the building — after asking if I could come in.

For just a little bit.

"...you are a letter of Christ,
cared for by us,
written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God,
not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts."
~ 2 Cor 3:3

~~~~~

Is there something God is inviting you to share in community — in-the-skin — what you've done mostly hidden alone?

Is there an artistic life that you've never allowed yourself to touch — that God may be whispering for you to draw near?

Pull up a chair.  Click to comment.

Share where you are in your faith journey today — and let's step into each other's stories.

Because giving voice to where Jesus is speaking to you — and listening to each other in this moment with Jesus here — is prayer.

Pray for my heart tonight.  I'm praying for all of ours, along with mine.

~~~~~

If you're on the journey of faith to walk out into the world, I'd love your company.  Join me on my blog as I stumble and journey in community together. Let's keep speaking words of encouragement and friendship with each other in our faith stories — as it's being made and lived.  As is.

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

 

[Judy Harder]

What You Think You're Not Good At Is Only Half The Story
May 29, 2013 01:30 am | Lisa-Jo




"You're just no good at that."

There's a voice that tells me this often.

It's funny how it doesn't matter what I'm doing. I can be cooking or organizing the pantry or picking out new curtains or working on a piece of writing or trying to remember to read the Bible to my kids or planning a conference.

That voice slides into my ear and just says the same thing it always says with the same confidence, "You're just no good at that."

I'm a grown woman with three children, a career that matters to me and a blog where I get to share my ups and downs with women who are strong, and funny, and wise, and also in the raw places of raising kids. And many, many times I believe that voice.

I hear it and it sinks in and I feel tired and the venom travels down my veins and makes me want to just give up. Why bother with writing or figuring out ways to make sense of my kids or this recipe book or the way-too-many curtain choices if I'm not any good at any of it.

Because if I can't make my house look like hers or my kids craft like theirs or the words on this page turn out like his why bother at all?

There's a chocolate milkshake that could make the afternoon feel better and help drown out my stupid nagging voice of uselessness.

Instead I sit at this keyboard and keep typing.

Instead I swallow down the fear and the doubt and keep typing through my racing heart and my lethargic fingers.

Because I know that voice is a liar.

I know that voice is not my own.

I know that voice is a one-way-ticket to walking away from all the glory and the beauty that has been planned into my DNA. And yes some of it will be messy. And some of it won't turn out the way I imagined. And much of it will be a work in progress.

But the some things I might not be perfect at, aren't the sum total of no good.

I might not be good enough, brave enough, profound enough. But the God who made me – He. is. enough.

And maybe today you're scared too?

Maybe there's a voice been whispering how no good at anything you are?

Maybe there's a lie been slyly slipping a measuring stick with impossible units to live up to into your life this afternoon.

Maybe you need a sister to snap that stick in half and hand you a flash light when you're facing the dark. I have a sister who prayed these words over me and I'm bringing them to pray over you. Gather 'round, let me whisper this in your ear:

Dear Lord, I come before Your throne right now, lifting up Your sweet child. Thank You Father for the ways You've uniquely gifted her, and given her a spirit — not of timidity — but of power through Your Holy Spirit. Empower her today and in the coming days for all the things that You have placed before her. We praise you in advance for the ways that You will work in her and through her, so that we can look back on these days, and as sisters, say, "See there, look what the Lord did, right in the middle of the fear!"

Give her the strength and courage to move forward, even when it looks a little bit dark around the corner. Also, give her peace ... Give her a light unto her path, and a lamp unto her feet ... and Lord Jesus, she probably wouldn't mind a big flashlight every now and then, a big Light of reassurance that what's ahead is good and right, and that You are already there ... just like You're here. We love You, Lord Jesus, and it's in Your name we pray ... Amen.

OK, sweet sisters, now take a deep breath and say it out loud and clear into the comments what God has called you to do in this season. Not perfectly – just obediently.

Standing here beside you cheering, from behind this keyboard and right out in front of my own doubting voices,

love,

Lisa-Jo, community manager of (in)courage, mom to three, and sister to you.

[Judy Harder]

 Love And Cough Drops
May 30, 2013 01:10 am | Kristin Gordley




The other morning I was rushing around trying to get ready while my four-year-old was standing in my bathroom, asking me questions. He watched me use my eye lash curler, and then he tried it himself. As we were chit-chatting about all my beauty products and what they do, he said out of the blue, "Mama, your eyes are pretty and your ear wax tastes good!" I tried hard not to laugh, because I knew he had just tried to craft his words into a statement of love. "Thanks, buddy, I really appreciate it".

Lately I've noticed his efforts to connect with me. Recently when I got ready to go out with his daddy for a rare date-night, he said I looked "beauuutiful". My son is very verbal. He has always been unafraid to talk to people when we are out and about. The first question he asks every morning when he wakes up is, "who are we gonna see?"  The wirings God infused in him for enjoying people are already evident. He relishes creative conversations with his dad and I, and he longs for restoration with us when we have to correct him.

But the other day he brought tears to my eyes as I recognized something important he was learning, and in turn teaching me. I had been sick for a few days, and he was enjoying the novelty of playing with my cough drops. While I was getting him and his little brother packed up in the car for a grocery trip, he ran back into the house and stuffed a bunch of cough drops into his pocket. I was a little annoyed because I was trying to get us out the door. On the way to the store he must have asked a hundred times if I needed a cough drop. My repeated "no thank you" turned into, "I'm fine. You don't need to ask me anymore!"

I got them in the cart, into the store, and we were finally making progress. And then I started coughing.....

"Mama, do you need a cough drop?"

I accepted it.....and yet another. And I realized how much I needed his little act of love. In my heart I stopped and thanked God for my son's display of something God has been impressing upon me. Then I remembered the verse that just days before, I found myself studying in a coffee shop.

1 John 3:18

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue,

but with actions and in truth."

I tell my boys how much I love them all the time. I tell my husband, too. I love connecting with people through meaningful conversations, and reaching out with my words is not a struggle for me. But putting actions behind my love is something I don't always find easy.

Watching my son move from verbally telling me how he felt about me, to choosing to act on his feelings was one of the most surprising and humbling moments I've had as a mom. Active love stopped me in my tracks and it challenged me.

We tend to emphasize loving acts that are big, for all eyes to see. But sometimes the smaller ones are the most meaningful.....like a little hand holding out a cough drop at just the right moment.

By Kristin Gordley, Moments In the Story






I realize that there comes a point when you are supposed to say you understand passages in scripture simply because you have heard them repeated thousands of times.

Apparently I am not at that point in my life yet.

So bear with me while I wade through some of my own ignorance, and feel free to jump in with a few hearty "amens" just to make me feel better.

For the past several days, the passage, "The joy of the Lord is your strength" has been running through my mind. I'm not even sure I would have been able to tell you the book of the Bible it was found in (It's Nehemiah 8:10. I looked it up.) but I knew that the Lord was impressing it upon my heart. So I kept saying it to myself throughout the hours. The joy of the Lord, the joy of the Lord...

It wasn't until tonight as I drove home from a providential meeting with a friend that I started to wonder what it really meant. Why did I keep hearing the words, and what could I learn from meditating on them?

Let me just go ahead and say this has been a season of heartache for many reasons. It's all across the board, and none of it will change the scope of my life, but it has hurt. Deeply. And my attempts to wrestle through the waters have only provided me with yet another reminder that I am a horrible swimmer. I get my head just enough above water to gasp for air and then instead of moving toward the shore, I float until another wave crashes. There are patterns in my life where I have continually chosen the route that keeps the horizon at a distance, and I can't say for sure I know why. There's a part of me that wants to be in the current instead of the safety, I guess.

Whether or not it's healthy, I tend to stay in the areas of life that make me feel like my legs are moving, even if it's just to catch a breath here and there and wonder what will come of it all. Because I get a say this way. I get to put effort into it all and feel like I'm calling some of the shots.

But it feels more like drowning than living.

And recently, the Lord has spoken to me in a different way, and He has urged me to move away from how I've always done things. He's been tender with me as He's called me to Himself in my brokenness. He allowed me to see something I hadn't seen before, and I can tell you in all sincerity that it has changed me.

I do like to be out where it's choppy and I'm soaked through with it all. But I don't think I do it for myself.

Ever since I was a little girl, there was a voice in my head that told me I had to save everyone else, and I've listened. I've actually believed that I know what's best (which I don't) and that I'm capable of rescuing (I'm not).

So that was kind of a rude awakening.

But it's true.

I put myself in harm's way many times in my life because I am under the misguided notion that I am the savior, all the while ignoring the facts.

I can't swim.

How can I save anyone?

The joy of the Lord is your strength.

What does that even mean, Lord?

I have always (forgive me. I told you this was going to happen) read this as saying "The Lord's joy." As in, the joy that the Lord possesses. And somehow that was my strength. But I'm not exactly sure how that works out.

As I said, I had a providential meeting tonight, and it blessed me beyond words. Through tears and reminiscing a hard time many years ago, I was reminded of His faithfulness. I was able to see from a perspective I hadn't had before. We looked back at what seemed to be broken beyond repair and we marveled at what it had become.

And I remembered the words that cut her deep. I had said them, and I meant them. I thought she was wrong. And with tears in her eyes she told me she understood now, and she wished she had heard me then. It wasn't even a matter of right and wrong, and little things piled up because that's what life does, and all of a sudden it was a mess that neither of us wanted to try and stack up into meaning.

But here, now, well-

We could see it.

The joy of the Lord is your strength.

It isn't the joy that belongs to Him-it's the joy that belongs to us because we believe in Him.

It's the joy that comes when everything around us rattles and moans because we believe in something unshakeable.

It's the place we land when we stop believing we know everything of His will and we rest in the safety of grace, knowing He can do what we never could.

It's the joy that leads us to the place we have been called to be; the shore.

Where our toes are bathed in shallow mercy and our eyes watch far out into the water where He is always saving. It's where we stood tonight, and it made sense from here-all of it.

It's where we see Him working and not ourselves. The joy...

And it's spectacular.

What does strength mean? Does it just mean we get to be really brave and tough? No.

According to the original Greek, the word "strength" (ma' owz) means "A place of safety, protection, refuge, stronghold." It means, "A harbour."

Feeling joy because we trust the One who made the waves is what shelters us from the tossing of the waves. The joy of He alone is our harbour.

I don't know about you, but that's good news to me.

And it has become a new commitment of mine to ask myself in every situation; am I trying to save because I think He can't? Or because He won't? Or is it just to feel like I did something marvelous?

None of those are the right and godly answers.

The answer that pleases Him, I believe, is the one that simply says, "Lord, I don't know how You'll do this, but I know You'll do it in Your time, and Your way. And that is enough. So I'm going to make my way to the sand, take a few steps back, and watch in wonder as You redeem what I thought was lost."

Are you being called there with me? To the place of abiding instead of mustering strength? If you are, know I have saved a spot for you right beside me and I welcome you to the place with the most beautiful view this life can offer.

Joy in Him alone-that is the refuge of all.

Come to the shoreline and we'll all cheer as the waves crash and His will makes it right.

It will all be right.

Thank you, Lord. That is joy unspeakable to my weary soul tonight...

[Judy Harder]

A Sunday Scripture
Jun 02, 2013 01:20 am | incourage




He said to the Israelites,
"In the future when your descendants ask their parents,
'What do these stones mean?'
tell them, 'Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.'

For the LORD your God dried up the Jordan
before you until you had crossed over.
The LORD your God did to the Jordan what he had done to the Red Sea
when he dried it up before us until we had crossed over.
He did this so that all the peoples of the earth
might know that the hand of the LORD is powerful
and so that you might always fear the LORD your God."
Joshua 4:21-24

[Judy Harder]

Sitting At Home Alone
Jun 03, 2013 01:20 am | Lysa



They were laughing in their matching neon pink t-shirts with the words "Bethany's Birthday Girls" printed on the front. They were going bowling after school. Then to get pizza. Then a sleep over.

When Bethany passed out the shirts by her locker that morning I pretended to be too busy to notice. I stayed hyper focused on unpacking my book bag into my locker. And then I hurried off to my first class.

It was clear. Bethany had made a list of her friends and I hadn't been included.

I thought I would be. We'd gotten together before. I'd invited her to my pool party.

No big deal, I tried to tell myself all day. I had plans that night too.

To sit at home. Alone. And wonder why I hadn't been chosen.

It's been years since I watched those neon pink shirts all pile into a station wagon after school and drive away.

But it hasn't been years since I've heard the negative inside chatter that ensued afterwards.

"You're not liked."

"You weren't invited."

"You weren't chosen."

Here's what I wish I could have told my little sans pink t-shirt self back then...And what I need to remember when those same feelings creep in today...

Don't put the whole of your identity into the smallness of this situation.

Not getting a pink t-shirt that day felt like a defining moment. And maybe it was for that day. I wasn't invited to Bethany's party. And that stunk.

But it wasn't a defining moment of my identity.

It was a moment. And moments shift. People are fickle. People shift.

In the moment Bethany made the list of who to invite to her party, I wasn't on the top of her mind. Not because she didn't like me, but simply because she hadn't thought about it.

It was a small situation.

And I can't put the whole of my identity into the smallness of this situation. Or any other for that matter.

My Pastor used a verse in his sermon recently that echoes these same thoughts, "For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, AND YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN FULLNESS IN CHRIST," (Colossians 2: 9-10).

I have been given fullness.

In Christ.

I can place the wholeness of my identity in that reality... and see everything else as small in comparison.

By Lysa TerKeurst

Looking for more encouragement in the battle against negative inside chatter? Check out Lysa's book, Unglued. Click here to purchase your copy!

[Judy Harder]

Blessings for Our Enemies
Jun 04, 2013 01:20 am | Sarah Markley


A few weeks ago on a Monday morning, my husband stepped outside to walk the dog.

Before he got out of the driveway, he abruptly stopped, turned around and raced back inside the house.

"Sarah. Your passenger side window has been shattered. Someone broke into your car overnight."

This isn't the first time this has happened to me. There was that one time I parked in a dark parking garage for an early morning session at the gym and someone stole my purse off the seat. My bad. I shouldn't have left it there.

But this time? Nothing valuable was in my car. I've learned my lesson well. But nonetheless, the thief took an old bag that I'm guessing looked like a purse with nothing of consequence inside.

I was more perturbed than I was violated.

Even so, my husband and I traded cars and he took mine into to the auto repair to get my window fixed.

I drove the girls to school in the Prius. As we pulled out of the neighborhood, we talked about what happened.

My seven-year-old: "Mama, why do people steal things?"

Me: "Oh sweetheart, sometimes people steal things because they need money. Or maybe they just were rowdy kids doing things they weren't supposed to do. I don't know."

And I really didn't know.

My daughter just looked down. Both of my daughters seemed  sad.

My eleven year old spoke up. "Mama. Can we pray for the thief?"

"Of course we can." I responded.

"Because, what if they needed money to pay their rent? What if he didn't have enough money to feed his family, Mom? What if his family just needed stuff to live?  Can we pray that they are okay?"

I looked over at her in the seat next to me.

She looked worried and so grown up. As if the weight of the bigger world sometimes settled on her shoulders. It's a hard space to be in when you're approaching twelve.

So I prayed and she closed her eyes tightly as I watched the road. I prayed for the guy (or kids) who broke into my car. I prayed for his family. I smiled as I prayed because even though she was probably misguided as to the reasons why, she was hopeful. She was innocent and she was brilliant.

This is what Jesus meant when He said to pray for those who persecute you. It isn't a grumbly prayer of "Lord-help-them-stop-being-an-idiot."

Praying for our persecutors is a grace-filled, innocent request on the part of us, the wounded, to honestly ask for blessings on those who do us wrong. We must be a people who want to rain love and grace and blessing on those who hurt us and those who take from us. We must be a church who prays, with genuine hearts, for our enemies. And we must, at the same time, wish them well.

And who knows if anyone has ever prayed for our thief? Who knows what exactly the power of a prayer of blessing can do for a man? Or for a woman? Only God knows if the echoed prayer of a fifth-grader actually reached to the heart of a man who came to steal and destroy.

To the guy who took my bag and shattered my window: I pray God's blessing on you. I pray the innocent love of an eleven-year-old who sees the goodness in you. I pray God's kindness and everlasting love over your life. Thank you for taking from me as it has taught me to pray even more.

Do you believe in the power of prayer? How hard is it to pray for our enemies? Have you seen goodness come from something like this?







When Trying My Best Doesn't Work
Jun 04, 2013 01:10 am | Abbey Dupuy




Image credit: Alan Cleaver via Creative Commons

I grew up believing that as long as I tried my best, it would be enough. "Always do your best," my mom said, and I generally did.

Now that I'm the mother, sometimes even my very best isn't enough to cover everything that needs covering. I was only born with two hands. Most of the time, I could use twice that many (at least).

It's already almost 8:30 in the morning. My husband can't find his keys. My preschooler is demanding more juice and a second bowl of cereal. The twins are crying to be picked up from their cribs, and I know that picking them up will mean changing their diapers, dressing them and bringing them to the kitchen with the rest of us, where the dishes are already piling up and I'm tripping over a basket of unfolded laundry and a pile of matchbox cars and magic markers on the floor. All I want is a cup of coffee, yet I know I'm at least half an hour from being able to sit down and drink it. My son asks again for the juice.

Taking a deep breath, I try my best not to snap at him. "I am trying," I tell him. "I'm trying really hard this morning. I need you to wait a minute."

He scowls at me, stamps his foot on the floor. "But I don't want to wait. I want juice now."

I try again, speaking as quietly as I can manage. "I am trying as hard as I can. I will be right with you."

"Mama," he says calmly, looking up into my face with his little brow furrowed, "trying harder is not working for you, so maybe you should try easier."

In this moment, I want to shake him (or at least pour the juice and set it down with great force – blam! – on the table, so he knows I'm irritated).

But maybe he has a point?



"My grace is sufficient for you...my power is made perfect in weakness."

- – 2 Corinthians 12:9


On mornings like this, I'm the definition of weakness...I just want to sit down!

Some moments in motherhood feel about as futile as trying to climb out of a deep hole without a ladder. These are the days when I wake up and already feel behind, when there are more things to do than there is time and energy to accomplish them. These are days when all the effort in the world can't get me there...when my trying and striving and teeth-gritted stubbornness only makes the hole deeper and the mess bigger.

How is one person supposed to be everything to everyone? How can one woman take care of so many needs? How can one mother respond patiently, kindly, calmly in the midst of a difficult moment with a challenging child on a day that is testing her beyond her limits?

The truth is, she can't. I can't. I'm not infinite...and my limited human resources can only stretch so far before they reach their breaking point.

But God's grace is limitless, and it is sufficient...even for me.



"When I am weak, then I am strong."

- – 2 Corinthians 12:10



I might never be enough, but God is always enough...and with God, I have what I need.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully pour the juice and set it down, resolving to remind myself as many times as necessary that I'm not actually doing it all on my own, after all.

By Abbey Dupuy, Surviving Our Blessings

[Judy Harder]

A Season of Maybe
Jun 05, 2013 01:20 am | Mary Carver




Have you ever found yourself carrying too many plates?

One of my daughter's chores is clearing the table after dinner. Lately I've noticed her carrying more dishes than is wise, trying to make as few trips between the dining room and kitchen as possible. Given the [very] short distance between the two rooms, I wondered about her behavior.

After I'd noticed it at dinnertime, I began seeing her do it in other settings as well. Picking up her toys around the house, helping me put away groceries, carrying overdue library books out of her room – every time, she was carrying too much, straining as she juggled, refusing help when I offered.

"I've GOT it, Mommy! I can DO IT myself!"

At first I thought maybe she'd been exposed to too many episodes of the Rachael Ray Show, something I watched nearly every evening during that first year or so of motherhood. (Have you ever noticed how Rachael opens the fridge one time – and one time only – and carries 47 things over to her workspace?)

Thankfully, I don't think my kiddo's little brain soaked up anything so specific during those early days when I worked all day and my husband worked all evening. Bottle in one hand and remote in the other, I parked the two of us in front of cooking shows and cop shows every time the second shift seemed too long and lonely.


—————————-
I've heard people talk about a "year of yes," a time to accept every invitation, to take every opportunity, to grow and risk and live fully. I've also heard people describe a "year of no," a time to focus, to weed out, to declutter and calm down and live simply.

As the holidays turned into a call for resolutions a few months ago, I turned the page on a new calendar and decided to declare this my own year of . . . something. My Year of Maybe.


—————————-
Just like my daughter tries to carry too many things at once, I pile so many commitments, projects, jobs and "amazing, can't pass it up" opportunities on my proverbial plate that there's no way I can carry it.

By the end of last year, I had backed myself into a corner by saying yes to too many great things. I felt overwhelmed and helpless to find a way out of the situation. After all, I'd agreed to everything. And everything on my plate was something I enjoyed. It was a real pickle.

Thankfully, after a lot of soul searching and hard decision-making (and whining . . . there was whining), I managed to clear my plate a little bit this spring. And as soon as I did, I gave myself a little shake and recommitted to my Year of Maybe.

From now on, I decided, each time an opportunity came up, I'd respond only with a "maybe" and a promise to think about it and give my answer soon.

Finally, I'd learn to say no.
I'd find some balance.
I'd avoid those awkward conversations when I had to confess I wouldn't be able to fulfill my commitment after all.

Of course, changing my yes-girl ways is easier said than done. Just last week I agreed to help with a project before the person asking had even finished describing what he wanted me to do. I didn't say maybe. I said, "Yes! Sure! I'd love to!" – without giving it two seconds of consideration.

It didn't take long for me to realize I had done it again. I don't have time for this project. Honestly, I'm not even a good fit for the task – it's something I'm not good at and don't like doing. And yet . . . "Yes! Sure! I'd love to!"

*SIGH*

Obviously, my Year of Maybe is a work in progress. And now that we're halfway through the calendar year, I can see it might take me more than twelve months to figure this thing out. I guess I'd better call it a Season of Maybe.

But for now I have about 20 phone calls to make for the community fair I agreed to help plan.

Are you [too] quick to say yes? Have you ever declared a Year of Yes, No or Maybe?