I recently received this fabulous package of goodies from one of my closest friends, Amy. Hanging out with her is better than any subscription box, because throughout the year she mails me the cutest, most adorable packages packed with things that make me smile. I knew it was from her before opening it, because even the outside of her packages are exciting—covered in star stickers and silver Sharpie swirls with fun lettering.

I began pulling out the contents one by one. This package was extra packed with goodness, because it was for my birthday. There was a separate bag within the envelope with this t-shirt in it that I kind of had to wiggle out, then unfold, and then my breath caught in my throat and a hot tear leaked out of my left eye. Not because of a t-shirt. Because of what it said: Courage, dear heart.
 
And yes, I am a huge Narnia fan (okay, geek) and this is a phrase Aslan says to Lucy on the Voyage of the Dawn Treader when everyone is losing hope and it reminds me that Jesus whispers the same to me when I am losing hope. When those around me only see the stormy waves. When the boat I’m standing on is rocking and I’m blinded by mist and my mouth is full of pungent salty sea water.
 
The words. This shirt. The ship. It all transports me to the moment Jesus and the disciples were on a boat and a storm kicked up—I mean one doozie of a storm, tossing their boat all over the place. Waves and saltwater blinded and gagged the disciples. Jesus was napping, because He wasn’t concerned. But the disciples were majorly freaked out and frightened, so they called out to Him. 
The next thing they knew, they were in a severe storm. Waves were crashing into the boat—and Jesus was sound asleep! They roused him, pleading, “Master, save us! We’re going down!”
Jesus reprimanded them. “Why are you such cowards, such faint-hearts?” Then he stood up and told the wind to be silent, the sea to quiet down: “Silence!” The sea became smooth as glass. Matthew 8:23-27 

​Jesus turned to them before He stilled the waters and said, “Why are you such cowards, such faint-hearts?” And in His question, I hear the inverse of what He tells us to do. Jesus tells us to have courage and asks why we would ever be cowards—after all He’s right there next to us in our proverbial boats. He calls us dear hearts, because we’re dear to Him and wonders why we’ve changed our own names to ‘faint hearts’?
 
The words from the shirt, this scene from the boat, rang specifically true to me this past year—the one leading up to my birthday, the one I’d just concluded, and somehow without realizing it these were the exact words that had been helping me hang on. 
 
Rewind a bit to when I had my annual mammogram. And the radiologist found something wonky on the film. And they had me come back in. And then it was still not clear what they were seeing, so I had to have a third mammogram. Praise Jesus, I am fine. But in the midst of the uncertainty, I heard Jesus whispering, Courage, dear heart. I saw him with me in that sterile hospital room just past the giant mammogram machine, steady and sure, giving me the courage I needed.
 
And again, when I had another medical test go awry, with an uncertain result, and I had to go back in for another look. My boat rocked a bit, but I saw Jesus with me as I came out of sedation, literally saw His face giving me the courage I needed, felt how much He loves me, that He holds me dear.

This year was a year of God continually asking me to be bolder, to ask bolder questions, to be bolder in my faith, to speak up more boldly in bold ways about and for Him. And, let’s just get this straight, bold is not how I lean. I prefer zero confrontation, making everyone happy, keeping the peace. But each time I would waiver and wonder, God why? Are you sure? He’d say, “Trust me. Find your strength in me. I’ll give you everything you need. Courage, dear heart.” 

This phrase isn’t just cute words from a children’s book or a t-shirt. They’re a directive from God: Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”—Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV
 
And this shirt printed who knows where delivered from Nashville in a colorful envelope from a caring friend spoke over me everything Jesus told me all year. I share this in case someone out there needs to hear it today, “Courage, dear heart.”
 
Whatever you’re facing, no matter how dark the storm, Christ reminds us to have courage, to be brave, because He is with us, and He is Master over the Storms. He can calm them in one word. “Silence.”
 
One of the fun bonus items in my envelope was a pack of Zinnia seeds. The promise of blooms in the form of tiny brown seeds. It’s a lot to ask an itty-bitty seed to bury itself in the soil, to break through its protective seed coating and drive its roots into the soil that feeds it, to stretch up out of its comfort zone into the light. But if those seeds are brave enough, they’ll bloom.
 
So will we. If we’ll take courage. The good news? The courage doesn’t have to come from us. We don’t have to be instinctively bold or brave. We just need to find our courage in Jesus. The bravest of them all. In Him we’ll find the hope and strength we need.
 
So, “Courage, dear heart.” 
Jesus loves you.
He’ll give you the nutrients and light and stability you need. He’ll calm the waves and hold you tight. He’s on your side and stronger than anything you’re up against. Courage. Find it in Him.
 
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​This whole COVID-19 thing has shifted our perspectives. Workloads are different. We have fewer places to go, zero commute time, no evening meetings, no out of town work trips. And although we’re missing some key elements to our days, we’ve also been given some margin—some space to exhale. 
 
This pause has filled me with introspection. What does God want me to learn from this shelter at home chapter? What have I truly missed? What have I actually enjoyed having less of? What did I discover I can do without? What was I putting too much emphasis or value in?

I know we’re chomping at the bit for things to “go back to normal.” But what if that’s not the best idea? My “normal,” before everything closed down looked like one exhausted gal who frequently got migraines and logged a bazillion miles on her car, swung by the grocery typically five times a week, and always felt rushed to try to do her work, care for her family, and tend to her body, mind, and spirit. Pre-quarantine our family ate dinner together maybe once a week and all got to the same church service maybe once a month. It was normal for me. It was how things were. And I wasn’t complaining, because life was full and good. My husband and I adore our work, we have a great church. We have been blessed with four incredible children, and we were all doing things we loved. But taking a moment to really look at my normal, I don’t think all the excess and running around and burning the candle at both ends was God’s divine plan for me. I don’t think it was His plan for you either.
 
Yes, God created work. He created the world, then Adam and Eve, and directed them to rule over the garden—to tend to the birds, fish, plants and seeds. We all have some kind of work to do—whether that’s caring for our kiddos, analyzing numbers, organizing fundraisers, making presentations, cutting hair, volunteering at the nature preserve, or greeting people at church, Walmart, or on the customer service line. But He never said work yourselves into a frenzy. Work until your head spins. Work until you’re sleep deprived.
 
In fact, when life gets crazy, Jesus says, “Come to me, and take a breather.”
Jesus said, “Come off by yourselves; let’s take a break and get a little rest.” For there was constant coming and going. They didn’t even have time to eat.
So they got in the boat and went off to a remote place by themselves. —Mark 6:32-34 ​

Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-30
 
What if Jesus has been trying to tell us this while He has our attention? Don’t get me wrong. There is zero, nil, zip evil in Jesus. He did NOT create the pain and suffering associated with COVID-19. But He is always on the lookout for ways to grow us, guide us, lead us to a better, freer, more fulfilling life. Maybe Jesus is saying, “I see you and your constant coming and going. Let’s take a break and get some rest. Oh, my child, you look worn out. Come here, walk with me and learn the unforced way to live, a natural, melodic, rhythm of grace.”
 
Yes please.
 
Before we hit “go” on our lives I want to think and pray through these things. I don’t want to go from zero to sixty without having learned my lesson and taken the action to apply it.
 
I want to walk and work with Jesus and see how He does it. What does this mean for me? I’m not certain. But I think it means saying, “no,” to more things, being fine without every single favorite food in the cupboard and fridge, implementing more intentional patterns of rest. 

How about you? What parts of this strange state of affairs are you finding you appreciate? Maybe you realize you like painting your own nails or you’ve met some incredible neighbors (from six feet away) you’d like to invite over. Perhaps you’ve discovered you actually prefer the online workout over the one you used to drive to, plus it fits into your schedule way better. Maybe you enjoyed cooking so much, you’re going to commit to trying a new recipe each week. Maybe it turns out you love your natural hair color. Perhaps you find peace and renewal in the gardening, reading, yoga…you’ve taken up since you’ve been sheltered in place. Which things did you think you needed, that as it turns out, you don’t? Which things are you seeing as new rhythms you’d like to implement going forward?
 
I’m cherishing the gift of putting down my phone at 7:00 pm each night, because we’re all under the same roof. I’m savoring moments sitting quietly on our porch with no agenda, and no urgency to get going to the next. I’m thankful for impromptu hands of cards and family walks at sunset. I’ve been having a blast painting with the kids and rediscovered how peaceful it is for me. I love our family gathered in soft pjs on Sunday mornings worshipping Jesus together. When the world speeds up again we’ll be called to dive back in. Right after Jesus and the disciples took a rest in the scripture above is when He fed the 5,000. I’m just saying, there will be work to do. Important work. I know I won’t be able to implement all the things I’ve enjoyed in this slow down every day, but I don’t want to lose them. I want to make sure in seasons of busy and hurry that I do what God has called me to, that I do it well, and that I then return to a position of rest.
 
And so, I’m trying to be proactive. What if instead of striving to get back to normal we work to create a new normal, a new and improved one? One where we turn to Jesus to consider what matters most. Where we prioritize with Him what’s important. And where we let Jesus rule our calendars and our hearts—our starts and stops, are gos and pauses, stops and go agains, where we fall in step with His unforced rhythms of grace.
 
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​I opened the cupboard and a bowl that was precariously balanced at the top of a bowl tower came tumbling out, bounced off the corner of my phone, landed on the floor and shattered. It all happened in approximately one part of one second. I cleaned up the bowl, which fortunately broke into only a few large pieces, and wiped off the floor and counter to make sure I hadn’t missed any tiny shards. Then I saw my phone. A tiny spiderweb crackled in the corner where the bowl had ricocheted. The bowl only had contact with my phone for a millisecond, but the weight of the bowl was too much. My phone couldn’t handle it.

Phone screens are expensive, and I can deal with a little crack, so I grimaced and got on with my life. I had a conference to attend, kids to pick up from practice and rehearsal, groceries to buy. But here’s the thing. When something is too heavy and we don’t deal with it, it doesn’t go away. It festers, expands, swells. And so, the corner crack spread across my screen in a myriad of directions. A tiny sliver of glass fell out leaving an area of the actual LED exposed. A few days later the screen where that crack was had a black spot. Then the whole screen got funky lines on it. You see where this is going. 
 
There are so many things in life that are simply too heavy for us to bear. There is a weight that comes with loss, a weight that comes with success, a weight of being responsible for someone else, a weight of rejection, a weight of being abused. Even Queen Victoria found her own crown too heavy to wear and had a smaller, lighter version designed. These weighty things might only touch us for a moment. At first glance it might look like they barely made a dent in us. But they are so heavy, they continue to spread, damaging parts of us that didn’t even seem like they were impacted by the blow. 
 
Yes, some things are too heavy for us to bear alone, but we’re not supposed to. We don’t have to. 

​Jesus says, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” --Matthew 11:28-30 
 
Real rest. Unforced rhythms of grace. Nothing heavy. Nothing ill-fitting. Freely and lightly. These are all things I want. When my mental, social, or emotional load feels too heavy, more than I can bear I want this—real rest, a free and light life. And Jesus offers it. He doesn’t require any payment, productivity, or performance from us. All He asks is that we walk with Him, keep company with Him. Mmmm. That sounds simply lovely.
 
Has something landed on you, bounced off you, hit you, and it hurt, and it shocked you, and it damaged your screen? What stunned you, but you’re trying to get on with life without really addressing it? What feels too heavy? 

​Jesus is a healer. He is a peace maker. He is a way maker. Jesus offers love and renewal. Don’t ignore the thing that fell on you or the place you feel cracked. Don’t let it expand and continue to damage your heart. Turn it over to Jesus. He’s there to help you pick up the pieces, mend what is broken, fill in the cracks, and learn to move forward. Stop blowing it off or dismissing it as no big deal. Some things in life ARE heavy. But Jesus wants to bear the weight for you, lift it from you. He’s inviting you in, right now, to a free and light life. 

​Last weekend I:

1. Watched the new Aladdin, the one with Will Smith as the genie, with my boys.
2. Finished reading The Old Man and the Seaby Ernest Hemingway. 

 
Which shouldn’t seem related at all, except they both dealt with the things we look to in life to find satisfaction and gratification, and how rarely that works out for us.

​If you need a quick refresher, in Aladdin, a poor boy named, Aladdin comes across a magic lamp housing a genie. The genie pops out and tells Aladdin he can make three wishes. Hmmm…what would you do with three wishes? Have you ever considered what you would wish for? A new house? A new job? More hours in the day? The genie warns Aladdin, “Here’s the thing about wishes…the more you have, the more you want.” Dang. Rings a little too true, doesn’t it?
 
When we turn sixteen it seems like our biggest wish is to be able to drive. When we get our license, we want to borrow our parents’ car. Then we wish we had our own car—any car that moves. Then we want a car with a few bells and whistles. As we get older we might wish for fancier cars—with leather interiors and fabulous sound systems and heated seats (I’m not that into cars, but I do enjoyheated seats). Most writing friends I know have at one time or another “wished” to be published. If they achieve that goal, their next wish is to get another book published, with a bigger publisher, or to sell more copies, or perhaps a multi-book deal, or the ultimate—to be a New York Times Bestseller. All of these are great goals. But at the beginning “being published” felt like the end all. The problem is, there is no end all. The wishes never end. 
 
Renters dream of one day owning a home. Once we buy that “fixer upper” we long for a new kitchen counter, then a kitchen remodel. And while we’re getting a new sink for the kitchen wouldn’t it be gorgeous if we replaced the sinks in the bathrooms, too? Before we know it we’re drooling over Pinterest homes and wishing for more and different than what we have. For athletes it could be an initial goal of making the team, then moving up to the “A” team, hoping for playing time, being in the starting lineup, scoring the points, winning the games, being the MVP. The more you have…the more you want. Most of us are guilty of it in some form or another.

​The old man in Hemingway’s classic wasn’t materialistic. He lived in a hut and owned one pair of pants. But he wanted to catch the biggest fish and would stop at nothing to get him. For three days the fisherman held onto his line, so this big fish would not be the one who got away. Meanwhile the old man’s hands were ripped raw from the tugging and pulling of the fishing line. All the man had to eat were a couple of raw fish, all the while being towed by a giant marlin through the depths of the sea. On the brink of dehydration, the man rationed one bottle of fresh water over the course of sunsets and rises and barely slept a wink, putting his body and mind in extreme danger. For over eighty days the man had wished for one great fish. Now it was hooked on his line. Be careful what you wish for old man.
 
And I feel the warning being screamed at me, too. Be careful what you wish for, Laura. What am I wishing for? What are you wishing for? What do we think we need to feel complete? Like we’ve arrived? If we only had/did/achieved/looked like ______ we would be happy. 
Really? Because as soon as we get/earn/appear like that, we usually wish for more. 
 
Except when we have Jesus. He is the one thing that satisfies us once and for all. He is the bread of life, the living water. He told the people who encountered Him they would never need anything else. All they had to do was believe in Him. 
 
Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water (water from a well) will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”—John 4:13
 
Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” —John 6:35

Completely, 100% satisfied. Never needing again. When we walk in the peaceful, grace-filled life Jesus offers this is what we receive. Sure, we still could use some money to pay our bills. We still pray for healthy relationships, for joy to fill the hearts of those we love. But we find all of our actual needs are provided for—that our longings are fulfilled. That desire for more and then a little more is squelched, because with Jesus we finally feel whole. 
 
Don’t get me wrong. There are still lots of things I want. A python pair of boots or that pink fuzzy jacket would be fun for fall. A serving of warm apple cobbler topped with creamy ice cream would be delicious. An extra hour of sleep would be divine. Heck, I’d take the half hour. But if I don’t get those things, I’m still fine, thoroughly content. Because all those little twinge-y incomplete parts of my heart have been filled in by a Savior who loves me no matter what I’m wearing, who’s sweeter than any decadent desert, and who provides rest for my tangled up soul.
 
If you had a magic lamp what would you wish for? If you could go out to proverbial sea one more time what would you hope to catch? It’s wonderful to have dreams and goals. Jesus calls us to be brave, live large, and go out there and use the gifts He’s given us to live bold, radical, fruitful lives. But at the end of the day whether we achieved or did not, won or lost, were noticed or ignored, we are fully seen and fully loved by our Perfect Savior. That itch? That something missing? That void we’re striving to fill? Jesus satisfies and fills it. He is everything we need. And His love and grace never ever run out.
 
My wish? Is that you feel Jesus’ love today, how it completes you, and satisfies like nothing you could ever set out to catch.

My editor noticed I’m over on word count. It seems every single chapter of my manuscript is too many words long, putting the projected length of my book larger than my contract allows. She kindly suggested I start cutting. It’s a problem I have. Using too many words. Just ask my husband who wishes he had a fast forward button to use on me when I’m sharing a story. And although it’s tricky, when I cut away excess words my writing becomes cleaner, tighter, and more impactful. Turns out, there are loads of things I think I need that I can actually live without.

Like apparently our washing machine, at least for a few days. Even though I typically run two loads a day. Even with five people constantly throwing their damp towels and smelly, sweaty t-shirts in the hamper. Gheesh. But what do you know? We all have plenty of clothes to sustain us without “needing” the dirty ones instantly cleaned. Which makes me think it’s high time I sort through our closets and put together some giveaway bags. Yeah, there are some things in my life I think I need, but I can definitely live without.
 
The light over our kitchen table also isn’t working. Anyone else living this life? The switch is shorted out. I have a call into the electrician, finally. But we’ve been surviving for over two weeks by using other nearby lights to illuminate our meals. Go figure. And we lost a credit card. Cringe. We’ve stopped the account and Visa is sending replacements. But we are managing without it.
 
Is there something in your life that you would be just fine if it was gone? Is there anything in your life you truly couldn’t live without

I felt I needed those words to tell my story, that machine to wash our clothes, that light to see what I’m eating, and the credit card because, well, things cost money. Turns out, I’m okay without them (at least for a while). But there’s one thing I can not live without. Jesus.
 
I need Him when I first wake up to center my day, to remind me how His perfect plans have always been in motion and always will be. I need Jesus for the people I love—I ask Him to comfort my child who’s disappointed and to fill another child with peace in the midst of their stressful week. I turn to Jesus for advice on how to handle a conversation, on which projects to focus on, on how to find balance between work and my adorable family. I need Him to help me see others through His eyes. I need Him to help me see myself through His gracious eyes. I need Jesus to help me bite my tongue and extend grace when I’m frustrated. I need Jesus to help me reach out, stand up, or share when it feels easier not to. I crave to catch glimpses of His glory, to drink in His gorgeous creation, His love, His kindness, His forgiveness, His acceptance.
 
Sure, I’ve lived through way too many days when I did not seek Jesus, but I don’t ever want to go there again. Those days were stinky, damp, dark, full of words I shouldn’t have said, things I shouldn’t have done, things I shouldn’t have bought, people I shouldn’t have been with, and places I should not have gone. Those days were full of me striving and yet, somehow always feeling empty. I’m not saying because I hang out with Jesus that I never make mistakes. Nope. He still gives me free will. And I still mess up. All the time.

But with Jesus in my life, I know where to go when I fall. I know I can run to His arms, and He will pick me up and show me what love and forgiveness actually look like. I know when I’m out of time or patience or ideas or answers that He provides all of those things in abundance. I know that Jesus is the rock I can stand on, the love that will never leave me, and the answer to all of my questions. He wants to be all of these things for you, too. All you have to do is ask Him.
 
I’m really hoping my washer/light switch/credit card situations get fixed ASAP. I’m working on deleting unnecessary words to better tell stories for Jesus. But mainly I pray that I can cling to Him. Because I can do without all that other stuff. But I don’t want to live a single moment without Him.

I dropped my son off at school and was winding my way back home through the Ohio farmland when a deer darted out in front of my car. It all happened so quickly. I reflexively slammed on my brakes (thank you Jesus for instinctual reactions) and watched the tan furry body bound within inches of my car. He was so close I could see his thigh muscle flex, where his right hind leg attached to his body.

As the deer made it to the other side I said, “Thank you, God,” out loud, but in a really shaky voice. “Thank you for keeping me from hitting that deer!” I waited a moment to make sure Blitzen didn’t have any friends, then the obvious thoughts that I didn’t have time to think of in the split second the deer sprinted in front of me flooded in:
I don’t want to hit an adorable deer.
My kids would never forgive me.
Don’t people say hitting a deer is really dangerous? That their body weight will crash through your windshield and could seriously harm the driver? Yikes! I don’t want that either.
How will my brakes hold up on these slick roads (36 degrees and raining)?
​Bambi!
 
I know, it’s weird. The thoughts came after the moment. Because in the moment there was zero time to process. But after confirming the coast was clear and my brain had time to catch up to my reality, I eased off the brake and back on the accelerator. Less than sixty seconds later another deer, shot out in front of my car further up the road. Right in front of me.
 
Right in front of me. Dang. These were the words God put on my heart this morning. I’ve been reading Romans over the last couple of weeks and today I was on Romans 9. Paul is explaining to the church in Italy that some people who should have known God are missing Him altogether. Paul warns that, They were so absorbed in their “God projects” that they didn’t notice God right in front of them, like a huge rock (or umm, maybe a deer?) in the middle of the road. —Romans 9:32 MSG
 
You guys, I’m a Christian writer, so I have plenty of “God projects” scattered across the desk of my writing nook. I don’t want to get so absorbed in finding the perfect word or writing a certain number of words that I miss God altogether. Never do I ever want that. This passage spoke so loudly to me, felt so personal, I prayed, “Sweet Jesus, please don’t let me miss you! Please help me see You, and hear You, and notice what You’re doing!” And then this, within an hour of reading, not one, but two deer right in front of me in the middle of the road. Almost verbatim what I’d scribbled in lime green ink in my journal this morning. Okay, I’m listening, God. My senses are on high alert.

​Is your antennae tuned in to who God is? How He loves you? How He’s working in your life? Or are you scrambling with projects, maybe even God projects—packing for travel, putting clean sheets and an extra cozy blanket on the bed for guests, cranking out eight more emails and one more proposal before you close your laptop to visit, tasting the pumpkin pie batter to make sure you have just the right amount of cinnamon? None of these things are bad things. We serve God when we visit family and friends, when we take care of them and make them feel at home, when we do the job He’s given us to do to the best of our ability, when we make yummy food for others to enjoy. This is all great work, and not to be discounted. But are we doing all these things aware of how God is working in and through it? How He’s right there with us in the process? Right in front of us!
 
Thousands of years ago the Jews were scurrying about on a pretty sizable “God project”—they were rebuilding the city of Jerusalem and its magnificent temple. But where to start? So much to do. Such important work for God. This was how they did it—they all built what was in front of them. Yeah, there it is again. In front of you. They didn’t pick the part with the prettiest view or think they should build the sheep gate, because sheep are cute and fluffy, or the fish gate, because they loved seafood. Above the Horse Gate, the priests repaired the wall. Each one repaired the section immediately across from his own house. —Nehemiah 3:38 NLT. What was God doing right in front of them? Rebuilding their homes. Rebuilding relationships with His people. Helping them feel accountable. Helping His children have purpose and ownership. Right in front of them. In the middle of those dusty Jerusalem roads.
 
In the New Testament we get a glimpse of two sisters totally engrossed in a “God project.” They were hosting Jesus at their home. Oh my. Can you imagine having Jesus over for dinner? You probably know this story about Mary and Martha. Martha was basting the turkey and making sure everyone’s mugs were filled with fragrant tea, which was super sweet of her. She had a servant heart and was hard working and humble. But she missed out on Jesus’ teaching. He was right there in front of her. Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, taking in every word He said (Luke 10:38-42). But Martha missed it. Because she was too occupied with “getting stuff done” for God.

I don’t want to miss it! I love writing for Jesus. Positively LOVE it! I adore words and stories and phrases. I find such joy, peace, and purpose reading the Bible and applying it to my life. And I’m an absolute holiday nerd (just ask my family). I got so excited at the grocery this morning selecting bright red strawberries, sweet green grapes, and cheeses (white cheddar with cranberries, because so festive and brie, because France) to put out tomorrow afternoon. I know that God delights when I write, when I celebrate Him, and when I love on my family. I know this, but I pray I don’t get so focused on the doing, that I’m missing Jesus. That I fail to see His love and grace and patience and power right in front of me.
 
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am so grateful for my Lord, and Savior, Jesus Christ. I’m thankful for all of you, too. That you take time to read the words He gives me. And my thanksgiving prayer for all of us is that yes, we do the things God calls us to do, that we are intentional, and use the talents He’s given us, but that more importantly, we take time to notice Him, to see Him, His love, His forgiveness, right there in front of us. Right in the middle of our roads.
 
If we’re looking for Him, we’ll always find Him. Right in front of us.
 
Careful! I’ve put a huge stone on the road to Mount Zion,
    a stone you can’t get around.
But the stone is me! If you’re looking for me,
    you’ll find me on the way, not in the way. —Romans 9:33 MSG
​

​Sigh. I wish I could stay at the beach forever. Day after day I gaze at the horizon, listen to the crash of waves, marvel at the magnificence and peacefulness of the sea, and can’t help but think how much the beach mirrors God’s kingdom. 

​Just like God’s kingdom, everyone is welcome at the beach. All walks of people come to the shore—big, small, old, young, singles, couples, families, from all places, backgrounds, and cultures. Everyone belongs. Every. Single. Person. And we’re welcome to do the things that bring us joy here. Dog lovers play fetch with their pups. Book lovers read. Music lovers play tunes. And all kinds of dogs, books, and music are accepted here simultaneously. At any given moment you might hear The Beatles, Marshmallow and Rascal Flatts drifting through the air from various speakers. You don’t earn extra points or get any strikes against you if you read history or mystery, if you have a cutie miniature poodle or a pair of regal huskies—no judging on such wonderful individual preferences at the beach. All are included.
 
At the beach it doesn’t matter if you run, practice yoga, tote buckets of water back and forth from the shore or play Kan Jam. It doesn’t matter if you’re as fit as Ronaldo or haven’t moved much lately. People ride bikes, play lacrosse, and go for strolls on the beach. Yes, people rest, too—take naps, soak in the sun, because moving is good for us, and so is down time. I believe God loves to witness people taking care of the bodies He gave them—jumping, splashing, playing, restoring, and renewing.
 
On the beach, we’re all friends. Walls of social status, education, gender, and race dissolve. Kids approach other kids pitching in to build spectacular sandcastles, because the digging goes faster with more hands. Without hesitation strangers join in soccer games—welcome additions to the roster, no tryout necessary. If someone’s Frisbee flies astray, a passer by instinctively grabs it and tosses it back. If a fisherman reels one in, folks crowd around to see what’s on the line, ooh and ahh and snap pics of the ray or baby shark, almost as if it’s their own. Everyone joins in on one fantastic celebration of sea, sky, and sand. And if you’re lucky, folks with musical inclination burst into song for all to enjoy—no admission, no tickets necessary—just music for the pure joy of it. Isn’t this what God’s kingdom is all about? Sharing, helping, loving our neighbors? Using our talents for the good and delight of others? 

​People are less concerned about their outward appearance at the beach—or maybe that’s just me. But there’s no fuss over jewelry or makeup or footwear. You just slide on a swimsuit, tie your hair in a knot, or pull on a cap, slather up with sunscreen and head out the door. We’re more exposed at the beach—we hide less. Tattoos usually hidden on bellies and backs are exposed for all to see—symbols and words representing what people have been through, who or what keeps them strong, how they stay inspired. Because we come to the ocean for the ocean, not to show off or prove or hide ourselves, but to marvel at God’s creation. Sure, some say they came to “get away” or “to rest” or “for the kids.” But why here? Why not at a hotel down the street from their home? Because the beach draws us like a magnet, the waves so simultaneously powerful and soothing. Folks wake early to watch the sun rise, fiery and bright reflecting on the water in vibrant pinks, yellows, and oranges. This is how God designed it from the beginning. It’s always been about Him. It’s never been about us. Yet, I know I personally spend way too much time worried about how I’ll seem or appear to others. The beach reminds me how unimportant that is—how when I focus on God’s glory, nothing else holds much weight.
 
Little kids get this as they sprint as fast as their tiny, chubby legs can carry them to the water, then stop dead in their tracks, amazed by it all.  We’ll do this in heaven, I think. Gaze at God’s majesty in multiple ways; be drawn to Him and His splendor. I don’t think we have to wait. I think we can do it now.

We don’t have to wait for any of it. We’re doing it here and now at the beach, and in other areas of our lives—sharing, loving, laughing, embracing, enjoying, savoring, running about, joining in. The magic of the ocean tugs my heart, reels me in, challenges, and soothes me. So what if I used what I learned here in my everyday? What if I judged less, worried less, let down my guard more, did my thing without worrying about what others thought, stood in awe more in my every day life too. I think the beach is a lovely foreshadowing of what heaven will be like. But I also think God’s kingdom is here for us today—if we lighten up, loosen up, and let His love wash over our toes and splash into our souls.
 
So pull up a chair, a tent, or a towel. Grab some snacks and participate full on in this marvel of a day, a life, we’ve been given. Come on…the waves are waiting.

​Yes, I “know” Jesus is aware of all the things, that He sees everything, but as the band and crowd sang along with Vertical Worship at the Outcry Tour on Tuesday night, God washed a truer perspective over me.
 
“I stand in awe, You're the God over all I know.” A simple lyric that penetrated.

​I envisioned God walking me through the rooms of our house as if I was house hunting. “And here’s the kitchen…” But instead of pointing out my new subway tile, He showed me myself flying around trying to put this away, chop that, clean up this, and get dinner in the oven in time for someone to eat before practice—frenzied and snippy. Then radiant light poured over the dirty cup and the overflowing garbage. God reminded me when I think, “Doesn’t anybody notice this isn’t recyclable? Doesn’t anyone see the toaster needs put away?” God says, “I notice. I see. And it’s okay if it’s not perfect. If it’s not all in place or done in order or even done. I love you. Let me grace shine here.”
 
This calms everything. Because I’m not in this by myself. I’m not a better or worse mom or wife if the silverware drawer is organized or if there are fingerprints on the fridge. And I don’t have to do it on my own. Neither do you. God is in each and every detail—the God over all we know. He sees the things that drive us crazy and shines warmth onto these places. He sees ALL of it. He doesn’t let a single aspect of our lives go unnoticed.
 
Where are you feeling frazzled? God is with you in that place—running late to practice or a meeting, studying for exams, pacing around the family room in the middle of the night with a wailing infant. Let His grace shine here.

​Next, God guided me to the door leading to our garage. He didn’t point out my kids’ artwork or comment on their Nerf hoop. Instead, He said, “This is the coming and going place.”
 
Most of our family greetings are sweet—full of hugs and “I love yous,” but some are strained. Someone’s had a crummy day and needs to vent about everything. Someone else is tired and not in the mood to be barraged with questions when they walk in the door. One of us needs a hug. Another cannot fathom anyone touching them right now. God allowed me to see His golden light shining on these situations. His presence encircling all members of our family—the ones who want to be left alone, the ones who need to chat, all the emotions that ensue. God whispered, “It’s always like this. I’m always here. You just don’t always see it. Don’t push. Don’t worry. I love each person in your family. Let Me guide the conversations and the greetings. I am with you all.”
 
Sigh. I love my husband and kids so much. But sometimes my love for them turns into me trying too hard to love them. God gave me a permission slip to step back. To not have to resolve every problem. To allow room for Him to do His glorious thing. Who do you love? Who do you live with? Are there ever rough spots in that relationship? A quarrel? A miscommunication? A frustration? God is there—loving you both. Knowing exactly what you both need. Make room for Him.
 
I followed God upstairs as He entered my writing nook. I saw my laptop, to-do list, pile of reference books, journal, dual coasters—one for coffee, one for water, and a smattering of pens, headphones and a stray Eos. Beams of light shot from every nook and cranny. “This is My space,” He said. “Everything you do in here should be for Me and My glory. Don’t worry about deadlines, rejections, what your next project will be, or when you’ll find out about it. Just come in here expectant of what I’ll do. Come in here to serve Me.” 

Okay, wow. I know this. I know I write for Jesus, but I also know I stress over it. Too much. God reminded me not to worry, but instead just to work. What kind of work do you do? Homework? Housework? Running giant companies work? Yardwork? What kind of work would you like to do? What are you waiting to hear back about? God knows about all of it. Every single detail. And He’s working them all together for good. Take a deep breath. Say a prayer before you commence your next task or assignment. Turn it over to Him.
 
God showed me all this during one song. Granted worship songs are lengthy, but still. Today I am clinging to that vision. Trying to keep my eyes open and aware that He truly is everywhere shining light into each detail. God understands when we have a headache, when we’re tired, when we’re overwhelmed, and He offers peace. God appreciates that we get confused, unsure what to do next or how to react, and He offers assurance that He knows exactly what’s going on and if we let Him, He’ll make things clear. God realizes you and your roommate or sibling or spouse are at odds. He loves you and that other person. Pray for Him to step into the conversations and the misunderstandings. Pray for Him to smooth things over where you simply cannot.
 
Our God is in ALL things. He is the God over all we know. All of our comings in, goings out, daily routines and grinds. God not only knows all of it, He can make it better. Allow Him to shine His love like warm sunlight into all of the rooms—literal and figurative of your life. Allow Him to do what only God can do. He’s the God over ALL we know.
 

​I was scrolling through Instagram and paused at a post listing “10 Things I Hope to Do Every Day.” Mentioned were, “learn something new” and “laugh”—great things I hope to do, as well. But one item stood out—smell good. I made a note of it. Yes, please. Smell good. Every. Day. I mean, we’ve all been around someone who smells bad.  And nobody wants to be that person.

​Because our scent tells a lot about our story. I woke up this morning and my pajamas smelled like the fire from our fireplace last night. I know it’s April, but it just snowed. Again. Don’t get me started. Our kitchen smelled spicy like the tacos we ate for dinner. My son’s gym shoes reek like the creek he splashed in. One hug from one of my kids, and I can tell from their scent if they’ve been swimming, at a coffee shop, playing outside, or if they just crawled out from under their covers. I’m like a smell detective. But if I can tell so much from a quick whiff of one of my children, what else do our smells convey?
 
I don’t want my story to be a smelly one. I don’t want people to take a step away from me, like they do when someone has bad breath of body odor. I don’t want to have a stinky personality, reek of negativity, or be known for foul behavior.
 
For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. —2 Corinthians 2:15
 
I want to be the pleasing aroma of Christ. I want to smell like Jesus. What does that mean? I think being the aroma of Christ means our actions, and our words should waft wonderful things throughout the air, drifting by the people we encounter, and delivering to them a hint of what Jesus offers—hope, love, encouragement. 

Have you heard the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? They lived in ancient Babylon and worked for King Nebuchadnezzar. The King built a giant gold statue of himself and made everyone bow down to it. Slightly arrogant. Except these three guys refused. Because God. Nebuchadnezzar wasn’t too pleased with their defiance, and threw the boys into a flaming furnace so hot it sizzled the guards who tossed them in. God stepped in and rescued Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. When the King realized they weren’t going to die, he let them out. And our three heroes?
 
So Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stepped out of the fire. Then the high officers, officials, governors, and advisers crowded around them and saw that the fire had not touched them. Not a hair on their heads was singed, and their clothing was not scorched. They didn’t even smell of smoke! —Daniel 3:26-27
 
Our boys stood up for what they believed in. They would not bow down to anyone or anything except God. And even after being thrown in a furnace, not a scent of flame or ash was on them. Because they were not part of that thing, they were set apart. They were children of the One True King.

What do I smell like?
 
Am I standing up for Jesus? Am I idolizing anything other than God? Because Jesus has set me apart. You, too, if you believe in Him. We don’t have to be associated with the smoke and mirrors of this world. But it’s our choice. We can bow down. Or not. We can smell like smoke, or like something much better—the sweet aroma of Christ.
 
When I spritz on some Bath & Body spray, I smell fresh, fruity, maybe like an ocean breeze. What if my actions and words left a trail of warmth, kindness, and compassion? My favorite scent is lavender. One whiff and I feel peaceful and filled with beauty, like I’ve escaped to the South of France. How can I make others feel that way—calm and fulfilled? What if we all left a trail of lovely aromas that filled the world with hope and joy, or at least the potential for it?
 
I know that even as I focus on the idea of having a lovely scent, I’ll get stinky again. I’ll sweat, slice an onion, or take out the trash. And I’ll have to wash up to get fresh all over again.
 
What about when we get spiritually stinky? Same. We need to wash ourselves in the love of Christ, in what He did on the cross, on the fact that He loves us and therefore nothing else matters. Then we can be less defensive, less prideful, less jealous, less anxious, less concerned about what they think, because what do we need to worry or boast about if the Author of Creation loves us?
 
All scrubbed fresh and clean, we can go back out, equipped to spread the aroma of Christ to the world. Will you join me? Do you know how great we could make this world smell?

My daughter came downstairs, her long, thick hair still wet from the shower. It had been a long day. She had one of those tired headaches that can only be solved with sleep, but she was staring down a 6:00 AM alarm waking her for school the next morning. She looked at me with giant blue eyes and held out her brush. “Could you please brush my hair? Really gently? I can’t do it softly enough myself.” This resonated so deeply. Do you wish someone would be gentle? Are you maybe not even able to be soft enough with yourself?

​I’ve been blessed in the last couple of weeks to visit with some brilliant, gorgeous, strong women, who are basically rocking the socks off the world. But underneath the surface, these friends seem exhausted, run down. They’re juggling work, family, health, and the enigma of getting it all done, getting it all done well, and succeeding at this juggling act all of the time. One of my friends recently landed her dream job. But the dream job required a move and she’s exerting large amounts of effort trying to settle into her new space, meeting new friends, figuring out where to do anything—like get an oil change, and proving herself in this dream job. She’s with the opportunity, but starting fresh takes extra time and energy—more than normal. And she’s worn out.
 
Another friend is a sales rep and they’ve had a change in their product line. In good ways, but also in learn new and different strategies; reinvent the process kind of ways. Plus she has a medical issue. On top of her kids, marriage, house and groceries. And she’s slightly frazzled. Yet another friend has this huge, brilliant idea to create something new and exciting. This plan won’t pop into being by itself. It takes extra hours, extra mental capacity, on top of my friend’s current carpools, current exercise routine, current commitments. And she’s pumped up about this big beautiful idea God gave her, but trying to do it all—well it’s overwhelming.
 
And I’m praying for all of my friends in their busyness, praying for peace, and moments where they can slow down and find things that they can let go of. I’m praying for all these friends as I’m cramming writing time into every spare minute of the day, because my manuscript is due to my publisher in a week. My son has play practice? I’m there. With five resource books and my laptop spread across a row of seats in the theatre. My daughter has gymnastics. Same. It’s Saturday? Cool. I’ll set the alarm early and respond to the comments from my project manager until my cuties wake up. And, in the meantime….I'm still hustling to get it all done. Prep for Bible study. Write notes for my kids’ lunches. Log a few miles at the gym. Keep up with the mystical clothes hamper that is miraculously always full. How does it do that? 

​I LOVE doing all these things. I love my family. I love to write. I love Bible study. I’m doing these things today, just like I did them yesterday, and last week, because that’s what I do. I get the stuff I want to do done.
 
But my husband had to sit me down, and take the figurative brush out of my hands. His words were wise, but they felt sharp: You can’t do it all?
Hmm, I thought. Why not?
Husband: You are on deadline. This is not your normal. For the next week, let go a little.
My friends are swamped, but me? I’ve got this. Right? Let go? Of what? Not my kids. Not this sweet man talking to me. And the writing, well I kind of signed a contract. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m good.
Husband: Let’s order pizza tonight. Let the kids make dinner one night. What else is easy? Let’s do that.
Me: Okay, fine. I like pizza. Sounds good for tonight. I’m so agreeable. Problem solved. Moving on.
Husband: I’ll pick the kids up from school tomorrow.
Me: But you have work. I was fine with the pizza thing, but that’s plenty of help, thank you very much.
Husband: I know, but I can grab the kids. Not every day, but tomorrow. It gives you an extra hour.
Me: Silent, but insides screaming, I’ll do it. I’ve got this. I can do this. I can make it work. Because I want to. Because I can find a way. Because I hate letting people down.
 
But Brett is not suggesting, he’s telling, and he never tells me what to do. I must be manifesting the symptoms I see in my friends, that look behind the eyes, that I’ve got this, but it’s hard and any minute I might slip. It took courage and love for Brett to speak this to me. I glue my lips together and try to listen. I nod. It’s like God has grabbed me and is making me lie down. And these blunt words? They actually sound like gentleness, sound a lot like grace.
 
I needed someone to be gentle with me, and I didn’t even know it. I saw it in my friends, but not in myself. How about you? Do you wish you could be treated gently right now? Are you incapable of being soft enough with yourself?
 
The good news? Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He makes us lie down in green pastures. Meaning, when we’re burning the candle at both ends, staying up too late and remedying this routine with too much coffee the next morning (anyone?), Jesus says, “Stop. Lie down. Rest.”
 
He leads us beside still waters. Sigh. Did somebody say still?

​Take a deep breath. Look at your to do list. What can you erase or delete? What are you trying to do, because you expect you to do it, even though maybe no one else expects it, or maybe someone else could do it just as easily? Can it be delegated? Can it wait a week? Is there someone you could ask for help? Could you pay someone to watch the kids for an hour or two, or to clean the house this one time, or even pay the $5 for Clicklist to do the grocery shopping for you? You don’t have to answer every text, call, and email as they pop on your screen. You don’t have to do it all. Period.
 
Breathe in. Breathe out. Be gentle with yourself. I know there is so much to do, great stuff, important stuff, deadline stuff. But you don’t have to do all of it. And when you can’t even be gentle with yourself, Jesus will be. He’ll soak warm sunshine into your skin, provide a moment where for some reason the house is quiet, or maybe He’ll have your spouse or friend or coworker unexpectedly tell you, “I’ll do this thing. I’ll make this call. I’ll write this note, so you don’t have to.” Accept the grace. Lie down. Don’t fill that still moment with another to-do. Fill it with Jesus. Hand him your hairbrush or your to-do list or your expectations, and allow Him ​to gently restore your soul.