Day Thirty: What Makes You Brave?

If you renamed The Thin Places as the "Really Insecure Places" you wouldn't be wrong. I actually just sat down, chin wobbly and confidence shaky, and made a list of all the things I felt insecure about. There was a long list. And when I talked to my friends about their "thin places" the list grew longer. 

It seemed like, no matter where we were, what we were going through, how old, married, single or otherwise, we all struggled with deep-seated insecurities. Fears that defeated us before we'd even started. 

For awhile I rested in the comfort and words of others, encouragement, exaltation, praise from the outside. Their words would soothe my white-hot fears for a moment, and then slowly they'd wear away. 

I remember sitting down and praying with my pastor back in Northern Ireland, and through tears saying "I feel like a blackhole, it doesn't matter how good people or life treats me, I need more. I hate that I need more!" As she prayed for me, I realized this thing, this season of insecurity, these fears were something that would need super-natural healing. 

I prayed, I cried, and I decided that if anything was going to change, it wasn't going to change by hiding from how I really felt. 

So I started writing The Thin Places. I went down the list of insecurities and wrote about each one. As I started to share them, it turned out that my friends and I weren't the only ones dealing with crippling insecurities (big surprise, right?) 

We live in a thin world, with fragile and thin people, that's what I discovered. 

Last month while we were in Florida, I found a jellyfish washed up on shore. Inching as close as I dared, I studied it's thin membrane-- a soft, translucent shell revealed everything within. I wanted to help, but it had clearly been beached for too long. Unable to fight the current, it found itself on the rapidly drying sand. And as I stared down at this pathetic wave-tossed creature, I realized that's me. Without divine intervention, I'm just a jellyfish. I'm fragile, weak, and rarely in control of my own destiny.

Jesus compares us to the mammal version of the jellyfish, he compares us to sheep. Sheep who go with the herd, who are in danger when they wander off, who often find themselves headed the wrong direction without the voice of the Shepherd. 

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We live in a thin world, with fragile and thin people, that's what I discovered.

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"Make me different! Make me braver!" I'm not sure how many times I prayed those words through tears. And every day I'd wake up, the same me, with the same fears, with the same faults and none of the strengths I wanted to emulate. 

Or so I thought. 

But God was working things beneath my translucent skin. He is working things despite my pathetic weaknesses. And he started to work these things when I confessed my insecurities to him. When I started writing down all the ways I failed to trust him, I suddenly could see the path he wanted to me to take. 

So I ask myself, and I ask you, what makes you brave? Is it the words and approval of the world around you? Are you fighting to be heard? Do you wake up to an imaginary audience? Or are you resting in the love and power of God? 

I'm not saying I don't get scared anymore. I'm not saying that suddenly all my insecurities are wiped away. In many ways they're still present, but for the first time in a long time, I'm resting in the current God has me. 

I'm resting in the belief that if God has things in control, then it will be good. Because he says it will be good. And I don't say this lightly. I know the death grip of depression and anxiety. I know what it feels like to not believe there's a way out. But today, I hope you can find strength in the knowledge that there is a way out. And his name is Jesus. 

He's the one who has gone before. He's conquered sin, death, shame, defeat, embarrassment, temptation, distance, imperfections, legalism, weakness and everything you find yourself trying to fight every day. He doesn't just make us brave, but he is our bravery. He's the thin place you find yourself in. He's the sky that touches heaven and yet presses down unto earth. He's that bridge of brightness between us and all the glory we wish we could touch. 

And he is faithful. Just you wait and see.

Day Twenty-Nine: You Don't Have to Go Alone

"Shhh! Look!" 

I gasp and point to a few dark figures lingering outside the tree line. We stop walking and strain our eyes-- a family of deer. My heart starts to beat again, and we tiptoe forward. 

Chris and I were on a nighttime walk. The riverside path was strangely dark for somewhere nestled into the middle of Atlanta. There were no lampposts, no street lights, nothing but our eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness around us. 

Then, about an hour into our walk, we saw them. A family of deer: mom, dad, and three babies, just a few feet away from the path. We stared at them, they stared at us, and gradually, when they decided we weren't dangerous, they returned to munching the grass. 

"Come on let's go closer!" Chris tugs my hand.

"No! You'll scare them!" I whisper hoarsely. "Don't make them think we're dangerous!"

"But they don't think we're dangerous, otherwise they would've already run. Besides, don't you want to get closer? What if you could get close enough to pet them?"

"That won't happen."

"You won't know until you try." 

I didn't want to go, but I had to admit the idea of being friends with deer intrigued me. So we slowly moved forward. They looked up at us. We stopped. They kept eating. We stepped towards them again, and they stopped again.

We kept up this dance until we were close enough to see the outline of their bristled hair in the darkness. And then, in one sudden motion, they all bounded off into the woods leaving us alone in the dark field. 

As Chris and I walked back to the path in defeat, I couldn't help but think that our relationships with humans aren't much different. We long for intimacy and closeness with each other, we want to be able to reach out and touch those around us. And yet, life has taught us to be wary. 

We eye each other in the grey darkness, unsure of whether we want to let each other in. And we timidly take steps towards one another because we fear we won't be welcomed. 

Our relationships with others, just like our friendship with deer, was destroyed in the Garden of Eden. 

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Thin places don't have to be lonely places

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"I've realized something," my best friend's voice came over the phone. "I've realised I keep missing my friendships back in college and wishing I was back there. But now, here in a new city, I'm not letting people into my life. Not really."

I know what she means. When we're younger for some reason it's easier to confide in one another. We share secrets like trading cards, and unwittingly let people into our lives. 

When did it become so hard? When did the walls go up? When did this thin place also become a lonely place with no one who really knows how you feel? 

I hear my husband's words ringing in my ears as we walk home, you won't know unless you try.

How would I know who wants to be my friend, who wants to share my burdens, or wants to take my hand, unless I offer it to them? I get tripped up by pride and tackled by fear.

Thin places don't have to be lonely places. Together we can press up towards the heavens, our hands in others' hands, if we're only brave enough to reach out and grab them.

Day Twenty-Eight: Brave Enough to be Honest

"I just never thought I'd be here, you know?" her voice was small and tight. 

The scars on her arms were white, baby skin, translucent and she ran her fingers across them. 

"I never thought it would be me, that I would be someone who cut themselves. It's weird saying it out loud."

I knew what she meant. 

None of us think we're going to be that person. That girl with the eating disorder, the couple divorced, the college drop-out, the one with the addiction. 

Those people are the ones with the problems, the dysfunction, the inability to get it together. Then all of a sudden its us. It's our marriage that's breaking, our body that's wasting away, our life that feels like it's crumbling into nothing and we can't believe it. 

It's like that person is someone else, someone you watch through a fish bowl. You look through, not touching, distancing yourself from what's really going on because it hurts. 

Several years back, I sat in counselling with a therapist, nervously twitching, waiting for the worst. I had come because I didn't know where else to go. I had questions I didn't have answers to and I had pain that needed to be seen.

"According to this mental health survey you've just taken, you're severely depressed," he took off his glasses and looked me in the eye. 

It wasn't good news, but it washed over me, more comforting than any of the consolation my friends and family had offered in the previous weeks and months. 

I wasn't going crazy, something was wrong. And for the first time I was taking an honest look at myself. 

And as I sat there with my friend, arms bearing the scars of her pain, I could see the familiar look of relief in her eyes as she uttered those words. 

This is me, her eyes said. Now that I see that I can start to heal, I can stop pretending I'm not someone who needs to run to Jesus for help. 

He can restore because he's been through it all, the scars in his hands and side, the hunger, humiliation, the death of someone loved. He sees you, and he asks you to take an honest look at yourself. This is a part of your story now, and though it's painful, achy and oh so very thin, it can become somewhere beautiful. 

And he can turn scars of pain into reminders of faithfulness. He can make a way.

Day Twenty-Seven: Brave Enough to Dream

I'm not sure where it came from. 

Maybe it was the result of growing up with a strong sense of Swedish Baptist reverence for duty. 

Maybe it's just because it was ingrained in my sensibilities, like the importance of brushing your teeth twice a day and eating whole grains. 

Maybe it's just because I was too scared.

But whatever the reason, I recently realized I've lived most of my life afraid to dream. Afraid to rock the boat. And if I'm honest with myself, I think somewhere deep down I didn't deserve to get to dream things. 

Leave the dreaming up to God, you just need to live in obedience-- that's what I told myself. 

I think it's because dreams are risky and take work. And when done well, they require roots that run deep in the Word, and the humility to be wrong, repent, and move on forward. 

To be a dreamer, you need to have a clear understanding of God's grace. 

I'm not sure if I've ever had a good understand of God's gracious character. I've always subconsciously imagined God like my middle school Russian math teachers; there's right answer to the problems and puzzles of life, and if you don't get it right, you may be publicly harangued for your incompetence. 

But that's not God. And he doesn't want us to leave all the dreaming to him... at least I don't think. 

I believe he longs to dream with us. Yes, we need to live our lives in obedience to his will and call, but why does that have to rule out the imagination he's given us? It takes so much more courage to invite God into the process of our dreams, to stop and listen to his voice, take his direction, and to honor him in every step. 

I believe God not only allows, but also loves when we dream. It opens a frontier of possibility, a canvas for his power to work miracles through us. 

And if we're listening, it allows us to nestle closer to the heart of God and hear his voice. 

We just need to be brave enough to dream. 

Day Twenty-Six: Brave Enough to Trust His Promises

Where has the end of this year brought you? 

You know, in your heart, where the murmurs are deep and low and truthful. Once you've settled in, I have just one honest question for you. 

Do you believe God's promises for you? 

Do you truly believe all that God promises are true for YOU?

Because if I'm honest, sometimes I don't. I sometimes believe his promises include everyone-- except me. Some days I exclude myself from mercy, from grace, from all the blessings that are mine through Jesus. 

I don't think I'm too good for them, but sometimes I think I'm not good enough for them. Self-pity and self-deprication, all just other names for pride. There's no place for for such things in the arms of grace. 

I'm not sure what keeps you from struggling to trust his promises. But today, let your soul sink down, breathe and believe. Let your soul call on him, you will not be rejected. 

For you, O Father, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.- Psalm 86:5

He doesn't just listen to the holy, the ones who got it right, the ones who loved him faithfully, people people who didn't deny him. But our God listens and answers the ones who are weak, the spiritual outcasts, the ones who failed themselves and others, the ones who deny they ever knew him, and the ones who struggle to pick up their cross. 

He listens and has mercy. He promises to give grace to those call on him in their time of need. 

And that includes you and me.

The ones who struggle with this glorious concept of grace. We who are looking for the courage to trust his promises. 

Day Twenty-Five: When the Room Goes Still

"Hi!"

She smiles and calls over the table to me, seemingly unaware of the post-concert mob jostling her back and forth. 

"Hi, can I grab you anything?" I ask over the din.

"Yeah I just wanted to say hi!!" A group of 8-year old girls swarm in front of her eager to buy my entire stock of wristbands and for a second I think I've lost her. Then, "Do you have a minute?" she pops up again, still smiling.

I motion to the end of the merchandise table and she makes her way against the current. To be honest I'm a bit impatient. This is always the busiest 20 minutes of my day, and I'm anxious to wrap up. 

She's still smiling as she struggles free of the mob and into the little clearing away from the table. 

"Hi! I'm Sarah!" she brushes the hair out of her face. 

"Hi, I'm Gabby!" I still have to raise my voice over the crowded room. 

"I know!" She smiles brightly. "I know this is weird, and I know you're busy, but I just wanted  you to know, I'm praying for you." 

"What?" It's not that I didn't hear her, but I need to hear it again.

"I'm praying for you. Every night, my husband and I pray for the band's ministry, but we're also praying for you."

I stupidly struggle for something to say, overwhelmed and humbled. Suddenly the noisy room feels quiet and slow. My heart gapes... what?!

"I know it's a bit random, but I just wanted you to know you're loved and there are people who pray for you daily. God is using you." She hugs me, waves, and melts back in the crowd before I can formulate my next incoherent sentence.

* * *

It's been a few months since I met Sarah in that crowded atrium, but I still think about her and wonder at God's mercy. She is praying for me. I know barely anything about her, but she is praying for me. 

Sometimes I wonder if she's an angel, just sent in the busyness to remind me the power of intercession. I feel unworthy, and unbelievably loved. 

But the reality is, someone is interceding everyday for all of us. And it has nothing to do with worth, and everything to do with love. Jesus speaks, prays and intercedes on our behalf.

Therefore he is able, once and forever, to save those who come to God through him. He lives forever to intercede with God on their behalf. - Hebrews 7:25 NLT

Jesus, the King, is perpetually interceding before the throne on your behalf. Every whisper, every groan, everything that makes you feel like your drowning in a crowded room, is brought before the Father on your behalf. By the one who the Father loves and is well-pleased in. 

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This truth makes my knees quake-- Jesus prays for us.

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Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. - Romans 8:26 ESV

You and I don't know how to pray for ourselves most of the time. So God asks Sarah and her husband to pray everyday. He asks people we've never met, and may never meet again to pray. He asks his own Son to bring our pains and burdens, even when we don't have the words to speak them.

This truth makes my knees quake-- Jesus prays for us. It's enough to make the room go still. 

Day Twenty-Four: Brave Enough to Find the Story

"Time's almost up!"

I stared at the pages harder, but nothing. Maybe it was too early, maybe I hadn't had enough coffee, maybe the room was too warm and cozy... but my eyes just glazed over. 

Our journalism TA had handed us several pages of numbers as soon as we sat down. It was a business report, columns of numbers that told a story. A story I couldn't decode or decipher. Now time was almost up and most of my classmates were frantically clacking out their news stories on their keyboards around me. 

I finally just sat back for the last 30 seconds and tried to put something together quickly, hoping I wouldn't be called on first.

A journalist is only as good as his story, I was told. You need to be able to look at a situation and see the story that others are missing.  

I've never been good at finding the story. Not in journalism class, not in life. I get blinded by the details and the numbers. I get blinded by my current circumstances. I can't see beyond what I'm going through here, in this moment. 

Just like journalists, we as Christians, are called to be big-story people. And just like students in a journalism class, it takes practice. We're not just called to look for a big picture, but we're called to strain for the big picture. 

And we're not just doing it to prove we can, but we're looking for it to survive. Because that's what we cling to for hope as Christians, that this moment, this world, this life is not our final destination. It was never intended to be, we were created for the bigger picture. Our souls feel the weight of their eternity every day, which is why moments sometimes feel like they will last forever. They won't, but we will. 

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We're not just doing it to prove we can, but we're looking for it to survive.

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So maybe today is painful. Or maybe it's even joyful! Whatever the circumstance, be brave enough to zoom out. To refocus and see the tapestry from afar. Find the courage to let go of the moment, and practice looking for the big picture. The real story in it all. 

Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Day Twenty-Three: Brave Enough to Reach for Heaven

Alone in our hotel room I let the tears flow. I couldn't stop them. They slid out and I cried.

They were losing their child. I had just gotten the news, my dear friends were losing the baby who was still growing into life as I wept. I cried for their loss, I cried because we'd never get to meet this little one. 

It's been a few weeks since that day, and the tears still sometimes catch us by surprise. They probably always will. I talk with my friend over the phone. There's still so much confusion about why. I don't really know what to say. I know the "answers". And I believe them. The answers that God is still good and in control. But here in this place, with memories of flashing ambulances and emergency rooms still playing in the background, it doesn't feel like I can utter them. 

We cry together over the phone. I hate being so far away. 

But I love watching my sweet friend fight for joy in Christ through the pain. Here in this thin, thin, thin place she is jumping to reach heaven. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. 

And when I got this text message, my heart almost burst:

Last night and this morning were really hard. But I KNOW my God is for me and KNOW I am not alone. And His love endures forever. And he is constant. And he is might and worthy to be praised.

Joy isn't a switch you can just turn on, think positive and make it all go away. This joy, the kind that trusts in the Lord despite pain is just pure faith. Faith believes despite insufficient evidence. This hasn't stopped being a horrible and painful experience. It still hurts. It still is enough to break a person. But by faith we keep walking. 

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. - John 20:29

I know my friend hasn't stopped feeling pain, or that she suddenly sees and understands why all this has happened. But she is believing that God is who he says he is, no matter the circumstance. And she is blessed. 

Life is real, pain is real. We lose and grieve. But God didn't stop being good when his Son was whipped and beaten. He didn't stop being sovereign when Jesus took his last breath. And though we can't see and don't see the end of the stop right now, we have faith and believe there's a joy that's coming. Even here, in the thinnest of places.

Day Twenty-Two: Brave Enough to Come Back

It's been awhile since we've talked. 

Days. Weeks, perhaps months. 

Life gets busy, and people get tired. Tired and even... bored. Is that blasphemous? I scan my Bible for a verse, an encouraging soundbite to get me through the day and then close the pages. 

As if you're a vitamin I just need to dutifully swallow. 

Eventually I get tired-- or forget-- to do my daily scripture scan... and don't. Now I don't know how much time has passed since we sat down and looked each other in the eye. How long it's been since we've met, soul-to-soul. If you're my greatest love, then why have things grown stale?

Some times in the thin places we find ourselves gasping for oxygen, our lungs scream but we don't listen. We pant for him, but we forget how to breathe. At least I do. 

I forget the way back to intimacy. 

Sometimes I forget that God is a person. To know him, I need to meet him. To talk to him. To sit down, shut up, and listen to him. He isn't a feeling or a state of mind. 

He longs, and loves, and hurts, and feels. He's strong and jealous for me. For my attention and my love. 

And he deserves it all. 

I don't know about you, maybe you've found some other way to intimacy with God when it feels like you've let things grow stale. But for me I've never found a way that didn't involve being honest and coming back to him. 

I've never known a way that didn't mean me sitting myself at his feet and saying "Here I am, speak, your servant is listening."

I've never known the way back to not feel clumsy, or like I'm out of my depth. Because really, I am way out of my depth.

But he is faithful to come and meet me there. 

I've never known the way back to God's heart without confessing that I'm responsible for walking away. Because he never walked away, and he never will. 

I'm not sure where you are today, how long it's been since you've whispered something honest and true to Him. Maybe it was a few minutes ago, maybe days, months, or even years. 

Be brave enough to whisper it now, whisper his name. He knows that sometimes a whisper is all we can manage. 

And in that day I will answer, says God...I will have mercy on No Mercy, and I will say to Not My People, "You are my people"; and they will say, "You are my God." - Hosea 2:21-23 

Day Twenty One: Brave Enough to Be Holy

It's cringey. I hold it at arm's length, rebelling against the notion. Words I subconsciously associate with holiness include rigid, inauthentic and starchy. And we've all met those people, the ones who are so afraid of grace they just keep trying harder. To be a holy believer is to be a Christian who doesn't make mistakes. Who shuts out the world because they're afraid of being tarnished. And if that's what it is to be holy, I want none of it.

And I suppose ultimately, there's a sense of inadequacy that rises with the word, I don't feel... well, holy enough to be called holy. 

An intangible goal. An impossible calling. 

I want to be free to chase God's heart with all the wildness within me, to run, to fall, to be picked back up again in grace. But I have a complex relationship with being holy. 

It's too hard. 

And yet, the call is clear and there in unmistakable black and white letters on the pages of my Bible. 

As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct... - 1 Peter 1:14- 15

And again,

You shall be holy, for I am holy. - Leviticus 11:44

I squirm. What's the point? I mean yes, I want to do the things that please God's heart because I love him. But to be holy feels unattainable. 

And that's because it is. We love hearing about God's love and grace for the broken, sinful Christian because we can relate to that story. It's messy and unbelievable and beautiful. But this other child of God, the one who is called to holiness and separateness causes us to shift in our seats because we feel so far from that person. 

How can the two exist?

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. - 1 Peter 2:9

When God asked the Israelites to have their beards a certain length, to be free from tattoos and not have clothing made from mixed thread it wasn't because doing those things made them holy. He asked them to make external distinctions symbolizing a deeper, more beautiful distinction. These were His people. They were different, and when they looked and acted different they pointed to the One that made them so. 

Even though these days we wear shirts made of polyester and cotton, we still have that same calling. To be holy is to be different. And the point of being holy is to invite people into the excellencies of his marvelous light. 

Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. 1 Peter 2:10

If your holiness isn't proclaiming God's mercy for the broken, then maybe it isn't holiness. Holiness is our way of marking ourselves as God's. It doesn't get us into heaven. Nothing but Jesus' blood and righteousness can do that.

But we wear holiness like a branded tattoo, inviting others into the same love and mercy we've experienced. We aren't starchy and rigid. Holiness doesn't keep people at arm's length.

In fact, Jesus' holiness came down from heaven, walked and breathed among us, and was given as a free gift to us, unworthy, ugly and wretched as we were. Holiness should always be an invitation, never a barrier.

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Wear holiness like a giant welcome banner for those who feel as weak and incompetent as you do.

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Keep your conduct among the world honorable so that... they may see your good deeds and glorify God... 1 Peter 2:13

That's the point of being holy.  It's not what gets you to heaven or even keeps you there. It's your love letter to the world. It's God's love letter through you. An invitation to come, be loved and be cleansed. 

So today, don't shrink back from the thought of being holy. Be brave enough to wear it like a giant welcome banner for those who feel as weak and incompetent as you do. We're proof that there's hope for the rest of the world. 

Day Twenty: Brave Enough to Face the Next Thing

If I just bunker down, just lower my trembling chin and grit my teeth I can stay here. I'm content, I'm safe. Just don't make me change.

So often it's "different" that scares me-- be it better or worse. I'd rather face the giants  and demons I'm used to, than embrace a brighter possibility.

It's the unknown vs. the here and now, the present may not be everything you dreamed, but it's working. 

But that's not what your Father has for you, little one. He's calling you higher. And while slavery in Egypt may feel normal, and the road to the promise land may be hard, he is calling you to freedom. To milk, to honey, to nearness with him.  

I'm not saying what he is calling you to is going to be easy, and that there won't be giants to face in the promise land. Most likely there will be. But your Heavenly Father refuses to leave you where you are. He has a plan full of hope, joy and freedom in the land that scares you so much.  He calls you for your good. For your wellness. Your fullness. That you may find those things in his good heart.

You just need to be brave enough to face the next thing. 

Day Nineteen: Brave Enough to Be You

Finally. I breathe in the misty east coast air and lean against the church wall. It's totally dark out, except for the light from the car park and I take in this beautifully lonely moment. Living on a tour bus is doable as an introvert. But requires stolen moments like this. 

I face the tree line, pitch black and breathe. It's a strange feeling, to be here at this country church in Maine. I think of my five year old self, and then my awkward 14 year old self and try and remember the winding path that brought me here, to this moment where I stand before the pine trees and sway. 

The breeze gently rocks the tops of the trees, and I think life is too short to fake it. 

I used to think being insecure belonged exclusively to the 8th grade. But now I know it's just a part of doing life, and everyday you live the most genuine version of yourself, you take a risk. We get better at taking rejection, and realizing we don't really want to please everyone.

But you are you. You've been fearfully and wonderfully made. Your path to this moment has beautiful, heart-breaky turns that only you have trod. There has been pain and joy in the journey, but this moment isn't a mistake. It's handcrafted and purposeful.  

There in the trees I feel the wind lift the weigt of life off my shoulders and breathe.  

Try it. Breathe.  

Celebrate this moment. This little spec in time. Seize it and be brave enough to be you.  

Day Eighteen: Brave Enough For Such a Time As This

It's morning and my eyes are tickled open by the early light filtering through the window. I've learned a lot in this season of "the thin places". 

I've learned some days are just extra thin. 

Somedays you're not sure if you have the strength to do today.

And some days are so full of small tasks you wonder how it all fits into the big picture. The picture of your life, of God's bigger tapestry. On thin days, life doesn't feel filled with beauty. On thin days, you wonder if you can handle what's next. 

This year I've learned to give myself pep talks for the mornings I wake up threadbare, for the days when I long to see the tapestry and not the thread. For the times when I need to be reminded of my purpose in the mundane.

So take a deep breath. Rest, let these words wash over you, and know you're not alone. 

***

You, my friend, were born for such a time as this. Today is not an accident. You are not an accident. Today was crafted with opportunities for life, purpose and joy-- they are yours to reach out with faith-stretched hands and capture. 

Even though you feel weak, you'll be made strong. There are good deeds waiting for your fingerprints to own them. 

Your worth isn't measured by how glorious or undignified your work is. Your life story is not contained within this moment. When you go out, you bring light, you bring hope, you bring Jesus. When you speak, your words bring life. 

I know you feel exhausted, and maybe the miracle today is just getting through it-- and when you do, because you will, celebrate that! 

Trust that today is good.

Have faith that God is good. Because he is, and he's orchestrating wonders for you to behold. Listen to his voice today, don't block him out. Let him in on the good, the bad, and the funny. He will fill in the cracks that make you feel like you're about to crumble. 

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There are good deeds waiting for your fingerprints to own them. 

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When you step out of this bed in faith, I believe heaven celebrates your choice to not be defeated. To trust that God goes before you like a pillar of fire. 

Because in the thinness, there is nearness like you've never known. God has brought you here, to this thin place for such a time as this. Let that purpose fill you and fuel you to move. Let it radiate from your being. 

Now go. 

Day Seventeen: Brave Enough to Forgive

"Well, you HAVE to forgive me or else you aren't a real Christian!"

We were approximately seven years old. Knees grubby from playing hard in the foothills near our house, feet charcoal from playing hide-and-go-seek on the hot blacktop. And we would've kept playing if he hadn't hit me in the face with the rubber ball. 

Hot tears instantly gushed over my little cheeks and I stomped down the hill embarrassed, little sister in tow. 

"Come on! I said I was sorry!" he called after me.

Naturally I told him he could forget it. And then passing the baton of guilt he crossed his arms, "Well I guess you aren't a real Christian."

I stopped and turned around. He smiled smugly. He had trapped me. He knew I had been taught people forgiven by God must forgive others. 

But every fiber in my scrawny seven-year-old body rebelled against it. Lip trembling I informed him that I did forgive him, but that we were no longer friends.

There, dodged that bullet. 

"But that's not REAL forgiveness. If you really forgave me you wouldn't still be angry. You'd be my friend." 

This boy did not give up. 

Finally, in total frustration and conviction I burst "I don't want to forgive you!! You hurt me!!"

To be honest, I don't remember how this story resolves, expect that my sister and I begged our mom to let us to play at his house the next day, so I think I forgave him. 

***

I still play that dialogue in my head every time I'm confronted with having to forgive someone. It feels wrong. Unjust. The little girl rises up in me and I inwardly stomp my feet. 

I'm horrible at forgiveness. There's some rotten little creature inside of me that relishes holding petty grudges. I still grit my teeth and try and find a loop hole. I add secret clauses to my grace.

I forgive you, husband, but let's just not talk for the next few hours.

I forgive you, but next time I'll just do it myself instead of trust you with it.

I forgive you, but I'll be careful next time I share something with you.

I forgive you, but that's the last time...

I'm not a theologian or a therapist. I'm know some wounds run deeper than words, and sometimes protective boundaries must be drawn. 

But trust me, friend, the terrible creature inside only wants to harden you with bitterness. Harden you until you can't even stomp your foot in indignation, until you can only watch the world through a crusted lens of contempt.

Forgiveness isn't fair: it's grace. It hurts and requires sacrifice. 

For some reason I always think it should feel better. But it never does. Not immediately. Sometimes not even shortly after. It's a courageous heart that actively seeks forgiveness. 

---

Forgiveness isn't fair: it's grace.

---

Don't think for a second Jesus didn't know what he was asking when he commanded we forgive. The most wounded man in history lifted his arms and forgave the nails, forgave the hands that hammered his, and he forgives all those who ask for grace.

Nothing look more like Jesus than forgiveness. Nothing displays his glory fiercer, brighter like the violent crash of grace on the undeserving. 

So today, let that grace crash land on you, and then let it keep crashing down until it reaches everything and everyone you touch. 

"Then Peter came and said to Him, 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.'" - Matthew 18:21-22

Day Sixteen: Brave Enough to Jump In

In college I lived on the second floor of a slightly slanted house. Faux wooden paneling decorated most of the interior walls and the floor was covered with grey industrial carpet. Even though it wasn't anything glamorous, I loved every creaky floorboard of that rickety house. We named it the "Commune", because it contained us nine students and one "homeless" man who seemed quite at home on the top floor. For two years the Commune housed our pathetic pasta dinners, pots of coffee that always tasted like vinegar, and all our shaky, newborn dreams about what life could be. And it was a greenhouse in our journey to adulthood, "the last homely house along the way". 

Because in those days we were afraid to make decisions. For the first time, my life was being shaped and guided by decisions I made there in that dirty college house. I hated making them, I hated the idea I might make the wrong decision. And yet they faced me at every turn:

Should I date this guy?

Should I take this class?

Where should I spend my summer?

What should I major in?

The list was mundane and ever-growing. In those years, we learned the painful art of being adults who made decisions and lived with them. 

But I still remember the agonizing process of trying to make those first few decisions. On warm days, when the second floor of the Commune became a pressure cooker, I'd venture out onto our slanted porch. There on the dusty, discarded futon I'd bring my Bible, a pen, journal, and all my timid dreams. 

Most of the time God was frustratingly silent on the topics I would bring to him. It was like he didn't really have a personal preference on whether or not I took creative non-fiction or Journalism and Humanitarianism: Exploring the Space Between.

I'd drink my vinegary coffee and flip through my Bible, hoping to land on a page with a verse that gave me an inkling of what I was meant to do. 

Looking back now, I see those decision-making rituals as stall tactics, ways I tried to draw out the process because I was afraid of making a decision I couldn't live with. 

I didn't have faith to step out, make a decision, and trust God to guide and lead the rest. And I wasn't secure enough in my relationship with God to trust he was giving me freedom to choose things (as long as they weren't sin!) 

---

I didn't have faith to step out, make a decision, and trust God to guide and lead the rest.

---

Since my days in the Commune I've become less afraid of making decisions. I've learned God isn't capriciously sitting in heaven, waiting for us to pick from a row of closed doors and smiting us when we choose the "wrong" one. I've learned when it feels like there are multiple options to choose from, it's usually the case. 

I've learned when God doesn't want you to jump into something, he not only tells you, but he makes it pretty clear by closing the way. He isn't trying to trick you or test you. And he promises to stand by you, no matter what valley you travel through or what decision you have to uncomfortably live through. 

"I'd rather err on the side of grace, than of judgement," is something my husband sometimes says when we're presented with moral scenarios we don't know the answer to. I think the same logic can be applied to making decisions in life. 

Yes, when we try we sometimes fail. We'll realize how we could've done things better. But moving people are doing people. And we want to be doers of the Word and of life, not just static listeners. 

---

But moving people are doing people. And we want to be doers of the Word and of life, not just static listeners. 

---

We want to be walkers who talk-- who talk to their Heavenly Father and let him in on the process, and who are brave enough to jump into his open, sovereign, loving arms.

He's our "Commune". Our safe place, our context for living out the Gospel. He wants to house your heart while you make decisions with fawn-like trepidation. And the best part is we never have to leave. 

Day Fifteen: Brave Enough to Accept Love

Where are your "thin places"? The corners of your heart you're not even sure you can whisper out loud? 

I asked before I started this series. Answers came pouring back in. And though most of them varied, one stood out above the rest, hoarsely scripted in the responses: I struggle to believe God loves me.

Why is this singular truth so hard for us to swallow? And yet some of us gag on it, like a pill we can't accept. We want to believe it, but choke it out of our systems. 

When we can't swallow pills, they need to be injected. 

We need this truth strapped to our veins like IVs, pumping a steady stream to our hearts. 

If you're anything like me, some mornings you struggle to get out of bed before feeling like a failure. Easily overwhelmed and prone to anxiety, I wrestle to seek truth before rising to meet the day. 

Love, love, love.

Every once in awhile this truth manages to arrest my heart and when it does, the tears come flooding. We all have our own demons. Creatures that come to strangle this life-truth. 

Like audible whispers, they coo in our ears "If God loved you...

...he wouldn't have let that happen

...he would have kept you safe

...he would made it work out

Or sometimes if you're like me, you look at yourself and think, there's no way there's love enough for me.

---

We need loved strapped to our veins like IVs, pumping a steady stream of truth to our hearts. 

---

So I went on a love-quest in the Bible. I wanted to hear God utter those very words I long to hear. I wanted to hear I love you.

I found them in the most hope-giving context. In the book of Isaiah, nestled in between hardship, exile and extreme sin. The people of Israel and Judah had abandoned their faith in Yah-weh. They were faithless, wretchedly entrenched in sin, and in the following hundred years they would be scattered, destroyed and exiled from their homes. 

But in the midst of all this, God speaks through his prophet Isaiah. And thousands of years later, he speaks to my heart as well.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...
...Since you are precious and honored in my sight,
   and because I love you,
I will give people in exchange for you,
   nations in exchange for your life. (Isaiah 43:1-4)

---

...Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you, I will give my SON in exchange for you...

---

Friend, believe it.

Swallow that pill: you are loved.

God did give someone in exchange for you, in exchange for your life. He gave himself, he gave his Son. He's withheld nothing to be in relationship with you. 

So join me today, hands open, and brave enough to accept this furious love. Love who pursues you, chases you down and longs to arrest your heart entirely. 

Day Fourteen: Brave Enough to Listen

I never fell asleep first. As a little girl sharing a room with my younger sisters, it didn't take long before the warm, sleepy darkness was filled with the sound of their little lungs falling up and down. I hated this space and cherished it. I hated being left behind, but loved these quiet moments to think. 

Some nights I would just lay there listening to the sounds of the night. Wind rattling outside our windows, creaks and groans of our wooden floorboards, the occasional rustle and stir of one of my little sisters. And sometimes I thought I heard the voice of God. I was always on the look out for it. 

In those late night hours I'd pray and ask God to show me an angel. I'd close my eyes tightly and pray with my whole heart for God to come speak to me through one of those celestial beings. I'm not exactly sure why I wanted to speak to an angel so badly, I just know I wanted to hear from God in a tangible way. And the Bible said sometimes he spoke through angels. 

But inevitably, every time I'd ask to meet an angel, I'd suddenly get shy, terrified that God would answer my prayer and actually send an angel! And I'd start praying immediately that he would quickly reign any angel he might have sent down back into heaven and that I was just kidding, maybe another time God. 

Then I would roll over and slowly drift off to sleep.

Sometimes I think this is how we pray when we pray as adults. We long to hear from God, but are shy, scared, or uncertain of how we'll feel about what he has to say. We seek his face earnestly, and then back down at the last moment, because what if God actually speaks?

What if he says something I'm not going to like? How will I know if it's him speaking? How do I know if I'm hearing hIs voice?

I don't have the answers for those questions. I'm not an expert in hearing that "still, small voice"-- I never have been. I hear God much more clearly when I read the Bible than when I sit still and listen to him. 

However, I don't think it's any less important to practice quieting our hearts so heaven can speak. I don't know what he'll say, or if you'll hear him speak. But I do know a listening heart is a humble heart. It's a humble heart that kneels before heaven, asking to do the Father's will.

The humble heart hears the heartbeat of God. 

He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way. - Psalm 25:9

The first step to hearing is kneeling. The first step to intimacy, is quieting your heart. It's saying "Here I am Lord, your servant is listening." 

But maybe you're still afraid of what you're going to hear. I always know when my view of God is tainted by a faulty and earthly lens when I come before him afraid. Yes, God deserves our awe, respect and reverence, approach him with honor. But his heart is one that loves, who sees you through the death of his beloved Son. He looks at you and sees his perfect child, one he has created for his pleasure, one who he desires to know his heart. 

He longs to speak to you because he loves you. We just need to be brave enough to be still, to be humble, and brave enough to listen. 

Day Thirteen: Brave Enough to Be Bored

I have a deep-seated phobia. 

It keeps me restless, anxious, discontent. I constantly fear its presence around every corner. I'm afraid it'll find me when I least suspect it, so I keep myself busy. 

I fear being bored. 

I fear it, so I check my Twitter feed and scroll through Facebook.

And though I struggle to manage this fear in little ways, it also creeps into the more important areas of my life-- boredom in work, ministry, art, community, -- everything. 

When I'm bored I'm tempted to be unfaithful. I'm tempted to not keep my word. To trade the valuable and mundane for excitement. And if I'm honest, I put a higher premium on being entertained than being faithful. 

It's like I'd rather be sad, angry, happy, amused, anything! Just God forbid I should get bored and discontent. 

But it's better to have a friend who is faithful and present than one who merely keeps life full of drama. It's the faithful who build kingdoms and maintain empires. Those who show up, no matter how mundane, no matter how drab the task. Who are faithful in the face of boredom who reap the reward.

And sometimes I think it's harder to stay faithful in the face of bored than adversity. We like the drama, we secretly crave it. 

One of my favorite analogies in the Bible is that of the farmer. Farmers look at the long term goal. They see the harvest when no one else does. They imagine the fruitfulness and plant in faithfulness. They are patient because they know good things, the best things require time and consistency. They work in the sun, rain, heat, and wait for the ground to break forth with slow-growing, life-giving food. 

Because the world is full of people like me! The world needs more farmers. More people willing to sow a seed and wait for it to grow. People who finish the race. Who brave the boredom and battle the discontentment. 

But it's my prayer today to be faithful. To show up when others leave, to be present when others falter, to practice seeing the future. 

To be brave, like the farmer. 

Day Twelve: Brave Enough to Trust God Provides

I love the story of how my husband and I got married. Not because it resembles a Nicholas Sparks novel, or because it even makes sense. But because when I look back, it's a story of God's provision. 

There's no reason we should be married now. When we met, I was broke and about to graduate from college with a degree in writing. He was a broke musician from Northern Ireland. We scraped together pennies, air miles, and off days to visit each other. Even if it meant just getting a few hours together before he left the country for another few months. 

Eventually, I did what every young Christian woman does when she has a crush of epic proportions-- I prayed and asked God if this was the man I was suppose to be with. 

But God didn't say anything. He didn't say yes, and he didn't say no. He just listened. It confused and aggravated me. I would pray, palms facing heaven, hopeful whispers in the dark. 

"God, I don't know if this is what you have for me. If this is who you have for me. But I'm going to step forward, I'm going to pursue it until you stop me. Until you make it absolutely clear this isn't what you have."

So I stepped. Into the unknown, into the terrifying realm of not really knowing how all the logistics were going to work out. 

Most of the time I didn't know when I would see him next. Or how it would happen. But month after a month God provided a way for us to see each other. Miraculously, he'd had just enough miles to fly to Wisconsin. Or strangely, my boss would give us a long weekend off work. Or sometimes money would come out of nowhere and we'd have just enough to meet up in Chicago. 

Eventually, it became clear during our engagement I would have to move to Atlanta where the band was traveling out of. So God provided a friend to travel with. He provided a home to stay in. An apartment we could just afford. He provided me the perfect job. He continued to provide just enough light to see the very next step. 

I never found out if my husband was "the one" God had intended for me, I simply knew He was providing ways for us to fall in love. He provided for every prayer whispered in the dark, for every fear surrendered to him. 

When Abraham was asked to sacrifice Isaac he obeyed. And just before he lifted his hand to strike, God stopped him and gave him a ram. Jehovah Jireh. God will provide. God will provide for the things he's called us to. But I've rarely found he reveals his plan first. He simply provides for the next step. 

---

He provides for every prayer whispered in the dark, for every fear surrendered to him. 

---

He provides because he loves.

He provides to grow our faith.

He provides for the whispers in the dark.

He provides for his good will.

“We can stop pleading with God to show us the future, and start living and obeying like we are confident that He holds the future," writes Kevin DeYoung. 

There's freedom in trusting. We reach out our hands, groping along the walls of life, hoping we don't fall, or slip. When we trust God, the lights don't suddenly come on, we don't suddenly see the path he has. But we can let go of the handrails knowing God has already surrounded us. 

When we trust, we walk. 

Day Eleven: Brave Enough to Open Up

The truth is, I'd rather silently be mad until he notices something is wrong. The truth is, I like to think I'm invincible. The truth is, I'm embarrassed at how little it takes for me to collapse into an emotional heap. 

It takes courage to admit when you've been hurt. When something has rubbed you the wrong way. When someone said something you felt was slightly unjust. The temptation is to pretend it never bothered you. That you're immune to the mini conflicts that spark into life when you live in community.

It feels weak to pull someone aside and say "I know you probably didn't mean it like this, but it hurt when you..."

I even feel awkward typing it out!

We're all fragile beings trembling for affirmation from the ones we love. We all hunger for acceptance. 

But when we let people in, we open ourselves to growth. When we share our burdens, they become lighter. Pretending to be invincible isn't brave, it's a personal death-wish. 

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." - Galatians 6:2

Today be brave enough to open up and find healing there.