Manna for the Moment

Manna for the Moment
Photo by Nicholas Barbaros on Unsplash

 

It’s safe to say we’re all worn a little thin these days. As Bilbo Baggins said, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.”

Sometimes it’s just because we’re looking down the road and we see all that’s ahead. We’re at the beginning of diagnosis. Getting our kids to college feels daunting. We wonder how we’ll keep our heads above water with all the work we have to do.

Sometimes life comes at us hard. We’re reminded of our frailty, of how little we can actually control in our lives, or in the world.

I felt that way a few weeks ago, burdened by the weight of a situation in my life. I realized the anxiety I felt was because I wanted the grace, not just for this moment, but for all the moments. Looking ahead, I wanted all the grace for all that might happen in this area of my life.

And God said, “I only give you manna for this moment.”

What Is Manna?

Manna, the bread the Israelites were given as they wandered in the desert. The bread that literally made them say, “what is it?” I mean I’m not a foodie, but the thought of that same old same old every day for years sounds blech.

And yet it sustained. It was enough. From the hands of a God who knew what they needed, it was just right.

But it was daily provision. Not “store up for tomorrow” or “store up for when you really need it” provision.

Manna for the moment.

So when that anxiety tried to creep back in, I went to God to remind myself that I don’t need now what I will need then. I only need Him to give me what I need for where I am right now. And a few hours later, still-manna for this moment.

I thought of it again a week later when I stared ahead with anticipation to a new project I started at work. It was to start on a Thursday. I worried about it on Monday, and God said, “Are you doing this today?”

“No.”

“So I will give you manna for today. And when we get to Thursday, I will be there too. I will give you the grace you need when we get there.”

Manna for Each Moment

It’s such an invitation into trust that not only will God be there but His grace will be too. It doesn’t run out. His storehouses don’t empty. We don’t have to store up out of fear that we will lack later. Perfect provision for the place where we are.

But gosh, it’s hard, this moment-by-moment dependence. It keeps us close to our need, aware of our lack. But it’s also this amazing opportunity to turn our eyes off our weakness and onto His strength, His sufficiency.

Whatever circumstance we’re in today, God will give us the grace we need. Not for what comes tomorrow. Just for what we see today. Because then tomorrow we get to wake up and do this dependence dance all over again.

This dependence disciplines us. It humbles us. But it also frees us to live in the moment. Why do we worry about tomorrow? His grace will be there.

This is how we traverse the wilderness; one manna moment at a time. We walk with God as He feeds us His grace.

 

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Cancel Culture and the Gospel

Cancel Culture and the Gospel
Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

 

These days, as I said in my last post, I avoid social media most of the time. It’s just not good for my soul. Every once in a while though I will jump on Twitter and see what’s trending. All too often, I see a hashtag that includes the word, “cancel.”

We like to cancel people these days. More often than not, it’s a comment or an action from that person that offends in some way. Sometimes it’s justified-we need to call out wrong behavior.

But more often than not, it seems, it’s something that person simply didn’t think through well enough before it happened; if they had, they might have refrained.

Worse yet, maybe it happened years ago. Decades ago, even. Back when their brains weren’t fully developed, or before they carried the cultural gravitas they have now. Back when they were unknown, or before they changed their mind on an issue (yes, we can change our minds and our behavior). Certainly, before everyone’s every movement could be documented and displayed for the world to see.

But too late! It doesn’t matter when or why, it’s in the world now, and enough to make a blanket judgment about you. You are voted off the island, eliminated from the crowd, erased from existence. And not only you, but anyone associated with you.

I’m all for holding people accountable for their words and actions. There’s a growing recognition that much of what happens in our society has been and continues to be damaging to many. That must change. On certain issues, we cannot remain silent or we add to the problem.

But this idea that we will cancel someone because of one moment-this I cannot reconcile with the gospel.

Cancel Culture in the Bible

Cancel culture paints the world in black and white. You are good or bad, weighed on a scale. You tip out of favor with one wrong move, and there’s no coming back from it. The gavel has come down and you are irreversibly in the “bad” category.

The good/bad split doesn’t account for the reality that we are complex people, capable of great blessing and harm, each of us. It doesn’t account for redemption. It doesn’t recognize the gospel.

I think of Zaccheus. There’s a man we would cancel today. He betrayed his own people in his job as a tax collector. The woman caught in adultery? Canceled. Peter denying Jesus three times? Canceled.

When we don’t have the lens of the gospel, it makes sense that we would cancel. We create our own moral code, a tenuous assumption of goodness until we prove otherwise. The world waits with its scarlet C, ready to judge.

The Gospel of Grace

But the gospel says there is redemption. There is hope for those who fail. Grace for the fallen. New life after the wrong-doing. It says our goodness isn’t measured on a scale, that forgiveness is possible, and change can happen.

The gospel says there is no one good, not one. Instead, there is One who has come and done what we cannot do-wiped the slate clean, broken the scales, torn the veil that separates us from love and acceptance and freedom from top to bottom.

Don’t think I’m suggesting we not call people out on their sin. There is good accountability, a higher standard being raised in areas long excused. That is important.

But in all ways and at all times, we are called to treat people as Jesus did and does.

What would Jesus say to the person today who commits a cancel-worthy crime?

Jesus Doesn’t Cancel Us

I think of the woman caught in adultery, of Zaccheus, of Peter. I think of how Jesus responded to them. He did not excuse their sin. He knew exactly what they had done.

But in his response to them, there was no shame. There was no dismissal of them as people. He looked straight at them with compassion. He clearly acknowledged their sin and then invited them away from it.  There was hope for restoration.

And restoration happened. Zaccheaus paid back all he took and then some. Peter became the foundation of the church. Jesus calls out sin, and then He calls us out of it into new life.

With the gospel, there is hope. With cancel culture, there is only condemnation. It goes against our sense of justice, but in God’s eyes, no one is unredeemable.

We ought to hold people accountable for their actions. Sin should be acknowledged. We must invite people to repentance. And yes, that might mean consequences-loss of position or influence. But it should not involve condemnation. Shame has no place in the gospel.

God Doesn’t Cancel Us

Full disclosure? I’ve been afraid to write this post. So many times I’ve seen people take issue with something a writer says or does, and the result is, “We aren’t going to read anything she writes anymore,” as though that one comment or action negates all the goodness or truth that person has written. I fear being canceled.

But I don’t want to live under that tyranny. I hope I never sin against someone in what I write. It’s possible I might ignorantly offend. If that happens, I would hope someone would come to me and invite me to repentance. I would hope for the opportunity to set things right.

May we be like Him, speaking truth to sin, but with a kind call to turn from that sin. After all, it’s His kindness that leads to repentance, not shame.

God never cancels us.

“Jesus straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ ‘No one, sir,’ she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,’ Jesus declared. ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.'” John 8:10-11

 

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Why We Need Kindness Right Now

Why We Need Kindness Right Now
photo by Priscilla Du Preez

 

Sometimes as I think about this strange season we’re in, and how much longer it’s going to be I wonder how we will get through (honestly, it’s good they’re doing this in stages. We need to be eased into the reality of it). What I keep coming back to is this: we need a lot more kindness.

Why We Need Kindness

We need to be kind to ourselves, and we need to be kind to others. In stores, online, in zoom calls and on the streets (from a safe social distance, of course). Our world needs more kindness if we’re going to get through this well.

We need kindness because we’ve never done this before. And when we do something for the first time, we don’t know what we’re doing. Which means we’ll feel lost and uncomfortable and incompetent. And the last thing we need right then is to put unrealistic expectations on ourselves to know what to do and be able to keep going just as we did before. No, we need someone to be kind to us. We need someone to be patient while we learn this new season.

We need kindness because this is scary. And when things are scary we get anxious. That’s normal. Some of us are more anxious than others for a lot of really good reasons-our health is poor, or our parents are old, or we have to work in hospitals. Whatever the reason, whether it makes sense to us or not, it’s understandable. When someone is scared, it doesn’t help to tell them not to be scared. They need empathy. They need someone to listen to their fears and tell them we’re with them.

We need kindness because it’s just too much sometimes. And when it’s too much it’s not because we’re weak or we did it wrong or we stink at this. It’s too much because we weren’t made to live this way. Adrenaline is only supposed to last us so long-just enough to get away from the danger. We can’t get away from this danger. When we hit the wall (and we will) we need to be kind to ourselves about it.

We need kindness because this isn’t normal. But this is the only normal that we’re going to get for a long time, and that’s hard. Learning to live with that is discombobulating, which is a fantastic word but something none of us like to feel. We’re living with little “t” trauma all the time. A lot of us feel disregulated. Kindness helps get us back to a healthy place.

We need kindness because we’re sad. The big, obvious losses we’re incurring are easy to note, but we tend to ignore the little ones. We did a zoom call the other night with old friends from overseas, and while it was a delight, the fact that they are here in my city and I can’t see them grieved me. Those little losses are like pinhole pricks in the bucket of our life; after a while, we’re drained and we don’t know why. Kindness acknowledges the holes and says, “no wonder you’re sad.”

And all of this makes us really tired in a way that surprises us a lot. Why are we so tired? Because of all the things. Because of unexpected homeschooling, and ridiculous amounts of pivoting, coupled with less positive relational connection than even the most introverted among us need. We need to be kind to ourselves when we’re tired. Of course we’re tired.

Kindness for the Journey

So we carry all of that on us, often without realizing it. And that’s a heavy load, especially to carry for a long time. Extending kindness is like someone coming alongside us to acknowledge the impossible weight, lift the pack off, and give us permission to rest. Yes, we need to keep walking, but we need to give ourselves and others the space to sit in that grace from time to time.

Maybe you’re taking this all in stride. Maybe you’ve moved through the grief and confusion and you’re in a place of acceptance. That’s good. But others are still struggling. Or will be struggling (including those of us who are doing well today-it might hit us again tomorrow). We need kindness because even though we’re all in this together, we’re not. Each of us is experiencing it differently, for a million reasons. And when someone else hits the wall in a way we don’t understand, they need kindness. Kindness gives everyone the space to be on their own journey in responding to this.

I hope we give it to them. Because kindness grows kindness. And when we are in a practice of extending kindness to ourselves in difficult seasons, then it’s our natural response to extend it to others.

As hard as this season is, that’s my hope-that this could be a time when we grow kindness like wildflowers. May this be a time when our ability to look each other in the eyes and simply see “beloved of God” before us grows exponentially. Kindness will help us get through it.

 

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Grace for the New Year

Grace for the New Year
Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash

 

I woke up one morning soon after Christmas break all ambitious for the day (the 5-word title of my biography will read Maybe She Was too Ambitious). I planned a few hours of writing, a few hours of talk planning.

But then we had an unexpected doctor visit (all’s well, thanks for asking). That’s alright, I thought-a little less writing, a little less planning.

And then I realized how tired I was. So I decided on a 20-minute nap.

4 times in a row.

While I went in and out of sleep, I felt that old nagging friend, Anxiety, whispering, “You’re not getting things done,” and her companion, Guilt, “some start to the new year. I mean seriously, it’s day 3 of being back to productivity.”

But then, Grace showed up. And Grace said, “Apparently you need sleep. Good thing you’ve got time next week. It’ll be okay. It will happen. One day that doesn’t go as planned does not derail your life.”

It doesn’t take long into a new venture for those old voices to start whispering to us. Maybe we bit off more than we can chew. It might be too hard. Do we really need to go to the gym? How important is that habit I wanted to start? Is that dream actually worth pursuing?

It’s easy to fall into an all or nothing mentality. If I’m not doing it well, maybe it’s not worth doing. If I skip a day, fall short, miss an opportunity, maybe I shouldn’t have tried in the first place.

But that’s a life without the voice of Grace. We won’t get far into our adventures this year without it.

What Grace Says

Scripture says the righteous person falls seven times and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity (Proverbs 24:16).

The wise woman hits repeat four times on her alarm and then rises to try again, but the foolish one lets the negative voices tell her she’s disqualifying herself.

In the pursuit of the goals, habits, and dreams we hope to accomplish this year, we will stumble. Grace is the voice saying, “get back up, you’re not done.”

Grace says one day doesn’t take us out. Or a week of days. Or even a month. It says we can still hope, and God doesn’t desert, and this is all part of being human.

Grace might be the best companion we have all year. The best workout buddy, the greatest accountability partner, our biggest cheerleader. Click To Tweet

So let’s bring Grace along this year in every endeavor.

Let it be the voice that speaks loudest in your mind whenever you get sidetracked.

Listen to it call you to freedom and rest.

May it be the voice that encourages you to keep going.

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Permission to Make Mistakes

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Permission to Make Mistakes
Photo by Daniel Tafjord on Unsplash

A friend of mine called one afternoon, in tears. She messed up. No way around it, no sugar coating. She made a mistake. It left her feeling disqualified.

I resonate with the feeling. I’m an Enneagram 3-failure is my kryptonite. The accompanying shame is my greatest fear. That’s the kicker, right? The shame. The sucker punch in your gut that you can’t shake. That feeling not just that we did something wrong, but that there’s something wrong with us. 

Mistakes happen. We all know that. We all make them. But there’s this pervasive sense that we shouldn’t.

If only we had planned better, worked harder, been smarter, caught ourselves sooner, it wouldn’t have happened. Mistakes feel like an indictment.

Lies, all lies.

We are too hard on ourselves

Gosh, I wish we could let ourselves make more mistakes. I wish I could let myself make more mistakes. Later that afternoon I texted my husband about a decision I made that resulted in us missing a deadline, and I told him, “now I’m questioning all my life choices.”

It was a $20 mistake.

His response, “So you’re questioning all your life choices over $20?”

Yes! Yes, I am. Let me have this! It feels proportionate!

But it’s not. I’ve said it before, and I will say it until my dying breath-we are too hard on ourselves. We are harder on ourselves than anyone else is. What feels disqualifying is just evidence of being human. It’s an opportunity to brush ourselves off, laugh, keep going, and maybe learn something in the process (like pay closer attention to deadlines).

When my friend called that day, she said, “It feels like grace has run out for me.” (One of those, “I know it’s not true, but right now it feels true,” statements).

I get it. That $20 mistake came on the heels of a much larger, much more life-changing mistake we made a few weeks prior regarding our son’s housing for college that stung. Hard. We’re understandably a little gun shy. It feels like grace could run out any minute.

But it won’t. It doesn’t. Not for us. Not for her either. Cause grace doesn’t run out. (say it again, this time with feeling!)

Grace. Doesn’t. Run. Out.

[ictt-tweet-inline]Mistakes don’t shut the door to grace-they open it. [/ictt-tweet-inline] They are an invitation to others to come alongside us and speak the kindness and gentleness we need. It’s easy to believe that people stick around because we’re doing it right. Every time we fail, we give others the chance to prove that those who really love us stick around regardless.

Look to The Source

Oh sure, the reality is some won’t. From some people, grace may run dry. But (and I say this with great love for all the people) people are not a reliable source of anything.

A source, yes, but not THE source. And those who can’t offer grace usually don’t because they struggle to receive it for themselves. People can’t give what they don’t have. So while we may hope for grace from others, we can always rely on the Source.

The Source of grace never runs dry. God is overflowing with unmerited, never-ending grace.

So let mistakes be a reminder that our souls are thirsty, and the well is never empty. Let them lead us to admit that we’re human, limited, fallible, weak, and needy. Failure humbles us and causes us (hopefully) to reach out for just a little more grace.

Be a grace giver

And friends, we need to grab that grace. Not only for ourselves but for others. The more we give ourselves permission to make mistakes, to be human, to stumble and fall and get back up, the more we let the people around us do it too.

Then we end up living in a world where we’re all less afraid. We take risks because failure isn’t fatal, just humbling. When we learn to live with mistakes, we become the grace givers. And the world needs more grace givers.

So where did you fail today? How will you give yourself permission to make some mistakes? There’s more grace for you. There’s more grace for all of us.

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Why Do We Keep Ourselves from Grace?

Why Do We Keep Ourselves from Grace?
Photo by Jason Blackeye on Unsplash

When you see your child’s number appear on your phone in the middle of a school day, it’s usually not a great sign. Worse when the voice on the other end is in tears. The first thought in my mind was, “Who’s hurt? What’s broken?” (thankfully no one and nothing). Instead, I heard the story of a foolish mistake that resulted in negative (but necessary) consequences, leaving a wake of regret and embarrassment.

Throughout the day, text messages came at me, asking if I was disappointed, convinced that others were disappointed, determined that we should be disappointed. The reality was, the disappointment came from within.

Finally the words came out, “I just can’t forgive myself.” Ah, there it is. It’s not that others hadn’t forgiven. In fact, grace was abundant. Yet there was a determination to continue to stand in judgment of himself, refusing grace.

Sometimes, we’re the only ones keeping us from the grace we need.

Why do we do this?

We are hard wired for justice. The world tells us we don’t get things for free. There should be punishment for our failure. It feels right somehow to call ourselves to task. Someone must pay.

We forget Someone already has.

So we don’t allow ourselves to grab hold of the grace offered to us in times of failure. It’s our own negative self-talk that keeps us in a place of condemnation instead of resting in grace. Judge and jury hold court in our own heads. While others hold out forgiveness, we hold ourselves just beyond its grasp.

We keep ourselves in chains, when we are called live freely.

If the voice in our heads says we are out of reach of grace, it’s not God talking.

So what do we do? We claim what’s true.

I reminded my son there is only one Person in the world who has the right to judge us, and He has already made the ruling on our sin, failure, and weakness. No condemnation. Free and forgiven. Nothing we do surprises Him because He saw it before it happened. He sees more failure in us than we see, and He still forgives. Therefore, nothing makes Him withdraw grace. If He has declared us free, then our job is to agree with Him, and let ourselves off the hook.

Where our pride keeps us from owning our humanity, and shame chains us as unworthy, we must humbly accept that we are who we are-fallen people in need of grace.

Humility. Acceptance. Agreement.

Repeat and repeat and repeat, until His becomes the truest voice in our heads, overpowering our lies. This is how we unchain ourselves, and walk freely the grace we need every day.

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Why I Don’t Teach Sunday School . . . or . . . Finding My Yes

Why I Won't Teach Sunday School . . . or Finding My Yes
photo by Jorigė Kuzmaitė

 

You will never see me teaching Sunday School to children.

It took me years to be able to say that without embarrassment. What kind of person isn’t willing to teach children? Does Gina not like children? Does she not see the great potential in shepherding young souls? These are the questions I was sure people would ask.

When my kids were little, and someone stood up front at church to talk about how important children’s ministry is (I swear in the background I could hear Whitney Houston singing, “I believe the children are our future . . .”) I would sink down in my seat, refusing to make eye contact, feeling terrible.

Then, one day, it hit me, “I am not called to this.” And suddenly I was free. I felt like Phoebe, in the pilot episode of Friends:

I don’t want to because it’s not what I’m supposed to do.

My calling is to other activities, things that you probably don’t want to do. I know this, because often when I tell people what I enjoy doing, they get a look on their face like they just smelled something weird. They would hate what I love. And that is as it should be.

We weren’t all given the same passions or gifts. How boring would that be? And ineffective. This isn’t Divergent. Five factions isn’t going to cut it.

Since coming back to the States, I have had opportunities to minister in a variety of ways unavailable to me overseas, which is fabulous.

What’s hard is discerning what I should and shouldn’t do.

At first, I felt I should say yes to everything because if I didn’t they might stop offering. Over time I’ve learned that when I say no to less ideal opportunities, it leaves space to pursue that which I love. God knows the good way I should walk, and He can guide me to the best yeses.

There is great freedom and joy in knowing that I am learning to give my time to what I am created to do, rather than just doing what I see, or what is asked of me. I want to give my energy to the activities God has for me, not what others want me to do.

In saying no, I am leaving space for someone who truly IS called to do that.

And I hope she does. She probably will, because she wants to say yes. And I will say yes somewhere else. There, we will both find joy and life.

So go ahead, ask me to teach Sunday School. I will politely decline and feel no remorse. It’s just not my calling.

What about you? What are you saying yes to today?

 

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Climbing 2017 One Step at a Time

Climbing 2017 One Step at a Time
photo by Tobias Cornille

 

Two days into the New Year, and I whined to my husband, “I have too much to DO!”

“Like what?” he reasonably asked.

“I don’t know. EVERYTHING,” I told him (let me have this dramatic moment, mister). I have big plans this year, and those big plans are looming.

It didn’t help that I spent most of the last week and a half sick and fairly inactive. New Year’s Eve I was in bed by 9 pm (oh, who am I kidding? I’m always in bed by 9 pm, even on New Year’s Eve. A night owl I am not). After all that laying around, I came into 2017 like a racehorse fresh out of the box, like Pac Man ready to gobble down all the pac-dots and level up.

In all that down time, I was able to reflect on last year and dream big for this one. I filled that new planner with goals I want to accomplish and habits I hope to keep and books to read and ponies to ask for. I even added an extra page to capture the other roles and responsibilities I know God’s put on my plate for this year (I’ll send my planner 2.0 version to subscribers soon!). I immediately found myself wanting to chase down every goal, check every box, fulfill every hope that sprang to mind as I thought about this new year. And I wanted to do it before the end of the week.

It’s good and right to look ahead and hope for bigger and better, to plan for change and set our hearts in new directions. We want to lift our eyes from the path we’re on to see the next mountain we could climb. The problem is: mountain climbing is hard. Where to even begin? 

Some of us look at that mountain and think, “What was I thinking? I can’t mountain climb,” and we give up. Others, like yours truly, think, “Well, if I run, I’ll get to the top faster.” Moron. You can’t run up a mountain.

It’s no secret I’m not the best at pacing myself. This may be why so many resolutions fall by the wayside: we who are so accustomed to instant results struggle to see the mountain and know how to conquer it a little at a time. We don’t know how to do the long journey. We have seen what could be, and we want it now. We see how hard the journey will be, and we doubt our ability to endure. It’s easier to decide not to climb.

The Chinese have a saying, “千里之行,始於足下.” (Qiān lĭ zhī xíng, shĭ yú zú xià for those of you who are familiar with Mandarin, or who just want to have a slighter better chance of reading it) We know it as, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” 

It’s important to lift our eyes, to dream of what could be. We must keep it in mind, as we live with the reality that today, maybe I only inch toward it. Tomorrow, maybe I leap. Tomorrow, maybe I check a box, or I accomplish something big. Then the next day, maybe I rest, or I go back and do the same step again. We keep our eyes on the top while we take the next step.

This morning as I walked, I prayed about this. I was reminded that I want to hold goals and dreams and hopes that are God-honoring, that are from Him. I want to do what He has called me to do, nothing more, nothing less. So if these are the mountains He has given me to climb, He can help me climb them, one step at at time. He can guide my pace, give me grace for the days when not much happens, and strength for the days I need to push through.

So I ask Him, “What step should I take today?” Do that, and it is enough. Remember: we don’t just have all year. We have our lives to keep moving in the direction He’s leading. The journey continues each day, one step at a time.

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The World Is Dark, but We Know the Light

Finding Light in a Dark World
Photo by Dmitry Ratushny on Unsplash

 This has been a divisive year. Lines have been drawn and ugliness has risen to the surface in many places. Sometimes the darkness feels all too strong.

Jesus understands that kind of world.

When he entered it, the Jewish people had endured 400 years of silence from God. They lived under the oppressive rule of Rome. Soldiers walked the streets. Riots were not uncommon. Even within Judaism, there was division, as four sects fought for control. Shortly after he was born, Jesus and his family were forced to flee to a new country to avoid Herod’s massacre of children under 2. Dark times, indeed.

The Jews wanted someone to take away the darkness. They wanted a Savior, but their idea of how they would be saved and from what was misguided. Jesus didn’t come as a military or political leader. He didn’t free them from Rome. He wasn’t about conforming governments to his will. He didn’t erase dividing lines between people. He didn’t make everything easy, or pave a straight, conflict free path for us. He didn’t eradicate evil. Instead, he shone a light into it.

He was light in the darkness.

That light sets hearts free. He stepped into the darkness to make room for joy, peace, hope, mercy and grace. His light was life and love, come into the world, to transform us, rather than transforming our worlds to suit us.

We are not called to look at the darkness and be afraid. We are not meant to see it and complain and argue about what it all means. We don’t shake our heads and give up. We don’t wring our hands in despair.

We turn on the light.

We move into the world as people who know joy, peace, hope, grace, mercy, and above all, love. This is what we are about. We are about shining his light brighter and brighter. So this Christmas season, how can we remember to shine his light in the world?

We shine the light of hope. Our hope is in a person, not an outcome. We do not hope in government. We do not hope in society conforming to our standards. We hope in what he can do. We hope in what will be.

We shine the light of peace. Peace is not merely an emotion, but a state of reconciliation brought about through him. So where there is division and unrest, we speak peace. In the midst of chaos, we breathe peace.

We shine the light of joy. He gives us joy beyond circumstances, the joy of knowing him and being loved by him. That joy ought to show on our faces, in our spirits, in how we move through this world.

We shine the light of mercy and grace. Jesus came for the outcast, the downtrodden, the poor, weak and weary. We declare that the gospel is for the ragamuffin, for those who are not too proud to receive what they need. That starts with recognizing we are counted among the needy.

We shine the light of love. Most of all, the light that shines in the darkness declares that love overcomes. It overcomes the darkness in our hearts and opens the door for us to receive all that he offers us. Christmas is God’s shout of love to the world, a shout that makes the darkness flee. Let’s simmer in this reality long enough for it to show up in our actions, in our words.

Yes, the world is dark, but we know the light.

This Christmas, let’s seek ways to make the light brighter in what we say, how we treat others, how we make room for them, where we look for life. Let us be people who reflect the light to a dark world.

“for he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the son he loves.” Colossians 1:13

Related posts:

Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God 

Reflections on a Christmas Morning

Feel Your Worth

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Let Go and Let Him Hold You

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Let Go and Let Him Hold You
Photo by Haley Phelps on Unsplash

These last few months have been tough. I’ve ventured in to new areas that make me uncomfortable and scared and bone-weary, resulting in a lot of anxiety, and at times, depression. Being the get ‘er done girl that I am, my gut reaction to seasons like this is, “Ok, so what do I need to DO, God?” I can’t just let go.

Give me the formula to get back to awesome. Show me what scriptures to dwell on, what truth to grasp, what prayers to pray. Show me my error and I’ll fix it. Tell me what to think and do and I’ll do it. I will make it happen.

But maybe instead of doing, we’re supposed to stop trying to save ourselves and just let go.

I was reminded last night of a poem I read years ago, back when I first started to realize what a winding road faith can be. I read it like God is speaking to me.

First Lesson
by Philip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you.
Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls.
A dead-man’s float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea.
Daughter, believe me,
when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

Have you spent much time floating on water? Picture yourself like this child, trusting her father to hold her as she’s learning to swim, when she’s scared and tired. There’s something so freeing and relaxing about it if we can let go of trying to keep ourselves afloat and just let the water hold us. The father reminds his daughter to look to that which is bigger than her. It’s the definition of “Be still and know.”

Know that He is there.

Nothing is wasted. Every tear is caught, and every sigh is heard.

He knows what He’s doing with us.

The way out of our wilderness is clear to Him, and He will lead us in His timing and His ways.

The places that seem the most stagnant are often the places where He is preparing us for something we cannot see.

His love will hold us, when we let go.

Related posts:

I Don’t Need Rescuing (Except I D0) 

Get Quiet Enough to Listen

The Battle Belongs to Him 

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