(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

He Remembers
Sep 11, 2013 01:20 am | Mary Carver



We gathered at the farm, bringing baseball gloves and brownies, walking slow to the edge of the pond and watching the lines and lures swim back and forth. We talked about things unimportant, quiet things and loud things, full of memories and teasing.

We all knew why we were there, though none of us mentioned it out loud. On the weekend of what would have been his 38th birthday, my brother-in-law's presence was strong even a year, more really, after his death. Moving fish from one pond to another, roasting hot dogs over the fire, digging into casseroles fresh from the oven and Pinterest, and smack talking our next round of poker would've suited him just fine, I think.

But his dad must have felt differently. At one point he said, abruptly, "Yesterday was his birthday, you know."

Yes, we knew. We remembered. It's why we were there. But for my father-in-law it wasn't enough. He loves having a full house, but it seemed he needed us to say, out loud, why his house was full that weekend in particular.

Everyone grieves differently.

Some of us grieve long, while others grieve shorter but harder perhaps. Some of us grieve every morning when our feet hit the floor, and some of us grieve in those moments when the memories hit us in the gut. Some of us grieve poetic and peaceful, and some of us grieve ugly and angry.

As I've said before, death and grief and everything that comes with it – in one way or another, to one person or another, it's all inappropriate in some ways.

I think of all the ways I've grieved "wrong."

I think of laughing over memories and inside jokes with my cousins during my granny's visitation, much to my mother-in-law's dismay. I think of screaming at my mom when she suggested one.more.time. that I get busy and cook some food after my friend's car accident.

I remember joining my family at a birthday party the day after I lost my job, where I never sat down. I walked, numb and ignoring my family, from one room to the next, picking up empty plates and refilling glasses, afraid to stop, afraid to think, afraid to look anyone in the eye.

I think of the way I returned to my home church the very Sunday after leaving the one we'd help plant, the one that broke our hearts. I think about how I didn't stop to take a breath, perhaps partly because I was afraid it would hurt too much to breathe. I think about how we all break differently.

And I remember earlier this spring, when I told a friend about our plans to go to the farm on the anniversary of my brother-in-law's death. She couldn't understand why we were choosing to commemorate this sad anniversary, why the date was so indelibly marked in our memories.

Sure, she'd lost people. She'd grieved. But she did it differently – and without mentally circling days on the calendar in black permanent marker.

Some of us remember quietly; some of us are a bit louder. Some of us remember every date of every sorrow every time it comes around; some of us mark time not by days but by how much less it hurts this year than the one before.

And it's okay. It's all okay. We all hurt in different ways, and we all remember in different ways. And what makes sense to me might be a mystery to you. But that's okay.

Because, see, no matter how we choose to remember the painful events that shape us, God remembers right along with us.

He remembers when it happened and how you felt and why you cried. He remembers in the quiet of the evening and when you see the date on your phone and when someone mentions her name. He remembers when you walk to his grave and when you drive down that street and when the flags dip low.

He remembers.


Today our nation remembers, and many of us still grieve. No matter how your heart beats today – broken or healed or somewhere in between – take comfort in knowing that He remembers. He is close to the brokenhearted.

Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. . . Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.
~ John 16:20, 22

Join us in praying for those remembering sorrows new and old today. Join us in praying for our nation, our sisters, our own hearts as we remember.

[Judy Harder]

What I Learned From A Circus Performer
Sep 12, 2013 01:10 am | Kara



The whole world watched in wonder and fearful amazement as we collectively held our breath and silently breathed a prayer for high wire artist Nik Wallenda this summer. Glued to the TV, I sat in my living room and was drawn into the unfolding events of his live performance, sure that I would be witnessing his death.

"Who dares to walk across the Grand Canyon on a tight rope," I skeptically wondered.

I soon found out only someone who trains well, dreams big, and walks with Jesus. And when the evening was over, I was forever impacted by this circus performer and knew I would never forget what he taught me.

Family matters. Without the physical and emotional support of his family, Nik could not have lived his dreams. A father, a wife, an uncle, a grandfather. A whole circus ring of precious family and dear people who truly provided the safety net needed to keep going. I ask myself, "Does my family know I'm in their ring? Do they know I am their safety net?

Am I a safe person emotionally for my children, my husband, my circle of friends and family? Do I let fear rule the day or can I trust God with my children and their dreams, no matter how big or small, safe or dangerous?"

With each step, say "Thank you, Jesus." Life is not easy. Walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope is no walk in the park, either. Some days walking by faith and not by sight is not so difficult, but other days it seems just as good to throw in the towel and give up. As Nik took each delicate, perilous step, he simply said, "Thank you, Jesus." Each step. Step after step after step. As he slowly crossed the canyon, it seemed that he genuinely knew each step was a gift of God.

And somehow I was impacted by his walk as I walk this journey of faith, too. With so many difficult and unknown steps ahead of me, I want gratitude to well up in my heart much like Nik's. I want to simply say, "Thank you, Jesus." When the steps are easy, but especially when the steps are hard.

Dream big. Some dreams seem big. Others seem small. Most of my dreams, quite honestly, seem scary because I'm simply afraid of failing. And if I'm honest, I'm also afraid of what others might think and letting a few people down. Frankly, some of my dreams feel like the equivalent of walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope.

But after witnessing Nik's life performance to a watching world, I am daring myself to grow courage and dream big again. To use the gift and talents and passions that God has uniquely given me. Not to my husband or to my parents or to my neighbor or to my dearest friends, but to me, Kara Butte, child of God.

I used to love going to the circus as a child and wonder about life as a circus performer. But then I grew up and got all practical and serious and perhaps somewhat stuffy about what it means to be a responsible adult. Watching a humble high wire artist live his dreams this summer encourages me to have child-like faith once again to unleash the artist in me. To value the community of people around me, to thank Jesus each step of the way, and to dream wild, wonderful, fearless dreams for the kingdom of God.

And this time, I might really want to run off to join the circus after all.

by Kara Butte, {circus dreamer} of His Story to Tell

[Judy Harder]

Finally.
Sep 14, 2013 01:20 am | Annie Downs



I've been struggling with the word FINALLY lately.

A friend of mine, still single in her 40s, got engaged recently, and as you can imagine, Facebook exploded into a million pieces of pure happy. It was very sweet to watch everyone rejoice with her as she has found a really good dude who loves her well.

But one comment rubbed me the wrong way.

"So glad this FINALLY happened for you!" a well-meaning friend wrote.

And for weeks, I've tried to figure out why I bristled at that. What was it that bothered me about that exclamatory sentence? It was kind, full of excitement, genuine, and...

FINALLY.

When something FINALLY happens, it is like everything up to that point was just waiting, surviving, and watching for any sign that change is here to rescue the situation.

You know who deserved to feel a FINALLY? The Israelites in the desert. But you know why they FINALLY-ed? Because they were wandering. They were lost.

Just because I'm single doesn't mean I'm wandering, waiting to find the Promised Land of milk and honey(moon).

When you say FINALLY, I picture crawling into the Promised Land, parched and sunburnt, with tears rolling down my face at the final relief of it all.

Sorry, but that's not my reality.

My life is very full and fun and even on the bad days (and there are bad days), I'm not in a desert. I'm living. I'm working. I'm playing. I'm laughing. I'm cooking. I'm crying. I'm alive.

I am not lost because I am single. I do not need to be rescued from this life. Yes, I totally want a husband to walk this life with me and partner in the things that God is doing, but I don't need to be saved from the desert.

This life? It actually may be the Promised Land.

So when the right dude comes into my life and he can put up with my crazy and decides to stick around, I hope we all celebrate, just like we celebrated my friend and we will celebrate for you, singlet. We can cheer and throw a party and thank God for answering prayers.

But don't say FINALLY. I may be single, but I am not wandering. I am not lost. I am complete and on the right path and I have not been abandoned.

And the same is true for you.

By Annie Downs

[Judy Harder]

Autumn Reflections: (in) Classics
Sep 15, 2013 01:20 am | incourage



For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

Can you feel it? Whether you're pulling out sweatshirts this weekend or still running your air conditioner at full blast, autumn is undeniably drawing closer. Kids are in school, football games are in play, and stores are full of apple and pumpkin everything. Fall is {almost} here!

As we stand on the edge of another seasonal transition, let's take a moment to reflect on the seasons of our lives and our landscapes at the same time we stop to appreciate God's own unchanging, wonderful nature.


——————–

The New You: Why Kindergarten Isn't Just for Kids by Bonnie Gray
But sometimes we still reach for a watermelon in October or a carton of strawberries near Thanksgiving and they don't taste quite the same as they did in the height of summer.

We look back now on kindergarten and life seems simple. But, to a five year old, his world just got a lot bigger. His awareness of his need for friendship and acceptance is growing with each new challenge.

And so, this is true for you and me. Each of us is standing at our individual doors of kindergarten in faith. No matter how long we've walked with Jesus, we all encounter new seasons of change.

Four Ways to Make the Most of Your Season by Sarah Markley
It's easy to recognize the fruits of the season: pumpkins, pumpkin bread and homemade pumpkin spice lattes dominate Pinterest right now. They are the fruits of an autumn in full swing.


Give Thanks Pumpkin Tutorial by Jennifer
Autumn can be the beginning of a busy season. And a busy season may bring with it stress and worry and the whole, 'things aren't going as planned' feeling. I think that makes autumn a perfect time to get my thinking and focus on the right track. It is the perfect time to put a little reminder out into our home for the season.

8 Tips for Getting Your Home Ready for Fall by Melissa Michaels
Even though decorating is my passion, I try not to over-complicate my decor by getting too fussy or over the top with the changes in seasons. I enjoy getting my home ready for friends, fall parties and church groups, but I can't spend too much time fussing over things or I won't have much time left over for guests!


Fall is Falling by Lisa Leonard
Can't you just hear the leaves crunching and smell the cinnamon rolls?

Finding Beauty in the Mundane by Dawn Camp
Fallen leaves crackle and crunch beneath my feet as the beauty of God's creation is revealed anew in the change of season.


——————–

For more seasonal posts, check out the "Seasonal" tab on the front page of the (in)courage site, as well as in the sidebar of the blog!

What are you reflecting on this fall?

[Judy Harder]

When It's Time To Leave Safety And Choose
Sep 16, 2013 01:20 am | Bonnie Gray



She is beautiful, cute and young.

She is going to wash my hair.

And later, she will blow it dry, make it smooth and long, so that it curls just slightly at the ends.

She will take a roller brush and do magic with it, like the wand Cinderella's fairy godmother circled in the air with pixie dust.

I'm getting my hair done. And to everyone around me, I'm just another woman enjoying some me-time at the hair salon.

But, I'm really just a broken, healing little girl inside, learning to take steps out into the world — to walk her out and give her a voice.

I'm learning not to hide. I'm learning to leave the way I've always done things, to discover new ways of connecting with people.

I'm learning to choose.

Not to melt into the background. To stop saying I'm okay. Even when I'm not.

I'm learning to dare — to trust there is beauty in being cracked open — and letting others see, too.

As she lowers my head back into the sink, she cradles my neck.

Do You Know What I Mean?
"So what do you do?" she asks, as she squirts a few pumps of summer-smelling shampoo into my hair.

I want to tell her what I always say. I'm a stay-at-home mom. I take care of the kids.

Instead, I tell her what I'm just beginning to dare speak into the open air, even though there's a voice that whispers:  Imposter. 

"I'm a writer.  I like to write."  There.  I said it.  My heart starts racing.

"Oh..."  her eyes grow wide and curious.  "What are you writing about?"

Oh, no.  Now, I did it.  I didn't want to say.  Maybe I should say something generic.  I closed my eyes against the spray of the warm rinse of water.

"Well, it depends on what's happening.  I write stories about what I'm going through."  I take a deep breath.  And I let it out into the open.  "I'm writing about anxiety.  Childhood trauma.  About making choices.  To feed your soul and care for yourself.  I'm learning to find my voice."

"Oh, wow.  Really?"  She replied.  I couldn't tell if she was really interested, or was it her polite way of signaling this conversation was getting too personal.

I decide to test the waters some more.

"Yeah... You know it's easier to blend into the background.  To make everyone else happy, so you don't have to afraid of what happens if they're not."  She was quiet and my eyes were still closed.  So, I stopped talking.  Oops.  That was TMI.  I thought.

As her fingers worked conditioner through my hair, massaging my scalp, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"It seemed like nothing I chose was right.  It could be something small — like when I used to go shopping and I liked a certain outfit, my mom would say, 'How cheap.'  She had a way of turning something that looked shiny to me one moment into something wrong and ugly."

I took a breath, my chest tightening.  "Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes.  I do."  She replied as she propped me up and tucked a towel on my head, like origami.

Everyone Has To Leave
Later, as this fresh-faced twenty-something gorgeous girl spritzed my hair and began to expertly run the hair dryer over my frizzy strands, she began to tell me her story.

She grew up with a loving momma and daddy who always encouraged her to be true to who she was.  But, she lived a different story with a man who did not love and cherish her as she ought to have been.

"It's funny how I had to learn to choose to take care of my soul, later in life, even though I grew up as a happy child."

Then, she said the wisest thing that flew the doors of the little girl in me open.  She said, "I guess everyone has to learn to leave something or someone at sometime.  Everyone has to learn to choose."

I started to cry as strands of wet hair dabbled over the smock on my shoulders.  "You're right. I am learning to leave."

These weren't just tears of sadness.  They were tears of joy.  I realized I wasn't so alone in the world. That my journey through pain and rebuilding from scratch is a journey we all have to make at one point.  Over and again.  Through the many seasons of life.

I felt connected to this girl and she felt connected to me.  We laughed and got teary eyed, and it felt like we were far away and close at the same time.

It reminded me of Jesus.

Choosing You
The night He gathered with the disciples before He had to make the final trek of leaving.  Leaving His friends, His mother, the people He came to love, His favorite spots along the hills, seeing the sun set and hearing stories of people He'd met and healed.

He knew He had to face the cross — where He would ultimately leave the Father's embrace and where for the first time, He'd split open with heartbreak — because everyone He ever met his whole life would leave Him when He needed them most.

Jesus did it.  He left everything.

So that He can be with you and me.

So that we don't have to be alone.

Jesus chooses you.

And me.

You Can Step Out
I don't know what journey you are on today, friend.

You may be like me, learning to leave for the first time inside your heart, even though what has happened was many miles of years ago.

You might be like my new friend.  You've had a wonderful, beautiful journey in the years behind you. And yet, you may have stumbled on a fork in the road, unexpected.

You have to choose.  To leave safety.  To find your  voice.

To find that little girl in you again.  And to take care of her.  And let her walk out into the world.

You are not alone.

Even if it feels that way.

Because Jesus sees you.  Understands you.  Loves you.  Accepts you.

You and I can step out.

He chooses you.

As is.

"I chose you...
From far across the earth
I brought you here...
I haven't forgotten you."
Don't be afraid. I am with you.
Don't tremble with fear.
I am your God.
I will make you strong,
as I protect you with my arm...I am holding your hand
so don't be afraid.
I am here to help you."
~Isaiah 43:8-10, 13
~~~~~

How is God calling you on a journey to choose?

How is leaving part of that journey?

Pull up a chair.   Click to comment.  I'd love to hear from you.  You know how much I am grateful for you.

~~~~~

I'm learning to take my first steps out into the big, wide world — with my heart wide open.  If you're walking on the journey of faith out into the world too, I would love to get to know you and enjoy your company. 

Join me on my blog as we 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.







To the Woman Who Doesn't Like Herself (and book giveaway)
Sep 16, 2013 01:10 am | EmilyW



Dear Daughter of Eve,

You carry the seed of life in you. You are muscle and mind and heart. You walk with the calm of the hills. There is beauty in your gait, in the way you hold your shoulders, in your bending to hold a child close, in your rising for those who are mistreated.

You are womb-an. Woman. You create with every breath, and there is no shame in your sexuality, in your curves, in the way your heart beats for home and I long for you to be set free.

Free to love yourself the way your Creator does, the way your children do, the way your man does – the one who vowed till death do us part – and I long for you to embrace your wounds and your pain and then, let it all fly. Like one of those sparrows whom the Lord sees, let it fly.

You gave birth to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to Leah and Rachel and Mary; you gave birth to Billy Graham and Shane Claiborne and Philip Yancey, to Mother Theresa and Madeleine L'Engle and Margaret Thatcher. You are She whose body gave way so another could run and dance. Whose voice was silenced so another could speak and sing.

We are more than our mistakes and you've been carrying yours since the days of creation when the first of us took that fruit and disobeyed her Maker. When she tried to take control because she was convinced God didn't love her.

And since then we've been hurting because we don't believe we are loved. Or lovable. Or loving enough.

All we do is feel guilty and then we take it out on our bodies. We eat Twinkies and over-exercise and then, pints of ice cream and hang over a toilet and we drink too much wine and we don't laugh nearly enough.

And we're always doubting the way our loved ones look at us because we can't believe they would find beauty there. We think they're looking at our faults, and "Remember that I love you," my husband is always saying. "Everything I do and say is out of my love for you."

We would die for others, though. We are up all hours of the night nursing our children and giving love to our husbands and rising early to pack lunches and do load after load of laundry. We are martyrs who hate themselves and it's time, daughter.

It's time to awaken your soul. It's time to put on some lipstick and go dancing.

You are the right shape, the right size, the right build because you are YOU. Your hair is perfect because it is yours and your waist and your thighs, too.

I commission you, then, to rise and be a woman. Be all that a woman can be. Take joy in your femininity, in your uniqueness. God created male and female and you, friend, have a specific job to do.

So go on and love yourself so that you can love others with an everlasting, full-hearted, spirited kind of love that laughs long and cries hard and wraps its arms tight around the world.

With all my heart,

One of your own,

Emily.

***


Friends, I am a former anorexic who has written a book, along with Dr. Dena Cabrera, called Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, which celebrates our femininity and our strength as women, while teaching us how to LOVE ourselves so we can, in turn, love our husbands and our children.

I'm excited to give away FOUR HARD COPIES this week, so please leave a comment below on what you love about YOUR body and we will choose a random winner.

Otherwise, you can pick up your own copy of the book HERE or at any Barnes and Noble bookstore. (For the book trailer, endorsements and sample chapters, please visit the official book website HERE)

Emily Wierenga is an artist, blogger, journalist and the author of Chasing Silhouettes and Mom in the Mirror. She blogs regularly at www.emilywierenga.com. You can also connect with her on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, LinkedIn or Etsy.

[Judy Harder]

We Need You & Your God-Sized Dream
Sep 18, 2013 01:20 am | Holley Gerth



I can almost hear the breathlessness in her email as she types, "Please don't share this with anyone. If it gets out, someone else might do it."

Later in the day a woman confesses, "There are already so many people doing what I feel called to do. How can my voice even make a difference?"

Then a friend says over dinner to me, "Even when I make progress there's still someone doing it better than I am. Shouldn't I just cheer them on?"

I nod in understanding at the fear, questioning, and hesitation in these statements. When a God-sized dream first comes to us it often feels like a brand new revelation—as if no one else in the whole history of the universe has ever thought of this idea. Then quickly we realize that whatever we want to do or share has already been done or said before. So we sigh and think, "Time to start over."

But that's the reality of God-sized dreams. Wise Solomon said "there is nothing new under the sun." But he didn't say, "there is no one new under the sun." Because every one of us is one-of-a-kind and there will never be anyone else like us again. It doesn't matter if someone else has said it or done it already. You haven't. We need your version, your perspective, your voice in this world. You're simply irreplaceable.

And you are here for such a time as this—to share this God-sized dream with your generation. I love how Scripture says, "David...served God's purposes in his own generation" (Acts 13:36).  You are called to offer what God has placed within you to our world right here, right now. No one else will live the exact amount of time you will, in the place you will, with the people who God will have cross your path.

You can't say "oh, they'll get what they need from someone else" because if God intends them to receive it through you, that's not true. "We are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do" (Eph. 2:10). In other words, there are things in this world that only you can do. That means that there is no such thing as better in the Kingdom—only different. You are not competing with your brothers and sisters. Instead all of us are completing God's plan together.

Lisa-Jo Baker says it this way:

No one can steal your dream because God has built it into you.

No one can write your book or design your art.

No one can launch your venture like you.

No one can do that secret impossible that you've got your heart set on instead of you.

You are the DNA of the dream.

Even if you both started with the exact same premise you'd end up glorious worlds apart as distinct as your fingerprints.

Because you are.

What God gives you He gives you on purpose.

We need your part. We need your heart. We need your God-sized dream.

XOXO

Holley Gerth, author of the new devotional Opening the Door to Your God-sized Dream.




The Day Mum Went Swimming
Sep 18, 2013 01:10 am | EmilyW



Mum went swimming the other day. She wore a brand-new bathing suit. It's been three years since she recovered from brain cancer, and I don't ever remember her swimming before.

My brother says she has. He says I just don't remember and he says this with his face bent down a little, protecting the memory. But for all of our long-distance trips in our rusted mini-van with the hand-sewn flower curtains and no air conditioning, for all of our tenting in Arizona and the sun drying us off the minute we stepped from the water, I don't remember Mum in a bathing suit.

She was always covered. The home-school way, some would say, because we were home-schooled and she wore long flowing skirts or a jean dress and I wore the shortest shorts I could find. My long legs like sticks for the anorexia and Mum didn't know how to handle her willful oldest child so she handed me over to Dad who'd been too busy writing a sermon to see what I'd done. And I'd be spanked with a hand or a wooden spoon or belt, and my shorts got shorter.

Showing skin got me attention and I was starving. God didn't approve of me, I knew that, because vanity was a sin and modesty was the Christian code but I was too hungry for love to be fed by religion.

If I'd noticed Mum swimming, I might have felt a little freer. All I knew was, I shouldn't care so much about my looks and that Mum shrugged out of Dad's embrace when he tried to hug her and she didn't think she was beautiful so she didn't tell me I was.

And then Mum got brain cancer. I went home at 26 to take care of her, to feed her from a spoon and read to her when her head drooped and to help her to the toilet. To change her Depends on the days she slept straight through and to sing to her when morning came. I went home to help Dad who never stopped trying to hug his wife and finally she returned his hugs when she was awake.

And modesty wasn't an option for the woman who couldn't pull up her pants or pull on her shirt and she couldn't stop telling me how beautiful I was.

I thought I was going to lose her. And I wished I'd never stopped hugging her those two years when I was sick. Because Mum was dying and no amount of anything mattered for the way she suddenly did.

And then, after eight years of dying she was suddenly gloriously alive. The doctors rubbing their heads, because the tumor was gone. And in the face of death, life – no matter its size or shape or details – becomes excruciatingly stunning. Like the sun, after days of rain.

And Mum began to walk and talk again. She stopped sleeping all hours of the day and re-learned how to cook and clean. And she hung  up a plaque that said "Life's short, eat dessert first."

Then she put on a swimsuit and went swimming.

And I don't know that she's ever looked so beautiful.

***


Friends, I am a former anorexic who's written a book, along with Dr. Dena Cabrera, called Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, which celebrates our femininity and our strength as women, while teaching us how to LOVE ourselves so we can, in turn, love our husbands and our children.

I'm giving away FOUR HARD COPIES, so don't forget to enter to win on Monday's post! We will choose a random winner at the end of the week.

Otherwise, you can pick up your own copy of the book HERE or at any Barnes and Noble bookstore. (For the book trailer, endorsements and sample chapters, please visit the official book website HERE)

Emily Wierenga is an artist, blogger, journalist and the author of Chasing Silhouettes and Mom in the Mirror. She blogs regularly at www.emilywierenga.com. You can also connect with her on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, LinkedIn or Etsy.

[Judy Harder]

Making Time for Me
Sep 19, 2013 01:20 am | Jessica Turner



This past summer, I didn't read any books. And it made me a little grumpy.

My husband semi-jokes that I am happier if I am reading. If I am having a rough week, he'll often suggest that I leave the dishes 'til morning and go curl up with a good book. (I married a good man, eh?)

At the beginning of the year, I set a goal of reading 30 books because in 2012 I read hardly anything. That goal has been so rewarding not just because I have read so many fantastic books, but because I am investing in something that I enjoy.

As I've gotten older, I have come to recognize the importance of making time for me and what I'm passionate about. The catch-22 is that as I get older, I have more responsibilities that can make "me time" challenging.

But somehow I manage to carve out the time and I think I am a better wife, mom, co-worker and friend because of it. That sounds dramatic, I know, but its true. When I work in time for myself, I feel more balance and am able to better pour out into those around me.

Usually for me, that time is spent working on my Project Life album, reading a good book, crafting or baking something I pinned on Pinterest. But, that's just me. You might chose to spend time on you doing yoga, collecting stamps, sewing or something else entirely.

It doesn't matter what it is, what matters is that it fills you up.

God uniquely created each one of us with passions that invigorate us, yet we often push them aside for laundry, cleaning, errands and a host of other activities. I'm not saying those things aren't important (clean underwear is a good thing), but rather that those things can't rule your life. God delights in His creation using our gifts.

This month, what if you were to look at your schedule and find one extra hour a week for yourself? Do you think you could do it?

One extra hour is less than 10 minutes a day, but would add up to 52 hours for you! Think of all the things you could do with 52 hours. You could start that book you have been wanting to write, organize the photos on your hard drive or take a new class at that gym.

I believe this investment in ourselves could be the start of something big and meaningful. Will you join me in making time for what you love?

NOTE
This week I launched a short survey asking women to share how they spend their time for a book I am working on. Would you please take just a few minutes to share where you are in this journey? Your answers will be a cornerstone of the book's research and I would be so, so grateful. Thank you.

Question:
What is something that you love to spend time on? More importantly, how do you make time for yourself and this passion?





Sep 19, 2013 01:10 am | Jody Collins


Ten minutes before two in the afternoon, I'm sitting at my desk with a sigh of, "Ahhhhh...," hands folded in prayer.

My heart is full, my spirit content and the words of praise only God understands pour from my lips.

It is so good to have this me-and-God time. His presence is sweet—I savor it like the first sip of good strong coffee, satisfying, rich, deep—and totally worth the wait. I was "supposed" to be here bright and early in the morning, but you know what they say about the best laid plans....

It was the first Monday of summer vacation. The night before I had determined, "I will start things off right."

I jotted down notes—my days would look like this:

7:00 ish     Get up
7:30            God's Word, prayer and journalling (and a cup of coffee!)
8:00 ish     Go for a Walk
8:30            Sit down and write.  Every day.
10:00          Carry on with whatever needs carrying on

This pattern would not only get me closer to Jesus, but would make a better writer, guaranteed.

Unless I overslept on this First Monday.

Which is exactly what I did.

I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee at 9:00 a.m. for some God-sized dream sharing—Big Stuff. Our assistant youth pastor and I were going to brainstorm and I wanted to be all prayed up, spiritually full.

Instead, I bolted out of bed at 8:19. Totally missed my alarm. I barely had time to fix my hair, get dressed and brush my teeth before heading out the door. (Oh, and I had to come back to the house because I forgot my planner. Ack.)

I felt unprepared, like a failure. I wanted to be a veritable fountain of light, overflowing with God's wisdom while we talked about Important Things. And I so wasn't.

What did God do in my coffee get together with my pastor friend? He spoke to both of us, confirmed the work He was doing, stirred us both in prayer and brought encouragement about this big idea. She was excited to receive and I was energized by her affirmations that I was actually hearing from God.

And I had to wonder, as I sat there at my desk—does God CARE what time of day I come to spend with Him in His Word?

Is there like a rule that says, "Morning is best, really, for your quiet time, because that's what Jesus did?"

But what if I was a barista at Starbuck's (like the gals who served us) and I had to get up at 3:30 in the morning so I could open the store at 4:30? In the morning? My son was a barista for a number of years—I used to joke that God was the only other one up at that hour of the day.

Would God expect me to get up "first thing" for my quiet time and devotions?

I think not.

STOP, I heard God say, with the expectations and the "shoulds" and the rules. Just Stop.

Just COME.

Come when you can–
When you're full
When you're empty
When you have an hour
When you have 10 minutes.

Just Come.

And you will be filled with a fresh, satisfying, rich drink of water that never runs out, available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Better hours than even Starbuck's keeps.

Promise.

By Jody Lee Collins

[Judy Harder]

How to be a Better Friend
Sep 20, 2013 01:20 am | Amber Haines



I spent a rare weekend with friends, and I had never felt so loved by a group of girls in my whole life. I'm usually one of those who is slow to trust, but there's something different about these friends of mine. I only see them once a year, and when I leave them, I feel a little bit more confident in who I am. They all seem to be striving to come closer to the truth about themselves, and truth in Christ is the best thing that ever happened to a woman. When I leave them, my love for them will have always doubled, but one of the greatest, most lasting thing I've noticed is that I walk away more tender with myself. I see myself in a new way.

I've been thinking about what makes these ladies so special, and the following list on how to be a better friend is what I learned from them. It's a list I made for myself.

1. When you're sitting with me and you look down at your own crossed legs and notice the cellulite dimpling every way it can, don't shift yourself to the side or smooth things out. Sit still. Look down and decide that your skin is beautiful, that I am beautiful, too.

2. When you're hungry, and everyone else has only had salad and half a cookie, pick up the tongs and dip them deep into the pasta. Go back for the cream sauce. Eat a whole cookie.

3. When you haven't been able to get out of the bed, and I'm not catching all the red flags you're waving about the darkness pressing in, pitch a fit if you have to. Do something to shake me by the shoulders. Be straightforward. Say it out loud that you were created to be loved.

4. When you're rested, you don't feel so crazy inside. Your unrest can be contagious. Go to bed when you're sleepy, unless it's to stay up and watch Duck Dynasty with me. Even then, after a good laugh at Uncle Si, go to bed.

5. Know yourself. Appreciate the rip currents in your life that are personal to you, and then by George, don't go swimming toward them.  Don't lose yourself to sugar or sex or alcohol or clothes or your kids. On second thought, you can't really not swim toward your kids. In that case, let God be the rip current. It's okay to swim there, even if it makes you sound like a walking-talking Sunday-morning devotional.

6. Love your art. Make room for it. Always keep your eyes and ears open for it. Give yourself permission to enjoy what you make. The light in your eyes is brighter that way.

7. Forgive the ones who hurt you. You have no idea how your peace becomes mine.

8. Be uninhibited. Love the kind of music you love. Dance with that crazy dance face of yours that makes me double over laughing. I would never wear the clothes you have on, and I love that. When you stop making appearances your god, you become the most beautiful person in the room. I like your kind of pretty the most.

9. Say thank you. When I nearly keel over dead at how awesome you are, don't make excuses for the good work God has done in you.

10. Love God. But also? Love yourself. How can you love me if you don't love yourself?



I know it can sound self-indulgent or self-centereed to talk this way, but I'm not talking about that at all. Sometimes I think we feel guilty when we care for ourselves, when we place value on ourselves as God's image-bearing child.

I've come to believe that the friends who are best for me are the ones who love themselves, too. I've been given permission this week to love.

So tell me, what are the ways that you can love yourself better?

[Judy Harder]

Sunday Scripture
Sep 22, 2013 01:20 am | incourage



"Then the King will say to those on his right,
'Come, you who are blessed by my Father,
inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world.

For I was hungry, and you fed me.
I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink.
I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home.
I was naked, and you gave me clothing.
I was sick, and you cared for me.
I was in prison, and you visited me.'

"Then these righteous ones will reply,
'Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you?
Or thirsty and give you something to drink?
Or a stranger and show you hospitality?
Or naked and give you clothing?
When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?'

"And the King will say,
'I tell you the truth, when you did it
to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters,
you were doing it to me!'"
Matthew 25:34-40

We are so honored to be partnering with you, our (in)courage sisters, to bless the mamas and babies of Mercy House Kenya this fall. You are feeding, clothing, caring for the least of these in an amazing way! To take part – or to learn more – visit the (in)Mercy project at Pure Charity.



Confessions of an Emotion Stuffer-Downer 

Sep 21, 2013 01:20 am | Arianne Segerman



I would love to talk real talk with you for a minute. Let's grab a spot on my couch and I'll make you some green tea with honey and I'll make sure we aren't interrupted because this is a bit of a hard thing.

I have always been a pretty expressive person, and proudly so. Emotions on my sleeve, I figured I was good at processing my hurts and letting them out and not holding stuff in. I appeared to be someone who dealt with her Big Stuff, someone who wasn't in denial about life. I've been through very hard things and let God deal with them and surrendered, and I guess I thought I was done doing that. You can see where this is going...

But then this summer God pretty much hit me over the head with a truth I'm still working through. I push my true emotions down and away and into a box where I have no plans to access them ever again. Then the emotions I do let out are sort of the skimming off the top type. The fat on top of the pan that you can discard without any effects to the actual dish. The emotions that are rather safe, because they aren't *real*. The happy spazzy side of me, the deep, peaceful, introspective side of me. Both are aspects of me, but both are hiding an insidious truth and therefore aren't really my real self.

I was shocked to realize that I'm actually an emotion stuffer-downer. Those emotions that were always on my sleeve? They are actually the product, the effects, of what's been shut off. Sometimes you might see anger or shame, but they aren't at the root. That happiness you might see, yes it is real, but only surface-real. Not deep, let freedom ring, kind of real.

Here is what was at the core of me that I didn't even know was there: good ol' fashioned fear.

It's as if all my true self was hiding and I created this other self to cope with life. And I know that sounds dramatic, but it was a coping that had to happen because of hard things I went through, and now God wants it all healed. The old story is done ruling me, and a new story is being formed.

What I want to know is this: Do you have deeply rooted fear? Maybe you don't feel afraid, but do you have total peace about your career, or your marriage or your family — your life? If you don't have peace, there is a chance you have some fear in there that could stand to be dug up. In fact, I feel like "digging" is too gentle of a metaphor. I want us to rip out the fear by the scalp and throw it across the room until it hits the wall and is dead. I want the fear gone and gone.

You see, that fear is not from the Lord. He is love, and fear is the opposite of love. And if God's perfect love casts out all fear, it should be ridding me of fear. If I'm still afraid deep inside me, I'm not letting God get at me deep inside my heart.

So I let him go there, to those tender heart places that were so wounded I let them be covered up and forgotten in hopes the pain would hurt less. He is knitting those wounds together now, a newness that is holy and beautiful, because the fear was ripped out and a new story is forming and, oh girl, it's a good one.

Maybe you don't relate to any of this at all, and that's ok. I'm so glad you're in that healed and beautiful place.

But if you search your heart – allow God to search it – and you come up with some kind of fear at the depths of you, hiding and pretending to not be there, then you know what I'm talking about. God is ready for you to let him grab that fear and take it from you and give you a fresh well to draw upon.

Know that the process isn't easy, but it is so rewarding I can't say it enough — IT IS WORTH IT.

Face those fears, don't run from them any longer. You are safe, you are loved, and you can trust the One who wants to heal you wholly and completely. Let God's perfect love push out every inch of the fear that binds.

It's time.

[Judy Harder]

Because I Loved You
The Faces Behind Mercy
Sep 23, 2013 01:20 am | Kristen Welch


By now you might recognize the bright, glowing faces of Mercy House.


These precious girls and their babes are the literal poster children for miracles and God-sized dreams.


But there are countless faces you and I don't know. I've never seen the face of the mother who writes the $25 check every month that pays for the clothes and shoes the residents wear or the mom who balances her budget and decides her family can give $10 that will buy a bag of charcoal to power the jika (outdoor stove) to prepare a huge pot of beans because the electricity is out again.

I wouldn't recognize the family that sacrificed a vacation to give $1,000 to pay for a c-section or the dad who gave a donation in his pregnant wife's name at Christmas that made three counseling sessions possible for our new traumatized girl. Or the mom who invites her children to think of others:

"While trying to teach my girls that not everyone in the world is as blessed as we are in the USA, I asked them to pick out toys and clothes that we could sell and donate the proceeds to a good cause. My girls are 3, 6, and 9, and they did a wonderful job helping with the sale. I gave them a few options to choose where to donate the money. When I got to Mercy House, they were horrified by what had happened to the girls who now live in Mercy House (I only gave them a brief overview). They immediately wanted to give the money to Mercy House."

I don't know the hundreds and hundreds of faces who make a maternity home in Kenya possible for pregnant girls who had no other options. But I know that every small gift has mattered. Not only has it offered hope and fulfilled the vision of Mercy House, it's changed the giver.

"We've learned that our small gifts and support, when combined with others' small gifts and support, can create a HUGE difference. 12 girls rescued, 12 babies saved. This is just amazing to us. Daily, our kids ask about 'our family in Kenya.' They look for ways to give to The Mercy House. Being a part of this journey helps us give our kids a wider, more comprehensive worldview. And it opens our eyes, too.

When we see the newest pictures of Precious and how big she's growing or sweet Esther and how her insecurity is being transformed into confidence right before our eyes...well, I don't know how to put that into words. We're excited to be a part of The Mercy House family. So long as The Mercy House is rescuing people in the name of Jesus and showing them the love of God, the Goodwins will be standing by their side, supporting every move. We love watching God move in Kenya and work through The Mercy House!" ~ Lindsey Goodwin, monthly donor


"God called me to mentor young mothers-to-be. I thought I would actually BE doing the mentoring/teaching, but God's ways are bigger and better and more amazing than mine. My support (with so many others) allows those He has called in Kenya to physically be with these amazing young women. I love seeing the transformation of these lives because God is working around them, in them and through them. Lives have been forever changed. And those babies are so cute!!!

Being part of this story has opened my eyes to many things...to the plight of young girls everywhere, to the reality of a slum, to the far-reaching impact that one person's obedience can have. This story has deepened my faith in the miracle-working God I worship and my heart is more tender." ~ Carol Darden, monthly Mercy House donor

The face behind Mercy House looks a lot like Kristen Howerton's of Rage Against the Minivan:


I may not recognize all the faces behind mercy, but God knows everyone. He sees. And your gift of love, no matter how small, makes a difference.

Phase 1 of (in)Mercy is over halfway there and the 24 residents and six staff members will be able to ride to church and doctor's visits, to the market without taking multiple trips in a new-to-us van!


Mercy House doesn't exist in Kenya because of large government grants or big corporate donations. It rescues and loves the least of these because of you.

Stay tuned for Phase 2.






Sep 23, 2013 01:10 am | Alexandra Kuykendall



I placed one foot in front of the other, grateful the library staircase was long. Each step was a crossing over from everyday life of a nursing baby and school drop-offs and work emails into a few hours of writing. Once inside, my feet took me on autopilot to my spot on the second floor, the window that looked across the commons onto the chapel with the cross.

But first I had to walk between bookshelves.

Rows of books written by people who believed enough in the topics at hand that they gave hours of life to pound out the words. It was a repeated daily passage into the physical, emotional and spiritual space of writing down my story. I walked through the aisles, past the authors who had gone before me, trusting if they could do it, I could too.

Once at my desk with a view, my laptop out and my coffee waiting to be finished, I read an email. From my mother-in-law, a seasoned writer, who sent me almost daily encouragements as I tried to type my soul out, story by story, line by line, word by word. Her email included a blog post written by the writer for which she and I shared an admiration: Donald Miller. She loved his emphasis on story and I admired his honesty. This particular post was entitled The Best Writing Advice I've Ever Received. And this writer who I admired oh so much simply said he was divinely nudged with the phrase, "Love your reader."

Love. Your. Reader.

You, who I pictured sitting across that library table from me sharing some coffee and conversation. You, a willing listener to hear the details of my own journey, deserved to be loved as I told them. I loved through the particulars that I thought you needed to hear. The ones that talked of a broken heart as a girl, searching for significance in all the places a girl would, of a young woman falling in love and the fear in it, and midnight marriage prayers only a few years later. Of motherhood and all of its expectations and waves of emotion that I wasn't prepared for. I told of the questions, the doubts because I wanted you to know you are not alone. I wanted to love you.

And how interesting this phrasing – Love your reader – when the whole premise of my story is love. Three burning questions that get to the core of who we are: Am I lovable? Am I loved? Am I loving? When I consider what truly defines me, it is Love. The Love Giver, who gave his very self on the cross. Who CHOSE to take on the worst of the world in order to heal it. To heal us.

His reason: Because I loved you.

For God is love.

And yet so much of my journey is confusing that love. Is looking for validation that yes, I am lovable, and that please, please love me kind of ask, and the failing after failing of loving the people around me well. Only when I look at The Artist's truth and ask Am I lovable? Am I loved? Am I loving? do I get a proper sense of my worth. He tells me his Grace covers it all. I don't have to be everything, or enough, he is enough. I can rest in his pure and generous love. The Artist's Daughter.

I had it all in my heart as it was now my turn to pound out those words.

Because I believed in the topic at hand, that Grace is given and it is enough.

Because I loved you.

——————-


Alexandra Kuykendall works at MOPS International (Mothers of Preschoolers) where she encourages mothers of young children to keep growing as they take on their new mothering identity. She is a regular contributor and consulting editor to MomSense magazine, Connections magazine, and the MOPS blog. A frequent speaker for MOPS, Alexandra has been featured on Good Morning America. As the mother of four young children, she continues to refine her mothering identity. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband, Derek, and their daughters.

Alex is also the author of The Artist's Daughter: A Memoir, a book full of short, moving episodes that transport readers into her life that included a childhood in Europe, a spiritual conversion marked more by questions than answers, a courtship in the midst of a call to be with troubled teens, marriage and motherhood – and always, always, the question of identity. Through her personal journey, women will discover their own path to understanding the shape of their lives and a deeper sense of God's intimate presence within it.

Today we're excited to give away FIVE copies of The Artist's Daughter! To be entered to win a copy, leave a comment telling us about something you've learned since beginning your faith journey. Winners will be chosen randomly and announced on Friday.