“Sorry guys,” I said, turning it down. “I went to Grandma’s last night.” Meaning I drove home with all the feelings and tried to drown them in volume.

The Jeep has many assets, but with seven occupants, extra space is not one of them. So my floorboard was covered with essentials: purse, bookbag, extra shoes with extra socks, a small container of snacks. I held my jar of water in my lap (why do I not use a lidded water bottle like other grownups? I don’t know, just accept it and move on) and as I leaned down to grab my bag I forgot all about it and spilled a couple ounces on my lap.

Whoops, won’t do that again, I thought – though on a 75 degree Alaskan day, it actually felt pretty good.

But just five seconds later I did do it again when I reached for something else. This time fourteen ounces whooshed down my legs, all around the seat, into my purse...but mostly into a side pocket that was full of partially used tissues and a couple of ancient-yet-remarkably-absorbent receipts, because that’s how moms roll.

Menopause is something else, I tell ya.

But it wasn’t just me that day. Vin was talking about the landmarks on this road and how to find the turn we needed: You look for the long flat building, and the bent mushing sign, and the pond on the —

“Aaand, I missed it,” he said, realizing we were much further down the road, accidentally on the way to a different friend’s house.

Just so we’re all on the same page here, he’s not going through menopause.

He said it’s the leaves; there weren’t leaves on the trees when we made this drive last time, in early spring.

A couple days later on another drive, I was on my way home from Grandma’s again. All the feelings again. Always wondering if this was the last visit.

I hadn’t cried in weeks; we had a lull of sorts once she was finally adjusting. Things were looking up in so many ways that it was easier to forget this is still a short timeline and we don’t know when it ends.

She still changes every week but those changes are different – not as angry or sad anymore, so that’s a huge relief, but others that mean more decline. More confused. More tired. More in and out of consciousness and reality.

The sky was a million shades of silvery blue over a million shades of green as I drove home. I flipped the blinker at an intersection and noticed that Grandma’s hair tie – the one a nurse had pulled her hair back with, but Grandma wanted it out because she never wears her hair in a ponytail and was a little scandalized to realize it was in one, no matter how cute we told her it was – anyway, the hair tie was still on my wrist, next to the bracelet she bought me in Ireland that I wear most days lately.

According to that nurse, Grandma had slept a lot that evening even after sleeping most of the day. I sat next to her, and her head kept leaning against mine as she drifted in and out.

These are precious, thick, persevering days. Sometimes it’s just her and me, and sometimes it’s my uncles, too, when our visits overlap. We share life updates and memories aloud, and patient grief and concern in silent looks.

There are so many things we are not saying, that we don’t know how to say.

Some of it doesn’t need to be said because we know; we already know about the grief and the flesh that is raw in some places and weathered tough in others. What we don’t always know is where those tender spots are, in ourselves or others, so we are tentative lest we do damage.

It’s one of those seasons that demand a dramatic soundtrack but instead it’s filled with these quiet evenings, conversations and hugs with nurses, small talk scattered amid end of life discussions and daily care. I could hear another resident breathing in a way that sounded like her last, but the nurse assured me it’s normal.

Or, normal for now. Relatively, for this stage.

It is a season of ragged breathing, and it’s not just on this front, in this home. It’s also in our own home with kids and their decisions, and in other parts of our community with families in crisis, and loved ones battling for their mental health, and some making choices that don’t even have that excuse, and also, so many things in our house suddenly demanding expensive repairs.

Life is a war zone with skirmishes happening on several fronts, and many of them are silent, under the radar.

Some of them, in my life and yours, we don’t talk about openly because we know all too well about drawing fire, even from those on the same side. We know how people can take aim and still miss the mark, even when they mean well...and not all of them do.

If we’re not abiding, we’ll miss the Lord’s direction and shoot at anything that moves or makes noise. When we do that, we often hit someone who’s on our side, just trying to figure out their next move forward while quietly enduring the present onslaught.

If it’s felt like your home, family, church, workplace, or neighborhood is a battleground, it is: The Kingdom-minded believer is either taking ground, losing ground, or holding their ground.

We’re not really talking about physical land, of course, and we’re definitely not talking about political boundaries. That’s a “look here, not there” tactic of the enemy, and too many have been falling for it. Not to get too woo on you, but let’s be real — most of the battle is on another plane, and what we see is not all there is.

God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come.

— Ephesians 1:20-21

The non-physical ground we’re claiming starts within our own heart, our own personal clean-up operation – throwing open all the doors, letting the Spirit blow through and find anything we’ve avoided for so long that we’ve become seared or numbed to it.

See that you do not refuse the one who is speaking, for if they did not escape when they refused the one who warned them on earth, how much less will we escape if we reject the one who warns from heaven!

At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heaven.” This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of what is shaken—that is, created things—so that what cannot be shaken may remain.

Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable worship with reverence and awe, for indeed our God is a consuming fire.

— Hebrews 12:25-29

You’re already in the middle of the battlefield, but another blow comes: the news, the diagnosis, the estimate, the announcement, the disappointment, the explosion.

We feel numbness; it’s all too much. And then that weight in the chest, the pain in the throat. Swallowing. Blinking. Staring off into space. Everything blurs. Fear whistles overhead, and the ground around us shakes.

The enemy wants that territory back. He wants you to think you are losing ground. But —

Will you trust Me? the Lord says. Can you move through the next hour as though you know I’m already taking care of this?

My brothers and sisters, whenever you face various trials, consider it all joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance.

And let endurance complete its work, so that you may be complete and whole, lacking in nothing.

— James 1:2-4

He’s wanting us to gain ground here, but sometimes it’s just the smallest thing in the midst of everything else that sends us over the edge, and we wonder if it’s all over. We don’t think we can hold this ground, or get this back, or take one more surprise, or handle one more grief.

Several times in the last few weeks, I’ve been there. And the Lord met me there and said, I always defended, protected, and provided for the women who bowed at my feet.

Mary, sitting at His feet to learn in the room with the men when Martha demanded her help in the kitchen.

Mary again, breaking the expensive jar of oil and pouring her savings over Him, when others were indignant at what they thought was waste.

The woman caught in adultery, held to a double standard by a crowd hungry for her bloody death but apathetic about the man who was at least as guilty as she was — probably more so, since in that culture, he had status and protections she did not.

And Jesus’ own mother, when He was on the cross and she looked up at Him, her oldest son and provider. He assigned John to care for her from then on, and did not leave her defenseless.

He modeled it for us, because we also claim ground by helping others hold their own – by nurturing the hearts of those around us, loving the Body.

We are putting no obstacle in anyone’s way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way:

in great endurance, afflictions, hardships, calamities,
beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger;
in purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love,
truthful speech, and the power of God;

with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left;
in honor and dishonor, in ill repute and good repute.

We are treated as impostors and yet are true,
as unknown and yet are well known,
as dying and look—we are alive,
as punished and yet not killed,
as sorrowful yet always rejoicing,
as poor yet making many rich,
as having nothing and yet possessing everything.

— 2 Corinthians 6:3-10

How do we love the Body? Love doesn’t move in self protection mode but moves on behalf of others, at our own expense.

Sacrifice, service, and leadership will cost us. It is the meal, the extra sweater in bad weather, the afternoon’s agenda swept aside to make room for what wasn’t scheduled but had to happen.

What agreement has the temple of God with idols? For we are the temple of the living God, as God said,

“I will live in them and walk among them,
and I will be their God,
and they shall be my people.”

— 2 Corinthians 6:16

When the Body gathers, we create sacred space. The body of believers is holy ground:

Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.

— Matthew 18:19-20

This is where the battle is won.

It’s usually quiet though, without fanfare.

Your gentleness toward others and your effort to keep a tender heart rather than a seared conscience does violence to the enemy, and wrenches vast amounts of real estate from his grasp.

You must make every effort to support your faith with excellence,
and excellence with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control,
and self-control with endurance, and endurance with godliness,
and godliness with mutual affection, and mutual affection with love.

For if these things are yours and are increasing among you, they keep you from being ineffective and unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

— 2 Peter 1:5b-8

Your effort to hold your tongue and wait, to let the other finish, to not rush to fill silence with noise – these are all such small moves of faith that take the land. It is what trust and humility look like, because we know the Lord is in our midst and we don’t have to do all the talking.

Superficial moments on the surface, but momentous underneath. These are the sweetest seasons happening in the deepest grief and need and concern: uncertainty about timing juxtaposed with the certainty of His goodness and protection, while we do not know what that goodness and protection will actually look like.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power;
put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil, for our struggle is not against blood and flesh but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.

— Ephesians 6:10-12

We submit to the upheaval of routines because certain situations have taken vivid, sudden priority and they are worth flipping our days upside down for.

Like one Monday, when a text came in that was rapidly followed by a phone call from the nursing home. Urgent prayer over speaker phone while kids ran in and out of the house, and then were quickly ushered into one vehicle with Vin while I took the other on a rushed drive across town after peeling out of the driveway and almost taking out some wandering raspberries.

But she was okay. It wasn’t time yet. We still have work to do, hearts to tend, time to hold with an open hand.

So we are here in the midst of beauty in the chaos, steadiness in the uproar. We are watching for landmarks, not wanting to miss the turn when it comes.

The time together is worth the drive. Our fellowship retakes occupied territory: The roots that run deep, the arms that stretch wide, all the ways we care for each other. This is how we hold our ground, and how we gain it.

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Instead of growing deep and wide, diving in and exploring broadly, many of us are standing at the shoreline just skipping rocks while thinking we know what’s in the water.

We have a Christian culture disastrously low in Biblical literacy and woefully high in presumption. Or, to put it another way, we have churches full of armchair quarterbacks who’ve hardly read the playbook while claiming to be expert enough to teach others about it from the pulpit and elsewhere.

How many Christians actually read the Bible (as in, reeead, study, not just check it off)? Also...how many pastors have actually read it all the way through?

The answers to these questions (and they will vary based on sources) explain a lot about our culture these days. There's good news, though: Each one of us can do something about it right away.

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Huge thanks to our friends Chris & Jamie Bottoms at Origins Audio for their tech savvy audio production on this.

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So instead of allowing these negative thoughts to rule us, minimize God's goodness, and taint the atmosphere we live in, let's linger in trust — because this is where we find joy and wisdom, and remember How good He really is and how much He really loves us.

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Huge thanks to our friends Chris & Jamie Bottoms at Origins Audio for their tech savvy audio production on this.

You can read the original post here:

I already have complicated feelings about roundabouts.

It’s been thirty years since I’ve been pulled over, and in my defense the legal speed limit at the time was not what it should have been and they later raised it, thankyouverymuch. So I wondered if this officer was just passing me on his way to someone else.

But no, he pulled over right behind me. I rolled down my window and looked out.

As he walked up, he was quick to reassure me. “Hey ma’am, I pulled you over because your brake lights aren’t working. I followed you for a while and neither of ‘em went off at the roundabout, it might be a fuse issue.”

“What?” Stunned relief. I passed him my ID and asked, “Is this a good time to tell you one of my headlights is out, too? Because that’s why those aren’t on.” I pointed at the new part Vin had just picked up the day before, waiting in the dashboard pocket.

He smiled; just a warning, no citation. Headlights go out, fuses trip, and life happens. We all have bigger fish to fry, and I even made it to jury duty on time with a couple minutes to spare.

Life is a series of obstacles and other imperfect circumstances: disappointments and frustrations, emergencies and trauma. We need grace and mercy in the roundabouts, and wisdom to know how to move through them.

I have given citations when I should’ve given a warning. Also, I have given warnings when a citation would’ve been much better. We need so much grace and wisdom.

Our family terrain – and probably yours, too – is filled with obstacles. Boulders, caverns, and sudden drop offs, and I don’t know how to bridge them, move them, go around them. While we navigate our own current roundabouts, we have friends dealing with medical crises, custody battles, kids or spouses going off the rails, leadership wounds, and major financial hurdles. So many obstacles to press through.

And while there are plenty of armchair quarterbacks with cheap advice that costs them nothing because they’re not responsible for actually implementing it, there is a real shortage of easy answers that lead to quick fixes. These situations have moved far beyond your basic roundabout; they look more like someone on the DOT took a drunken spree with a steamroller and attempted a series of figure eights.

Here’s what I’ve been confronted with, and the answer probably seems obvious: Will God still meet us when life is so messy? So different from everyone else’s? So off the map, and into uncharted wilderness?

Yes. Of course He does. He is, He will continue to do so.

(I am not referring to deliberate sin or a seared conscience. I am referring to living with the effects of what is often someone else’s sin, or the consequences of our own previous sin, or just the messiness of a fallen world and the cleanup operation we live in.)

We find ourselves in the midst of paperwork, requirements, and systems that we never wanted to be part of. Our house – and some others we know – have security measures in certain places they shouldn’t have to be. We don’t want them there any more than other people want to have to file for a restraining order or other legal protection.

And yet, here we are. Messy times.

But when life is messy instead of straightforward and simple, the enemy often convinces us that we are less than, unworthy, disapproved of, or unable to meet God, minister, or even just do life the way others do because our life does not look the way we thought it was supposed to. Somehow, it feels like we have to clean this up first – which of course is an impossibility. If we knew how to fix this or move past it (dynamite, anyone?) we would’ve done so by now.

These roads have not been straight and smooth. People and life events do not always progress predictably, meet all the prerequisites in perfect order, pass all the tests with high scores. Some are late bloomers, or got a rougher start, and have more roundabouts to navigate.

We are learning about grace and persistence. And also, braking and yielding.

Because God is wanting us to learn about what success really looks like.

So let’s talk about Solomon, and his imperfect start.

Solomon, in many eyes, was a picture of success. He’s known for wealth and wisdom. But that is only part of his story.

Let’s go back to a scene from the beginning:

The people were sacrificing at the high places, however, because no house had yet been built for the name of the Lord.

Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of his father David, except that he sacrificed and offered incense at the high places.

– 1 Kings 3:2-3

Like both kings before him, Solomon was not a perfect leader, and he began with some obstacles. “The people were sacrificing at the high places” – well, that’s bad, because it alludes to idolatry, but the verse says it’s because no house was built for the Lord yet. So this sort of looks like a “you do what you gotta do” situation.

The next verse says that Solomon loved the Lord – so far, so good – and that he walked “in the statutes of his father David” – uhhh, this could be a red flag. It’s the only place in the Bible that this phrase is used, and it’s significant that it doesn’t say Solomon “walked in the laws of the Lord” as it does elsewhere. If you know the full story of David (not the romantic flannelgraph version, but the truth that involves murder, rape, and neglect of responsibility), you know where this is going. Too many horses, too many wives, yada yada.

But at this early point, at least, unlike the two kings before him, Solomon wasn’t an imperfect leader due to his own character flaws and poor decisions. He was in an imperfect situation. This is what he inherited, what he walked into.

Or, you could say, this was the iniquity he lived in.

Wait, what?

We tend to think of iniquity as just meaning “sin” but it’s not quite the same as that, and we’ve talked about it before. To sum up, iniquity is more of a cultural or generational bent; a learned misbehavior. This is just the way things are, the way things are done; this is what we’ve always known and been taught...and it’s not necessarily the right way.

If it’s not good and true, it’s iniquity. We didn’t necessarily choose this imperfect situation; it’s what we walked into, grew up in, or found ourselves in the middle of, beyond our own choosing. It’s not right or okay, but it’s also not necessarily deliberate...and it needs to be dealt with.

But it’s not outright rebellion or disobedience, which is what we generally mean by “sin” (but more accurately termed transgression). So we deal with iniquity differently. And so does God.

At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night, and God said, “Ask what I should give you.”

– 1 Kings 3:5

Solomon was just doing what he could with the circumstances at hand. It wasn’t ideal. It looked bad. And yet God still met him there.1 God didn’t care about appearances, because He knew what was going on in Solomon’s heart.

God is not waiting for us to perfect our circumstances to meet with us and work through us. He’s not accusing us of surface-level improprieties; He’s not insecure and worried that we’ll make Him look bad. He knows our hard situations (read: mindsets, family roots, patterns of thinking, systems embedded in culture) and He is still willing to meet us. In fact, He wants to.

He knows all about the obstacle in the path, and the roundabouts you and I are navigating.

That doesn’t mean God is smiling at sin or excusing a horrible situation, or that we don’t need to do what we can to change those things. In fact, our recognition that this situation is not the way it’s supposed to be – it is avon, crooked, misshapen – is the beginning of turning it straight again. Correction and healing cannot happen in a place of denial.

But it also means we don’t have to change them before hearing from Him. We can’t make the corrections if we’re not hearing from Him in the first place, because we need His wisdom for this.

God meets with Solomon at the high place anyway, and this is where Solomon famously asked for wisdom instead of all the other shiny things he could’ve requested, and God gave him wisdom plus everything else.

Then Solomon awoke; it had been a dream. He came to Jerusalem, where he stood before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. He offered up burnt offerings and offerings of well-being and provided a feast for all his servants.

– 1 Kings 3:15

After the dream, Solomon changed direction (we could call this repentance – he changed his mind and way of doing things) and faced God’s promise. And then he offered his sacrifices there, instead.

Sometimes we need to move somewhere new or set a boundary or start over to see breakthrough for the situation we’ve been fighting. But we also need to know that the Lord is with us now – in this place, and in these circumstances.

He is the God with us now, not the God with us later when we get our act together and have all the answers.

Some of us have been used to running to the new thing, away from the old thing, feeling like we had to cut ties or start over or move entirely for deliverance. And sometimes we do need to let go and move on.

But it’s not always the case.

Sometimes we’re just running, avoiding, desperate for any change, no matter how much worse it ends up, as long as we don’t have to keep facing this situation, here and now.

But we need to know that the Lord is faithful here and now. In the roundabout, as we are facing our obstacle.

Turn to me and be gracious to me,
as is your custom toward those who love your name.
Keep my steps steady according to your promise,
and never let iniquity have dominion over me.

– Psalm 119:132-133

He is faithful in the land of the living, in the place of our pain, at the table in the presence of our enemies.

If He’s not telling you to move, then stay. Stand. Hold your ground.

In the roundabout, we slow down. We have to hit the brakes to take the curve, and people ought to notice our brake lights so they don’t run into us. Wait, I need to think, give me a second.

Be careful, then, how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil.

So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.

Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to one another, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, being subject to one another out of reverence for Christ.

– Ephesians 5:15-21

Others are on their own journey, taking the curve as well, and we all have to yield.

We are navigating the long goodbye to my grandma, a major house repair, and the inability to make someone choose rightly when the consequences of their wrong choices are coming at them fast.

You are navigating your own obstacles: a legal battle, a leader who dropped the ball, a work crisis, a family member whose dumpster fire is spreading dangerously close to your home.

We are learning to ask Him, “Will You show me today how faithful You are in this?” and to wait for the answer.

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, “I have prevailed”;
my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

But I trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.

— Psalm 13:3-5

He has an answer here, now, in this messy situation that looks nothing like it ought to.

He’s not testing us to see how much misery we can handle. He is teaching us to conquer fear so we can see how trustworthy He is.

He is teaching us peace in the place of fear, boldness instead of intimidation, and joy in the roundabout, instead of those curves causing us anxiety and nausea.

We are looking to Jesus because He is the roundabout, showing us the way through.

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P.S. If you want to learn more about iniquity, don’t miss this quick video from BibleProject.

1

Another great example of this is Esther, who was in a much worse situation (being abducted and forced to marry a pagan king), and yet still God met her and moved through her in faithfulness. This is a terrific post about her story:

The Quirky Pastor

The Trafficking of Esther

I’m preaching on Esther the next two weekends, and it's no wonder so many churches have struggled to respond well to the abuse and exploitation of women when we've spent generations romanticizing one of scripture’s clearest stories of exploitation and coercion. So man…

Read more

a month ago · 419 likes · 39 comments · The Quirky Pastor

I have always been close to my grandma, and in many ways she has been a mother to me. She is in the end stages of dementia and after many complicated discussions, circumstances, and mixed feelings, she has moved to a…home. Not her home. Not a normal home. There are many things that we call these places, but none of them are the home we really long to be in.

And it’s hard. She doesn’t understand (I don’t really, either) and yet I want her to know that, like so many times before in her life, she can make this change, too.

I want you to know that, also. You and I can make the changes we’re in.

So, how can we deal with whatever life gives us? How do we survive the place we didn’t choose?

And how is our struggle actually a sign that we should be encouraged?

These are hard days for some of us but the Lord is near and He is moving with us, for us, and often in spite of us.

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Huge thanks to our friends Chris & Jamie Bottoms at Origins Audio for their tech savvy audio production on this.

So when my best buddy in the States sent me photos of her glorious peonies in full bloom, it was a sign of things to come. Hers look like this:

And ours currently look like this:

Do you SEE how gorgeous ours are?

Of course not. You can’t even tell what color they’ll be. (Light pink. Here.)

But it’s not time for them yet, because this is Alaska. Spring lasts for about two weeks, summer gets a late start, and peonies don’t bloom here until July. If you have anything impressive in your garden this early, you probably bought starts from a nursery.

I shared this photo online last week with a scripture verse, and if you’ve read about some odd reactions I’ve gotten to those, let me assure you that at least the comment I got on this one was probably well meaning and wasn’t from a religious weirdo (I don’t think so, at least):

The comment was, “I feel sorry for your houseplant.”

My initial thought was, What houseplant? This is a photo of my desk. But then I looked again, and oh yes, there’s that little snake plant on the floor that has taken forever to grow from cuttings I got from a friend.

It does look sort of pathetic in the photo, but it wasn’t the focus of the post. In reality it looks almost as pathetic has five shoots that have grown up from the dirt, and only two of them show in the picture.

This plant is a slow grower and doesn’t like full sun. So it sits in the corner by my desk and quietly endures judgement and pity from strangers online, listening to Einaudi with me while I write.

But it’s doing its thing; it doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

It doesn’t edit, doesn’t create graphics, doesn’t check email or answer phone calls for me. But it’s not meant to do any of those things. It’s meant to sit there and grow, and there’s no deadline or competition.

It is doing what it’s meant to do, and minding its own business.

Or, can we rephrase that, and say it’s obeying its calling? Because it is.

Out of my distress I called on the Lord;
the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place.
With the Lord on my side I do not fear.
What can mortals do to me?
The Lord is on my side to help me;
I shall look in triumph on those who hate me.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to put confidence in mortals.

— Psalm 118:5-8

Lots of things (and people) look funny while they’re growing, and deal with the ignorant judgment from others who only take a quick look and have no idea what the full story is.

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions and in the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly, while we wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.

— Titus 2:11-13

It reminded me of a conversation I had at church last weekend, when someone asked me if I ever wondered about what other people thought of my special needs kids, and why they’re not healed.

And yeah, I have thought that. Vince and I have been in and led prayer ministry for years, and I have no doubt people have looked at us and wondered if we were really qualified to lead or minister or pray for healing because some of our kids’ issues have been super obvious.

But what’s not obvious is where our kids came from, or what they’ve been through, or how far they’ve come. In our local church, only two other people have seen our journey from the beginning.

How many times have we judged others when we had no idea how many hurdles they’ve already overcome?

How many times have we judged ourselves or others for not doing things that we’re not even meant to do? For not looking like everyone else? For not having the same timeline? For having a different starting line and growing season?

He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds.

— Titus 2:14

We are not all organic heirloom seeds, planted in perfect loamy soil with a long head start in spring, watered on a scheduled timer.

Some of us are just doing the best we can in the clay and the climate we were planted in. We don’t have as much time, and halfway through the year it still looks like we just started.

But if you are obeying in that, it is enough.

We have this horrible habit of setting expectations and rushing timelines that have nothing to do with what God calls us to.

There are glad songs of victory in the tents of the righteous:
“The right hand of the Lord does valiantly.”

— Psalm 118:15

So here, a word for the one who is looking at their progress and wondering why there’s still so little to show for it:

Your early growth doesn’t define your success. Don’t let someone else’s greenhouse beginning diminish your efforts from seed.

It’s not a competition until we try to make it one, and when we do, everyone loses. It’s better to just refuse that game, mind our own business, and obey in our own calling.

Your friend’s Pacific Northwest climate doesn’t diminish your Alaskan rate of growth. So don’t judge your June growth by your August expectations. You’ll know what color you are soon enough.

You are allowed to be the late bloomer. The dark horse. The sleeper whom no one expects, and then wakes with a roar.

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Handy things they are, except for when it comes to highway mileage. A pickup has a tailgate and a bed, and unless you have a canopy or cover on it – we didn’t – you get drag.

Resistance. Opposition to forward motion. You spend more gas trying to get where you’re going just because that truck bed and tailgate are cupping the wind at highway speed.

For years, people told us we should get a commuter car. We knew we should, too, but buying a new vehicle and selling an old one is a pain. Those were desperate days, too much going on, who needs one more thing to do?

So we avoided the change and stuck with the little pickup until January of 2014, when Vin rolled it on the highway during a snowstorm, totaling it.

Then we had no choice: A commuter car it was. And you know what we started saving in gas?

Five hundred dollars a month.

We knew it would make a difference, but we had no idea it was costing us that much. What could we have done with an extra $6000 a year, for those six years?

What else is our avoidance (stubbornness, laziness, resistance, denial, or any other drag) costing us?

Here’s the big question that might save you a ton of time, money, emotional investment, and other resources:

What am I ignoring or putting off that will actually be for my overwhelming good?

Sometimes lost things are found when we let go.

Our days are no longer desperate like they were then. Or, maybe they are, but in different ways: The kids are calmer, but our scope is broader, there’s no steady paycheck, and our schedule is often out the window because our work is way different and almost always changing.

I’m still a writer, but I’m only at the desk one or two days a week lately. It feels weird. And what’s weirder is even with such limited time, I have days when I don’t want to write.

Those days make me wonder if I still am who I was, or if I lost something. Did I drop my calling? Why is it so hard to shift back and forth sometimes? Am I walking in neglect or disobedience? Or am I just tired? (Stupid question. Don’t answer that.)

A single day of feeling supremely off kilter can make me wonder all those things, because I am fragile and human.

That’s the wrong kind of wonder to have. It’s drag, and it’s far more expensive than commuting to Anchorage in a little pickup, because if not caught it leads to brooding, which in turn often leads to all sorts of leading questions and bad conclusions.

The cost is high because it’s our identity and vision at stake.

So here, too, is where we ask: What am I ignoring or putting off that will actually be for my overwhelming good?

And in this case, the answer (for me, at least) is pretty much the same every time: Abiding.1

If I were abiding in this situation, I wouldn’t be doing the wrong kind of wondering. I wouldn’t be questioning my calling or ability, wondering if I lost it or if it was just a long season that’s over.

I’d have real answers, instead. I’d have peace and grace for the day, instead of anxiety and discouragement.

When I finally confront the issue head on, rather than avoiding it for days on end, striving and struggling needlessly in angst, it takes a whopping five seconds of concentrated abiding to realize what’s going on.

Be honest, Shannon. Ask the question. Put it into words and confess it.

So I do, and it’s another finally-suddenly moment, because that’s when I hear the answer.

You haven’t dropped or lost or neglected anything, Love. But you are not always meant to tell and translate. You also need to soak and receive.

Oh. Duh. Well, that sounds so obvious.

But I’ve gotten so used to the feeling of pressure that I didn’t even recognize it. This happens with all sorts of mindsets, and they become like refrigerator noise in the background of our lives that we don’t even hear anymore.

So listen: What is the noise you’ve been ignoring, or that you’ve gotten used to? We can’t deal with it until we identify it.

When I let go of the pressure to write, that’s often when a torrent of words rush out. Onto the screen, in my phone memo, on any scrap of paper I can find.

Like I said earlier, sometimes lost things are found when we let go.

Oh, that’s where I am. That’s the me that thrives the way You made me to – because I finally looked for where You are in this. I missed the forest for the trees, but You were here all along.

To be fair to myself and honest with you, I can abide in all sorts of things while avoiding the main issue I really need to talk to the Lord about.

I think it’s a common ploy of intercessors; we can procrastinate and distract ourselves by praying for a million other things, and still feel pretty good about our abiding. A friend of ours who led worship for years said it’s the same on that side of the coin, too: If he didn’t want to deal with something, he would worship, instead.

Isn’t it funny how we can use righteous things to avoid becoming more righteous?

And isn’t God gracious to still meet us in our avoidance, and wait for our honesty? Even our ability to face things is grace from Him.

It would be nice to have more grace and peace, though, and get back on track faster.

May grace and peace be yours in abundance in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.

– 2 Peter 1:2

We tend to overuse and gloss over those terms. What do they really mean in the messy situations we’re dealing with?

Grace and peace look like solutions, resolution, revelation, and certainty. They look like security in our identity, steadiness in our calling, and boldness in our obedience.

May those things be yours and mine in abundance. And may we cooperate with receiving them, because God’s generally not going to force them on us while we’re ignoring the issue He wants to address.

To defeat the drag and make forward progress, we’ll need to sell the truck, make the move, call the person, spend the money, ask the question, admit our weakness, acknowledge the problem, confess the sin, set the boundary, etcetera, etcetera. It could be anything. It’s probably on your mind as you’re reading this.

Whatever it is, if we’re not willing to do it because we’d rather feel the drag against our tailgate (ahem), then He’s generally not going to force that particular answer upon us.

Good news, though: He’s made us for the answer. He knows how weak, exhausted, angry, wounded, confused, overwhelmed, or whatever we are that seems like it’s holding us back.

Seriously, He knows how whatever you are. And He did all the heavy lifting to make us like Him:

His divine power has given us everything needed for life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and excellence.

Thus he has given us, through these things, his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may escape from the corruption that is in the world because of lust and may become participants of the divine nature.

– 2 Peter 1:3-4

You and I cannot participate in the divine nature if we neglect to abide. Abiding is the participation: This is how we know, hear, act, and become more like Him.

It’s how Peter, who wrote those words, went from being an impulsive loudmouth you probably wouldn’t want speaking at your funeral to becoming an older and wiser heavyweight who could handle the spotlight. Both versions were forces to be reckoned with, but only one was fully surrendered and thus able to lead others in that same transformation.

So we don’t want to waste gas, too focused on the problem to do anything to actually solve it.

If we’re putting off abiding – or any other prompting of the Holy Spirit – we’re not changing anything for the better.

Such a bummer. I’m so sorry.

What can we do, then?

First, if this rings a bell, we need to acknowledge our avoidance and confess it. It’s not a huge, drawn out thing. It’s a reality check, and it’s instant: “Yep, I’ve been doing that.”

Then there are several things we can do. But to work smarter and not harder, the best first thing is to ask God: What do I need to do now? And then do it.

I know, the best time to do it would’ve been a long time ago. But the next best time is now.

And one more question to ask Him: How do You want me to see this situation? Because we want to see it the way He does. He’s not discouraged or dismayed over this. He’s not overwhelmed, overwrought, or doing the wrong kind of wondering.

When we’re looking at Him and seeing things the way He does, we see possibilities instead of limits. We stop partnering with fear, agreeing with the enemy, making blanket statements and accusations and assumptions. We stop doing the things that make it worse, and start doing the things that make it better.

Bemoaning that the enemy is winning in different areas or how we feel like we are losing in other areas is a poor strategy for defeating him. It’s a total drag, wasting our resources.

But quick cooperation with God’s promptings brings momentum. Obedience is spiritual warfare. And this is how we win.

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P.S. Our pastor gave a great message here that relates to this post (starts at 1:09). Bonus: Vin is in a couple of dangerous aggressive super awkward sermon illustrations. 😅

For years now I’ve shared a small section of my personal Bible reading with a photo, because God’s word is for every day, all parts of our days and lives.

Everyday photos: dishes, mountains, cats, crochet. Sometimes blurry, imperfect photos. Because our days are sometimes blurry and imperfect, and the Word still applies to them.

Due to space restraints and the fleeting attention span of the average scroller, I usually only post a few verses that can be basically understood without a ton of other context.

Here’s what I said about it a while back:

These verses are only a small drop in the bucket. If we profess to know Jesus, the Living Word, we need to know the written word…the whole thing.

And if we don’t know the written word in context, we don’t know it at all.

I heard this from a conference a few months ago and it astounded me:

We did a show of hands a few years back at a pastor’s conference – not one of ours, but another ministry – and we asked the pastors, “How many of you have read the whole Bible?”

Only 40% of the crowd had read the whole Bible. This was in America, in Southern Cal, Orange County.

One of the pastors said, “Well, I’m not dealing with theology, I’m dealing with people’s issues.”

And I’m like, “Well, that’s why your people have so many issues.”

– Michael Kulianos

At a pastor’s conference, only 40% of the crowd of pastors had actually read the entire Bible.

WHAT.

The other 60% are those who presume to teach the Bible without actually having fully read it themselves.

This explains a lot of our modern church culture, hmm?

Even regarding the 40% of pastors who had read the whole Bible, we have to ask...have they only read it once, and then checked it off the list? I mean, if 60% hadn’t even read it all the way through, how many of those who had read the Bible…actually read it daily? You know, reeeead it, as in, they study and examine it, and keep pursuing truth?

Instead of growing deep and wide, diving in and exploring broadly, many of us are standing at the shoreline just skipping rocks while thinking we know what’s in the water.

We have a Christian culture disastrously low in Biblical literacy and woefully high in presumption.1 Or, to put it another way, we have churches full of armchair quarterbacks who’ve hardly read the playbook while claiming to be expert enough to teach others about it from the pulpit and elsewhere.

Who is wise and knowledgeable among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom.

But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be arrogant and lie about the truth.

This is not wisdom that comes down from above but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish.

– James 3:13-15

Let’s talk about Biblical literacy.

Biblical literacy is not just reading and checking off chapters and getting all the way through, cover to cover.

Biblical literacy means understanding context and language, which includes history and grammar. If you didn’t like those in school, sorry, but they’re necessary if you want to understand scripture rather than making a quick surface application of some random verse in Bible Roulette.

In full disclosure, I grew up on Bible Roulette as a kid, and I don’t know that any church leader was necessarily to blame for this. And later when I started reading the Bible on a daily basis, I definitely read it to check it off more than anything else. It was better than nothing in the beginning. Not great, of course, but at least it helped me start to gain a familiarity with the overall picture and timeline of the Old and New Testaments.

But I wasted years just checking off readings. Probably the first ten(ish) times I read it all the way through were more about checking off than digging in (also yes, I can be a slow learner).2

So even in reading it over and over and over, we can easily miss the point. I sure did.

Reading only a few verses a day that are taken out of context (whether they are my social media posts, or some influencer’s Instagram post, or two minutes of Bible Roulette, or whatever) is probably worse than reading nothing at all.

Is that shocking? It’s counter to what we’ve been told all along: “If all you can read is a few verses a day, just do that.”

But no, don’t do that. I mean, do that if you have to on certain days, but don’t make it your daily practice and then call it “Bible reading” or “Bible study.”

I have been the mom with seven or eight kids and zero time to go to the bathroom, much less ten minutes to sit on the couch and have quiet time that looks like something you’d see on Pinterest. I’m not arguing against the bits and pieces, here and there, whenever you finally get a free few minutes to breathe.

I’m arguing against the false sense of security and accomplishment achieved by the routine reading of a random few verses here and there, not digging any deeper into their actual application or context, and then moving about our business as though we’ve actually attained some mystical experience and understanding that we don’t actually possess.

That’s what’s not okay.

As a result of this, we have leaders, teachers, pastors, everyday people spouting things that don’t even exist in the Bible but claiming it does because they saw something like it in there somewhere but failed to actually delve into the context to understand the full truth of it.

Or, what’s more common, they assume a thing — “headship” is a good example — and then read it into the Bible because it fits their worldview or what they’ve always been taught, and then create doctrine out of it rather than understanding what those passages actually refer to and investigating whether their concept of it is even in the Scriptures. (Spoiler alert: It’s not.3)

This leads to divisions, arguments, pomposity, stubborn digging in of heels, the diminishing of the gospel, and all kinds of nonsense.

Now I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you but that you be knit together in the same mind and the same purpose.

– 1 Corinthians 1:10

Why does the New Testament talk so much about false teachers? Because they were dealing with them at the time of the writing. And also, because God knew we would be dealing with them, too.

So many have not learned, and then in their lack of learning they have taught others.

But here’s the thing: False teachers aren’t those who teach things you don’t personally like or approve of. False teachers are those who teach something opposed to what God says.

Jesus’ words about this:

But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in you stop them.

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you cross sea and land to make a single convert, and you make the new convert twice as much a child of hell as yourselves.

– Matthew 23:14-15

None of us want this kind of rebuke from the Lord.

So can we set aside what we’ve “always been taught” and always believed and always held onto, and just go back to what the Bible – in fullness, wholeness, and complete context – actually says? Can we go back to what Jesus lived out? Because this is what He is calling us to do.

If we see a section in the Bible that makes us ask questions, we should ask them. We should not brush them off and just say, “Well, it’s in the Word so it must be true.” God gave us a brain to use and the whole Word to examine, and this is not critical thinking. This is cult-like ignorance.4

Here are some verses also in the Word that should not be taken out of context and put into universal application:

Your meetings do more harm than good.
— 1 Corinthians 11:17

Now concerning the matters about which you wrote: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman.”
— 1 Corinthians 7:1

So I made up my mind that I would not make another painful visit to you.
— 2 Corinthians 2:1

I wish those who unsettle you would castrate themselves!
— Galatians 5:1

And of course, the most abused and mistranslated:

I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent.
— 1 Timothy 2:12

I mean, we wouldn’t want to fuss with footnotes, original language, cultural context, or any of that other inconvenient stuff…it’s just so much easier to avoid meetings, not touch women, not visit people, castrate offenders, and forbid half of humanity from teaching or talking.

Sigh, snicker.

Here’s the good news (lowercase, not uppercase): We can all do better, and we can do it today.

We can all dive deeper, read wider, pursue more. We can all repent and admit we don’t know as much as we need to or want to.

As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.

Watch out that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental principles of the world, and not according to Christ.

— Colossians 2:6-8

We can all honor each other and listen, and set boundaries with those who won’t reciprocate.

For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.

But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.

And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

– James 3:16-18

There are human traditions to be found all throughout Christianity that are only loosely based in the Bible and not at all what it intended.

I urge you, brothers and sisters, to keep an eye on those who create dissensions and hindrances, in opposition to the teaching that you have learned; avoid them.

For such people do not serve our Lord Christ but their own appetites, and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the simple-minded.

– Romans 16:17-18

Education is not expensive.5 But ignorance is, and it’s costing the Kingdom.

It’s a good time to examine those things we always thought were true, and ask ourselves: Is this actually in the Bible, in context? Or is this just something that some in the Church have taught forever, and never course-corrected?

Because those are not always the same thing.

Wisdom is preserved for those who don’t get caught up in offense, pride, and stubbornness, but are instead caught up in wonder of His goodness.

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Some chapters in life, in books, in the Word, demand us to linger.

Philippians 4 is one of my favorites. But this time when I got toward the end of it, I argued a little with God…or, not really with God, but with my old self — my old understandings, old lies, old mentalities that have nothing to do with God, but I used to attribute them to Him. And He caught me doing it again.

We’ve been working on this for a while. And the struggle is actually progress because it means I’m no longer resistant or blind to it, but letting Him transform me.

Here’s the verse I was stuck on:

And my God will fully satisfy every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.

— Philippians 4:19

A few things we have to ask right away: Is this verse in context? Sort of — it’s not to us (it’s to the Philippians, of course). But it is for us, demonstrating God’s unchanging character. What is it telling us? He is good. He is generous. He cares for all of His people, not just the Philippians.

So can we take this as a promise for Him? Yes.

Unless you have an old poverty mentality that rears its head and makes excuses. I did, and it did.

Our home’s heating system needs replaced and we don’t know how it will be covered, but we are trusting the Lord. He knows how it will happen, and on most days I’m not even trying to rack my brain to figure it out anymore. The good news is a) we made it through the winter, and b) now that it’s spring, we can keep the system off as much as possible. But it needs taken care of in the next four months.

When I read that verse, though, an old response popped up in my head: Maybe God doesn’t think replacing our heating system is a need.

Is that dumb? (Answer: yes.) Of course our heating system is a need; we live in Alaska. Even if we didn’t live here, it would be a need.

But the thoughts continued: What if we’re not even supposed to keep this house? We’ve been thinking of moving. Maybe God wants us to make less on the sale of this house, so we have to downsize into something smaller, uglier, boxier, with less land, gross carpet, and an obnoxious neighbor…

It sounds like the Old Responsible Religious voice, but if you listen closely you pick up on the accent and notice the snake’s hiss — the one that says God is not really as good as He says He is, and that He cannot be believed or trusted. Did God really say…?

And this is where the Lord caught me, and confronted me.

He also asked questions, and His questions are different:

Does that sound like it reflects My goodness? No.

Do those thoughts ignite fear, or trust? Fear, for sure.

Do those thoughts lead you in hope, peace, and expectation? Or do they lead you toward striving? Ahhh, striving…give me all the things to do, all the numbers to calculate, all the details to fret over. Been there, hated that, lit the ground on fire with that hamster wheel, and broke the axle.

When I realized the difference, the weight lifted. God is going to take care of this. We don’t have to figure it out; we can trust Him. He will fully satisfy every need of ours, including this one. The other thoughts had started pressing me downward in anxiety, but His correction lifted me in hope and clarity.

Did you forget you are My beloved, Love? Sit with Me, and remember.

When lies are replaced with trust, the clouds lift, the sun comes out, the air clears, and anxiety dissipates.

I could practically hear the sniveling whine as the snake scurried away, defeated at the old game he used to beat me at.

Many of us tend to default toward believing negative lies about God rather than the truth of His goodness and love for us. For some of us, the lies make us feel safe, protected from disappointment, or that we’re suffering enough to be righteous.

Sometimes, the lies are just a bad habit that needs to break.

One of the hardest adjustments during my grandma’s first month in her new home is that since she moved, she believes she is alone and people hardly ever come to see her.

It’s not true; there are always people with her and almost every day she has visitors.

But she does not remember the people, or the visits. And since she doesn’t remember them, she believes they aren’t happening. Gahhh. So instead of believing the truth (which would encourage her), she defaulted in those first weeks to believing what is negative and untrue.

Here’s the irony: She knows she is forgetting, that her mind plays tricks on her. So since she will believe something one way or the other, can we help her default instead toward the positive, lovely, and loving? We’re trying, because it’s what’s true. Even if you don’t remember, we’re here every day with you. You are so loved. We haven’t abandoned you, you’re not alone. You’re never alone. Sit with me, and remember.

When she knows she’s loved and not forgotten, she is happier, chattier, and she shares stories and dry humor. But when she thinks she’s been left desolate, she’s miserable, withdrawn, bitter, accusatory, and complaining.

This is true of us, too. When we think God has abandoned us, doesn’t care, doesn’t think our needs are important, we are tormented. But when we know we are loved, thought of, and tenderly cared for, we are much happier — and we move forward productively rather than stalling out in brooding anxiety or despair.

If the enemy can discourage us into fear, striving, or other forms of negativity, we walk in confusion and miss not only God’s goodness but also His direction and clarity. Or, let’s put those together and use the word wisdom.

Direction + clarity = wisdom. Good so far?

Now this:

The wisdom He gives us is related to our level of joy and trust. They go together, but trust drives the bus.

Happy are those who make the Lord their trust,
who do not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after false gods.

— Psalm 40:4

For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
he bestows favor and honor.
No good thing does the Lord withhold from those who walk uprightly.
O Lord of hosts, happy is everyone who trusts in you.

— Psalm 84:11-12

The goodness of God is the lay of the land, and we need to know how to read the map. Trust is the key to understanding the legend, knowing which way is north, and recognizing pitfalls.

Happy are those who find wisdom and those who get understanding,
for her income is better than silver and her revenue better than gold.

— Proverbs 3:13-14

Those who are attentive to a matter will prosper,
and happy are those who trust in the Lord.

— Proverbs 16:20

We can surrender anxiety because He is good. Because we can trust Him. Because He is better than all our old lies, excuses, mindsets, bad teachings, bad memories, and internal and external accusations.

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad.
O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.

— Psalm 34:1-3

Our thoughts and responses to God should be magnifying Him, not minimizing Him. There is a huge religious movement out there that’s all about minimizing Him and making it seem humble and righteous. (Spoiler: It’s not.)

Without trust we walk in fear while deluding ourselves that it’s jaded wisdom. It’s the same fear that buries the talent because we’re afraid to risk, afraid to fail, afraid to be seen as imperfect, afraid to fall because we know we’re not really able to catch ourselves, no matter how much of a front we put up for everyone to see.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.
Look to him, and be radiant, so your faces shall never be ashamed.

— Psalm 34:4-5

We don’t want to be like little kids who really want to go to somewhere but in our restless impatience we make the wait miserable, asking our parents over and over and over if we’re going, when we’re going, why we’re not going yet, and then we sulk in the driveway, kicking rocks until one of them flies into the windshield.

We often delay the answer we want so badly because our distrust is sabotaging the journey.

But when we stop listening to the lies and keep our eyes on who He really is, what He really does, what He’s really said, we know that we can trust His goodness and His timing. He not only meets our every need, but also covers us with peace and joy in the meantime.

This leads us right back to the beginning of Philippians 4, and we linger here:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be known to everyone.

(It is hard to be gentle when you’re freaked out and striving.)

The Lord is near.

( He is aware, and not indifferent.)

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

— Philippians 4:4-7

We linger in these places of trust, knowing He is doing something in us as we wait: The pages we read, the honest conversations we have, the prayers that sometimes aren’t even articulated words so much as they are attention to the living Word who was and is and is to come.

We usually don’t see the immediate effect of these but the transaction of our time invested in faith accrues to our good, and the good of those around us. This, too, is part of trust. We know there is purpose in what He is leading us to do.

So we believe the things unseen, that He working things out for us and in us, and He is able to do what we are so very aware we cannot do on our own. The wild idea began in Him; He knows how to complete it.

And if we forget, He will sit with us until we remember.

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Can we be humble enough to be imperfect in front of others?

And will we keep showing up even on the days we feel stupid, when we don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing?

Also, I accidentally wrote a limerick about Jael.

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The original post (with links, photos, and spelling of unpronouncable words) is here:

We have limitations, and inabilities, and seemingly horrible timing.

But what if the Lord is using those obstacles for our protection? Because when we let Him move us, He doesn’t misplace us.

This is especially for those of you also walking through grief or big changes.

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The original post is here, with links and photos:

She does this in the stairwell, which makes sense because it has the best acoustics.

So even after being evicted, insomnia likes to come back for visits. It opens the door without knocking, waves to its friend menopause (it’s a crowded house here lately), and then kicks back, waiting for Dash to start performing her favorite solo from Aida.

Sometimes I beat them all and fall back to sleep. Other times, my brain starts opening all the tabs, alternating between praying about the price of gas to pondering the cost of misunderstandings, and all things between. Grandma takes up more and more tabs lately (filed under Memories, Changes, and Grief) as her dementia has progressed. Which means she is regressing, and it feels like the exact opposite of progress.

I lay there in the dark, thinking on conversations and concerns. Another tab opens, reminding me of Barbara O’Neill’s teaching on sleep where she warns that the lack of it is related to dementia.

Irony and pressure are terrible sedatives, you know.

The next morning I stumbled on a post about biphasic sleep, a concept I first heard about years ago because insomnia and I are old frenemies. It means sleeping in two phases, often called “first sleep” and “second sleep,” separated by a two-ish hour waking period in the middle of the night, whether or not your cat is attempting opera. It was common (some say standard) before the Industrial Revolution, and now that you know about it, you’ll see it mentioned in everything from history books to Dickens novels.

In theory, I’d love to lean into it and utilize those extra couple hours in fruitful ways. I’ve done it before when our schedule allowed and it’s a much better alternative than staring at the ceiling and fretting about the rapidly diminishing hours of possible sleep left.

But often our schedule doesn’t allow for it, like last night (er, this morning) when I went back to bed around 6 am and then wanted to sleep in until tomorrow.

Maybe some day it’ll work, though. Our schedule changed significantly four times in the last year, and at this point what’s left is more of a loose structure wrapped around a few big commitments, and held together with prayer, coffee, and a Jeep that is happy to zip back and forth across the MatSu as long as we keep filling its tank.

On the way home one evening last week, I passed our friends’ shop and saw our red-haired son at work, backing into a bay. He didn’t notice me but my heart stretched from its tether a little as I drove past. It is these small moments of recognition that anchor us, making a broad, wide Valley into a small town we belong in.

Now that she’s moved, it’s 21 minutes to Grandma’s new home on weekdays but only 18 on Sunday afternoons. So far, she does not understand the change, and every day she seems confused anew about why she’s there. She does not have those small moments of recognition yet, or anymore; her anchor was lifted up and she’s been moored in an unfamiliar place.

“I am so far away from my home...it must be forty miles.” She calculates highway time and neighborhood roads. Sometimes she thinks she’s in Anchorage.

“It’s only 20 minutes, Grandma. You’re right in the middle of all of us.” She looks at me in disbelief, like I answered in a foreign language.

“All I can do is look out this window. There’s no activity out there.”

But there is, though she can’t see it. A house is being built right next door and equipment has been running every day. When I walked up to her new front door, I distinctly heard one of the construction workers articulate the same expletive she shocked us with last week.

Four times so far I’ve had the same heartbreaking conversation with her, trying to explain, wondering how to answer so many of her concerns. I need to be home. I was active there, and here I do nothing. I haven’t seen a soul all day; I think I’ve only had one small meal and it’s horrible hospital food. No one has come to see me, I’ve just been left here, alone. And who is going to take care of my cat?

People visit almost every day. The staff is kind, with her all the time, giving her one-on-one attention. It is a home, not a hospital, and the food – three meals plus snacks – is homemade and amazing. She was mostly chair-bound at her house and slept much of the day, but now she is awake more, even playing the piano. And her cat died a month ago.

Before, she was tired but mostly content; now she is awake more, and feels like she’s in exile. It is a horrible disease that demands caregivers to constantly choose between comforting, condescending lies and heartbreaking truth.

So there is a difference between reality and perception, and I do not know how to help her bridge that gap.

But she’s talking again, more than she has been. When she’s not focused on the grief, she still tells repetitive stories from her childhood.

Last month, back at her house, she told us again about working at a store when she was a kid:

“Somebody would come in for something that was only a dollar or two. They might give you a twenty dollar bill, or they might even give you a hundred, and you had to be able to make the change for whatever it was they gave you. I learned.”

My daughter and my cousin sat on the couch to her left, and I crocheted granny squares in the rocking chair to her right. I hit the Record button on my phone so I can go back and hear her voice when I need it.

“I was pretty good with the dollars, and I could make the change.”

The kids were on the floor, at the table, across the room, all doing schoolwork.

“Our floor walker was an older lady and I think she kind of liked me. She was the one who trained me, and then she trained me to train others. So I had a pretty good little job there in that store. I got along pretty well with all of them...I learned to make change, learned how to handle hundred dollar bills. You could carry a certain amount on yourself in a money belt to make change with.”

This is the challenge we all face when we find ourselves in a place we never would have chosen, with bills that are too big for us, with the situation that is out of our control: Will we make the change? Will we get along with others, and navigate with grace and trust? Or will we cling to denial, and keep getting our heart broken when reality confronts us with every new day?

Also: What can we carry on ourselves to help us (and others) make change?

“I worked there for a number of years and I really enjoyed it. I got several raises there along the way. I didn’t have a way to go home, but usually the Greyhound bus ran and I could get off in time to get to the bus station and get on the Greyhound; I rode ten miles home.”

She often talks about the journey: the bus, her mom driving her back and forth to work, and about her first bike.

“In the winter time I worked in the store, and sometimes I worked up on the farm, but mostly I learned to work in the stores and rode that Greyhound bus home every night. They’d ring that bell and he knew right where I lived, and he’d let me off right where the gate was. God was good to me. I was very grateful.”

This right here is the key in all our changes: Gratitude, which is based in trust.

In this hard space – in debt, in betrayal, in regret, in the ICU, in grief, or in a place where no one speaks our language – can we trust God and rejoice anyway? Not because the awful stuff is His will (it’s not) but because He is able to bring good from these hard things?

He likes us, and He is training us. Not just for ourselves, but so we can also train others.

He knows where we are, where we need to be, and how to get us there.

We would not have chosen this, but God is busy with us, at work in us and for us, so He must be doing things we could not or would not have done on our own.

Grandma was long-winded that day and her memories kept coming.

“Then one year I got terribly sick and had quite a bit of time in the hospital. I don’t remember what it was I had...whatever it was, eventually I got over it.”

“Was it scarletina?” I asked. “Scarlet fever?” Grandma didn’t answer; her hearing aid was on the other side. I looked at my cousin. “She told me about it in 2020, because she had been quarantined when she was young.”

Ohh, he nodded. Grandma was quiet for a minute, slowing down.

“But God was good to me,” she finally said. “I got over it, eventually.”

Friend, hear me: God is good to us whether we get over it or not. We are better to ourselves, though, if we do.

At that point, that day, she was talked out. Shortly after, she wanted us to leave – at first with a subtle hints, then later with anxiety, thinking she needed to start making dinner and get her kitchen cleaned up. But I had already cleaned her kitchen, dinner was taken care of, and she hasn’t made a meal in I don’t know how long.

And she could not be left alone, so we had to stay with her in her restlessness.

She has made change before, so many times. This time it’s much bigger than just a small shift in schedules or overcoming insomnia or learning a new job, but I want her to remember that she can do this, too.

Whenever we are uprooted or navigating some other big change, we tend to feel like our struggle is a sign of failure. But that is an agreement we make with the enemy, not God. It is a spiral of self-fulfilling discouragement: We focus on the negative, and that negative becomes our new reality.

But how can we deal with whatever life gives us? How do we survive the place we didn’t choose?

Here’s the truth, if we can accept it: The struggle and feeling of ineptitude is progress. Feeling bad about our abilities and our current situation – as long as that feeling is temporary and we don’t stay there – is a sign of growth.

We don’t grow in the ease of the comfort zone; we grow in the struggle. The feelings of learning to do this specific task or navigate this particular season are temporary. They are not our permanent identity.

We must reframe our assessment: I currently feel terrible at this rather than “I’m just bad at this and I’ll never be good at it.” I don’t feel happy here, rather than “Happiness doesn’t exist here.”

We go through this in every big change: Having more kids, learning a language, reading classics, acquiring a new skill, developing new routines, systems, or habits. We are face to face with our own imperfections and weakness, and must let go of our illusions.

We must release the idolatry of our own control, the myopia of mastering our own tiny domain where everything is in the order we established.

When we do that, we make room for the wild of the Kingdom.

But if we are still not wanting to make change in this hard place, the Lord is never just asking us to get over it. We often want that for ourselves, or for each other, because grief is inconvenient. But He is staying with us – never dismissing us, never blowing us off, never rushing us to gloss over pain and pretend we’re happy when we’ve been completely unmoored.

He sits with us in our bewilderment, much more patient with us than we are with ourselves, or each other.

As I sit with Grandma in her grief and confusion, even though I have no answers for her and feel almost as confused as she is, I know I am growing in this. It is hard and I hate it; I hate watching her regress and accuse and be less than who I’ve always known her to be. But this is training. If you’ve paid any attention to basic demographics, you know our generation is just beginning to see what may be an avalanche of care needed in the years to come.

As Grandma looks out the window at all the things she cannot see, she is growing, too. Even when the progress is regress and none of it feels good, she is rising above, alert in ways she hasn’t been for months. Even in her grief, she is so sweet to the staff at the new home and they love her. Even in her anger, she is digging deep into memories and logic and reasoning in ways that I thought went dormant months ago.

We stretch our tent pegs to allow God to show us that in our weakness He is strong. In our inability, He is able, and making us able, too.

It is how we overcome, how we beat them all.

Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable worship with reverence and awe, for indeed our God is a consuming fire.

— Hebrews 12:28-29

He has not abandoned us, dropped us off in an unfamiliar place to be alone and die.

He has not removed us from our home.

He is preparing us for it, and taking us there.

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Or are we cultivating Kingdom Culture — and what does that look like? Can we sense what’s going on around us, or are we thoughtlessly drawing blood?

This is a somewhat rambling post about weakness, pain, identity, boundaries, and loving the way Jesus does…even when we don’t want to.

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One week we talked about homeschooling, which she did with her youngest two boys. She watched as the kids kept coming over for me to check their work or answer questions.

“How do you keep it all straight?” she asked.

“I don’t know...how did you?”

“I don’t know.” She almost grinned. “I’m glad I had all I could handle. It was a good thing. It was good for all of us, good learning for all of us.”

It is good to have all we can handle, to be stretched beyond what we think we can do...as long as we don’t give up. As long as we lean on Him. Because in spite of what people say, He will give us more than we can handle, because that’s how we grow. That’s also how, when we do the thing that was too much for us to do on our own, we recognize His grace.

We never accomplish alone, in our own strength, by our own brainpower.

And this is good news because I’ve been feeling very stupid lately while learning Greek. It is a beautiful, aggravating language that fools you with easy words like “párti” for party, and “souper market” for super market, but as soon as your guard is down it smacks you upside the head with i̱lektronikós ypologistí̱s, which is ten syllables just to say “computer.”

I know I’ve made fun of English for being stupid, but at least we have sensible blends, like sl in slow, or br in brown. For the most part, our letters flow in a civilized manner.

But in Greek, you have hard consonants like k and t at the beginning of words like ktizo (“to build”). You have phrases like esy ftiaxneis (“you make”), and you wonder WHAT in the WORLD are you supposed to do with that second word because f and t are together at the beginning of it, and you’ve also got to figure out how to deal with that weird xn in the middle.

Hint: You almost (but not quite) get rid of the “s” sound in the x, so what you’re left with, phonetically spelled, is...

[types, then quickly deletes]

...something you shouldn’t try pronouncing around your kids. Or your grandma, even if she’s Irish.

It’s sort of like learning to play violin: No one should do it until they’re an expert.

But here we are, asked to do so many things before we are experts, before we even have the slightest clue what we are really doing. Instead, we are living in ironic juxtaposition that seems to make no sense.

I do not know how we are keeping it all straight; I actually don’t think we are, at all. I think we have situations like those hard consonants that don’t normally blend, and suddenly they’re holding hands and swing dancing drunkenly together anyway, teaching us whole new sounds we never imagined. Párti.

A friend shared this a while back, and it stuck with me:

Can you handle feeling incompetent long enough to attain fluency? This is not just about languages, of course.

It is slow work, this absorbing and distilling and creating. Remember, we are not performing, we are becoming.

For it is precept upon precept, precept upon precept,
line upon line, line upon line,
here a little, there a little.

– Isaiah 28:10

And more good news: God knows what we’re doing and where we’re going, long before we do. He is training us for the journey, making us like Him when we let Him.

He is putting us where He wants us, and preparing us for what’s ahead.

In the Old Testament I’ve made it to Judges, which is sort of the Best and Worst of Bible Stories. I’m currently still toward the beginning where it’s pretty normal, before you get to the what-the-what parts that remind us once again that just because we read about someone in Scripture, it doesn’t mean God wants us to imitate them.

I would, however, love to add t-shirts to our merch page that advertise “Jael’s camping gear”...tents, hammers, gorgeous rugs, mugs of warm milk...I digress.

We do need to talk about Jael though, because she’s a prime example of someone being where you don’t expect them to be, doing what you don’t expect them to do.

We’re in Judges 4, when Deborah, a prophetess, is judging Israel. She was an answer to prayer after twenty years of the Israelites’ sin and oppression, and with her leadership, they were finally ready to stand up to their oppressor: King Jabin of Hazor.

So Deborah summoned Barak and gave him the word from the Lord, telling him how to defeat Sisera, the general of the King Jabin’s army. Barak said he’d only go if Deborah went with him, and she said, Sure, but since you were a pansy, you won’t be able to take out Sisera; the Lord is going to let a woman do it. My paraphrase.

Instructions and strategy follow, and then we get to this odd sentence right in the middle of the action. No segue, no transition, no apparent reason why it’s there at all:

Now Heber the Kenite had separated from the other Kenites, that is, the descendants of Hobab the father-in-law of Moses, and had encamped as far away as Elon-bezaanannim, which is near Kedesh.

– Judges 4:11

And we’re like, Who is this guy, and why do we care? What is he even doing here? But if you know the story, you know where this is going and why that sentence is there.

In our lives though, we usually don’t know the full story. Our strange little sidebars and interruptions seem completely out of place. We often think we are out of place.

So was Heber. Heber the Kenite had moved far away...sounds like the beginning of a limerick by Dr. Suess.

Anyway, after that odd sentence we jump right back into the action again: Sisera knows the Israelites are on the move, so he calls his 900 chariots and they start to move, too, but the Lord is there and He throws Sisera’s army into a panic. Sisera flees on foot while Barak pursues his chariots and army to Sisera’s hometown, Harosheth-ha-goiim, a place that would only be harder to pronounce if it were Greek.

But Sisera flees on foot in a different direction...and we find out why Heber was mentioned earlier.

Now Sisera had fled away on foot to the tent of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite –

(Ohhhh...but wait, there’s more!)

…for there was peace between King Jabin of Hazor and the clan of Heber the Kenite.

– Judges 4:17

Heber the Kenite had moved far away...because his family was on friendly terms with the king who was oppressing the Israelites. The King that the Lord had sold them into for their disobedience.

The king who was Sisera’s boss.

The Lord put Heber where He wanted him, because...you know this story, right?

Jael, his wife was at home for the day...

Because Heber’s wife had a destiny to introduce the temple of Sisera’s head to the business end of her tent peg.

And now our limerick is complete:

Heber the Kenite had moved far away
Jael, his wife, was at home for the day
Where Sisera had fled
Wanting drink, and a bed
But her hammer made certain he’d stay.

(Thank you, thank you.)

Let’s pause here for a few important questions:

• Can we handle feeling displaced long enough to defeat the enemy?

• Are we mature enough to emotionally regulate ourselves, in spite of the enemy’s threat, and in spite of not knowing exactly what we’re doing?

• Are we going to agree with smallness and shrink back, or are we willing to go and do what He sends us to, when we don’t have the full plan?

We might be where we’re at because we need this practice.

That conversation with Grandma I mentioned earlier was one of our last coherent talks. She has been so far away since then; she can barely hear me, usually doesn’t understand me, and sometimes doesn’t recognize me. She is displaced and none of us like learning this new language.

But I know growth is happening under the surface, in relationships and minds and hearts. God is giving us more than we can handle, and we’re feeling stretched and stupid and humbled as we attain a new kind of fluency.

We are learning why certain things trigger us, why we are withdrawing, and we’re finding new words for feelings we’ve never identified or bothered to articulate before.

Still, it feels like no one should have to do this until they’re an expert. And none of us want to be experts at this.

No one wants to be an expert in grief, displacement, brokenness, or feeling stupid in the things we wish we already understood.

Instead of neglecting your garden in the hope that God will rescue you from this situation and send you somewhere else, go rake your garden. Take care of your garden as if this season was the last season and you want to leave it beautiful for the next family who uses it.

– Katie James, Tetragon Lift

Is this the last season? In so many ways, yes. We do not know how much time we have left in anything, with anyone.

Last week, Grandma gave me a long hug when we were leaving. With her face in my hair, she said, “You be safe going home, now.”

I want that for her, too. We want to steward these days well, however many are left.

What feels too hard will become more familiar. The sounds we don’t know how to make will start rolling off our tongues with a little more practice. We won’t feel stupid in this area forever. (We’ll gain fluency and feel stupid in other areas, instead.)

We cannot keep it all straight, and it is more than we can handle, but we are not handling it on our own. This is where we recognize His grace, and it is good learning for all of us.

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But really, we’re talking about growth, repentance, and honor...or, living in Kingdom culture. What happens when we accept the Lord’s correction? Or, more importantly, what does it mean if we don’t?

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In this season, we drive to Palmer at least three times a week. And it’s not just all the commuting, but it’s also home repair and two of our kids learning to drive and health issues that need to resolve plus my grandma’s care and about four seven situations I can’t write publicly about and also it seems like the WORST time in the world to go back to school because I turn fifty this year for crying out loud and it’s not like either time or money have been just overflowing around here but this is what He’s called us to so there we are.

So my thoughts have been unpunctuated, too.

You probably have your own sentences like that.

When we have unpunctuated sentences without enough breathing room for even a comma, we have to wonder what the Lord is up to.

A website login asks, “What is four plus 13?” and you stall for half a second, thrown by the words mixed with numbers, wondering if this is still English or if you just need more coffee or if you finally lost it. It’s not stupidity or exhaustion or insanity; it’s the congestion of everything running through your thoughts, overwhelming the system.

We’re dealing with paradox and irony, things that do go to together even though they seem incongruent on the surface. The math adds up, but we need to pause and think about it differently because the questions aren’t what we expected.

We take a step back, and look at the big picture.

In these seasons, we have responsibilities on the front burner, concerns on the back burner, and other needs waiting on the counter for their turn. A faint sound of dripping that should probably be identified and dealt with. And sometimes, sirens in the distance.

Multiple things are happening simultaneously, but we’ve attempted to recognize priorities. We are also painfully aware of our own limitations, and our need for grace – for God to do (or help us do) the things we can’t naturally accomplish on our own.

Does this sound familiar?

Personally, I’m seeing a little progress because a few weeks ago I wrote, “I have written thousands and thousands of words, but they’ve just sat in my documents. I could not trust myself to publish without drawing blood,” but this week I finally had three days in a row of desk time and I was able to start making sense of things. It’s not that I haven’t been writing; it’s that I’ve been writing too much without enough time to make anything coherent among the overwhelm of scrappy thoughts in all the different situations. It’s such a mess to untangle.

I got sassy with the Lord yesterday and said, “If You’re still talking to me, couldn’t You just make it simple and give me a whole post all at once, instead of these bits and pieces of fourteen different articles and topics?”

Instead of striking me with lightning – or sending me to my room, which honestly I would’ve loved – He said, Because you’re not living out one article or topic. You’re in the middle of many situations, and I’m speaking to you through all of them.

Sit with Me, and we’ll sort them out together.

And then He sent me to my room, and we started sorting.

He showed me the juxtaposition of taking classes when it seems like there’s less time than ever, and of living on the far side of Wasilla when so much of our life is centered across the Valley. Both situations seem so inefficient, such bad timing.

But the classes have been my therapeutic distraction; I can pour myself into them because it’s surprisingly easier to grasp Old Testament theology and the Intertestamental Period than all the feelings swarming me. And our physical distance away from everything has enforced a boundary that keeps us (me) from overdoing anything else right now.

Sometimes our “inefficient” limitations protect us, because they make us focus, and create boundaries we wouldn’t have enforced on our own.

A while back we were in relationship with someone who was in crisis, and I was so frustrated that we weren’t able to do more for them. We did what we could, though. And after several months, it turned out that person still hadn’t done what they could to improve their own situation. Had we done more – had we done what we wished we could’ve in the beginning – we would’ve been stuck in a complicated enabling relationship, rather than setting the simple boundaries we were already limited by.

That was a good (but hard) lesson, and perspective I needed.

My internet search history lately has been saturated with stages of dementia, long term care, in-home care, insurance claims, real estate, housing markets, assisted living facilities, guardianship, cost of vehicles. The details are new but the pattern is familiar and I know life is being upended again.

Since I think I know some of what’s coming, part of me wants to hold tightly to the small, sacred routines for dear life. Another part of me has had no choice but to let go and accept things – especially the long grief of dementia, where there is no long term solution, no long term plan, no long term anything. Time is flying, and in so many ways, in so many moments, we have already lost her.

We already miss her, who she really is.

Until this year her mind has been like a summer sky with small white clouds occasionally moving across and blotting out the light of the sun. Each year the sky has become cloudier; there have been fewer periods of sunlight. This summer the sunlight in the sky of my mother’s mind, when it shines at all, glimmers through cloud.

– Madeleine L’Engle, The Summer of the Great-Grandmother

Here, it is steady snowfall, a run-on sentence of the accumulated questions whose answers are no longer remembered.

When I realized I was crying every day, I tried to make sense of the grief. We are used to change, and we have been losing her for so long, so it’s not exactly the speed or overwhelm of the world spinning too fast. Those are hard, but they are at least a familiar kind of hard.

It’s more like the world suddenly stops – she forgets Kav’s name, or she looks at me vacantly and I wonder if she’s already gone – and the momentum stops, everything stops.

We don’t notice oxygen until we can’t breathe. We don’t notice the speed of the earth turning until the axis wobbles, and I feel nausea as the fluid within me reels.

Later at the computer, I am trying to type through tears and think, I do not have time for this, there is so much to do.

If I do not sit here and grieve, though, nothing else will happen. This is the slow work, the deep work, that has to be done. If I don’t do it here, now, I won’t be able to do what needs done later, at her house, with the family, cleaning her stovetop, kneeling at her chair, holding her hand, drinking tea out of my dad’s mug.

This is the place and time to process, and there is no checking it off the list because it just keeps coming, and I hate that.

A couple years ago I wrote about a different grief, when kids grow up and move out. Reading it hits differently right now:

We miss their presence when they leave. But also, as they’ve been longing to leave – which we remember and relate to and rejoice in with them – we realize that we’ve already been missing them because part of them has been gone for a long time. They’ve changed and emotionally moved on already in many ways. The grief has been sneaking up on us, slipping in and surprising us at random intervals for over a year now.

During those recent weeks when I couldn’t make heads or tails of things, I went to the memorial service of a pastor from our previous church. He had led our team of intercessors, and every Tuesday morning we prayed around the table together. His wisdom bled into several of my writings.

He was in his eighties when he died, twelve years younger than my grandma. I could not help sitting through his service with her on my mind.

Even though the denominations are different, in many ways that church took me back to my roots because the atmosphere was so similar to Grandma’s church that I grew up in. We sang hymns in both places, including the one that opened Dr. Don’s memorial:

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,
all because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.

– Joseph Scriven, 1855

Person after person came up to honor this man, and they were still going when I had to leave early for another event at our church that evening. A couple people mentioned this quote of his:

The definition of true humility is to be known for who you really are.

– Dr. Don Brendtro

Doesn’t that change how we see authenticity, relationships, boundaries, and humility?

We feel helpless and without words sometimes, stuck in our own limitations and bound by the time it takes all the tears to flow out of us. But God is working in all of our weakness, making us who we really are, and teaching us to be honest about it with those around us.

We’ve had enough of society telling us to fake it until we make it. We are building a Kingdom of people who live humbly and honestly, even when life is a mess of griefs and burdens.

We are not performing; we are becoming.

There are reasons for the irony of our seasons. Protection is in place, timing is at play. And even though I’m scouring real estate listings more often than some people check their social media feeds (cough), I understand why the answer is still “Wait, not yet.” God has a curriculum for our lives, and we do not plan it.

Remember the long way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, in order to humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commandments.

He humbled you by letting you hunger, then by feeding you with manna, with which neither you nor your ancestors were acquainted, in order to make you understand that one does not live by bread alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

– Deuteronomy 8:2-3

I have seen Him move us in perfect timing, when that perfect timing took years longer than I wanted. He moved us to the perfect place, when that perfect place was rejected by us at first because it didn’t fit what we thought we wanted and needed.

He gave it to us anyway, and we are aching a little at the prospect of leaving it, whenever that time comes.

Sometimes He is preparing us in ways that look like the opposite of preparation. Sometimes He is protecting us (and others) through our inability, our lack of proximity, or other boundaries we never would’ve enforced on our own.

That doesn’t mean we’re not called to those abilities or proximities, or that we won’t get there eventually.

It means He’s taking us the long way, and it’s for our good.

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It was a two-hour deal, so I set up the next module in a course I’m taking and plugged in my headphones, hoping I could focus on a teaching about Ephesians while I (mostly) ignored what the dentist was doing.

After the first hour, phase one was done, and I removed my headphones as the dentist explained that we needed to wait a bit before finishing. They left me to my own devices until the next round.

My lecture had about twenty minutes left, so I started to put my headphones back in but realized I could no longer feel one side of my face.

Is this thing in, or not? I jabbed the headphone around, feeling nothing. My ear...is this my ear? Eventually I gave up and just used the other side.

It’s so weird though, not feeling your own body.

And later it was worse. As the numbness was wearing off, I felt a faint tingle and then a strong itch on my chin, but scratching it did absolutely nothing. No sensation there whatsoever, except the itch. I knew I couldn’t keep scratching; it didn’t do any good and I couldn’t trust myself not to draw blood.

All the restless, agitated feelings, and no idea what to do about them. This is a picture of life for some of us lately.

In that situation, I did all the things I could think of: essential oils, cold pack, held the mug of hot tea against my chin, prayed in tongues, wriggled my nose and made faces, whatever might distract me from the agony of an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

In other life situations, I have researched and studied, scoured listings and options, and prayed and prayed and prayed. Have had dozens, maybe a hundred conversations about recent events and life changing moves. And I have written thousands and thousands of words, but they’ve just sat in my documents. I could not trust myself to publish without drawing blood.

This is an odd season for us (maybe for you, too) where so many Big Things are happening, and some of them seem to be converging while others make no obvious sense at all. Emotions, thoughts, questions, and prayer flood into a bottleneck that has made it hard to write publicly because I don’t know where to start. Each thread seems so entangled with so many others. And many of them are none of the internet’s business.

(Ahh, the internet: That modern Colosseum where even Christians go to be entertained by the bleeding of their brothers and sisters.)

So I’ve sat at this computer for weeks trying to find a single theme among it all, among multiple documents and about twice as many subjects: Relationships. Community. Maturity. Honesty. Boundaries. Biblical literacy. Preparation. Willingness. Sacrifice.

Sometimes we just need to sit and wait until the numbness wears off. Until the debris settles, until the itch goes away.

Can we discipline ourselves to manage the frustration of not knowing what exactly to do, instead of thoughtlessly drawing blood? Because this is a major part of how we care for the body.

O our God, will you not execute judgment upon [our enemies]? For we are powerless against this great multitude that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.

– 2 Chronicles 20:12

Really, isn’t that good for us? I don’t want human answers, I need God’s perspective. We need Kingdom solutions.

So can we wait and trust, and not default to the insecurity of self-protection mode until we hear His answer? Can we worship Him instead of our own entitlement and comfort?

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.

For as in one body we have many members and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another.

– Romans 12:3-5

Here’s a word that some of us need to hear: God does not speak in knee-jerk responses. He doesn’t speak through trite cuts and condescension.

He did not protect himself at the expense of others. A bruised reed He will not break, and He will not rashly re-victimize the wounded.

When we do these things, we’re not acting like Him. We’re acting like someone who has no feeling for the body.

But Jesus knows how the body feels, because it is His body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.”

If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.

– 1 Corinthians 12:21, 26-27

How do we care for the body when we know it’s vulnerable, and we’re in danger of drawing blood? Sometimes we are walking razor blades around people who are raw and wounded.

We cannot take someone who has shriveled into the fetal position and pry them open with a crowbar, however much we want to see them open up and live.

We cannot force someone to be who they truly are, to instantly overcome grief, trauma, aging, abuse, or disability. We cannot just tell them to do more and try harder and be like us, because they are not like us.

Or, maybe they are, but we don’t like to admit it. We’d rather think we’re smarter, tougher, stronger, better, more whole, more righteous. But what that really exposes is self-righteousness toward the broken.

We want to feel good about being benevolent, as long as it doesn’t cost us too much.

If we really want to be the Body, though, it will cost us everything. Time. Ease. Misunderstandings. Our sleep schedule. Our preconceived notions. And for sure, our pride.

Can we shift to boundaries for a minute? Because here we have tension and paradox: In one sense, we need to draw close to the hurting, and face all the awkward discomfort of doing so. But also, when the wounded are actively wounding others, we draw a line. Here, and no further.

In the Old Testament, I’ve worked my way to the middle of Joshua. Past the exciting parts, now it’s all about geography, territories, and boundaries.

Like so:

And their south boundary ran from the end of the Dead Sea, from the bay that faces southward; it goes out southward of the ascent of Akrabbim, passes along to Zin, and goes up south of Kadesh-barnea, along by Hezron, up to Addar, makes a turn to Karka...

– Joshua 15:2-3

Did you skim? If you did, you probably missed it. No shame, I’ve read this a couple dozen times and missed it, too.

But here’s what I noticed this time: Boundaries are detailed. They have nuance. Go up here, then follow along that ridge there, and make a turn to Karka...

We don’t just draw arbitrary lines or make categorical swaths of judgment. We don’t treat people according to templates and formulas. We must see people individually to see them rightly. If we don’t see individuals, we’re not looking at all.

When someone hurts us, we walk in love and forgiveness and we persist in keeping our heart for the other person. But we put space between us. Our pastor illustrated this recently in a way I’ll never forget.

“I’m not holding it against you,” he said, taking a step back. Another offense comes, and he repeated, “I’m not holding it against you,” taking another step back. If trust erodes, the space widens. We want the best for that person and we don’t delight in their misery, but there’s a boundary between us, and we can increase or decrease that space as needed.

Until we can see the Holy of Holies in each other and both treat each other with the honor that recognizes the sacred image bearer in each of us, that space will not diminish.

Sometimes people have a hard time acting like themselves because they don’t know – or they forgot – who they are. And if they don’t know themselves, they’re going to have a hard time treating others appropriately, too.

The grandmother with dementia. The young adult with brain injury. The insecure coworker. The grumpy teen who’s unsure of everything and everyone. The friend not acting like themselves lately.

I don’t know what causes it all. Too many things: Scar tissue. Numbness. Hardness. Parts of the body not responding the way they’re supposed to, because they’ve lost feeling in different areas.

Dear Christian, this is where we have to practice tender nuance with our fellow believers.

Boundaries with patience. A soft word that turns away wrath. A sense of humor that laughs without degrading.

We have to choose to see the Holy of Holies in the one who’s not acting like themselves and who they’re meant to be, however they’re behaving or reacting or surviving in this moment, in this season, at this age. We’re not in denial; they are. And it’s imperative that we don’t join them in that denial.

Beloved, did you forget you were made in His image? Worship is still happening day and night in the Temple. I wish you would sing again.

We cannot force it to happen. We have to be willing to wait, listen, abide, and admit our unknowing, while holding to the core of who we are:

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

— Jesus, in John 13:35

What about the weak, or the wounded, or the difficult? What about the ones who think differently than us, or challenge us? What about the one who can’t remember what season it is, or the one who claps during the wrong part of the church service, or the one who inconveniences our carefully polished image?

Can’t we just love those ones from a distance, and still pat ourselves on the back?

No.

On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect, whereas our more respectable members do not need this.

But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.

— 1 Corinthians 12:22-25

How the body cares for each other is our message. This is who we are.

It may not be a flattering assessment. We need to check to see if we have feeling in all the right places.

Because loving the Body should cost us something, since it cost Him everything to add us to it.

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P.S. Related:

• If you’re dealing with a lot of conflict lately, my friend Katie is doing a fabulous series on navigating difficult conversations. I especially loved this post and this post.

• Want more on caring for the Body? I have more posts here (or audio), here (or audio), and here (or audio), to start.

Are you looking for some new reads? Here are my favorites from 2025.

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All the links and photos (plus a free nerdy book chart download) are here in the original post:

A light flashed in my mind, and I reminded myself that this kid just turned seven.

“What do you mean?”

“Because when you want to do a bad thing it’s easy...but good stuff is harder.”

“Huh. Like what?” I asked.

“I’ve got one,” Finn said. “It’s easy to punch someone when you really want to, but hard to resist.”

“Ohhh, self control. Yeah.”

“It’s easy to tell a lie, but harder to tell the truth–” Kav began.

“Because you want the easy way out,” Finn added.

“–and also, it’s easier to hit someone’s foot when you’re not very good at pogo sticking because you can’t really control the pogo stick very well yet,” Kav finished.

Right, all true. Good chat.

A major part of parenting is our constant effort to train our kids to choose right over wrong. The hard over the easy. The truth over the lie. Self control over lashing out. To choose to give someone space and get good at the pogo stick without smashing your brother’s foot.

This training doesn’t really end; it’s just that eventually we have to discipline ourselves to choose the hard over the easy. This is how maturity happens. Or, you know, it doesn’t.

Refusing the hard keeps us stuck. Staying still is easy, but moving forward – learning, growing, repenting, maturing, reconciling, forgiving, surrendering – those are hard.

And then there’s standing, which can mean a couple different things.

Are we standing down? Shrinking back? Or are we standing up, standing firm, standing for truth?

Standing is only a move forward if we’re doing it where the Lord has told us, in the way He’s told us, in what He’s actually said. Standing firm in our feelings, in bad teachings, in misplaced loyalties or in idolized traditions, will get us nowhere. That kind of standing is only staying stuck in stubborn pride.

Sometimes we tell ourselves we’re making a hard stand when we’re actually living in compromise. Because if someone’s hard stand in an area means they get to be a jerk, they’re not standing for anything; they’re making excuses for poor character.

We have to be savvy to the elements used to blind, delude, and divide us. In times of emotional uproar (and 2026 is looking pretty parallel to 2020 in this respect), if we find ourselves running quick to arguing, fault-finding, nitpicking, engaging in gossipy backroom chats, or holding offense against those we disagree with, it’s time to take a step back.

If you find yourself making knee-jerk reactions (and it takes humility to recognize it), detach for a minute. Ask Holy Spirit how He sees this, and what He wants you to see. There are a lot of things happening and we cannot afford to let the enemy direct our attention.

Now the works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these.

I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

– Galatians 5:19-21

If we’re are all up in arms and up in our feelings over issues that suddenly matter more than the people we’re talking to, it’s time for the hard reset of repentance.

All winter I’ve been shivering in my upstairs office. It’s been about 58 degrees when I get to the desk, but with a hoodie and hot tea and the space heater running, it’s been doable.

Still, it was freezing up here for months and we finally realized it wasn’t just the constant storms or the drafty windows. We’ve had repairs off and on, and last summer when the last one was made, the company recommended we switch out the entire system.

Their estimate? Almost $19,000. And no, that wouldn’t cover drywall repair, cleaning, psychotherapy, or heart attacks.

But they were the last guys who were here, so we called them again to see if they could just come check this upstairs zone to fix it. They said no, they won’t come out to check the thermostats, or pumps, or anything. They would only come if we wanted to replace the entire system. In January, in Alaska.

Were they standing their ground? Yes.

Was it stupid? Also yes.

It was sort of like, No, we won’t look at nutrition or therapy or adjusting medications or exercise or any of those other paltry fixes; let’s just jump to surgery because you’re desperate and too sick to think clearly about other options, anyway. That’ll be $20K plus anesthesia, thanks. Ka-ching.

Umm...no thanks.

Is generalizing really easier? Or is it only easy for the person who profits from it?

Wisdom observes nuance and the big picture, rather than taking a postage stamp-sized surface knowledge and applying it with a broad brush of ignorant assumptions and appraisals.

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.

And those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.

If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.

Let us not become conceited, competing against one another, envying one another.

– Galatians 5:22-26

One of our tendencies as humans is to generalize. We put people in categories: These ones I agree with, these ones I don’t. Boxes are easy. And oh boy, the complications that ensue when a person doesn’t fit cleanly into them, or surprises us.

In truth, most of us don’t fit perfectly into the categories of each other’s making. “Are you pro-This, or anti-That? Are you on my side, or theirs? Where do you stand so I know where to put you?”

These are the wrong questions to ask.

Once when Joshua was by Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing before him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went to him and said to him, “Are you one of us or one of our adversaries?”

He replied, “Neither, but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.”

– Joshua 5:13-14a

Fortunately, there are a lot of right questions we can ask, and should be asking. What do you think about this? How are you doing? How is your heart these days? How is the pogo sticking going?

Without questions like these – which reveal a heart that cares, and honors the image of God in the other person – we skip over the hard work of seeing people and situations rightly, and jump right to the easy work of stuffing them into our mental boxes.

Part of the problem comes when someone makes a specific statement we disagree with, and then we misapply that specific statement to a much broader swath of things that we also disagree with.

We’ve seen this on social media since the very beginning: Someone shares their aversion to broccoli, and someone else jumps to, “Ohh, so you hate all vegetables?!” Or you mention your love for apples, and they respond, “Why all the hate for oranges?” But these responses aren’t just a vegan, blue-haired, liberal issue. (See? More categories!)

They’re a fleshy human nature issue, because we like to do the easy thing, not the hard thing. And it’s easy to be run by our emotions, jump to conclusions, and accuse others of extremes. But constructive discussion doesn’t happen in that environment. Foolishness and damage does.

If we take that easy route, we tend to progress into labeling and blaming, making accusations and judgments and blanket statements (more generalizing) that aren’t based on fact but on our feelings, because we feel threatened or angry or superior toward the other person thinking differently from us.

Then, instead of bringing people closer together, closer to truth or to God, the enemy uses us to create divisions and strife, all while feeling right and self righteous.

We back further into our own side, and our generalizations push the other person in the opposite direction, because disrespect doesn’t convince anyone that we’re right. It just tells them we’re no fun to be around, because no one wants their foot crushed by someone who, however well-meaning, can’t control their pogo stick.

How about we look at people with love and humility, allowing them to live in the same nuance and complexity that we ourselves do?

How about we look at issues diagnostically, instead of demanding a broad brush solution?

The week after that heating company gave us their ultimatum, a guy from a different company came, looked at the situation, and replaced a pump. We saved $18,573 by switching to Geico because someone was willing to look at the specific issue, rather than demanding to throw the entire thing out and replace it.

What kind of atmosphere are our words and attitudes creating? Do they cool the room? Divide? Dehumanize? Make you feel superior? Keep you thinking critically of others, instead of using critical thinking? (Important reminder: Critical thinking and walking in a spirit of criticism are quite different, and they are diametrically opposed to each other.)

Do you imagine, whoever you are, that when you judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself, you will escape the judgment of God?

Or do you despise the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience?

Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?

But by your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed.

– Romans 2:3-5

The kids and I have been reading the book of Mark together, and we take it in small bits at a time. Today was the story of Jesus calling Levi, a tax collector, to follow Him.

Shocking! I mean, didn’t Jesus know that Levi was a jerk?

Whatever, they had dinner at his house that night, anyway...with a bunch of other jerks. And then this happens:

When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, they said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” [Emphasis mine, but it lends to the drama if you read that in a gossipy, Valley-girl accent.]

When Jesus heard this, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician but those who are sick; I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

– Mark 2:16-17

They launch right into a discussion about fasting, which might be separated by a section heading in your translation, but try to ignore it because we’re still in the same scene. Then Jesus gives us a brief sewing lesson (ha, here) before ending the scene with this:

Similarly, no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins, but one puts new wine into fresh wineskins.

– Mark 2:22

What is happening here? Without going into a whole science lesson, new wine grows (ferments) and it needs to be received by a vessel that will also grow with it.

Remember how Jesus just said it is not the righteous He came to call, but the sinners? The righteous were done growing, self-satisfied with their standing and their preconceived notions.

But Jesus wanted to pour into those who were willing to grow and change. And that was His mic drop.

Being willing to grow is hard, though, yes? It’s so much easier to resort to legalism or fear of man, to make categorical judgments and knee-jerk reactions, rather than recognizing details and understanding nuance.

We have a hard time changing our minds. And when we claim a loyalty to a person, cause, or ideology, we tend to dig in our heels the more proof we are given. At that point, it’s less about being right and more about being unwilling to admit we’ve been wrong.

We saw this constantly in 2020 with masks, election fraud, and PCR tests. We saw it with dozens of things then and we still see it today, on both sides, when people selectively ignore the truth of the Bible, or the Constitution, or other inconvenient realities that refute what they’ve always believed.

Going with the flow of the current thing is easy. Standing up to it is hard. Ignoring is easy. Learning is hard.

But is God God, or are our preconceived notions god? It can’t be both. Jesus is in the business of making us like Him, not the other way around.

We’re talking about repentance, of course.

If you have to forgive people for having different opinions and beliefs from you, that might be a sign of pride, not actually forgiveness. Can we be honest about that?

We don’t forgive beliefs, but how people act out those beliefs. In which case, the believer who should know better but acts out badly is more in the wrong than the unbeliever acting out rightly. Yes, we’re justified by faith, not works, but if our behavior doesn’t line up with our faith, we’re just making noise.

If I speak in the tongues of humans and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

– 1 Corinthians 13:1

Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

– Romans 13:10

Repentance is the only thing that washes clean, recalibrates, and puts things (and ourselves, and our hearts) back in order.

God always has the right of way. We must be reconciled to it.

All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.

So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us;
we entreat you on behalf of Christ: be reconciled to God.

– 2 Corinthians 5:18-20

Can we lay our pride, stubbornness, and fear of man on the altar? If we can’t do that, we have no business asking the lost to repent and surrender, either.

The change in our minds forces pruning in our character, and exposes other things we’ve been comfortable with…and it forces growth (which is good) but it often feels like regression because we’re seeing things more realistically and things were easier in our old ways and our old ignorance.

Good news, though: We don’t lose authority when we accept the Lord’s correction. We don’t lose ground, we gain it. If we can’t accept His correction, we weren’t carrying authority anyway; we were bluffing.

The enemy wants to divide in anyway he can. So don’t let him do it between you and other believers who see things differently, have different backgrounds, and get information from different places. He wants us to see people in labels and categories, not as real people who are complex beings made in the image of God.

Can we make it part of our mission this year to not allow 2026 to regress into 2020? To not lose years of growth by regressing into easy knee-jerk assumptions and categorizations? Can we be more mature this year than we were last year, regardless of the headlines and media manipulation? Because we’ve got real things happening in our own homes, in our own families, and I’m telling you, you don’t have time for this nonsense.

We need to be watching each other’s back, not stabbing each other in the back.

Jesus, help us to be in your word so we know, and put Your Word in us so we act it out.

May this be a season where Christians rise up and refine, rather than degrade and disintegrate.

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Do you go full speed ahead? Or do you sabotage it?

Honest talk here: Some of us have been promised something before, and it didn’t turn out the way we thought it would. It took too long, or maybe it was super messy, and came with trial or trauma. We feel like the promise burned us, and we stopped trusting.

So now when we see a new landmark of promise and fulfillment looming ahead, we hit the brakes.

Let’s talk about being free from fear, and seeing God for Who He is rather than trying to keep Him small and safe in the limited terrain of our own choosing.

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The original post with links and photos is here: