But it wasn’t. Not a joke, nor a nightmare. The events of the ensuing weeks felt like torture. In fact, it would be 33 long days before I could make it through a single one without tears. And “day zero” would come to separate my life into the before and after.

The details of this loss, however, are not what I want to chronicle today. Instead, I want to record just a few of the small wonders and gifts that helped me get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other amidst such great grief. In the Bible, God’s people mark such events with the Hebrew word Ebenezer, which translates to “stone of help” (eben = stone; ezer = help).

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the LORD has helped us.” —1 Samuel 7:12

When we sing “here I raise my Ebenezer” in the hymn Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, we reference this same stone of help to mark the assistance God provides in times of trouble.

So this is why I am writing today—to mark just a few of the ways God has provided for me in my grief.

A long-ago-created playlist

At five-days-after, I recalled a song I’d once shared with someone else who faced their own deep pain. Searching my music library, I noticed I’d added the song in question to a playlist I hadn’t touched in four years. Reading the titles, it all came rushing back to me: the urgent desire to support this other person, which led me to write up a whole pamphlet listing 12 ways to prioritize truth when the world turns dark. Strategy number five is to offer a sacrifice of praise. I’d even made public versions of the playlist on Apple Music and YouTube.

I sat there, listening to the songs for the first time as the recipient instead of the sender. One is I’ll be OK by Lydia Laird. That first day, I yelled at the song, refusing to believe the words could ever be true. The next day, I felt the same, but forced myself to sing a few of the lyrics: make me OK, make me OK.

Eventually, many (many) singing days later, I felt a glimmer of hope that it might someday feel possible. I cried at God’s providence, that he would have me create something I’d so desperately need… more than four years prior. And I thanked my former self for listening to his prompting.

Being seen and comforted when I tried to hide

At one-week after, I knew I needed to get out of bed, but desperately searched for a reason. I should go to church, my rational mind advised. Not a chance, my emotions replied. At 15 minutes before the start of the first service, I forced myself up, threw on some clothes, and set out for the six-minute drive, popping a mint in my mouth for good measure.

I slipped into not-my-normal-section at not-my-normal-service and did my best to hide. Tears streamed down my face at regular intervals, but if anyone noticed they kept it to themselves. As I attempted my escape after the final song, I glimpsed a friend from my small group coming in to the second service with her family. Quickly, I veered away from them to exit out a different set of doors, but she changed her course to cross my path. Ugh, I thought, I really don’t want to do this now. Too late—she saw my tear-stained face, pulled me to the side, and asked, “What happened?”

My two-sentence response was all she needed to envelop me in a hug. “Why haven’t you told us?” she gently wondered. I confessed my desire to hide, citing disbelief, fear, and shame. Pushing away all of that, she prayed aloud for healing and recovery.

The kindness of shared burdens

At her prompting, I agreed to attend the women’s Christmas event being held later that evening. But when I arrived, I again felt compelled to hide. Shortly before the event began, I entered an empty row at the back of the group, expecting to be alone. But then two other smiling ladies from my small group entered the row and asked to set with me. I numbly nodded in reply and was grateful the music started quick enough to prevent any further conversation.

The speaker seemed to know exactly what I needed to hear. As I tried my best to cry silently, the woman to my left grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to help carry this burden.” She then proceeded to keep ahold of my hand until the speaker finished and we stood to close in song, at which point she put her arm around me and prayed. Her actions were awkward (who, outside of very specific relationships, holds anyone’s hand in public for that long?), courageous (for the same reason), and so, so kind.

As a result of these encounters, I sent a very brief message to our small group the next morning, letting them know what I was facing. I simply asked them to pray and, as God brought me to mind, maybe check in sometimes.

A meal from a neighbor

Another night early on, when I had hastily declined a dinner-party invitation without much explanation, the host showed up at my door carrying still-warm portions of each item on the menu. Taking a look around, concern washing over her face. Despite the guests in her home, she stayed to encourage me until she was sure I was OK to be alone.

Being brought to mind

While I had started working again, the non-work hours dragged by mercilessly. There were a few days, in particular, where I had nothing to do after 3pm, and I told God I didn’t know how I’d survive. On every single “empty” day since, he answered by prompting a different friend to reach out for a chat, walk, game, or meal. I cried some more, but this time in gratitude.

During other difficult moments, someone would call or text, even if just to listen to me cry. Or, scripture would show up on my phone and speak to me in ways nothing else could. And on so many mornings during Shane & Shane’s daily worship devo, I’d lift sob-filled praise to lyrics that were like healing ointment to my soul.

The kindness of strangers

At two-weeks after, I found myself once again in church. Despite all of the kindnesses, I still felt a temptation to hide. I sat against the wall in an otherwise empty row. During the meet-and-greet, I made chit-chat with a couple behind me. “Are you new?” the woman asked. “No,” I replied, “just not sitting in my normal section.” “Welcome to the cool section,” they joked.

Afterward, as we stood to leave, she tapped my shoulder, saying, “I feel like you could use a hug?” Once again, I was struck by the courage of this woman — a stranger to me — who would listen to God’s prompting to show such tender-living kindness to someone in public, without asking for details or making any judgments. This type of behavior is awkward and certainly uncomfortable for the initiator. Yet, each of these encounters was exactly what I needed to feel seen and loved when everything in me wanted to hide in grief and pain—and they were all examples of God’s ever-present help.

May it also be said of me

I’ve written before about this type of caring—offering our supportive presence, even when we cannot fix that which is broken.

No matter how awkward or uncomfortable it might feel to ask a stranger if you can hug them or hold your friend’s hand until their tears subside, this is exactly the type of one-another love and support we’re called to convey. When God brings someone to mind, pray for them and let them know! I can attest to how such a message can offer immense encouragement.

Seasons of pain and grief are part of the human experience. I long for the promised day when Christ’s followers will gather to celebrate the end of such suffering. Until then, I raise my Ebenezer to leave evidence of God’s goodness for my future self… just when she needs it.

“The birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus means that one day everything sad will come untrue.” — J.R.R. Tolkien

Note: This was originally published at Gospel-Centered Discipleship in October of 2021. At the time, I wrote in response to the trouble experienced through the COVID-19 pandemic. Now, in the final weeks of 2025, I thought I might not be the only one who needed a fresh reading of this reminder. I also recorded a voiceover for those who, like me, prefer the option of listening.

“In this world you will have trouble.”
— John 16:33

Given the current season of pain I’m experiencing, I’d say Jesus’s words in John 16 are clearly an understatement. In fact, if I focus only on the first part of verse 33, I can feel smug indignation brewing in my soul. To counter such sentiments, I decided to spend more time with what immediately follows the declaration of trouble: “But take heart! I have overcome the world” (v. 33b).

What especially piqued my interest was the Greek word tharseo, which is often translated as “take heart.” For a bit of context, this is the last statement Jesus makes before looking toward heaven and praying, “Father, the hour has come . . .” In fact, the entire next chapter of John’s gospel is Jesus praying for himself, his disciples, and all believers. When he finishes praying, he is betrayed by one of the people he just prayed for and arrested.

You may recall that leading up to this the disciples have been trying to understand what Jesus is teaching about the days ahead. When Jesus tells them he is speaking plainly—no longer in parables—they are relieved, saying, “Finally . . . this makes us believe you came from God.”

And then we get Jesus’s response. The Message paraphrase reads like this: “Do you finally believe? . . . I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart [tharseo]! I’ve conquered the world.”

Take heart! In Greek, this word tharseo means to have courage and be of good cheer. On their own the words seem pretty commonplace, but coupled with the preceding comments about trouble, they take on a sense of defiance against the status quo. This tharseo is an action requiring perseverance and passion. It’s daring us to boldly trust in someone—in this case, Jesus—persisting even when we are tempted, again and again, to give up.

I was fascinated to find this word is only used a few times in the New Testament, where it is spoken by Jesus in all but one instance. In every case, tharseo is a command directed to his fellow heirs, as follows.

1. When Jesus hears the blind man shouting, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” he stops and instructs the people to tell the blind man to come to him. Mark 10:49 says they do just that, using this same phrase: “Tharseo! Get up; he’s calling you!”

2. When Jesus is walking on the water and the disciples are terrified, he tells them, “Tharseo! I am here! Don’t be afraid.” (Matt. 14:27; Mark 6:50)

3. When Jesus is healing the paralyzed man, he says, “Tharseo, son; your sins are forgiven.” (Matt. 9:2)

4. When Jesus is healing the woman who has been bleeding for twelve years, he says, “Tharseo, daughter, your faith has healed you.” (Matt. 9:22)

5. Then, when Paul is in prison, Jesus appears to him and says, “Tharseo! As you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify in Rome.” (Acts 23:11)

So in the New Testament, this phrase—tharseo—marks five pretty important points:

First, Jesus is calling us.

Second, don’t be afraid because he’s with us.

Third, our faith heals us.

Fourth, our sins are forgiven.

And fifth, press on.

Take heart!

Have courage!

Be bold!

Don’t give up!

Trust him!

Consider all of the people to whom these words were spoken: a man who literally couldn’t see the road ahead of him, a very diverse group of twelve who didn’t always see eye-to-eye (remember that group also included the guy who would later betray him), someone who was dependent on others for pretty much everything, a woman who felt cursed and exhausted for more than a decade, and a man who was in captivity. Can you identify with any of these people? I can.

And consider what was going on in Paul’s life when he heard the same word. He’s given up everything to follow Jesus, the guy he previously hated. He’s changed his ways and has gone all-in for Christ. He feels compelled to go tell others in Jerusalem about his conversion, but then it seems like God might be telling him not to go. Paul goes anyway and ends up getting thrown in jail. It’s a disaster. Can you imagine how discouraged he might have felt?

And when Peter had been in jail the church held prayer meetings, but no one held prayer meetings for Paul! If I were Paul sitting in that jail cell, I’d be rehashing it over and over again in my head. What did I do wrong? Why did this happen? Where’s the purpose in all of this? Clearly I’m not good enough. Let’s be honest, I have been in this situation more than I might like to admit—trying to make decisions while balancing the desires of my heart against the Spirit’s leading—and then struggling to make sense of it all when failure stares me in the face.

But look at what happens. In The Message paraphrase, again, we read it like this, “That night the Master appeared to Paul: ‘It’s going to be all right. Tharseo. Everything is going to turn out for the best. You’ve been a good witness for me here in Jerusalem. Now you’re going to be my witness in Rome’” (Acts 23:11).

Perhaps even more important to note is what he didn’t say. Jesus didn’t come at him with “Why did you screw up, Paul?” Paul already knew his failures, and Jesus did not condemn him. Instead he praised him! It didn’t matter that the people had rejected Paul’s teaching. Jesus said, “Just as you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify in Rome.” In other words, what you did back there? The thing you thought you did wrong because of how this trouble-filled world responded? You didn’t. Go do it again in the next place I’m sending you. Tharseo.

I like to think of the key verses that use this word as a battle cry for us throughout our trouble-filled seasons: He’s calling us. We don’t have to worry or be afraid. Keep the faith—it heals us. Our sins are erased. He’s with us and will help us keep going. Take heart!

He’s known what we’re up against and is equipping us. We may not always particularly like the way that plays out . . . it often hurts. But we must remember the end result. Trusting Christ means this pressure is preparing us an abundance of joy, a wealth of generosity, and an eternal glory beyond all comparison.

To all those who dry their kid’s tears about school day in and day out… 😢

And to any whose kids seem a bit aimless after high school... never lose hope! 🕊️

All those statements describe me. We tried everything from private schools and co-ops to online schools and even home school.

One reason we moved across the country 8 years ago was to find a school where she could focus on what she enjoyed (art) without being bogged down by strict academic graduation requirements. Thankfully, that was what she needed to finish high school well.

She was accepted into art school, but the pandemic robbed her of an in-person experience. So she dropped out and swore she’d never go back…

Until God gave her a new purpose and she became a 20-year-old college freshman… studying clinical psychology, of all things!

My “I hate school” kid just graduated magna cum laude!!! 👩🏼‍🎓🎉🙌🏼

And, guess what, she’s headed back in the fall to begin her doctoral studies! Here’s what her graduate research assistant bio says:

Caeli’s experiences living in both Nicaragua and Colombia have given her a personal appreciation for the challenges of cultural adaptation. Her research focuses on equipping missionaries with the cultural competence necessary for long-term effectiveness and resilience in the field. She is also deeply interested in the broader effects of globalization and the growing generational divides within communities, particularly as they influence identity development and intercultural communication.

DUDE… this was my kid who received multiple diagnoses affected her studies, and who cried every single day of the first six months of 5th grade. This is the same student who attended seven different school programs over three years, before finding what worked for her. And, it’s the same strong and capable woman who thought her dreams evaporated as a result of the Covid shut down.

We never gave up. SHE never gave up. And it is my firm belief that, as a result, we and so many others will be helped through her research and care in the years to come.

Hope never fails. (Rom. 5:5)

As they are well into their twenties, we can see the beautiful ways those challenges have cultivated in them such compassion and love.

Our youngest is in the midst of interviewing at graduate schools, to become a child psychologist. Last fall, her research project studied peoples’ knowledge of and attitudes around foster care.

And now our oldest is in the process of becoming a licensed foster parent here in Idaho!

Some of her peers think it's weird (since they didn't grow up immersed in the world of child welfare) or that she's too young (since most 25 year olds aren't having kids these days). But she's older than I was when I had her, and has way more experience than I did (not to mention all. the. classes!).

Will it be easy? Of course not. But we're humbled and honored to walk alongside her. This leads to the reason for this post...

We've been enormously blessed by so many folks over our years of fostering, and I'd love for her to now feel that same support as she begins this journey.

Foster parents need to prepare for a wide range of ages (she's targeting 1-10), which means buying a lot of stuff they might not normally have. She's just moved to a two-bedroom apartment expressly for this purpose and is working hard to make her home as welcoming as possible for kids in need.

She's created an Amazon wish list of items to get her started. If you are so inclined, could you help purchase an item from this list? WalMart gift cards are also welcome, since there will be plenty more needs once she receives her first kiddo.

Thank you for reading this and considering this request.

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I then drew parallels to my spiritual life, saying, “If I want my life to look like [Paul’s prayer that God’s love will overflow in me], to be united with the greatest possible amount of Jesus, I need to saturate myself with his Word, through more-than-the-dregs-of-my-water-bottle amounts of reading, listening, worship, prayer, study, rest, and obedience. I already know this, of course, because I’ve seen the fruit of this before and will see it again.”

That prompted this question from a reader: what does the fruit of the overflow actually look like for me?

I took some time to examine the patterns, searching for the best way to describe what I’ve noticed. Without trying to oversimplify it, I’ll say this: the more scripture I bring into my life, the more it naturally flows back out.

If you’ve been around a Christian church for any period of time, this is something you’ve heard plenty about. It’s certainly something I’d been told a gazillion times before, but it wasn’t until we moved last year that I really appreciated how this has played out in my own life.

A relocation, especially one 1,000 miles away, means starting over. New roads and traffic patterns. New grocery stores. New churches, New pickleball courts. New neighborhoods. New weather. New people.

While waiting to develop new friendships and routines, life can feel slower… quieter… lonelier. Such seasons typically have two profound impacts on my life.

First, I turn to God more often…

• Times of struggle and heartache prompt me to cry out to him in frustration and sadness.

• Without all the friends and activities and general busyness, I simply have more time for him—more time for prayer and Bible reading/study.

This leads to the second impact—I hear from God more often…

• More time spent in the Word = more chances to hear his voice.

• Less “noise” in my life = less opportunities to hear competing voices.

Shortly after this move, I decided to spend some of my newfound free time attempting (once again) to memorize scripture. This has always been a struggle for me, but this book by Glenna Marshall was a big inspiration to try again. Here are some of the tactics I’ve tried:

• Write verses on note cards and hanging them up all over the house (my husband thought it was really weird when I hung them in the shower, but it is a place I visit pretty often and usually just stare at the wall!)

• Wear them as temporary tattoos

• Listen to songs whose lyrics are straight from scripture

• Use verses as my tech passwords

Of those four ideas, the last two are the most successful for me. I can’t remember my grocery list, but I can remember every word to Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire from 1989. Music is the absolute best way for me to memorize anything, so I’m beyond grateful for musicians like Ellie Holcomb, who set verses to music in such a beautiful way.

And then there are my company’s IT people, who think it best that we all change our passwords every 90 days. Oh and it also had to have a million characters and every available punctuation mark… 😒

After a year on the job, which coincided with our move, I realized I had to come up with something I could actually remember but would be hard to hack. That’s when I used MountainsMeltLikeWaxBeforeTheLord-P97:5 (don’t worry, this hasn’t been my actual password for quite some time). Yes, it’s ridiculously long but that also means it’s super secure and forced me to memorize Psalm 97:5! I’ve since repeated this pattern with other verses and guess what—it actually works for me!

Not only does this mean I’ve been more successful in memorizing more verses this past year, those verses now flow out of me with little prompting. In fact, I started noticing I’d wake up with the verses playing in my head. This seemed so odd—I began recording them in a journal. Here are a few examples:

• April 17: “Let us not grow weary in doing good… in due time we will reap the harvest” (Galatians 6:9)

• May 6: “There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those who are in Jesus Christ” (Romans 8:1)

• June 1: “Oh Lord God… nothing is too difficult for thee” (Jeremiah 32:17)

• July 16: “Lord, you are more precious than silver; Lord, you are more costly than gold…” (Psalm 19)

Then on August 15, our dog died and we were devastated. The next morning, I woke up singing the title track from Ellie Holcomb’s All of My Days album: “You’re here, even in my deepest pain… all of my days… I will never walk alone, for you are with me…” (Psalm 23).

I found this to be enormously comforting on the very first morning without the walking buddy I’d had for the previous eight years…

It was just a few days later that I learned about the importance of watering my plants to the point of overflow. I stood there letting the hose run longer than normal, thinking about how a year of focused scripture memorization was resulting in such an overflow that I, quite literally, wake up singing the words. Before I knew it, my eyes were overflowing as well.

Thank you, Jesus.

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Give Haley wisdom to manage all that’s on her plate right now. Help her discern the best next steps. May your will be done there.

Thank you for bringing India into our lives (and not just because I now have another “i” name to pray for). Please protect her from the unhealthy ways our world is trying to grab her attention. May she find contentment and joy in following you…

The next thought I had was, it’s not morning already, is it? Why am I awake? Rolling over to see the clock, I groaned. I had an early morning and I am so very not a happy camper when I am tired.

Sighing, I tried to recall where I’d left off before I fell asleep the first time that evening. Gavin, Haley, India. Right, so… I might as well spend a few minutes praying for my brother, Joe.

I don’t know what’s going on with Joe at the moment, hopefully at least one of us is getting a good night’s sleep. But seriously, give Joe what he needs for the days ahead. He loves you, Lord. Be his sustainer, his comforter.

Apparently, I fell right back to sleep after these thoughts, because the next thing I knew it was time to get the girls ready for school. The date was November 24, 2014, and we were about six weeks away from moving back to the States from Nicaragua. I had a lot of items on my to-do list, but any progress was halted when I received a text message letting me know Joe began having seizures at work and was taken to the hospital.

Although two other family members had known seizure disorders at this point, my brother was not one of them. And the other two had been diagnosed in adolescence (as would a third, a few years later), which is much more common than someone in his 30s.

This was surprising. And really scary.

But before the fear could take over, I remembered my middle-of-the-night wake-up. When I first went to bed, I’d done the same thing I had for nearly a decade—I prayed the ABCs.

Jesus loves the little children, and the ABCs too

I first heard of this concept in a Bible study for moms of pre-schoolers. It was suggested as a way to teach our little ones to pray. It’s super simple, you just go through the alphabet, praying along the way.

At first, we used it to thank God for whatever the girls could name that started with each letter. It didn’t matter that sometimes things got a little silly—Apples, Blue’s Clues, Cats (always cats), Donuts, Eating donuts with Poppy...

Eventually we included names of people. Aunt Renee, Uncle Bernie, Corinna and Caeli, Uncle David, Cousin Elias…

This became such a part of our routine that we’d pray the ABCs not only at bedtime, but while waiting at the doctor’s office, in a checkout line, or in the car. Apparently the repetition made it stick, because the girls are in their 20s now and continue the practice. When one tells me she had trouble sleeping the night before, she’ll often declare, “I made it from A to Z last night, Mom.”

Maybe it’s because my own ADHD-brain tends to wander, but I found the structure this provided to be just as helpful for my adult self as it was for my kids. In the years prior, I struggled to stay focused while praying. One thought led to another and, yada yada yada, I would be writing my grocery list in my head.

With this ABC structure and years of practice, it’s much easier to stay on track. I often cycle between various types of ABCs, such as offering gratitude, interceding for others, talking through my issues (Another tough day at work, Backing into the garage door, Coming down with a cold, Depression in a friend, Equipping as a wife/mother…), and appreciating the attributes of God (All-powerful, Beautiful, Creator, Defender, Everlasting…).

What is this prayer for, really?

Ten years ago, when my brother started seizing at work three days before Thanksgiving, I found myself pondering this prayer tactic in earnest.

Did you wake me up just to pray for my brother, God? Did I fall asleep too quickly, before I made it to J?

Surely you didn’t need me to pray for him, I mean, you’re the all-powerful creator and I’m just a peon in a world of billions? Who am I that you would gift me with this grace?

A skeptic would call it coincidence that I woke up and prayed for my brother a few hours before he experienced a life changing event none of us expected. I’m no skeptic. At least not when it comes to faith in our Creator.

While Joe would go on to have successful brain surgery, those weeks and months were dark and scary.

But God.

Jesus said to his disciples, "Don't be worried! Have faith in God and have faith in me.”
—John 14:1 (CEV)

I believe my wonderful counselor and great defender gave me the opportunity to join him in caring for my brother. In doing so, he equipped me with certainty that Joe was in the precious hands of the Almighty, regardless of the outcome.

When I heard what happened, I instantly recalled my middle-of-the-night prayer for Joe’s sustenance and comfort. I had sleepily murmured the very words we were all now desperately pleading… as the words reverberated through my mind, I was filled with peace and so grateful for their gift.

Another time more recently, I woke up and resumed praying at the letter m. Immediately Mark popped into my head. Now Mark is awesome, but he hadn’t been top of mind recently. It felt a little strange to pray for him seemingly out of the blue. By this point, however, I trusted enough to obey and keep Mark in my “m” prayers. Three days later I was shocked-but-not-shocked to find out he was facing a probable cancer diagnosis… but God.

He knows me so well. Jesus knows my tendency toward fear, for examples, when these difficult diagnoses loom. Time and again, he prepares me with a foretaste of his glory, to help me trust his providence today. And to think this all happens through a simple practice learned in pre-school.

Thank you, Jesus, for the gift of prayer. You already knew all the stuff we’re walking through. Before the first symptom, the first bit of conflict, the first whisper of hurt. Of course, none of it is a surprise to you. Deliver us from the evil one. Let your kingdom come and your will be done. On earth as in heaven.

About a year later, we prepared to move back to the States. While we sold or gave away nearly all we’d accumulated, we decided to bring Gunner. This meant he would need to learn the rules of living inside a house. We didn’t fully appreciate this challenge until after his first night inside.

Getting help

When I woke up that morning and wondered where he was, I only had to follow the trail of destruction.

• Two strands of crushed Christmas lights, half of which had disappeared completely?

• An empty bag that previously held a full loaf of bread.

• Only a few random foam pieces remaining from a 26-letter puzzle set.

• The remnants of a deck of cards, also partially chewed and crunched.

• And an empty Costco-size container of cheese balls.

The culprit was caught orange-pawed, or should I saw orange-nosed?

We still laugh about finding him that way. Who knows how long he’d been stuck in that container? He just looked up at me with an expression that seemed to say, “I’m sorry. Really. Now would you please stop taking photos and help me out of this predicament?”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he needed assistance. If he got a thorn in his paw, he’d easily look to me to remove it so he could walk without pain. But other times, such as when had an ear infection, he’d actively block me from administering help. Watch for yourself:

This left me considering how I typically behave when I need help. Do I run away, hide, or hang my head in shame? Do I stubbornly avoid assistance? Or do I willingly take it to God and trust the only One who can truly meet my needs and orchestrate my care?

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will upload you with my righteous right hand.
—Isaiah 41:10

Staying connected

Gunner was always nearby. When we renovated his first home in the U.S., he wanted to be right there next to me, regardless of whether I was painting, scraping a popcorn ceiling, or resting back at the apartment.

Two-and-a-half years later, we sold that home. Of course we were taking him with us, but he wasn’t convinced. On our final day in South Carolina, we prepped the car for him and set out to finish packing the truck. I left the back door open and he jumped in. Since we weren’t leaving for a while, my mother-in-law tried to get him out and close the door. He aggressively defended his position and remained in the car, as if to say, “I am staying in this spot to make sure they don’t leave me behind.

Mind you, we had moved heaven and earth to bring this dog with us from Nicaragua, and had never left him anywhere. I had a few days of driving to ponder his reaction, and appreciate how often I, too, fail to appreciate God’s unfailing presence in my life.

Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will never leave you or forsake you.
—Deuteronomy 31:6

Being led

We lost our big country yard in that move, so Gunner and I began traveling the neighborhood together each and every morning. We continued this pattern (with rare exception due to illness or traveling) for more than seven years. All throughout, not a week passed without me reflecting on what this dog has taught me about my own walk with God.

For instance, as a puppy, he usually tried walking me. Led by his ever-curious nose, he’d try to race forward regardless of the length of his lead. This usually didn’t go well. In fact, it was as if he was absolutely drawn to trouble back then. Don’t even get me started on how many times he tangled with skunks…

Once, he saw some other dogs across the street and took off running in their direction—right in front of oncoming traffic! He pulled the leash so hard it actually ripped skin off my hand as I tried to keep him from being hit. 

As he aged, he settled into a much more comfortable routine of allowing me to guide him. (Here are two images from some of our walks last winter.)

He still stopped to sniff a lot—so much that I began calling our morning excursions “sniffs” instead of “walks”—but he rarely succumbed to your garden variety temptation any more. In fact, there were three little dogs who always yap-yap-yapped at him from the other side of the street and he barely even looked their way in his senior years.

When I consider my relationship with God, I realize how I, too, have grown since our early days of walking together. I’ve learned to recognize temptation for what it is and trust his lead, knowing his ways are always the best.

The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.”
—Psalm 32:8 (NLT)

Pursuing peace

In a dog park, with unfettered access to other dogs, Gunner met them with frenzied excitement. Stump wagging (his tail was docked as a puppy), he’d chase them around at a pace we rarely saw otherwise.

But on a leashed walk? His stance immediately became rigid upon approaching another dog. Depending on his perception of the situation, he might quietly maintain that tense behavior until they passed. Usually, however, he’d bark ferociously and even lunge toward the perceived threat. Fences typically increased the decibel level of the aggression on both sides.

In the dog trainer world, this behavior can be referred to as barrier aggression. I think it also happens to us humans.

It’s election season as I write this, so the first potential “barrier” coming to mind is political affiliation. If I were to walk by a group of people campaigning for a candidate I disagree with, I may turn up my nose and “be on alert” until I pass by completely. What if I happened to be wearing a shirt with a slogan aligned with the opposing candidate, and one of the campaigners heckled me about it? If I engaged, our “barking” could escalate quickly.

But what if I met that same person in the park, without any of the signs or slogans? We might strike up a pleasant conversation while pushing our similar-age kids on the swings. Or sit on a bench next to each other and reminisce about days gone by. The political differences may remain, but there’s always an opportunity for me to focus on the humanity that connects us instead of the fences that separate us.

So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.
—Romans 14:19

Gratitude and rest

They say gratitude is key to happiness. And dogs are often so quick to show us lots of gratitude through licks and snuggles and various other forms of attention. Gunner was no exception. But you know what really stood out to me? It was the way he rested in our presence.

Sure, he might sleep when we were gone, but there was a different peace about him when we were nearby (especially when a pillow was also involved).

You know what else? He was more tolerate of change, minor annoyances (particularly from the cats), and other frustrations (again, usually the cats) when we were with him. The spiritual similarities are not lost on me.

Over the summer of 2024, his health declined rather quickly. We stressed over if and when to euthanize him. He had been such a faithful companion for more than a decade, how could we ever say good-bye?

We prayed for wisdom and guidance as we talked with the vet and an at-home service provider. I was filled with grief and fear when the hour approached. The man who arrived at our house introduced himself and, noticing our photo book on the shelf, he asked, “Were you in Nicaragua?”

“Yes!” I cried, “and Gunner was born there!”

And so it was that the man who cared for our beloved pet during his final hour—in Idaho—had also volunteered as a veterinarian in Nicaragua years before. What are the chances? He appreciated how Gunner walked with us more than ten years when his seven siblings who’d stayed in Nicaragua had died long ago. And he tenderly helped us say good-bye.

All throughout Gunner’s life, I was blessed. With learning. With joy. With companionship. And also with reassurances of just how much my Father loves me.

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
—Matthew 11:28

1. not enough water 💦

2. feline intervention 🐈

Can anyone relate?

Wait, before you answer, I’m not looking for you green thumbs to tell me how to keep them alive. I’ve heard plenty of your advice over the years. You all want to tell me how easy it is… “they just need the right amount of three things: water, sun, and love, yada yada yada.” 🤮 Spare me. 🙅🏻‍♀️ I’ve tried your little tricks and found them to be lacking. So the answer is it’s me, I get it. Today I’m looking to commiserate with fellow plant-killers here. 🙋🏻‍♀️

Apparently, there are plenty of us plant-killers.

Here are some fun plant statistics (source) for U.S. plant owners:

1. 66% had at least one houseplant in a 2020 survey, but that number is likely higher now because COVID increased houseplant sales by at least 15%.

2. 47% of us houseplant owners feel disappointed when we accidentally kill a plant, but 27% felt nothing. (I wanted to put a “wow” emoji here but then realized I have definitely just thrown a plant away with little emotion attached, so wow-me.)

3. The most common reason for these accidental plant deaths? At least 50% of us admit we forget to water our plants correctly or at all. In fact, most of the respondents in one study assigned just five minutes a week attending to their plants.

I’m definitely in the majority for all three of those stats. Despite how many plants have died on my watch, I just keep hoping they’ll be stayin’ alive. Maybe this is why the inter webs decided to show me a video about the right way to hydrate our plants. I’ll spare you (and your algorithms) the full video, but here’s what was news to me.

After one video, I was shown several more (of course). I watched as (shocker) people carried their houseplants to the sink and watered them all to the point of seeing dirty water overflow from the drainage holes and down the drain. Only after the water stopped dripping did they return each plant to their designated saucers throughout the house.

Immediately, I realized I was doing it wrong for decades. (You mean emptying the dregs of my water bottle into the closest plant every other day isn’t enough? Just kidding, mom. 😉)

Also immediately, I gathered my plants in my sink and did as I was told—saturating my plants with this necessary nutrient, until the soil couldn’t hold any more liquid.

Immediately after that, I used the hose on my outside plants until they, too, had streams of water overflowing from the bottom of the pot. I was surprised at just how long it took to make that happen, which probably provides an indication as to the dryness of those roots.

It was as I watched the water escape from this mum, that I recognized the similarities between my plants and myself. I need water, yes, but that wasn’t the thought capturing my attention.

In my mind, I saw an image of my various spiritual watering practices, which were not unlike how I typically watered my houseplants, especially when I’m busy. A little scripture reading here, a smattering of prayer there, with a sampling of sermons sprinkled throughout. It’s no surprise that the busiest of times is often synonymous with the driest spiritually. Satan prefers it that way, I’m sure.

Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness. —Colossians 2:7

The next thought came from the depth of my soul: I need more of you, Lord.

The word saturate has a few definitions, but this one is my favorite:

This definition sent me to the pages of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, where I recalled his prayer for a similar type of saturation:

I pray that your love will overflow more and more, and that you will keep on growing in knowledge and understanding.
—Philippians 1:9

If I want my life to look like that, to be united with the greatest possible amount of Jesus, I need to saturate myself with his Word, through more-than-the-dregs-of-my-water-bottle amounts of reading, listening, worship, prayer, study, rest, and obedience. I already know this, of course, because I’ve seen the fruit of this before and will see it again.

Unlike the plant watering trick, this wasn’t a shocking revelation, but rather a gentle, just-in-time, reminder of the nourishment I need for healthy roots and shoots.

Saturate me with you, God. Cause me to unite with as much of you as possible, so that what grows in me is rooted in you alone, and what flows from me is your grace, joy, and love.

What helps you unite with the greatest possible amount of Jesus?

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There are two blank walls in my current home that are just begging for some sort of mural. One is the wall visible behind me when I sit in the many virtual meetings that help fill my work days. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that empty space needed some mountains, in honor of the mountains visible all around me in the Treasure Valley of Idaho. If it worked out well, I figured, I’d have my own very real “virtual” background. 😉

My searches online found a few examples that were helpful (this one and this one were the best). For example, here are the best tips I gleaned from others who went before me:

• I learned it would save a lot of money to purchase only two cans of paint: one for the lightest and another for the darkest. Then, I could create as many other shades in between those colors simply by mixing the two.

• Flat paint is the best.

• After seeing the options, I decided to start at the top with the lightest color.

• Chalk works really well to draw out the mountains ahead of time—it’s easy to paint over and erase if needed.

• A 2” angled brush is my preferred tool of choice. It allows me to “freehand” a bit as needed. I decided not to use a roller for the larger sections, but you could do that if you prefer. I did also have a 3” angled brush that I used for some bigger areas.

Beyond that, however, I learned even more from the actual experience. So I decided to write a post listing all the things I wish I’d known, and what I’d do differently next time. Before I jump to that list, here are some photos to show the progression and a quick look at the numbers:

Time spent: ~6 hours

Dollars spent: ~$50 for two quarts of paint (on sale BOGO 50%) and an 2” angled paintbrush (I already had a piece of chalk, another brush, and some reusable plastic containers)

Mountain layers: 9

Coats of paint: each layer took about 2 coats, except for the darkest color, which took 3

Now, here’s what I’d do next time…

1. Tape off the edges of the wall, to get clean lines along the baseboard, ceiling, and to the left/right sides.

2. Get the right supplies:

   1. There’s no need to purchase fancy paint holders for this project. (I was able to return $40 worth of those!) Instead, get a set of 2-3 cup reusable plastic containers and lids from the grocery store for a few bucks. You’ll want to have one container for each shade.

   2. Purchase a quart of the lightest and darkest color in your sequence. (I read others saying they only needed two quarts and I was convinced that wasn’t enough paint so I bought a whole gallon of the lightest color. And this is why I have 80% of that gallup still sitting in my garage. Lesson learned: a quart of each is enough.)

      

3. Start with the lightest color (straight out of that quart of paint).

4. After that’s finished, it’s time to mix up one shade darker. Place a scoop of the lightest color in one container (I used a kitchen ladle), then add 2 tablespoons of the darkest color. Mix well. (I reiterate: mix well!) Paint.

   1. This part I did well. What I didn’t do, however, was save this color for touch-ups. Instead, I painted a layer and then proceeded to add two more tablespoons of the dark color to achieve the next layer’s shade. This became problematic when I realized the need for touch-ups later. 🤦🏽‍♀️ About halfway through I started saving each layer’s shade and things went much smoother.

   2. So here’s the point: cover and save this shade. Mark the lid to identify which color this is! (I did not do this, and made the mistake of painting the wrong shade in one area, requiring me to redo that section after it dried and I realized my error.)

      

5. Then repeat the same process for each of the subsequent shades and paint accordingly. I found most layers needed two coats but that will depend on the color and quality of your paint. (My darkest two layers required three coats.)

6. Step back and review your work, then adjust as needed. I changed the shape of many color blocks several times. This type of mural is extremely forgiving and easy to adjust as you’re going along.

I can honestly say this was a ton of fun. I hope to do another one—maybe of a different type of landscape?—on the other wall I have in mind. In the meantime, I enjoy not having a blank white wall behind me when I chat with colleagues and customers on Teams or Zoom.

I hadn’t anticipated such a steep incline so early. Where was the easy part? Was there even an easy part? Looking at the hoards of people around us, there had to be an easy part, right? I recalled noticing kids and senior citizens here when the bus dropped us off.

I’d agreed to this inaugural trip to Yosemite for my friend’s birthday, but had left all the planning to her. I didn’t even know which trail we would tackle first until the day before we arrived, and I hadn't so much as typed the name into a web browser. What was I thinking? Clearly I wasn’t.

This is like going up a never-ending set of stairs. I don’t even have a single staircase in my house. Come to think of it, when was the last time I’d gone up a flight of stairs?

As I was sweating through my clothes, I noticed a woman enter my field of vision. She was descending the trail in what could only be described as business casual trousers, pumps, and—no joke—nylons. I lost all decorum and stared at her incredulously the entire time she walked past.

Did the others in my group feel like this already? Clearly nylons-lady didn’t. (Or else there was an elevator up ahead?) Was I a total loser? My muscles screamed. My lungs ached. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. If this was how I felt 21 minutes into two solid days of hiking, clearly there was zero chance of me completing this trip.

A few minutes later I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled up next to a large tree. “I. Need. A. Break,” I attempted to speak intelligently amidst heavy breathing. No one said anything, but they moved away from the crowds, took big gulps of water, and stood next to me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered without making eye contact, not yet willing to share my sense of total defeat, especially since they didn’t seem to be struggling like me.

After a minute, my heart-rate stabilized a bit, and I motioned I was ready to go.

Once again, I put my hands on my thighs and ascended the trail. Within 60 seconds, I was breathing heavy again. My brain told me to cry. But I couldn’t even muster the strength to do that. So I stared at my feet and kept going.

As we progressed further up the mountain, the crowds started to thin out. I retrieved the trekking poles I’d borrowed for the trip and put one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Heel. Toe.

I worked harder to position myself next to my friend. As we came around a bend, I thought I recognized something in her expression. Wait, did she feel at all like I did?

As our eyes met, she offered a weak smile, “Maybe it’s the altitude?” At first I thought she was throwing me a bone, offering an explanation for why I struggled more than anyone else. I looked at the ground, feeling another wave of defeat. But then she stopped walking and added, “Maybe that’s why my lungs are burning so bad?”

Behind us, the other two had caught up and we all drank more water. Someone said her watch indicated her heart rate was over 175! The other confessed, “I’m so glad you said you wanted to take breaks. I thought it was only me!”

At it turned out, all four of us felt some level of significant pain, frustration, fatigue, and overwhelm. We all wondered, at times, why we had signed up for this. Even the birthday girl, who had been hiking in Yosemite at least a dozen times in the past 40 years, admitted she must have blocked out the tough parts because this felt way worse than she remembered.

I cannot put into words how much comfort this knowledge gave me. Just knowing others felt the same was enough to push back the overwhelm.

Here’s a photo snapped without any warning. (While I’m looking at the camera, I must tell you I had no thought other than this: just keep walking, Wendy. I don’t have any recollection of this photo being taken, and the look on my face is pretty telling.)

And here’s how we posed when demonstrating our thoughts about the trail so far.

Over the next two hours, we gradually made it to the top of our destination trail (Nevada Falls), where we captured this photo. The smile on my face here is completely genuine, despite having just climbed 600 granite steps and 2200 feet to achieve this elevation.

Back at the bottom of the trail, we finally noticed the huge sign advertising the various levels of difficulty. “Wait, which one did we do?” I asked.

“Vernal and Nevada Falls,” came the reply. After finding that one on the sign, all three of us whipped our heads around to glare at our friend. “You mean, the one listed as strenuous?” 😂😂😂

It’s a funny thing. Had she told me beforehand we would tackle a “strenuous” hike (nearly 30 years since I’d done anything similar), I would have balked for sure. No way could I do that! Too hard. Too painful. I shared my thoughts and the others agreed.

But, we did do it!

We did something we could have easily written off as impossible. And when I thought I was alone in my pain? I couldn’t even imagine the possibility of this achievement. But, alongside others sharing the burden and stress of this hard thing? Together, pain became tolerable and success became a reality. And I’m so, so grateful for the experience.

This got me wondering… what else have I written off, that might actually be possible—not alone, but together?

What about you?

My official due-date had passed uneventfully three days prior. We’d walked the mall for hours, eaten spicy meals, and done all the things the internet tells you will hurry-up a late baby. My OB was in the hospital all day and said he’d help things along a bit. The only obstacle was bed space on the maternity ward.

The alarm signified it was time to call the nurses for approval. I grabbed the cordless phone, dialed the number I had memorized while volunteering at that same desk the previous three months, and waited with eager anticipation.

Ninety seconds later I took in the questioning eyes of the father-to-be and laid back down with the over-dramatic flair of any Daytime Emmy Award winner. No room at the inn. Try again in a few hours.

Well, I might as well get ready for the day, I figured, reflecting on the various baby items strewn throughout our apartment. First up was taking a shower, because who knew when I’d get another one of those? As I walked into the bathroom, however, I realized I really needed to pee. And by really, I mean DEFCON 1 sort of urgency.

“Uh… can you bring me the phone?” I yelled to my husband, waiting only a millisecond before adding, “NOW!”

My call was answered by the same nurse and I explained that I thought my water broke. I could hear her smile as she replied, “Nice try. We really are full except for two triage beds, but we’ll try to get you in later today.”

“No seriously,” I persisted, with a noticeable edge to my voice. “I’m not kidding. I really think this is happening now.”

Her tone switched, at least a little, and she agreed we could head to the hospital for a check. I don’t remember much of the 10-minute drive, except that I was sitting on a beach towel and wearing an enormous grin. Today, we’ll finally meet our daughter face-to-face!

In less than five hours, we did exactly that.

A quarter-century later and I still marvel at all that she’s brought us over the years. How did this amazing human possibly come from the two of us? 😂

That is clearly only possible because of him—the Creator God.

Know that the Lord , he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
—Psalm 100:3 (ESV)

All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.
—John 1:3

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.
—Colossians 1:16 (ESV)

I have carried around this framed photo of the two of us for 24 years. It’s weathered many storms and wears the scars of both water and sun damage.

I recently tried to get the photo itself out of the frame, but found the two were permanently connected. I cannot, as it turns out, remove the one from the other without damaging both.

That sounds about right.

Becoming a mother forever changed me. For his glory and our good.

So today, as we celebrate this momentous birthday, it is with an ocean of emotion that I worship the One who makes it all possible. I praise him for trusting us with this precious gift.

On the mountaintops and in the valleys of parenthood, amidst the tears of sorrow and joy that always coincide with loving someone, thank you Jesus.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
—Lamentations 3:22-23

I avoided the area, which was a bit challenging given the runoff settled in the cross-walk I navigated daily with my dog. Plenty of other critters didn't fare so well, as evidenced by all manner of white footprints around it.

Eventually, the hot sun dried the paint and the only evidence of the mishap was a bit of white concrete below the normal dirt and grime of a city street.

Or so I thought.

When rain finally returned to the dry climate, what once was dry became wet. As a result, those white footprints resumed and the paint was again spread along the sidewalk. Encountering the paint and its effects daily, I had to make conscious decisions regarding how to handle it.

Until one morning I realized those conscious reactions had become unconscious habits.

Approach the paint,
lengthen my stride,
tighten my grip on the leash to better guide the dog,
avoid the mess.

It got so I could do it without noticing. But then one morning in particular, as I was hopping over the wet-again paint, my thoughts drifted to other areas of my life with similar stories. What prior mistakes do I rehash in my brain, sometimes over and over again, so much so that it became an automatic behavior?

Plenty.

Too often, I can find myself replaying such experiences in my head, wondering how it went so wrong and what I wish I'd done differently.

It's like I re-wet the paint of the mistake and traipse that sorrow all over the rest of my day, regardless of how long ago it may have been spilled. But this can be a good thing, I thought, right? At least when it pushes me to repentance, perhaps. Yet, this type of rumination can spread messages of bitterness, fear, jealousy, and all manner of negativity.

I walked over, through, and around that wet or dry paint for months before it eventually led me to explore the differences between conviction and condemnation.

Conviction is Good

In my life as a Jesus-follower, recognizing a wrong behavior is conviction and comes from my relationship with God. As the Creator, he has set out certain guidelines for "living my best life." When I bump up against those, or ignore them altogether, his Spirit and Word let me know.

Being aware of my wrongs is often painful, much like touching a hot pan without an oven mitt, but both teach me (hopefully) not to do that again.

For the kind of sorrow God wants us to experience leads us away from sin and results in salvation. There’s no regret for that kind of sorrow. But worldly sorrow, which lacks repentance, results in spiritual death.
—2 Corinthians 7:10 NLT

Conviction prompts me to confession, which restores my relationship with God.

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us…
—1 John 1:9 ESV

Condemnation is Not Good

Being routinely reminded of past mistakes, however, is condemnation and does not come from God.

So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.
—Romans 8:1 (NLT)

The Bible calls Satan the accuser and the father of lies—he loves to tells us how awful we are again and again. He wins when we ruminate on those messages.

But wait, there's more.

Satan doesn't just want to make us feel bad, he tempts us to forget how much God loves us and question whether we’re really forgiven at all, despite all that scripture has to say on these topics.

No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
—Romans 8:39 NLT

I heard it said that rehashing past sins is like re-crucifying Christ for the same thing over and over again. That's not only cruel, it's also self-centered and egotistical. The original text of 1 John 2:12 makes it clear that the verb tense (present participle) began in the past and continues into the future: "I write to you, my children, because your sins are forgiven for the sake of Christ." (GNT)

God wipes the slate (and paint) clean when we repent, so there is no reason to rehash (in our mind or otherwise) what we did or didn’t do in the past.

He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.
—Psalm 103:12

Instead, we can rest in Jesus having finished the work for us, out of his loving kindness. That, I think, is the only sort of message I should be traipsing all over my days.

There’s another aspect that left a seering impression—the pain, and not just the pain I felt sitting in the dentist’s chair. These trips were some of the rare situations when I watched both my parents struggle through physical discomfort. They’d often go first, to demonstrate “how easy it is.” Then I would hear all sorts of sounds letting me know it was anything except easy.

Blame it on genetics, oral hygiene, eating habits, or a combination of each, but rarely have my trips to the dentist been pleasant. 

This is why, as an adult, I added a motorized toothbrush to my repertoire, helping ensure I persist the full two minutes each time I transfer toothpaste from bristles to teeth. The device pauses every 30 seconds, letting me know it’s time to switch to the next section. The first few times I used it, I couldn’t believe how long 30 seconds was!

Next, I purchased a motorized water flosser in an attempt to reduce the amount of scratching and scraping needed during my semi-annual cleaning (as well as to give a more honest answer to the dreaded question about my flossing habits).  After several months of accidentally shooting water all over my bathroom mirror, I was excited to show off those squeaky clean spaces in between my teeth.

Much to my chagrin, the visit was anything but painless, particularly in areas of my mouth I’d found hard to reach with the fancy flosser.

Frustrated, I told my hygienist about this flaw in my strategy to do it all myself. Expecting she would explain how to correct my use of the tool, I was surprised when she brushed my comment away, saying, “Nobody can really reach the back of their bottom teeth with those contraptions. That’s OK, though—it’s why you come to me.”

Suddenly I realized a lesson I’d missed from all those hours of witnessing my parents’ struggle in the dentist chair. Even my dad, in his peak hero-era to us kids, needed help keeping his teeth clean. 

Huh, I thought. So I can’t actually do it all on my own?

This revelation sounds obvious, and yet there are so many parts of life in which my attempts at pulling off an amazing one-person-show are clearly misguided. Even worse, how many times do I actually believe asking for help is shameful or just plain wrong? 

Such behavior stands in direct opposition to scripture, which repeatedly assumes that asking for help is a necessary, even crucial, part of the human experience (John 14:13-14, John 15:16, James 1:5, James 4:2). Psalm 121:2 tells us our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.  This same God will supply all our needs from his glorious riches (Philippians 4:19), if we only humble ourselves, allow him to carry our needs (1 Peter 5:7, Matthew 11:28), rest in his provision, and continually seek him (Matthew 7:7, 1 Chronicles 16:11). 

Despite my stubborn self-reliance, God—without fail—gently offers me a similar response to that hygienist… taking my hand and telling me, “Don’t be afraid, it’s why you come to me. I am the one who helps you.”

Father, help me depend on you always, accepting your faithful help and tender care.

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As I moved his bedding and clothing from the washer to the dryer later that afternoon, I gasped. On their own, the items looked so small, so vulnerable… so different from the big and tough persona of the young man they usually dressed. I was struck, anew, by how easy it is to form opinions of people just by what they look like.

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
—1 Samuel 16:7 (ESV)

In Scripture, we see Samuel making the same mistake. Based on appearance, he thought Jesse’s oldest son would be anointed as Israel's next king. When God said no, Samuel presented others who were also rejected. God ultimately selected David, the youngest and smallest, whom Samuel had completely ignored! 

With the challenges our guest had faced in his 18 years, it was no wonder he might try to project himself as stronger than he likely feels. His rough exterior could be why some people might pass over or even avoid a kid like him. But getting to know the tender-hearted young man behind the tough persona helped me confront my own tendencies in that regard, to appreciate the true value of doing it God’s way.

Lord, help me to follow your example in looking on the heart, so I might see and love those around me not based on their outward appearance, but through your eyes. 

How about you? How have you been challenged follow God’s leading and look to the heart, more so than one’s outward appearance?

1. Sometimes I might share something that runs counter to what you believe.
   Me sharing this doesn’t mean I dislike, judge, or otherwise look down on anyone who believes differently. To the contrary, it just means I found it interesting enough to share, and trust you to think critically and make up your own mind. I don’t ever want to live in an echo chamber; I value other opinions and the chance to grow together.
    

2. Sometimes I might share a quote, song, story, or photo of someone you don’t aren’t especially fond of. That post doesn’t necessarily mean I enjoy every single thing that person says or does, but it does mean I found whatever I shared to be interesting enough to encourage a conversation about it. I really do value your thought-provoking comments so we can both continue learning. After all, if people judged my whole life on one snippet they saw online, that might be like deciding I hate all chocolate after tasting just chocolate-flavored gum (which I find gross). 😉

Being authentic requires vulnerability, so I am surrendering my fears in favor of being true to who I was created to be, cancel-culture be damned.

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• Meals

• Fresh ice packs

• Putting on socks and shoes

• Wrapping my leg before showering

• Medication pick-up

• All of the household chores and pet care

• Grocery shopping

• Transportation to/from physical therapy and post-op appointments

Once you have that person(s) lined up, there are some other non-human items you should consider getting ahold of. To that end, here is my list of the top 10 things I recommend you have on hand before heading to the hospital the day of your surgery.

1. Ice wraps—buy at least two so you can keep one “charging” in the freezer at all times. Seriously. This is at the top of my list for a reason. I was told I couldn’t ice my leg too much, and found the ice to be extremely helpful for pain management.

2. An extra pillow to put under your leg when sleeping/resting. You’ll need to keep it elevated for a while to help with the swelling, so it’s worth figuring out how you’ll do that before you come home from the hospital. This could be a basic pillow or something custom made for post-surgery recovery, like this:

3. Clothing to wear with your brace. If you’re in a warmer climate, shorts will be great. And long skirts are helpful also. If you have your surgery in January, like me, you might want to stock up on leggings. In addition, you’ll likely want something that provides some cold weather protection and also gives the physical therapists access to your knee during PT. First, I cut one leg off a pair of leggings, but then I opted for these (and sparked plenty of conversations in the process):

4. Shower protection. I was told to keep my knee completely dry for the first two weeks post-op. If you’re like me, and you want to shower at least a few times in those two weeks, wrapping your knee in plastic wrap works remarkably well.

5. Shower safety. Speaking of showering, it can be challenging to get into and out of the shower for the first month. I have a walk-in shower with a single step and even that was tough at first. Consider these types of safety mechanisms, depending on your situation.

6. Carrying help. Anytime you’re using crutches to get around, you feel like you need an extra hand, or two. I found a backpack extremely helpful to carry my phone, headphones, water bottle, snacks, and so on, and used one every time I went anywhere during the first few weeks. They also make special pouches that attach to your crutches:

7. Therapy aids. Once you graduate beyond basic leg lifts and ankle pumps, it’s quite helpful to some bands and an exercise ball at home. In fact, these are all things I still use more than a year later!

8. Hair removal tool. If you prefer hairless legs, consider a longer-term solution. Regular shaving will not be an option for awhile, and you will have PTs handling your leg several times a week. So if going hairless is your jam, and you’re not getting waxed routinely, here’s my recommendation:

9. Post-op meds. I opted for a narcotic-free recovery and have zero regrets about that. Even so, there are some medications you’ll need on hand. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen are standard and your surgeon may recommend aspirin as well. Something I didn’t realize I needed until it was a bit more urgent? Constipation relief! Apparently it’s super common after surgery and given the significant lack of physical activity post-ACL-repair, it’s highly likely you’ll need some help in this area.

10. Desk chair with leg rest. I work from home and wanted to work from bed as few days as possible. This chair is, hands down, the thing that made that happen. The leg rests are perfect for ACL recovery and the chair itself is super comfortable. At the time of this post, the chair I purchased is sold out, so I’m linking a few others that have similar capabilities. You could also purchase a separate foot rest for under your desk.

If you’ve had this surgery, what would you add to the list?

Two more tips:

Practice putting on pants, socks, and shoes with your leg held straight, as this is how it’ll need to be done for the first two weeks. This means it is especially helpful if you can touch your toes without bending your knees!

Practice some single-leg squats using your non-surgical leg, such that you can lower yourself into a seated position using only (or, at least, mostly) that leg. The more you practice beforehand, the easier this will be when it counts—after the surgery!

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In college, on the heels of a difficult breakup, I found myself facing a crossroads. With shame nipping at my heels, these words provided glimmers of hope to light my way out of a dark pit of regret.

Five years later, on the first Easter since becoming a mother, I wept. Now that I had a child of my own, the gravity of God's sacrifice took on enormous weight. His answer came in the whispered words of John 14:6.

For the next decade, a wave of mostly good and pleasant things kept me from thinking too deeply about much else.

Then a series of challenges rocked my well-manicured world. The realistic possibility of losing a child revealed a desperate longing for those words to be absolutely true, in a nothing-else-matters way.

Now, as the half-century mark looms more closely than ever, I suppose I've reached the age my teen self imagined might devote sufficient brain power to the concept. The longer I'm on earth, the more I recognize my need for a savior.

Dr. Tim Keller said, "The reason most people don't have peace with God is because they don't believe they are at war. The Bible repeatedly says there's a hostility to God. In fact, Paul says in Romans 8:7, 'The natural mind is enmity toward God. It will not submit to God, indeed it can not.' That is one of the most radical statements in the New Testament—a statement people do not want to come to grips with."*

Keller says we cannot really live in connection with God until we appreciate how much we despise him. I spent much of my Christian life thinking I need to be reconciled because of God’s holiness. That's part of it, but the rest is rooted in my desire for his position. If I’m honest, I hate that I don't get to be in charge! In this way I despise God.

Cue: Jesus.

To fix this problem, I need the way, the truth, and the life. It’s the only path to reconciliation path that will “stick."

It has taken me more years than I want to admit to come to this understanding. Maybe there was no sidestepping the time and experience I needed to get here. And this isn’t to say I’ve arrived—that won’t happen this side of heaven. The longer I live, the more deeply I can lean in to my total dependence on my Father, my Savior, my Jesus.

*Preached in a sermon on December 22, 1996

It was Christmas time and I realized we’d been living in our home for about a year. Twelve months of learning a new city, a new job, a new church, and new friends. That last part had proven to be more difficult than I’d expected. While we’d hosted at least two dozen prospective friends for meals over that year, just two families had reciprocated. I’m no math whiz, but an 8% rate of return doesn’t feel very successful.

In lamenting the situation to a friend in our previous city, I confessed, “Why do I always have to be the one trying to connect? Why aren’t others reaching out to connect with me? I just want to be pursued by someone else for a change . . .”

In the years since I’ve thought a lot about those feelings. Growing up, I didn’t have what many people refer to as their BFF. Sure, I had friends, but I didn’t have this one lifelong best friend that other people seemed to have. During seasons of particular loneliness, I wrestled with God regarding this desire to be pursued.

As is the case with so many of my earthly struggles, this craving is only fully satisfied in Christ. Yet he created us as communal people designed to help meet one another’s needs. So while I must not prioritize earthly relationships over Jesus, I should and do wonder what else this desire has to teach me?

[Continue reading...]

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” The first verse from the eleventh chapter of Hebrews was delicately stitched and framed on the wall behind the door. It caught my eye and gave me pause as I considered the double meaning. Yes, Faith definitely lived up to her name.

My 86-year-old father-in-law, Peter, had prompted this trip. We were spending three weeks with him in Maine, so why not drive to Cape Cod for a few days to see his older sister, Faith? The unspoken understanding that this visit could be their last laid heavy on our hearts.

The night before we left, we sat outside enjoying the evening breeze. The others had ventured off, leaving Peter and I alone. We sat in comfortable silence until he offered a tender glimpse into his thoughts. “Outside of my wife and kids,” his voice barely audible over the evening insect symphony, “my sister is my best friend. I’m excited to go see her.”

This seemed a rare moment of emotional transparency for a strong man who had always preferred to be the jokester, the class clown, the life of the party.

“This seemed a rare moment of emotional transparency for a strong man who had always preferred to be the jokester, the class clown, the life of the party. 

“You’re welcome,” I replied, mostly because those were the only words that formed in the weight of the moment. If he noticed my emotion, I’ll never know. For he simply returned to reading the open Bible in his lap. Our visit to Maine was filled with times like this—long periods of quiet introspection, beside an octogenarian who has been a significant force in my life for more than thirty years, with staccato spurts of outward expression.

[Read the rest of my post over at GCD, where it was featured on 11/17/21.]

After I got comfortable in the exam chair, the clinician handed me two pills and a cup of water. “OK,” she said, “now tell me all your concerns about this vision correction surgery.” I looked at the clock and joked, “How much time do we have?” 

She smiled, knowingly, and listened as I repeated my list that had already been discussed in previous visits. Will it hurt? How soon will I be able to see without glasses? How long will the actual procedure take? How sure is the doctor that he can correct me to 20/20 vision? How soon will I be able to drive? How long will the pain last? How prepared is he for complications?

After about 15 minutes of this line of questioning—and her patient answers—I suddenly stopped and said, “Actually, I guess that’s it. I don’t have any more concerns.”

With that she immediately stood up, took hold of my arm, and ushered me toward the door, saying, “Great! The meds have kicked in so we can go to the surgery room.”

In the nearly two decades since, I’ve often thought of the similarities in my relationship with Jesus. How often do I repeat my concerns over and over—even ruminate on them—failing to trust him? Yet, without fail, I can imagine him sitting next to me, patiently listening to my litany of fears, just waiting for me to finally come to the end of myself and let faith take over.  

Father, I’m casting my worries on you, again, knowing you are the only one who can carry them anyway. Help me to more quickly trust you with them next time.