He Who Has An Ear: Find Hope

“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will grant to eat of the tree of life which is in the Paradise of God.” Revelation 2:7

My 92-year-old grandmother lies dying in her home as I type. Dying from nothing more than old age, her body reaching its limit on this earth. Breaths away from a desire each of our souls long to have fulfilled—the desire to live forever. Eternity.

Yet, unless death comes knocking on our door, we try our best not to think of it. Rather, we look at this life around us and long to fully live, today, in this moment, fully alive to enjoy this one life. We desire a fully lived life in the present and an immortal life in the future, all in hopes of escaping death, of never having to face the uncertainty and uncontrollable fact of death.

But because of our sin, death of this body is inevitable. (Romans 6:23) The day it arrives already written in God’s history, already known. (Job 14:5) However, as a child of God, I do not fear the death of my soul. All others must.

He who has an ear, let him hear.

To the children of God who overcome, God promises He will allow us to eat of the tree of life in His Paradise. Which means at some point in all space and time, when my God-fearing grandmother breathes her last breath here on earth, she will enter the presence of her Jesus in His home, His Paradise. Then, after being unable to stomach a bite of food for over a month, she will eat of the tree of life. And she will truly live fully, freely and forever. The aching desire deep in the soul for more life will be completely satisfied and satiated. What hope!

Hope for whom? Hope for those who overcome. Overcome what? Overcome the temptation to leave their first love, Jesus. (Revelation 2:4) Overcome how? Reignite the love. Fully surrender to the One who stands in the gap between God and man, reconciling and redeeming our sin for His glory. Oh, how He loves you and me! Have you lost that first love?

There’s no other way to overcome this life, to receive the hope of our deepest desires fulfilled, met, and quelled than through a living relationship with Jesus Christ today, in the here and now.

It is arrow prayers shot in the moment of despair.

It is morning tea conversations about the truth in a Bible verse.

It is comforting silences of enjoying His company while watching a sunset.

It is wrestling with hard truths and expressing deep emotion with Him and to Him.

It is praise and adulation of the soul for the goodness He shows, showers, and provides.

It is words of reverent thanks given.

It is the stillness of listening to His voice or for His voice.

It is the minor course corrections you make because you felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit.

It is the JOY of fully surrendering all of life’s disappointments to the One Person who can work them all for my good and His glory.

Without a personal, daily, hourly, moment-by-moment relationship with Jesus, there is no hope. There is no overcoming—in this present moment or in the future to come. Tomorrow will always look as bleak as today. It will weigh just as heavy. We mere mortals were not created with the strength to overcome this life on our own. We were created to rest in Jesus, to rely on His strength and power, and to live fully through relationship with God because His breath alone can bring us to life. (Genesis 2:7, Job 33:4) Imagine the possibilities of living life fully aware of His presence!

“Abba, thank you for Your promises. Thank you they apply yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Thank you for making a way and a plan to fulfill, meet, and quell all my deepest desires, needs, and fears. I choose to lift my eyes to You and your promises today, Lord. Thank you for providing a way to overcome. Amen.”

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
         Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
              In the light of His glory and grace.  –Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, Helen Howarth Lemmel

Devotion in the Dark

“You have taken from me friend and neighbor—darkness is my closest friend.” Psalm 88:18

There’s no glossing over the hard things of life—the depression, anxiety, stress, death, pain, hurt, and heartbreak. We can’t ignore them, bury them, or make them pretty or easier to endure. In fact, when we choose to follow Christ, we sign up to carry His cross and sign on the dotted line for all His promises, one of which is that in this world we will have trouble. When the days and seasons of trouble come, we can feel helpless and useless sitting with darkness, our closest friend.

Truth is we are never helpless or useless because even in our deepest dark Jesus’ sacrifice gives us the gift of honesty, of openness, of unobstructed communion with God the Creator. The opportunity to be real with ourselves and with our God is a powerful tool against the enemy.

Psalm 88 is a psalm of lament. When you read it, the despair and agony of David’s soul is evident and pure and real.

David proclaims darkness as his closest friend, yet even in the dark he continues to speak, to cry out. He claims God has taken everything from him, yet David continues to keep the lines of communication between him and God open.

Therein lies the treasure of this passage, the beauty in the authenticity of God’s Word. Even in his lowest of lows, David never stopped talking to God. Not only did he keep talking, but he didn’t edit his feelings either. He didn’t try to gloss over the ugly truth of the condition of his heart. He didn’t try to dress up his words and feelings for a conversation with a holy God. He never stuffed all his raw emotions into a box labeled “shameful”.

No, instead, he wrote them all down, quite possibly even sung them out loud. He gave all the ugly words and hard feelings air to breath, but most importantly he was unabashedly honest with the one Person in his life that could handle all the hard things. His God. Throughout all the psalms—especially this one with no satisfactory ending—David stayed honest with the God he had staked His life on more than once. Even knowing God had allowed these hard things doesn’t keep him quiet.

He kept talking to God, out loud and in writing, through all the pain, amid all the questions, and despite knowing God had allowed his circumstances.

What trust! What refreshing vulnerability! What courage.

“Father, increase my faith to have the courage to bring all the hard and ugly directly to You, first and foremost and often. May my unedited soul find comfort in You alone because I know you hear my voice and the cry of my heart. You alone, Lord, can handle all my bitter brokenness. Though I feel darkness is my closest friend, I know You sit right here with me. Amen.”

I Am A Liar

I am a liar. Or at least I’m a person that sometimes lies. Today I had to own it. I had to call a spade a spade. I’m dealing with some inward spiraling, mostly around avoiding potential conflicts and hurting other people’s feelings, and in the middle of the spiral, I started reading this book our church is working through together—Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Peter & Geri Scazzero.

Ever heard of it? The first chapter was a gut punch and a reality check all at the same time. Not sure I can stomach the rest of the book, but the best things in life are hard work and worth the effort, so let’s do this, right?

Bring on the emotional maturing.

Basically, I realized in reading just the first chapter of the book I am not as spiritually mature as I like to think. There are many items on the list of things labeling me emotionally immature, but the lying thing got to me.

I can confidently say, calling myself a liar is not a statement of my identity. I know at my core a liar is not who I am. No one who knows me even a little would call me a liar. Integrity matters to me. It is probably the number one reason I married my husband. He has more integrity in his little finger than Mother Theresa on a good day. Exaggerating a smidge, maybe, but he often wonders why I chose him when my standards are so unattainably high, and well, that’s why. I couldn’t find a man with more integrity. I digress….

In identity, I agree I am not a liar, but I do lie. And it happens at the worst possible moments for me. Moments when I’m given a chance to really speak how I’m feeling, to put it out there. Like when someone checks in after an emotionally charged discussion:

Someone: So, are we ok? Everything between us is good?

Me: (Long pause) Yes. I think so. Yes. I’m good. We’re fine. (Big smile. Hug if necessary. Change the subject.)

Liar! What I realized today is the thought process I went through in the above “Long Pause.” You know, the one where the someone is probably thinking I’m taking time to contemplate a truthful answer.

Instead, during that long pause, inside my head sounds something like this:

Am I ok? Are we good? I don’t know. I don’t feel ok. Things don’t feel good. But feelings lie, and the truth is this person loves me and I love them, so I’m sure my feelings will follow and align later. I also really don’t have the emotional energy to keep having this conversation right now in this format. Things have been a tad heated and uncomfortable, and I don’t want our time together to be soured. I’ll be ok. We’re good. Things are good.

So, I lie.

What results is an uneasy space between me and someone because truthfully, I’m not fine, and we’re not good. They choose to believe me (because I’m not a liar) but might leave feeling confused by the space between us. Fellowship is broken because there’s no resolution, conclusion, or agreement to disagree, no true understanding because I lied to avoid the avalanche of feelings building inside me.

And boy do they build! Not only can I not get my feelings of being ok to align later, I continue to spin on the conversation, realizing bullet point by bullet point how I’m hurt and offended, how my offense is not out of line, misplaced or unbiblical. But now what? I lied. I told them I was fine.

And that’s just one example of one conversation. Honestly, my knee jerk reaction is to lie in ANY uncomfortable, possibly confrontational situation.

Want me to share my real feelings, but I’m feeling like I can’t trust you because of past offenses? I’ll lie.

Put me in a position where I’m faced with the choice of telling you the truth or hurting your feelings? I might lie.

Back me in a corner, put me on the defensive? I might try lying, appearing like I agree with you, before I let the claws come out.

Why??? Because confrontation sucks. Because our world and our culture has progressively taken away our need and opportunity for face to face conversation. Because if you’re only going to be able to spend limited time with a person at lunch, on the phone, etc., why would you want to spend that time in conflict or even just mild disagreement? Our lack of overall social interaction has led to soul-crushing social anxiety crippling our ability to be honest, real, vulnerable, and authentic. Ultimately, we walk around never feeling truly heard or understood.

Honest, real, vulnerable, authentic conversations require treading into deeper, unknown waters. Sometimes we step on each others' feelings in those murky waters. It doesn't have to be a relationship damaging experience, but we're out of practice. For me, a little lie takes me back to shallower waters, but I just robbed myself and the other person of something authentic and vulnerable--of something true.

It's difficult to even put these words into writing, much less publish them! Now, I’m giving the general public a reason to distrust me, a reason to label me as a bad friend, bad Christian, untrustworthy person. I’m exposing my underbelly, and a voice in my head hisses, “This only makes you weaker, less valuable, less worthy.”

But I know the voice of my Good Shepherd (John 10:27). He doesn’t hiss. He beckons. He calls with longing. He speaks with concern and genuine compassion and love. He sheds light on my character flaw to lie in these situations, and whispers, “You don’t have to do that anymore. You are a new creation seated with me in the heavenlies. You are not a liar, so don’t lie. Believe that and step into it. Live unafraid because I’ve got your back. You are never alone. I am the Truth. Speak from My Spirit empowering you every day.” (2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 2:6, Isaiah 54:17, Isaiah 41:10, John 14:6, John 16:13)

So, what now? When God reveals some ground He wants to conquer in our life, what do we do?

For me, the next time I’m faced with that situation, I feel those uncomfortable, unsure emotions, I won’t dismiss them. I won’t avoid the conflict inside me. I will have a choice to speak truth for myself. To say the words, “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now. I don’t feel fine. Things don’t feel good. I may need some more time to process.” Will that leave a highly uncomfortable space between me and someone else? Probably, but it will be truthful, sincere and authentic. I’m not hiding behind pleasantries. I can be free to circle back to the conversation, to table it for another day, to express my love for the other person, but my desire for time to speak truthfully.

My fellow family, friends, believers, and countrymen—It is time we take back the art of conversation. It is time we press into hard words to say, difficult topics to broach, and heavy emotions that have a purpose and were created by God to put us on notice.

I am not a liar. Anymore. By the precious shed blood of Christ.(Colossians 3:3-4) So, I don’t want to lie anymore. May God’s grace, truth, dignity, poise, and gentleness be evident in how I choose to interact with those around me. And when I screw up—because I will, again and again and again—may I have the humility it takes to go to those I’ve wronged and tell them I lied to them, asking for their forgiveness. Maybe it will open a new vein of conversation, maybe it won’t. But my conscience will be clear before the Lord, speaking the truth will set me free inside and out.

All sin ensnares, traps, entangles, and imprisons. Much of my sin is very inward. For me, outward sin is a sign something has been going wrong on the inside for a long time. It just finally leaked or exploded out. The truth sets us free, and Jesus is the Truth.(John 8:31-32) Being honest about my sins, confessing them out loud is an opportunity for accountability, a cry for community, a plea for help. There’s nothing wrong about any of those, nothing weak about coming clean and asking for help to stay that way. That’s meekness and brokenness on display for the glory of God because it’s His voice that beckons me to walk in the light of truth.

Our world says to hide your weaknesses or work on improving them. 

My Jesus says His power is perfectly displayed when I own my weakness, and He loves me regardless.(2 Corinthians 12:9) Sanctification—all that improving—is His job. Obedience is mine.

Maybe lying isn’t your struggle. Maybe your vice is greed, lust, lack of compassion, apathy, jealousy, wrath—the list goes on and on. If we were honest, we all struggle with any of these many times a day in different situations.  The challenge is can we own it. Can we see the ugly for what it is, call it by its name, and let Jesus conquer that ground in our life by making it new with His Truth? Are you walking close enough to Jesus’ light to even see the ugly things and acknowledge they are there?

Every day I’m more and more grateful I serve a God who loves me too much to leave me in the sinful state He found me. His deepest desire is for me to become exactly who He originally created me to be, so He keeps spotlighting one little area at a time and taking back ground in my life I didn’t even know I had given up to the enemy or needed to be conquered.

Following Jesus makes me stronger. He makes me better. No one else gets the credit for that.

Birthday Waves

It’s no secret my children enjoy challenging my creative abilities when it comes to their birthday cakes.  And it’s no secret creating their imaginations brings me much joy.

For her 13^th birthday, which is a slightly big milestone in my mind, my daughter asked for a from-scratch chocolate cake with chocolate mousse decorated with an exact replica of her surfboard surfing a wave. Oh my.

First let me tell you, ideas for how to create a 3D ocean wave were completely absent in my online and Pinterest searches. Second, my daughter might have changed her mind three times within the week before her birthday about what would be acceptable to her. Third, I have skills, but no training. Any skills I posses are winging-it at best (Thank you Lord for an inkling of artistic talent.). My daughter has more decorating and baking experience than I do at this point, but she has been gracious, and after a few terse exchanges about the mind-changing difficulties, she stepped back and let me do my thing.

To say the oversized-cupcake result represents a monumental amount of failures would be an understatement. Compared to the vision in my head, this is an artistic Pinterest fail. I’d also give myself a D+ on execution and technique. (If you had only seen my kitchen in this process…eye roll.)

But as I stepped back to survey the end product, for an untrained decorator with no source of inspiration other than my daughter’s surfboard, it’s not half bad. It’s almost even pretty. Others might find it incredible. The artist is always their biggest critic.

And all I could do was think about my daughter and me and surfing and life and all the lessons held within this experience.

Our ideations of how life should turn out rarely come to fruition the way we envision, but along the way, on the journey, in the process, we learn invaluable lessons.

At one point in my complete frustration with icing the project, my daughter walked over and gently came alongside me and just helped. She didn’t placate me with encouraging words that weren’t true. She didn’t say anything negative or positive about the wreck that was unfolding in front of me. She just offered to help. Then with calm confidence, she did. She fixed the issue, and in the process taught me how someone can be gracious with their help, how someone coming alongside you can calm with just their presence, how tackling problems together without a lot of words is worth its weight in gold. She got me back on track, then walked away, leaving me encouraged to keep moving forward and able to manage what was in front of me.

She’s good at that. Her confidence, when bridled with gentility and grace, guides others. Life’s kinks and bumps in the road have never phased her for long. She just takes it as it comes, and like surfing, sometimes she catches the ride while other times she waits for the spin cycle to end to take a breath.  But no matter the outcome, she gets back on that board and paddles back out because the thrill of trying is worth possibly getting crushed, and if you’re out there in the line up with friends, even better. She’s a ride or die kind of friend that would rather encourage you to keep going with her than throw in the towel. She’ll laugh with you, not at you, then laugh at herself harder.

All these lessons from one almost-failed attempt at a birthday cake. All these lessons from my girl. I hope the lessons keep coming. I hope I’m never too proud to learn from the younger, to learn from the mistakes, to keep trying, to keep paddling back out.

Happy 13^th birthday, Savannah Lee. I pray for many more years of learning our way together through this life because one thing’s for sure, you’re gonna make it fun. Hugs, your Mama

Response to a World on Fire

My brain has been in overdrive. For like, all of quarantine. I feel like the world is going mad, literally.

People are out there somewhere setting things on fire. Black people are dying. Cops are dying. There’s a literal area of anarchy inside the city of Seattle. I can’t read a single article that anyone posts online without dismissing it as biased and/or grossly misleading or bent. Since I follow people from all political persuasions, I stomach the hatred and apathy that spews from all sides. Oh, and there’s a virus of some importance in there still pulling punches when you step away from the screen time.

I’m white, upper-middle class and college-educated. Anything I post is automatically dismissed through those lenses. Even being female isn’t in my favor these days, because of the latter and my mostly conservative Christian beliefs, I just automatically get lumped in with all the Women for Trump ladies, even though I never voted for the man. If you don’t know me, you don’t know my story.

The same can be said for every, single person posting on social media. It’s easy to lie about yourself and others from the other side of a screen. It’s easy to paint someone the victim in one essay and the criminal in another when the truth might be, they were both.

Truth. My brain physically aches from desiring and seeking truth. I find myself savoring the time I can spend in God’s Word because it’s literally the only thing I read all day long that I KNOW is true.

It’s tempting to disconnect from all social media and choose to live in my white, suburbia bubble and pretend this will pass. This won’t touch me. Then I try to leave my home and go shopping, and the fear, condemnation, confusion, and anger is palpable in those around me. It’s as physically suffocating as the mask they want us to wear.

I sit back and watch the drama unfold across my screens, and I wonder if people know. Do they know they are puppets in a grander scheme? If you pick a side, the mainstream media is tailoring all the articles that come across your page to support your side. Oddly enough, when you don’t pick sides, when you see things from all sides and many angles, especially in the light of loving Jesus and the Bible, my news stream is silent. They feed me zero information as if to keep me silent. I wonder why that is?

Might it be because my relationship with Christ makes me a beacon of actual truth in a world where it simply cannot be found because the powers that be are betting they can blot it out?

Truth says we ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. (Romans 3:23)

But I can’t #alllivesmatter without being against #blacklivesmatter for some reason. And if I #bluelivesmatter, I better be prepared for the wrath that follows—the unfriending, unfollowing, and hate from the other side.

I can’t be pro-life without being against women’s rights for some reason.

Covid-19 is either a hoax or a pandemic worthy of all the hype. There’s no space for someone to be in the middle.

You can be Republican, Democrat, Progressive, Libertarian, etc., but who do you vote for when not one candidate represents all your views?

If someone believes gender is defined by biology, somehow that means they’re against the entire LGBT community.

If you don’t pick a side, you don’t belong. You don’t have a place. You don’t have a voice. I genuinely fear showing support for anything because if you don’t know me, you make assumptions about me based on my gender, race, and socio-economic status that may or may not be true if you don’t have a conversation with me. A face-to-face conversation. Over tea and gouda grits.

All my friends who rant and post hateful comments about the president or BLM or LGBT or vaccines or covid-19 or politics, can I tell you what I see? I don’t see your passion for change. I see your hate. I see your explicatives, the derogatory language you use and your boldness to willingly cut people out of your lives that don’t agree with you.

I see the hate that exists within yourself while you claim to be fighting against hate. How can you fight something that exists within you? And while my initial response was anger as well, now I want to weep for every person who lives enslaved and engulfed by rage and fear.

Truth says we are by nature children of wrath unless we belong to the family of God, and even still, we will battle that nature. (Ephesians 2:3, Galatians 5:16-17)

Brothers and sisters in Christ, if you claim the title of Christian and profess to be in relationship with Jesus Christ, then the actions of your life must follow His words and footsteps as well. The words you type on a screen for the world to see must promote Christ, the Light of the World, in an ever-darkening world. Those who don’t know Him, won’t share Him. We are His ambassadors. (2 Corinthians 5:20)

Jesus created and loves ALL life. So, when I #alllivesmatter, what I’m saying is I support the unborn life, the orphan, the widow, the foreigner, the law-abiding cop, the peaceful protester, every race and tribe and tongue. I want them all to live in truth, walk in truth, and find truth.

So maybe it’s time we Christians flood our feeds with the Truth instead of reposting what the mainstream media is feeding us or posting nothing at all. And just a reminder that if the entire article isn’t true, every word, every angle, isn’t true, even if one sentence or picture is misleading or hides part of reality, then it’s a lie. I don’t want to be a proponent or perpetuator of lies. And since I don’t have the time to fact check every article that comes across my feed with eye witness corroboration, I just won’t repost unless it’s my story to share or the story of someone I actually know and trust. And by “know and trust,” I mean someone with whom I regularly speak.

I wonder if all our worlds would shrink to a more manageable size if we took this approach. If we only supported people we knew personally, I wonder if our personal influence would increase even if our public influence decreased. It would mean less likes and less friends, but more real conversations, more actual influence for change instead of inciting of rage.

If you profess to follow Christ, now is the time to be the light. If silence is violence, then not speaking God’s Truth into the darkness is the real crime against humanity. Maybe I get labeled a Jesus-freak, maybe I’m cursed up one side and down the other for not ever choosing a side, maybe my voice is silenced online by those who don’t want the Truth to be shared.

Ah. But God. He is greater than all the powers that be in this world. His message will be delivered in one way or another if we will only be faithful to take it and share it, and even in our unfaithfulness, I believe His plan will be accomplished. How will you choose to share God’s Truth today and every day? Do you share His Truth more than you share the opinions of this world on your social media feed? Do you intake His Truth, His comments on life equal to or more than the comments and posts of this world? If not, why not? Instead of choosing to post nothing, could you choose to share what you know to be true, something you can back 100%?

That parched, anxious feeling in your soul—it’s your spirit trying to tell you it’s dehydrated for Truth. Brothers and sisters fill up with Living Water then go take it to your people.

 #istandwithJesus

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer Durham

Be the Friend Who Takes Them to Jesus

Friendships are tricky. I have found there are all manor of friends in one lifetime, and it can be a struggle to recognize and hold onto the good ones because we’re all flawed and prone to misguided thinking and actions on even our best days. And there’s so many types of friends!

The I’ll-drop-everything-when-you-call friend

The Never-replies-to-group-texts friend

The friend you have on speed dial for impromptu life events when you must talk to someone now

The friend who’s your best friend today then only wants to talk about the weather tomorrow

The Let’s-talk-about-Jesus-and-all-the-deep-things-of-your-heart friend

The fun friend who just wants to laugh and have a good time

The friend who asks about you and the friend who just talks about them

The friend who shows up to do life with you and hang and be present

The I-can-help-with-your-projects friend

The I-will-keep-and-love-your-kids-like-my-own friend

The chit-chatty surface friend and the friend you feel safe to cry with

The ones where your husbands get along but not the kids and vice versa

The friend with unlimited availability and the one who never seems to be available

The Gift-Giver, the Encouraging Texter, the Exercise Buddy, the Impromptu Luncher, the Early Birds and Night Owls

I could go on and on and on. Friends come in all shapes and sizes. They come with their own unique backgrounds and personal boundaries and beliefs about life. Most of us are a combination of all these types of friends and more. Not one friend fits into any mold.

I used to think I always wanted one best friend. I’ve envied everyone in my life who’s ever used that term about one person. I searched and kept my eyes open my entire life for my person. Even after I got married, I kept looking for that soul-mate friend—the Christina Yang to my Meredith Grey, the Huck Finn to my Tom Sawyer, Copper the Hound to my Todd the Fox. Best fwiends forever. It obviously exists, right? People write about it, make movies and television shows about it. I know people that have posted pictures with friends from the time they were babies, friends for life.

I’m not saying having one best friend is an urban legend, an unrealistic goal like fairytale lives and endings, but in my experience, it has not been a reality. Probably because my expectations have always been unreasonably high and unrealistic. That’s on me. But more importantly, I’m not convinced that’s what the Lord wants for my life. I think the pursuit of one best friend is a lie I’ve been chasing, and I’m ready to quit.

Jesus didn’t have just one friend. He had three closest ones in Peter, James, and John (Matthew 5:37, 17, 26:37), then nine more closer ones in other disciples, then how many women that went unaccounted whom He considered friends? He called Lazarus His friend. How many others did He consider friend that go unlisted in scripture? The only person Jesus had a need to be alone with was His Father. The only Person I should have a need to connect with is my Abba Father and my husband. Everyone and anyone else are a bonus gift in the body of Christ.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another (Proverbs 27:17). Encourage one another daily (Hebrews 3:13). Don’t give up meeting together (Hebrews 10:25). We are all members of one body (1 Corinthians 12). The Bible is clear about our role in community with others. Friends are essential to life, but for me, my one Best Friend should be Jesus then my husband. Life gets all out of balance when I try to put someone else in that role.

So instead of one best friend, I’ve started evaluating for Peters, Jameses, and Johns instead. If I’m the paralytic on the mat, who are the four people that are going to cut a hole in the roof to lower me into the presence of Jesus (Mark 2:4)? Those are the people who I am vulnerable with even if they aren’t always vulnerable with me. Those are the people I trust with my broken heart and disappointments even if they choose someone else for theirs. God knows our needs, and He puts different people in different people’s lives to meet those needs. That’s a grace and a gift and a good thing.

Reciprocity is a worldly requirement for friendship, not a godly one. The Lord knows, He’s my Best Friend whether I treat Him like He’s mine or not! If reciprocity were a requirement of our relationship, I’d fail constantly, yet He still calls me His friend (John 15:15). Unbelievable grace. If God can continue to call me friend after I fail Him daily, can I not also extend grace to others for their shortcomings and irritable quirks?

Friendship works best when it’s a two-way street because that’s what feels good. True friendship works even when one side of the street has shut down. Peter denied Christ three times after all (Luke 22:54), but what a sweet restoration on the shore of the beach after Christ’s resurrection (John 21). Peter denied his friendship because he was overcome with fear. I wonder what demons your friends might be battling in this season of life. I wonder if they just need to be loved for who they are now and restored for who they could be in the future. What if we all chose to see the best in the ones who have hurt us the deepest?

I don’t know. This journey toward healthy friendships continues to be an adventure that I study and process and ponder. I’m trying to examine the motives of my own heart before I begin to even speculate about the motives of others. Better yet, I’m learning to just ask questions and clarify motives before jumping to conclusions. I’m trying to become the friend who will cut a hole in the roof and lower you to Jesus whether you’d do the same for me or not because there’s great joy in taking others to Jesus and watching Jesus do what only He can do in their lives.

 

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer Durham

Cause for a Jubilee

Jubilee. It’s the word that keeps coming to mind as seven years of reflecting on loss rolls around. At first, I thought I remembered the seventh year was the Year of Jubilee in the Old Testament. Turns out it’s seven years of seven, so the end of the 49^th year or the beginning of the 50^{th (}Leviticus 25:8-10). Nevertheless, jubilee is the odd word that keeps sticking when I reflect on seven years without Savannah Veale. Seven years of processing the grief of her untimely death and the hole in my life left behind. Seven years of feeling like a completely different person because she died. Seven years of difficult mind and soul work to understand what life means to me now.

And God gives me the word jubilee. Such an odd word. An uncommon word to associate with the anniversary of a death. Yet, it is a word that means the celebration of an anniversary. It is a word that represents the ideas of emancipation and restoration.

To say I feel emancipated and restored from the experience of her death feels wrong. Very wrong. It feels like I am betraying her memory. Afterall, part of grief is the inability to express felt love. Yet, here I sit this seventh year, not crying, not depressed. All God keeps whispering is, “Jubilee.”

Maybe it is through the years of processing, the swimming pools of tears cried, the angry words screamed and prayed, and all the unanswered questions that God works to bring emancipation and restoration.

Maybe every blog written in pain, every therapy session overflowing with snotty tissues, and every word penned in public or private was actually the treatment my heart needed all along. To express pain and be heard by someone, even if it was only God, was the very medicine my heart needed to finally feel free again, to feel more whole this year than last. It’s taken me seven years to get here and be at peace, to experience jubilee on this day instead of despair. It may take others seventy.

I wholeheartedly agree, time doesn’t heal all wounds, but it does offer the gift of perspective. A perspective I have now, seven years later with her gone, that I would not have had had she stayed.  This does not mean I don’t miss her or even that I’m grateful she died. I can’t hardly even swallow those words, much less type them.

But I am grateful that my Jesus has been gentle with me. He has been understanding and long suffering and never impatient. He has poured grace upon grace into my marriage, my friendships, my children, and all my life for seven years now. He has not forgotten her, and He’s allowed me to mourn her in my way in my time, all the while showing me His way in His time. He shifted my perspective over these seven years, not to see that He healed the wound, but to see what the wound has revealed about me and about Him.

Emancipated and restored people still walk around wounded, yet they also still experience the joy of jubilee. Grief does not cancel out joy. They are not mutually exclusive of each other. I think it’s taken seven years for me to accept this as truth. I am fully aware it may take others longer, and I may be in tears tomorrow. Both are ok. Jesus is gentle with you right where you are, always your best interest at the heart of His every intention.

So, on this jubilee, this seven-year anniversary, I am grateful for Jesus who never gave up on me even when I gave up on Him. I’m grateful He is the story I get to write. I don’t celebrate her death, but I will celebrate that I can testify a relationship with Jesus frees and restores. I have lived it for seven years. No one can take that knowledge and that experience from me. No one will ever convince me God isn’t good, and He doesn’t care. You just can’t.

My word of advice and encouragement for my brothers and sisters who still grieve, hard—Take it all to Jesus. All of it. All the anger, all the pain, all the questions, all the silence, all the waiting, all the panic, all the frantic—take all of it to Him. Wrestle with Him. Work out your salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). He is mighty to save (Zephaniah 3:17). His ways are not our ways, but His intentions are nothing but for our good (Isaiah 55:8, Genesis 50:20). Will you make the choice to stay the course, to follow Jesus long enough and close enough in relationship to witness the good He intends?

Maybe that’s the celebration. Seven years today I can testify as a witness to the good He intended. I can stand as the oak tree in Isaiah 61:3 claiming all the promises to be found therein. If death and grief unearthed a reflection of God’s splendor hiding deep inside me, then His will be done, and all the glory is His. These seven years God has emancipated me unto Himself; He has restored me unto Himself in ways I did not know I needed to be freed, in ways I did not know I was lost. That is cause for a jubilee.

Seven years is a long time, forty-nine even longer. Christ has long suffered with and for His people since He first created us all and set time in motion. If He has not called it quits on us yet, can you not seek Him just one more hour of one more day? The jubilee is coming. I know this to be true.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer Durham

Nineteen Years

Nineteen years. I was nineteen when we first met. I was nineteen when I knew he was the man for me. I was twenty when we first kissed, and I was twenty-one when I said the vows that would bind us together for this lifetime.

We have literally grown into adults together. Under the same roof, in the same bed, sharing all of life’s circumstances, we have chosen each other.

Not because it was easy. No. The first year was tough. Adding children to our home was tougher, and this year has changed us both in ways we never could have foreseen, for the better, but not without wounds.

Why does it work? Because he chooses Jesus first. I choose Jesus first. Somewhere in the middle of us both choosing Jesus, Jesus convinces us to choose each other—every day.

We are two imperfect, completely screwed up people with our own passions, desires, and wills. He’s an extrovert. I’m an introvert. He’s an otter; I’m a beaver. He wants to wipe all the surfaces, and I want to take a toothbrush to the corners. He likes a plan, and I just want to know everything is in its place.

We have clashed like titans and passed like two ships in the night. Every marriage in life has its seasons—winters, springs, summers, and falls. The only thing that has never changed is he chooses Jesus first, and I choose Jesus first. Those sad, dark days when we don’t choose Jesus first, we struggle, and we blame, and we point fingers and the enemy starts to look like the winner.

But when we choose Jesus first, Jesus prompts us to serve with love. So he will wake up in the morning and make my tea, and I don’t plan meals with mushrooms and water chestnuts. He will sit and talk to me about his quiet time and the deep things of his heart, and I will snuggle next to him on the couch and remember to give him big hugs. He will bring me flowers on Fridays, and I will look for that parking spot next to a curb, so only one side of the car has the chance of getting dinged. He will hold me when I cry, and I will listen intently when he processes out loud.

We don’t do these things because we love each other. Hear me. These don’t come naturally. The automatic response is to not want to do these things sometimes for all kinds of reasons—too tired, too angry, too busy, etc.

But Jesus. He fills and wills and enables a heart that thinks of others first. A relationship with Jesus stretches and strengthens all the right relationship muscles. Jesus first is the only reason we are still married nineteen years later. He reveals to us how to love each other well, and it has taken nineteen years of mistakes and practice to make it look like it does today, and we’re still a work in progress. My man wants 56 more years of mistakes and practice, and while I long to see my Jesus sooner than that, if staying on this earth makes that life-long dream of my best friend come true, I pray the Lord makes it so.

Joey is my biggest fan, and I am his. He supports me in my dreams, and I his. We chase the heart of Jesus together, and it is the most thrilling adventure race of a lifetime. If you want a marriage that will stand the test of time and the trials of life, find a mate who loves Jesus more than they love you. They’re a keeper.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer Durham

Rest is Obedience Too

She sat there staring. The sun shone warm across her shoulders. The wind blew soft, just enough to rustle, not enough to annoy. It was the perfect day. Yet, her heart was heavy. Her body was heavy. A listlessness of soul and spirit evidenced by her slightly slumped shoulders and poor posture. She willed herself to soak in the sun as if its warmth could ignite a spark of some kind inside her body or mind. Nothing. She could hear the darkness in the distance, calling ever so faintly with whispered longing. It was still there. It would come if she let it.

She had worked hard to push the darkness away. The fact that it was a voice in the wind now instead of knocking on her front door was extreme growth and progress. What no one knew was the vigilance it took to keep distancing from it. What no one saw were the battles, like this moment in time in which she sat staring, that war raged inside her. What no one heard was her mind weeping for relief when only a few tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. What no one felt was the exhaustion of the work done every day to push the darkness further away or some days just to keep it at bay.

What no one understood is how sometimes she longed for the darkness. The darkness was comfortable. She knew the misery it would bring all too well, but she knew it. She knew what to expect. Every day in the light, struggling, battling felt unknown and unsafe. The darkness was known. The darkness was predictable, controllable even (until it wasn’t.) The darkness would hide her. Lie. The darkness would make her feel safe. Lie. The darkness would envelope her and protect her from the unknown. Lie. Everything she contributed to the world around her was useless, worthless, unproductive, could be easily done by someone else. LIES!

When she recognized them as lies, they hissed and stung like flaming arrows.

When she didn’t, they were familiar words, like letters from a long-lost friend.

Oh, the schemes of the Liar, the Evil One, the Ruler of Darkness.

Her Jesus is her Shield. She knows this. In her mind’s eye, she sees Him standing there taking almost all the fire upon Himself. She is never alone. Never. Her shield of faith is battle worn and tested. Where it has been punctured in the past, the patch applied has made it stronger. Where once it shined new, now it reflects light off every gash, dent and slash like the sculpture of a Master bronzer.

But today her armor weighed heavy. So heavy. If only she could take it off, for just a moment. No. The armor is her only chance of keeping the darkness away. Jesus whispered, “My burden is light. My yoke is easy. Come to Me. I am your Refuge. You will not lose ground as long as you rest in Me.”

Rest. In Him. She struggled with this invitation, this concept, every time. Her mind never felt at rest and when it was, she slept. Then, even in her sleep, she battled. Rest only came on days when she could envelope herself in silence, limiting the stimulus of life around her. This was not a luxury her days currently allowed, so she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Could rest be found now? Even in this moment? Here? She let the sun soak. She let the breeze cool. She leaned her head into the chest of Jesus and listened for His heartbeat. I will give you rest. Truth. She let the tears trickle and her breath relax, sighing away her cares. She cast anxieties like pennies in a wishing well, feeling lighter with each toss, each release. Her armor wasn’t too heavy after all.

“Thank You,” she thought. Gratefulness gifted peace. Jesus’ heart beat louder than the whisper of the darkness. His grace enveloped her in security. She felt hidden by love, held by peace, seen by hope and fully known. Joy was His presence and rest His blessing. She would battle again, but for now, she would rest. And to rest was ok. In the stillness she remembered, rest is obedience to.

……………………………..

Psalm 116 (her own rewrite)

I love the Lord because He hears me—

              Out of all the millions in the world—

              He hears the sound of my voice and the deepest asks—

                           Because He wants to listen to me,

                           He leans in close and gives me His full, undivided attention,

                           So I just keep talking

Always to Him, for as long as I live, for as long as I want or need.

Death has surrounded me before;

              I have known the terrors and frights from the abyss—

              The mourning, the pain, the nightmares, the darkness—

I have known anxiety and deep sorrow.

              In those times I cried out to the Lord,

              “Father save me. Hold me fast. Don’t let me drown!”

The Lord is always right, always gently offering me what I do not deserve—

Yes, He is compassionate—

              Keeping me from rotting away in my own self when I simply make Him enough.

              I have been in the deepest of pits,

              And His presence with me was enough to save me.

Rest, oh my soul—enjoy the peace of the Lord—

              Go back to that simple trust, that simple space where it’s just you and Jesus—

              Return there.

For the Lord has blessed me above and beyond.

He has rescued my soul from the darkness over and over and over again,

              Redeemed my tears of sorrow for tears of joy,

              And kept me from falling all over myself again and again.

One day, I will walk side by side with my Lord in the land He has prepared for His children

              Because His heaven IS the land of those who truly live in His physical presence.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer

Taking Offense?

Who does she think she is? The thought woke up ugly in my mind. Quickly. I watched with disdain as a lady maneuvered her way around people in a very long line to cut in front of everyone to grab a package of rationed toilet paper. The Costco employees were at a loss as they were rationing out one package to everyone in line as quickly as possible.  Just as sneakily as she moved up the line, she was gone. Life moved on. But I was left with that ugly feeling stewing inside.

That wasn’t right. Isn’t someone going to say something? Should I say something? Why do people do that? Are people really that selfish? Humanity is crap. I hope she gets what she deserves. I’m glad I don’t think and act like that.

The thoughts churn hot. The righteous anger, the need for just resolution sits heavy in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach. My mind is grinding. My own pride is beginning to show its backside. This is going nowhere good, fast.

So I stop. Off to the side, out of the way, I take a moment to forgive that lady for her selfishness, for offending me by cutting in front of me. I ask for forgiveness for my own pride. I talk to Jesus for a few seconds and hand the situation—that has come and gone, mind you—to Him. Releasing it to Him for Him to deal with.

It’s in those few seconds—it took seconds, not minutes—the Holy Spirit swept in with peace and grace. Cooling peace to put out the burning thoughts. Compassionate grace to give me His perspective on the situation.

What if she didn’t know there was a line?

What if she needed that toilet paper in a desperate way I don’t understand?

What if she’s a foreigner and doesn’t understand culturally what is happening around her?

What if she needed this win, this score more than anyone else today because securing that toilet paper is the best thing that will happen in her life today?

These are thoughts of grace. These are thoughts of compassion. They don’t excuse her behavior, but they add a perspective I hadn’t considered. They don’t come from me because I’ve already revealed my default response. These thoughts came as a relief in response to forgiveness. Forgiving myself and forgiving the offender. I’ve come to believe both are necessary to experience restorative peace and resolution. (Matthew 6:14-15, Romans 8:1, Ephesians 4:31-32, Colossians 3:13)

It’s these small experiences in life that separate knowing how to be a Christian from actually being a Christian, a living reflection of acting on truth by obeying (Jesus says to forgive) and receiving the rewards of obedience (peace and grace/ Psalm 119:165).

There are days when I would have let my first reactions run rampant for the rest of my shopping trip. Then allowed the crazy thought train to continue in the car on the way home. I’d unload my frustration and negative experience onto the first person I saw or who called. I’d let the roots of my offense begin to negatively effect my conversations and attitudes for the remainder of the day. And this was a small offense!

The bigger the offense the longer and wider the roots spread into your life. The weed of offense can only be uprooted with forgiveness. I’m tired of being offended all the time by everything. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to hold onto grudges because if worry is carrying the weight of tomorrow, holding a grudge is carrying the weight of yesterday. Lord knows, I’m only strong enough today to carry the weight of today. (Matthew 6:34)

Letting go isn’t easy. Every time I forgive an offense and offender, I’m choosing to release presumed rights. People love their rights, especially Americans. Yet, as a Christian, when I choose to follow Jesus, I choose to let Him assume the responsibility for my sins and the sins committed against me. He covers them all. He is both my Father and my King.  I am both His beloved daughter and loyal subject. I can trust Him to have my back, to be my Avenger, to make the best choice for me and the other person involved. I can trust Him with all my emotions and feelings and ugliness and need for justice. I can trust Him to do what’s best for my heart and mind. Even if, no, especially if I don’t agree with the outcome or lack of outcome from His decisions. That’s the hardest trust to learn of all. (Psalm 37:4-6)

I still struggle with forgiveness. I struggle to ask for it, and I struggle to extend it. But love keeps no record of wrongs, against me or against others (1 Corinthians 13:5). If stopping for a few seconds to the side in Costco to forgive an unknowing offender helps strengthen my forgiveness muscle, then I pray God keeps making me aware of all the little offenses. I need the practice, so I’ll be ready for the big ones.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer

Where I Am: A Covid-19 Reflection

Saturday I was supposed to fly to Kenya. On mission trip. With my husband. Just us, serving together. It was going to be my first time on the African continent. There was going to be a safari and wild animals involved at some point. Even more exciting to me, I was going to get to hug the neck of a missionary friend we’ve supported from afar for almost twenty years. It was going to be the best way I could spend my fortieth birthday. The best representation of how I want my life to be remembered and known—serving others, loving like Jesus, always on an adventure, and of course some animal love.

Enter COVID-19.

It canceled Kenya, a camping trip, most likely my backpacking trip with my sister to Zion National Park, probably even my mom’s visit, and maybe more. This was my last year with some of the senior girls I’ve been in small group with since they were freshmen. While my heart aches for my own disappointments, it aches doubly for the disappointments they are experiencing. It aches for all the families whose paychecks will be directly affected by this quarantine.

And I sit at home with my family and have nothing better to do but sit and ponder and think and whine. Oh, poor me. Oh, poor us. The pity party can be real.

I watch people who are still refusing to social distance. Part of me gets angry. Why should they still get to hang with their friends? Part of me gets scared—the longer people wait to social distance, the longer this thing goes on. I waffle between self-righteous justice and sulking defeat. You can’t make people do what they don’t want to do. Heck, even if it came down to a military state, I swear the surfers would still find a way to surf.

We are all innately selfish and driven toward our own self-satisfaction and self-preservation. Considering the “greater good” does not come naturally. It’s why we hoard toilet paper because what if I need it? Forget everyone else. Sometimes we’re also judgmental and self-righteous, believing our way and our words are a better source of direction and light to a less enlightened world.  Hence the public shaming and calling out over social media. The pride at the root of either end of the spectrum makes my skin crawl.

Sitting at home with all these thoughts, I am forced to face the depravity and selfishness of my own mind and heart. I’m forced to consider the fact that part of me wants to give the middle finger to the government and the virus and board an airplane to anywhere out of pure rebellion. There are no distractions right now to keep me from facing that ugly, rebellious heart in the mirror of my mind. My thoughts cannot be drowned by my schedule currently, and I’m not sure I like what’s underneath. Sin. Ugly, prideful, selfish sin. Sometimes in my polished Christian world, I can forget that I’m included in the “all” of Romans 3:23. Full of sin and fallen short.

Enter Jesus. Like a breath of fresh air (Ezekiel 37:5), honey sweet to the taste (Psalm 119:103), He is transformative truth.

Because He reminds me ever so softly to look around and appreciate (Hebrews 12:28). To open disillusioned eyes to what I do have instead of what I don’t (Colossians 4:2). This is hard. Way harder than wallowing and throwing a pity party.

I started to list my blessings. Each of us have things we can be grateful for. Each of us have our own unique set of circumstances where we can find the silver linings that mean something to us, if not to everyone. Like, I can sleep in. Not everyone enjoys sleeping in as much as I do, but I really do. It’s a silver lining for me. Some of my California friends may be enjoying the sound of the rain on the rooftop, a rare sound in this part of the country. Others may be relishing the gift of unscheduled time because their life is always over-scheduled. We can all find silver linings.

It’s these small, miniscule blessings that can get lost in the noise of everyday life. Like the whisper of God Himself to Elijah (1 Kings 19:12-13), life can drown out my Best Friend’s voice. The busyness can distract from the callings my Jesus has given me. The constant need to entertain or perform can drown creativity and innovation. Now, quite unexpectedly, we’ve all been given a reason to throw all our excuses out the window. Lack of time is no longer an excuse. Being too busy is no longer an excuse. I dare say, even being too tired is no longer an excuse for some.

God, in His infinite wisdom, has created a space in time where our excuses don’t hold up anymore. If you’re like me, you might be forced to face the truth that there are things in life you just don’t want to do. There are responsibilities you know you have; you don’t want to admit you’ve been pushing to the back burner of life for all the previously listed excuses. That currently don’t exist.

God has created a space where we can be gently confronted with ourselves and make a choice to change, to create new habits, to prioritize what really matters. Then, He’s given us the time to make it happen.

That conversation you’ve been meaning to have with someone, have it.

That phone call you’ve been meaning to make, make it.

That text message you keep forgetting to send, send it.

That talk with your kids? your spouse? Make it happen.

That thing you’ve always wanted to teach yourself or your kids, do that.

Write. Read. Sing. Talk. Listen. Play. These are all ways we’ve forgotten how to connect because of being too busy, too tired, or not having enough time.

Today I laid on my couch and wallowed in my disappointment, in the loss of all the things I was looking forward to. I drowned my thoughts in meaningless television shows, watching my kids do the same on their own devices. I didn’t want to eat. Wasn’t tired enough to actually sleep until I got depressed enough to nap for an hour. It was miserable, friends. 

The point? It takes work and effort to find ways to connect with others in meaningful ways. Even in my own home. Maybe especially in my own home. But we were designed by God for relationship and for work. He knew it was good for our souls from the very beginning (Genesis 2:15, 18). So, I’m going to go make myself a daily schedule, and Lord-willing, I’ll keep it. But it won’t be easy because my couch and television and cozy blankets are right there. It will be worth it because I will be a good steward of the gift of time the Lord has given during this season.

This is not how I wanted to spend the week of my fortieth birthday. This is not how I want to remember this benchmark year of life. But the hard truth is, I’ve been given an opportunity to write my own script to how the days ahead will play out in my home. An adventure my kids will remember being a part of instead of looking back on it in pictures. I want my family to look back on this time and remember it the way I wanted for Kenya—we served others, loved Jesus, made each day an adventure, and loved on some animals 😂 (We do have two dogs and two guinea pigs in this house.)

I don’t know how long this quarantine will last, but I know my callings in life haven’t changed. My sphere of influence may shrink, but that doesn’t matter because I’m only ever living for an audience of One anyway.

“Thank you, Jesus, for helping me process through to a perspective shift for today. I know more hard days are ahead, but I trust Your plan. Tomorrow will be a better day because Your truth makes the difference. May my hands not be idle, and my work continue to reflect You in me. May I never doubt the importance of Your mantle as my family watches. Thank you for being gentle with my disappointed heart. Your gracious understanding is more than I deserve. Amen.”

Grateful to be His, Jennifer

Be Gentle With Yourself

Criticism is my silent assassin. I think it always has been. I’m pretty sure I was born this way. The perfectionist in me sees every flaw, points out every mistake, dissects every conversation, email, and text for proper form, tone, and effectiveness. Believe me, if anyone knows how they’ve failed daily, I do.

The problem is criticism sits precariously balanced between correction and condemnation. Lean toward correction, and you can accept and adjust. Lean toward condemnation, and you spiral into the abyss.

It was from the depths of the abyss, during one of my darkest seasons, a dear friend looked across the table from me and in compassionate softness said, "It's ok. Right now, you need to be gentle with yourself."

Gentle with myself.

It was like hearing a sentence in a different language. I can motivate, push, applaud, diagnose, correct, and praise myself. But gentleness? Gentleness is not a virtue I’ve valued much. It's definitely a growth area. Growth of any kind is usually both painful and personal, taking place where no one sees what is happening on the inside.

What would it look like to be gentle myself?

Gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit, so it does not come naturally to the flesh. (Galatians 5:22-23) There's a softness, tenderness, a touch of finesse associated with the word. Pictures like the nurturing mother, Snow White singing to the animals, and baby lambs come to mind. Yet Christ is also gentle, and none of those word pictures describe Him in whole.

When I think of Jesus, His gentleness looks more like my daddy's calloused, hard-working hands being careful not to hurt me. I think of Jesus taking the hand of the dead girl, rubbing mud on a blind man’s eyes, speaking a storm into peace. Jesus is power finessed. Jesus showed gentleness by willfully humbling His power, putting it into submission for a greater purpose often out of loving consideration for another.

Enter the wisdom of, "Be gentle with yourself."

My mind, my will, and my emotions are POWERFUL gifts when submitted to Christ in loving consideration of His commands. They are powerful weapons against me when under the control of my flesh. They are powerful weapons for me when under control of the Spirit. Since gentleness is a witness of the Holy Spirit’s presence in my life, to be gentle with myself must be the outcome of Spirit work. My power must be funneled through Christ, to allow Him to wield my mind, my will, and my emotions how He deems worthy, producing good fruit.

To be gentle with myself looks like grace in action.

It looks like acknowledging the hard things in life when they come, giving them space to breathe and be what they are. Hard. (Ecclesiastes 3:4) When today is hard—grief comes for a visit, disappointment shows up on your doorstep, hurt stings—give it a moment. Don’t push it away, disregard or minimize its presence. See it. Feel it. Feel all the emotions as they come and reject all condemnation that may follow. (Romans 8:1) I am only human. My emotions are not sins until I begin to treat them like they are—hiding them, stuffing them, allowing them to take control. I must take a moment to notice them and hand them to Jesus. I can’t move forward until I do.

Being gentle looks like removing any expectations of all the "shoulds" in my life, accepting what today is. (2 Peter 1:3, Psalm 118:24) I should be exercising. I should be doing laundry. I should have called my friend. The list in my head can be never ending. I need to stop and recognize. God gave me today. He’s already provided me with everything I need to live and accomplish His will today. When I ask Him what I need to be doing, all I really must do is that.

Gentleness with myself is remembering that God sees me right where I am, for who I am, and He loves me unconditionally. Right here. Right now. (Ephesians 3:17-19, Psalm 139) I have nothing to prove to anyone else. It’s my choice to believe truth and rest in it. Taking captive any thoughts that say different and releasing them to Jesus because He's the judge and jury, not me. (2 Corinthians 10:5)

You cannot pour into others something you do not already possess. If I wish for gentleness to be a marker of my life, a virtue others can experience, a fruit the world can taste, I must first learn to be gentle with myself. Practicing gentleness inwardly will allow others to experience it outwardly.

Some of us beat ourselves up too much. Some are utterly clueless, not self-aware at all. The gavel of conviction seems to be but a bothersome mosquito bite. But some need to place the gavel we constantly carry for ourselves back into the nail-scarred hands of our Heavenly Father. The result of His wounds was a healing grace only He can administer, a salve for our burning souls. Let Him decide when the gavel is necessary, and in the meantime, be gentle with yourself as He is gentle with you.

In my hardest of times and darkest of days, I needed those tender words from a friend giving me permission to be gentle with myself (almost as if God Himself was using her to whisper those words to me) because God was being gentle with me, and I needed to allow Him to do His work.

Where is God gently working in your life? Do you pick up the inner critic hammer to try and fix yourself instead of submitting to the hands of your Maker? Jesus has been far gentler and kinder to me in His unfailing strength and presence than I have ever been to myself. If you find yourself in a hard season, and the voice inside your head is always harsh, hateful, critical, and demanding, please, please, hear my Jesus whispering, "It's ok. Right now, you just need to be gentle with yourself." 

Here's to 2020

In 2013 when she passed, my whole world stopped. To be fair, between becoming a new mother in 2007, blundering through postpartum depression, weathering a miscarriage in 2008, my world was already inwardly reeling well before her death. Looking back, I can see this clearly, but at the time it just seemed like the normal struggle of life.

But when she died, it's like the whole world just stopped, then it began to move in very slow motion in an opposite and different and new direction all together. Then, all of a sudden, like Dorothy in the tornado, I found my mind spinning out of control and transplanted to Oz, which quite literally ended up being from Georgia to California in 2014, and my family wasn't in Kansas anymore.

God knew exactly what He was doing every step of the way. 

To steal a quote from Lysa Terkearst, "the seeming permanence of some of the heartbreak ha(d) stolen some of (my) affection for life (It's Not Supposed to Be This Way, 2018)." Yes. Stolen my affection for life. I had slowly been losing my affection for life for some time if I look back and am honest. I was nursing wounds of seeming failure as a teacher. (This might be the first time I've ever even admitted I felt that way.) I was drowning in survival mode and seeming uselessness as a new mother. (Again, this was my inward world, I'm not sure even I knew at the time what was brewing in my mind.) I am not the mom who enjoyed those early years. Don't get me wrong. I treasured them, tried to appreciate them, and didn't wish them away, but when my youngest turned four, I breathed an inward sigh of relief that those early years were now treasured memories. I had survived.

I tried to thrive, but during the early years of my children, I weathered deep postpartum after my first, then silently grieved a miscarriage long after my second was born in 2009, somewhere in there my husband lost his brother (2010), and I buried a beloved grandfather (2012). It was life in my late twenties, early thirties. Everyone weathers crap, right? Everyone grieves sometimes about somethings. I was an adult. I could handle this. Right? 

I realize now how gentle and empathetic of a soul I have. Many have complimented me on my strength over the years, but the reality is my soft heart that feels deeply had a wall of emotional armor around it that grief was eating through like acid, and when it reached the soft underbelly of who I really was, I was in pain. You can only live life in pain for so long before it actually drives you crazy. When Savannah Veale died, my armor was destroyed, and I was left utterly exposed and frantic, my mind vulnerable to all the acid of the grief. In retrospect, it also left me completely vulnerable to the gentle working and molding of my Jesus. 

God sent the tornado that transplanted us to California. That was His doing. Except my yellow brick road was paved with sand and ocean waves. He even sent me my own Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man to keep me company, and we've journeyed together toward Oz, back to the heart of the Wizard of Oz, except in this metaphor, the Wizard of Oz really is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. He was never a fake behind a curtain. Truth be told, He was with me on this journey the whole time, orchestrating every circumstance right there by my side.

So I sit here on the verge of 2020, looking ahead, and I am grateful for the journey. I've not reached a point where I can say I'm grateful for all the griefs. I am grateful for the freedom I've found in journeying back to the heart of my Jesus. I'm grateful for the relationships forged in fire along this journey, my husband being the closest and deepest. I'm grateful I am in a personal relationship with Jehovah Rapha, the God Who Heals. 

For many years now, I have believed that healing, deep healing from all the griefs of life, wasn't truly possible this side of heaven. If for the last decade I have been on a quest for joy and found it again in my Jesus, maybe the next decade is a quest for healing? or maybe victory? I don't know. I just know that Jesus healed so many during His time here on earth, and I believe His healing continues to this day, but I think maybe it looks so much different than what I think it should look or feel like.

My therapist said the other day, "Maybe part of healing is learning to accept what is instead of constantly dwelling on what could have been." This is a hard statement. One I keep rolling over in my mind, examining whether I believe there is truth there. I think there is.

Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 2fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. 3Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

I think it could also read....
Therefore, since we are not alone, let us throw off the idea of what could have been and the sins of the mind that idea can use to so easily entangle us. And let keep running the race that is here, now, in front of us, laser focused on Jesus, the One who went first and perfected our faith. He chose the suffering of the cross to claim the joy He knew was on the other side, redeeming what the world saw as shame into glory, He took His place at the right hand of God the Father. When we struggle with the griefs and pain of this life, remember Jesus, so that you will not grow so weary that you lose hope. 

He is our Hope. And I think maybe it is finding hope again that also aids in healing.

So here's to 2020, the beginning of another decade--quite literally for me since I'm a 1980 baby--the beginning of new quests, new dreams, new tomorrows. I don't know what lies ahead, but all that lies behind has taught me Jesus has me covered. Here's to taking next steps, wherever life takes me, with eyes laser focused on Him. I'm telling you, the greatest adventures in life are lived with and for and in Christ.

Truly, deeply, in Christ, I wish you the Happiest of New Years!
Grateful to be His,
Jennifer