When Loneliness Lingers

My eyes widened and I forced a smile as my acquaintance—and closest relationship resembling a friendship since we moved 6 months ago—told me she and her family would be moving this summer. I took a sip from my latte to soothe the sting and plunked it back onto the red table with hand-painted yellow flowers.

It had taken months to arrange this meet up. Months of last minute cancellations—childcare falling through, a cycle of huge storms, sick kids. And now this.

As I walked to my car later that morning, one thought permeated my mind: God, why can’t you give me just one friend here?

Sometimes the loneliness was tangible. It felt as though I was the perpetual outsider watching others live in community and connection. But this wasn’t a new feeling. Having moved more times than I care to admit, this was a part of the process to establish roots in a new place. But that didn’t make it any easier.

When loneliness knocks at the door, rather than inviting it in for tea, four truths have helped me redirect my focus away from my situation and toward the Lord.

Read the full article on Hosanna Revival's When blog.

Finding Abundant Life in Our Shifting Circumstances

Fatima tugged her red head scarf back over her hair as she prepared a rice dish for lunch. She was the only Christian among a family of Muslims. Fatima hadn’t wanted to marry a nonbeliever, but as an orphan her extended family couldn’t afford to care for her beyond childhood. While her husband and his family were considered modern in their culture and knew she was a believer, they made it difficult for her to spend time with any Christians. And after a couple years of marriage without producing a child, there was talk of a second wife.

Across the globe while residing in Africa, I received the call bearing news no one wants. Cancer. The doctors said my mom only had five “quality” years to live. I was 22. I fumbled with the phone as tears slid down my freckled cheeks.

Around the world, Christian women face a myriad of obstacles–persecution, infertility, family illness–as they follow Christ. But one truth remains the same: all are offered abundant life in Jesus.

Read the full article on Christian Parenting.

When Safety Isn’t Our Top Priority

The moment I stepped inside our third-floor walk-up apartment, I knew something was wrong. My heart raced as I scanned our dining room and noticed my work laptop was missing. Someone had also stolen two personal laptops and a digital camera—all because we forgot to shut the only window granting access to our apartment.

We lived in a rougher Chicago neighborhood because we couldn’t afford the rent prices in the nicer area a few blocks north. One block made a big difference in safety.

My husband was leaving for a one-month work trip later that afternoon. The closest family was an eight-hour drive away. I would be solo with two little ones after a break-in the police refused to come investigate—even though the thief left his drawstring bag with a package of partially eaten chips on our doorstep.

Fear consumed my mind. Why did God plant us here?

The Safety Obsession

We returned to the United States in 2015 after living overseas for four years. One common theme I noticed among Americans upon our arrival was an intense focus on safety. It was easy to pinpoint after living cross-culturally.

Parents needed to buy the safest car seat. Homes needed security cameras to deter a robbery. Neighborhoods were deemed acceptable based upon their website “report card.” Children must be positioned for academic and athletic achievement to secure college scholarships. Money must be saved for retirement.

While many of these endeavors are good and sensible, we often cross a line from living wisely to seeking to control our lives. We can quickly slide from using wisdom to guide our steps to placing our hope in safeguards that will not guarantee the type of protection we seek.

Read the full article on Revive Our Hearts.

3 Truths About Christian Community

The desire to connect with others consumed my thoughts as I played with my toddler at our apartment’s playground late one summer afternoon. My prayers had consisted of pleas for God to provide community in a big city where I had no family or friends. I was desperate for meaningful relationships and to be known.

A mother pushing a stroller stopped in front of the fence and interrupted my musing. Her brown hair was pulled up in a loose bun. The bags under her eyes revealed she was a parent of a newborn.

“Hi! Do you live in this apartment?” the woman asked. I nodded. “That’s great. I live across the street.”

And within minutes, I met one of my closest Christian friends for the next four years in that city. Together we connected with other Christian moms in the neighborhood. Though we all had varying denominational backgrounds, we formed a weekly small group. God provided what I had longed for in a new place––a circle of women who truly knew me in the trenches of parenting little ones.

But sometimes community involves struggle. Having moved more than I care to admit, I’ve experienced times when Christian friendships were a battle to build. Sometimes community looked nothing like I had imagined, but was worth the effort. Here are three truths I’ve learned about Christian community over the years.

Read the rest of the article on Christian Parenting.

Where There Are No Sidewalks: God's Unexpected Good Gifts

As a first time house buyer, I wanted a home where I could step outside my front door and walk around my neighborhood. I envisioned sidewalks and light poles lining the road, streets with white paint lines marking their boundaries, and the scent of lilac drifting through the air as people strolled past my yard. I dreamed about walking our imaginary family dog around the neighborhood, waving to a neighbor mowing her grass.

My family and I were moving halfway across the country from the Midwest out West for my husband’s new job. We were relying on our real estate agent to help us navigate the home market in a new place from a distance. My husband and I made one joint visit to house shop together that spring, but when the first home we attempted to buy didn’t pan out, we were left with two choices: wait or house shop virtually. Neither option was great.

With two elementary-aged boys, including one son who didn’t handle change well, postponing buying a house seemed less than ideal. But trying to make one of the biggest decisions of our lives—buying our first home—through a computer screen seemed unwise.

Our real estate agent mentioned a home that popped up on the market that she felt would be a great fit for our family, but it wouldn’t last long.

“Is the neighborhood walkable?” I inquired. This was a sticking point for me. Since we were moving from the city to a town, I didn’t want to land somewhere we could only drive to and from.

“Yes,” the real estate slowly answered. I could almost see her head nodding as she processed my question.

As my husband and I poured over the online photos of the home, read descriptions, and then did a live virtual tour via our real estate agent’s phone, excitement stirred within us. This home was checking almost everything off our list. Everything that is except for one thing—it wasn’t in town. It was close to town, but not in town. But I kept returning to what the real estate agent had told me: this was a walkable neighborhood. I could handle not being in town as long as I could be mobile in my community.

But how? I wondered. How could this country-feeling home be in a walkable neighborhood?

We decided to place a bid on the home—it seemed too good to pass up. We knew this home would receive multiple bids, but figured if we won, I could fly out to see the home before the end of the inspection period.

I kept glancing at my phone, biting my lip. When would the agent let us know the outcome of the bids? Being two time zones ahead of Pacific time wasn’t working in my favor today. Lord, if this is the right home for our family, please let us get this home. If not, please guide us to the right home.

When my phone lit up with an incoming call and my real estate agent’s name popped up on the screen, I took a deep breath.

“Congratulations!” my real estate proclaimed. “Your bid won!”

A smile erupted across my face. I exhaled the breath I had been holding and my shoulders relaxed. Now I needed to figure out a time to see this home in-person.

Flying across the country over the course of the night wasn’t my first choice, but we were on a time crunch with my husband’s work schedule. I would make a whirlwind 48-hour trip to see this house then hightail it back. My prayer to the Lord for this visit was simple: Lord, please help me know if this isn’t a wise choice for our family.

Exhausted from poor sleep from a red-eye flight and feeling slightly nauseous from the curvy countryside road, I pulled my rental car into the driveway of the home I had only seen through a screen. My hand trembled from too much caffeine as I clicked the car into park. As I walked the grounds and explored indoors, I knew this home was indeed as good as we had hoped.

But when I pulled out of the driveway to head back to the airport, one thing was clearly missing from this neighborhood: sidewalks and street lamps. The road leading to this home was unmarked, not a line of paint touched its black top.

I stopped to grab a bite to eat and to give a brief report to my husband.

“Well, what did you think?” he asked.

“It’s great,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s walkable.”

“But do you like the home?” he asked.

“Yes, it seems even better in-person,” I said.

I sighed. Maybe I couldn’t have it all. We already weren’t going to be in town limits. Sure the real estate agent said it was a walkable community, but maybe she meant I could do so if I wanted. I didn’t see a soul out for a stroll. Dreams of neighborhood walks with our future dog felt out of reach.

As I mulled this over during my two-hour drive to the airport, I wondered if I needed to readjust my expectations. This house would be a great fit for our family. While I was disappointed it wouldn’t be a place for neighborhood walks, maybe we would need to be more intentional about local area hiking. This home seemed like a wise choice for our family.

Months later when my family and I rolled up in our car on move-in day, I was excited to call this beautiful home ours. As I looked out our kitchen bay window that first summer morning, I was startled by what I saw: people walking. Not just one or two, but multiple people taking a morning stroll. Some held leashes for their dogs. Others talked together as they enjoyed the cooler morning weather. Even an occasional jogger.

I put my coffee mug onto the island counter—and stared. “It can’t be,” I muttered. My heart did a cartwheel. The corners of my mouth turned up. My real estate agent was right after all.

Over the coming months, I learned this was a neighborhood without sidewalks, painted road lines, and street lamps, but one that people walked regularly. Some biked. One even skateboarded. But this much was true: cars expected to encounter pedestrians on the road at all times of day.

What I envisioned wasn’t quite right, but what I received was far better. We learned all the neighborhood dogs’ names. We met neighbors out for a stroll who stopped to welcome us and greet our labradoodle puppy. We learned the neighborhood pony’s name and heard him whinny when we failed to bring him a carrot or apple. On cold winter mornings, the scent of wood smoke wafts through the neighborhood.

During a family walk with our puppy one afternoon, a gray-haired man invited our boys into his yard to meet his flock of goats, llamas, and chickens. Noticing the joy dancing in their blue eyes, the man told the boys to come back another day to learn how to feed and care for the animals. My boys were thrilled.

We didn’t need sidewalks. We didn’t need lines to keep cars on the road. We didn’t need street lights. We belonged to a neighborhood that turned my ideas upside down, but was an answer to prayer. Through a reliable real estate agent, God led us to a walkable community—something that mattered to me. Our heavenly Father indeed knows how to give His children good gifts. And I was never so happy to be wrong.

May 28 is International Day for the Unreached, but let’s remember: Missions isn’t an add-on

Zarmina leaned forward, her white head covering slipping off her gray hair. She looked at the faces of her Western guests. Perhaps these women would know why she kept having the same dream for years. A man in shining, white clothing beckoned her to come.

She tugged the scarf back over her head. Her brown eyes darted between the two ladies seated on her floor cushions. No woman in the Central Asian community could make sense of her recurring dream. She took a deep breath and shared this odd dream with these first-time tea visitors from another country.

And to her surprise, these foreigners knew exactly what this vision meant.

Around the globe, 42.5 percent of the world is considered unreached with the gospel. This means from the time one is born until the day that person dies, one doesn’t have a chance to hear who Jesus truly is—or know a Christian to ask questions.

And to complicate the matter, the Church only gives 0.01 percent to ensure the good news reaches those who don’t have access.

Read the full article on the Denison Forum.

Staying Connected in Seasons of Change

“I can’t believe it!” I squeal to my husband, Travis. Approaching a nearby pond, I spot birds from a board game we sometimes play as a family. I quicken my pace, and like a paparazzo, race around the water, snapping photos of these striking fowls. 

Last year, Travis bought our family a board game called Wingspan, in which we learned to build various North American birds. In the flap of a wing, our family’s interest in birds soared. Before purchasing Wingspan, I thought most birds were boring.  After several months, my perspective shifted, and I began to glimpse extraordinary facets of God’s creation.

Somehow God used this board game to spark curiosity and awe in the avian world outside our door. The Lord invited my family to slow down and relish the seemingly commonplace, including these airborne creatures soaring around us each day. 

But even more than that, it was an answer to prayer. I had been praying about how to bond with my boys in each season of their childhood as well as ways to connect that will last our entire lives. As God often works, he not only answered my prayer, he exceeded it. The board game provided a point of connection in my boys’ current season, but its impact was coloring outside the lines in powerful ways—ways I sensed would last for years to come.

Read full article on The Truly Co Blog.

Welcoming Others In

Breaking Down Financial Barriers in the Church

“Let’s grab breakfast together,” the pastor said to my husband, Travis, and I one Sunday morning after the service.

We were new to the city and discerning which church to join. Hope sprouted in our hearts that this could be a good step forward in finding a church home. But we didn’t exactly have money to go out to eat. Travis was in medical school so we didn’t have a source of income and were on a tight budget.

We weren’t sure if the pastor was inviting us—his treat—or if we’d have to pick up the tab. Either way was understandable but our finances limited our options. Travis knew he had some money left over on a Visa gift card. We had to ensure we didn’t exceed the small amount remaining. And as we looked at the menu, it became clear we wouldn’t be eating breakfast but buying a snack for our toddler for this pastoral rendezvous.

Living on a tight budget is challenging. But when others within the church community fail to see the barriers preventing unhindered connection, it becomes problematic.

We didn’t have the budget to pay for a babysitter to attend adults-only events. We couldn’t afford to join groups after church for a bite to eat. And sending an email about needing a scholarship to cover the cost of another book for a discussion group grew tiring. Sometimes I opted out rather than asking for help yet again.

We were regularly bombarded with money-based community—and feeling embarrassed by how hard it was for us to participate. But the church should be a place where money doesn’t impact relationships.

HAVING ALL THINGS IN COMMON

In Acts 4, we see something beautiful about the new church: “no one said that any of his possessions was his own, but instead they held everything in common” (4:32, HCSB). Jesus had changed everything—including how individuals within the church interacted with each other. “There was not a needy person among them” (4:34) because everyone was giving what they had to support one another.

What is most startling isn’t that wealthier Christians gave money to help those in need, but they were willing to lose some of their own economic standing to do so. Some house and land owners sold their property so that they could give it to the church community (4:34). This meant they no longer possessed that financial security and, for some, planted these early Christians on the same field as those who didn’t own property. This is being all in for Jesus.

This type of radical giving wasn’t mandated but an overflow of these early Christians’ love for the Lord. In fact, one takeaway from the deceit of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5) is that our heart attitude matters.

Generosity isn’t about an amount but a heart joyfully giving out of love for the Lord and others. Generosity can extend beyond financial giving and encompass how we interact with others regarding money.

SHOWING RESPECT TO EACH OTHER

As the body of Christ, our churches should strive to “outdo one another in showing honor” (Rom. 12:10, HCSB), including how we shape community within our fellowships. We can’t know everyone’s financial situation within the church. But generosity focused on showing honor to all by how we build community is essential.

Having all things in common doesn’t necessarily mean we must sell all of our property and give the proceeds to the church. But simple shifts can show honor to those who may have a tight budget or are unsure if they can pay rent this month. We can have all things in common with others by eliminating the stress of money from the equation in building relationships within the church.

Activities based upon money shouldn’t be an obstacle to participating in church life. Instead of asking people to disclose their need for help to purchase a book for a study, ask those who are able to contribute to drop money in a designated box over the coming weeks. This way no one feels singled out. This approach honors the one who can’t financially contribute at the moment while allowing others who can a chance to help cover remaining costs.

Rather than inviting someone to join you at a restaurant for a meal, invite them over to your home for a meal or tea. Or make it clear in the invitation that you’d really love to take them out for coffee as a treat on you.

An intentional effort to be mindful of activities that overlap with a financial cost and how to minimize the stress for those with limited funds communicates respect and love.

WELCOMING OTHERS IN

Eight years later, my husband and I relocated to a new state and are on the opposite side of the financial spectrum. But when we visited a new church, the pastor didn’t invite us out to eat. Instead he invited us over to his house for a meal—with others from the church. This brought us into church community with much more ease.

As we desire to build community with others within our churches, we can welcome people in by finding ways to connect that don’t focus on money. We can show honor to our brothers and sisters by finding ways to grow Christ-centered relationships without finances cluttering the path.

And as we show honor and generosity in this area, the gospel will shine brightly because economic barriers aren’t hindering our relationships to encourage one another on in our faith.

God's Nearness in Pain

The international church service was vibrant with voices lifted up in songs of praise. Many clapped their hands and some even danced before God. But I wanted to be invisible. Joy felt like a land depicted in a fairy tale. I had returned from the hospital yesterday—a surgery to remove the baby who had died in my womb. Watching this church buzz with happiness unearthed my fragileness.

I slouched in my chair and closed my eyes. Tears trickled down my freckled face. My mind knew that God was in control, but my heart ached as yet another thing I had hoped for dried up like an autumn leaf.

God it hurts so much. I can’t stand up and sing.

My Savior’s words were a balm to my heart: Oh dear one, I’m not asking you to shout for joy. But taste my goodness even in your sorrow.

The Lord wasn’t ignoring my pain, but pointing toward his steadfast goodness even when I didn’t have the capacity to vocalize praise.

As silent tears adorned my cheeks, I rested in his presence—even when I couldn’t make sense of the pain.

I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. (Psalm 57:2)

I clung to Jesus as my grief raged like a blizzard in the Midwest. The pain was relentless, leaving me in a dark place at times. But I wasn’t abandoned. When bitterness and sorrow filled my cup, I sipped God’s goodness in his faithful presence. He never left me, but held me close as I mourned.

Read the rest of this article on Her View From Home.

You’re Not Too Much

As a kindergartner sometimes I tagged along to my mom’s work as a hotel housekeeper. While my mom worked, I played in the recreation room. Her boss checked on me and always had something fun to play with or a story to share.

One day, in a burst of excitement, I shared something special that happened over the weekend with the supervisor. The words bounded from my mouth like a puppy ready to play in the morning.

The boss chuckled. “Whoa, motor mouth! Slow down!”

In a split-second, my 5-year-old heart crumbled and the lie that would follow me for the next 34 years was born. You’re too much.

This lie would sometimes change its costume—You’re not good enough. No one likes the unedited version of you. But its barb plunged deep into my heart and would threaten to pull me under again and again.

Read the rest of my article on Her View From Home.

More Than the Winter Blues: Faith to Get Help

The gray Midwest winter day matched the gloom wrapping itself around my heart. Sadness loomed above me like Eeyore’s rain cloud. While saying goodbye to Christmas was always sad, the prospect of nothing ahead but the lingering cold and cloudy days stirred disappointment.

Nothing seemed to lift my spirits. My inner critic soared. I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. My energy levels dropped. I couldn’t shake this melancholy.

Why do I feel like this every winter? I wondered as I drove to pick up my kids from school.

Then it dawned on me. Growing up, my mother struggled with seasonal affective disorder. I didn’t think I ever would, but when we relocated to the Midwest years ago, my winters were marked by tears and weariness. Pushing through until spring felt more daunting with each passing year.

Perhaps it was time to admit I had seasonal affective disorder and do more than wait it out. But wasn’t my faith enough to beat this?

Read the full article on Christian Parenting.

When Your Calling Becomes Your Identity

I once had a clear sense of the calling of God in my life, but one day what I thought had been a lifetime pursuit turned out to be seasonal.

Perhaps most startling was I hadn’t realized the trail would end there.

Deep down, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. It was my calling. My dream. My passion. My purpose.

That was the problem: I had turned a passion into my purpose. The danger of allowing my passion to become my purpose meant I was more captivated with what I did instead of with Jesus.

If you had asked me if Jesus was my first love, I would have responded yes. But it wasn’t until the rug of my calling was pulled from under my feet that I could see He wasn’t. Instead, I had made my passion an idol.

Having lost what I thought I would do the rest of my life, I felt like a ship without an anchor. Mild depression loomed above my head like a dark storm cloud.

With shards of my dream still crunching underneath my feet, I struggled to make sense of what I was supposed to do now.

Somewhere along the way, a good gift designed to help me enjoy God sneakily crept into the role of my purpose undetected. And in doing so, my heart was obsessed with the gift instead of the Creator.

Our culture—both secular and Christian— often applauds this type of relentless pursuit above all else, but the Bible makes it clear our calling is not dependent upon what we do or where we live.

How Idolatry and Identity Impact Your Calling

“Though seeing many things, you do not obey. Though his ears are open, he does not listen.” – Isaiah 42:20 HCSB

One only needs to read the pages of the Old Testament to find this same pattern in the lives of the people of God. In Isaiah 42:18–25, Isaiah envisions the return of the Israelites from exile for their consistent turning away from God and toward false gods.

Whenever God’s people chase after idols, they forget who God is and who they are (Is 43:10). God reminds His children who they are in light of His character and connects their pursuit of idols to a rejection of Him and of this identity and purpose.

Just like the Israelites, we can fail to grasp the magnitude of who we were created to be and exchange it for far lesser things. We can sometimes treat our callings, gifts, or passions like the Israelites did theirs.

We can place our hope in something that cannot satisfy and divert our gaze away from the One we were made to worship.

We say, “If I get that job. If I get accepted into that college. If I move into that neighborhood. If I (fill in the blank).” We think if we get fulfillment from these purposes, we will be fully satisfied.

When we think our true ministry is around the corner or just beyond our reach or cannot imagine life without doing a certain thing, then our calling has become our purpose and an idol.

Read the rest of my piece on Living By Design.