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."