loved Archives - Gina Brenna Butz

Not Alone Because of Christmas

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 20, 2018
Post category:Christmas faith loved

Never Alone Because of Christmas — Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

I’m not a fan of being alone, at least not for long. (That might surprise some of you who see my introvert side). The loneliness I avoid runs deeper than “who can I talk to at this party?” It’s the fear that ultimately, it’s all up to me to take care of myself.

I’ve talked about it before, this fear. It shows up in my efforts to rescue myself, and everyone around me. I reveal it when I try to pick up all the worries in my life and fix them without others’ help.

When I’m striving to look like I’m all put together, it’s usually because I’m afraid that if I don’t impress, you’ll leave. Rather than leaning into God for help, I charge ahead, alone.

Really, it’s a fear that I’m not enough. Loneliness sometimes feels like an indictment, doesn’t it? Like there must be a reason I’m alone. If I’d been more interesting, more worth the trouble, more something, I wouldn’t be by myself. It’s not.

And this is why I love Christmas.

Because now, God is with us. Immanuel. The one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, is now our constant.

Christmas declares that we are not alone. We never have to be alone again.

Christmas proclaims to the world that everything that might keep us from others-our failure, our mistakes, our deficiencies, our “not enough” or our “too much”-does not keep us from the love of God.

In fact, before we even asked, before we even knew we needed it, God decided to remedy our loneliness. Jesus’s birth mended the brokenness in our relationship with Him, and subsequently, in us.

And if He went through all the trouble of coming for us in the first place, He’s not going to leave us now.

The fear that drives me to rescue myself and everyone around needs to simmer in the greatest rescue story ever told, when the Hero stole into enemy territory under cover of darkness to find me because He just had to be with me.

When I’m tempted to pick up all those worries and fix them myself, Immanuel reminds me that He didn’t just come to save us from our sin, but to save us from ourselves. He is with us in the midst of the anxieties, not with condemnation but with comfort and help.

Jesus’s willingness to be with me speaks to the part of me who believes I have to prove that I’m worth having around. He came before we ever did a thing.

And though I forget again and again to lean into Him, He patiently waits, available. He is with us in the middle of every trial, every tear, every heartache, closer than our own hearts.

The one who is with us is the giver of peace, the God of comfort, the Father who won’t fail us, our greatest counsel.

We are never alone, because He is with us.

I’ve had to remind myself this over and over again lately because it’s hard. The self-sufficiency that served me and others so well and for so long in my life is not why Jesus came. He didn’t come to affirm my self-reliance, but to take it away. He came to heal it.

So this Christmas, this is the thought I’m choosing to dwell on: I am not alone. Immanuel. He is with me. With us.

“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).

Do You Know Your Real Name?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 30, 2018
Post category:identity loved

There is power in the names we’re given.

I’m told my parents originally planned to name me Cindy Joy. Then I showed up nearly a month late. They took one look at their overripe, bald baby girl, and thought, “Nope. Not a Cindy Joy. Let’s call her Gina Marie.” So here I am.

Names give definition, identity. They remind us who we are and whose we are. Yet there are moments in our stories, places author Dan Allender calls, “shalom shattered”- times when we lose our identities because of sin, lies, pain.

In those moments, we are renamed.

Sometimes, it’s other people who name us. Unwanted. Rejected. Outsider. Betrayed.

Sometimes, we name ourselves. Unknown. Powerless. Not enough. Lost.

We carry those names into every story in our lives.

They become the ways we define ourselves. When shalom shatters again, those names echo in our hearts, reinforcing the idea that those names really are us.

But the truth is, they aren’t. We have new names.

When we lived in Singapore, I was in a small group at church about listening prayer. One of the exercises we did in that group was to ask God how He sees us.

It was, to be honest, a weird exercise, but I am a good student who does her homework, so I asked Him, “How do you see me?”

The response I heard was, “Precious Lamb.”

Full disclosure? I was not thrilled initially, because what instantly came to mind was Precious Moments figurines, which are not my favorite thing that Christians have ever put out there. They rank up there with Testamints and Bibleman for me as far as the cheese factor goes. (the irony? I had one Precious Moments figurine growing up. It was a lamb. I can’t get away from this).

So given my reaction, I know this thought could not have originated from me. The more I sat with it, the more I realized this is how God sees me, and how I need to see myself.

To bring this truth home, soon after that time my brother sculpted this figure for me:

(The crazy part? I hadn’t shared this name with him. He just felt inspired to make it for me).

God knows our names.

In scripture, we see God literally shift the course of someone’s life by changing their names. Abram to Abraham. Jacob to Israel. Sarai to Sarah. Simon to Peter. Saul to Paul.

God calls us by name. He calls us Precious Lamb, Beloved Child, Chosen, Redeemed, Wanted, Known, Seen. He strips away those shattered places and heals them with the truth of who we really are.

For every broken place in our stories, where we claimed a label that says we are something less, God wants to rename us.

The names He gives us redeem, shift the course of our lives, alter how we see ourselves, and therefore how we relate to Him and others.

But to do that, we have to stake a claim to those new names again and again. Each day, we must choose to call ourselves by our new names, the names He gives us. We repeat them until they ring true.

When the old names echo and call us away from home, we tell ourselves who we really are. If others try to call us by those names, we shake our heads and turn back to our true selves. It is not easy, but it is possible.

Do you know your name? Of all the names we gather along the way, the only ones that matter are the ones He gives us. Call yourself by those names today.

You Are More Than a Number

Post author:Gina B
Post published:June 15, 2017
Post category:grace identity loved

Sometimes a number becomes too important.

In college, I was on track to graduate Summa Cum Laude. I only needed a 3.8. Unfortunately, I attended a university that factored minuses and pluses in the grades, rather than straight letters. I had no pluses-only some A-‘s. Those were enough to make me graduate with a 3.79 repeating. They didn’t round up.

At first, I wanted to justify that number to people. I looked back in regret at a couple A-‘s that could have easily been A’s had I done one thing differently. But after a while it occurred to me, “No one cares what my grade point was.”

My worth is far more than a number I achieved.

As our son heads into his senior year, we’re thick in the midst of standardized testing, the ultimate “judge you by a number” scenario. Our boy has studied hard, but the results haven’t been quite what he’d hoped. I thought back on my 3.79 repeating, and told him what I know, “You are more than a number.”

Everywhere we look, we are reduced to numbers: what the scale tells us, how much money we bring in, what our grade point average is, our time on that 5K, the number of our social media followers.

People use those numbers to assign value, to decide who’s in and who’s out, who’s worth their time. They use them to put themselves above others, to feel better about themselves, to claim a temporary space in the world.

But we are so much more than a number.

A number is just a snapshot. It is one picture in a huge collage of who we are. Most of those outward numbers represent transient, arbitrary, and superficial aspects of our lives. They can change tomorrow, for better, or worse. In a week, a month, a year, they will no longer be true. Or remembered.

They are a poor foundation on which to establish our worth.

Numbers do not measure how much we are loved. How well we love others cannot be quantified. They can’t measure our intelligence, attractiveness, importance, or character.

Numbers do not define what we give to the world. They do not define our gifts or passions. Our worth in the eyes of God is not weighed on a scale. Nothing adds or subtracts to any of that one iota.

Some numbers are necessary, for a time. That’s ok. Let’s hold them with a grain of salt, though, and remember that they do not name who we are. We are so much more than a number.

Related posts:

When Comparison Tells Us Who We Are

The Lies of “Too Much” and “Not Enough”

When Comparison Tells Us Who We Are

Post author:Gina B
Post published:April 27, 2017
Post category:identity loved

So there I was, scrolling through twitter like I do sometimes, when I noticed a comment by a well-known author I follow.

It was just a random comment, but it had 17 replies. Never have I ever had 17 replies to a comment I made on twitter. It’s a red letter day when I get one comment. The thought that jumped to mind was,

“I wish I was (name of well-known author, whose identity is irrelevant).”

And the next thought that jumped into my head was, “How dare you?”

Not, “How dare you presume you could ever achieve that level of notoriety.”

No, it was, “How dare you think that you should be anyone other than who you are.“

It’s so easy to do, isn’t it? I wish I were like her. That would be a better story. If only I had that job. I wish I had that body. She’s a better mom. If only we had that kind of money. I want his career trajectory, her opportunities, that life.

At that moment, God convicted me. Because to compare myself to another and think that maybe I would be better off, more loved, more significant, if I were them, is an affront to my Creator.

Who we are, where we are, what we’re doing, what we are able to do–it’s God’s poetry. He wrote us this way. We are designed by the ultimate designer. He delights in how He has made us. What He has created in us He loves. He wouldn’t have us any other way.

So when you are tempted to look sideways and compare, “Maybe that life would be better than this one,” banish the thought. It’s a lie from the pit of hell.

It takes our eyes off what He has made is in us that is so very good.

Our view of what He has given us to offer the world gets diminished.

It says less about us than it does about our view of Him and His work.

Don’t wish you were anyone else. Be who He made you to be. Agree with Him that it is good. Embrace it. Live it to the fullest. Take joy in who you are, because He does.

“But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

Related posts:

You Are Loved

The Lies of Too Much and Not Enough

You Are Loved

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 16, 2017
Post category:identity loved

How was everyone’s Valentine’s Day? Mine was less than stellar. In the morning I woke up feeling off, and by afternoon I had a fever, aches, a head that felt like it might explode, and what sounded like a case of tuberculosis. All this added up to me as the lamest Valentine’s date ever. We spent the evening eating Tijuana Flats in bed watching videos on our phones. It was everyone’s Valentine’s dream.

Tis the season to talk about, think about, hope for, and cherish love. But I wonder how many people, even those of us who are married, even those who have deep relationships with others, long for something more.

We long to be loved. Our hearts ache for a love that is solid, never-ending, secure. We want to be fully known and at the same time deeply loved for all our good, bad, and even ugly.

Oh yes, please even for the ugly. Please tell us it’s possible to be consistently loved even at our worst, so that we can stop hiding our less-than parts behind closed doors and be fully ourselves instead.

Tell us there’s someone from whom we never have to fear rejection, abandonment, for whom we are never just too much, too hard to love.

I’m here to say today: it’s possible. It’s more than possible. It’s true. That is how we are loved. As I thought about what I wanted to share this week, every part of my being wants to tell you this truth:

You are loved. Period. The end. No ifs, ands or buts. You are deeply, without hesitation, loved, with an all-encompassing love.

How do I know? Because the whole of scripture tells me it’s true. The Bible is a love story, friends. It’s one long epic tale of the hero who stole into enemy territory under cover of darkness to rescue the ones He loves, because the thought of eternity without us was unacceptable to Him. We were worth everything. We are worth everything.

He first loved us. That’s important to remember. He doesn’t love us because, or when, or if. He just loves us, with a love that is unshakeable, unchanging, unconditional.

I love how Henri Nouwen puts it in Life of the Beloved,

“My only desire is to make these words reverberate in your being, ‘You are the beloved.'”

Seriously, my one prayer for all of us today, it is that we live loved. We stop wandering, searching for lesser loves to satisfy our hungry souls. We stop doubting. Stop believing the lie that there’s something that gets us voted off His island. Stop listening to the voices that tell us to prove our worth, and we just soak in this truth today:

You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.

So maybe your Valentine’s Day was a bust. Loneliness gnaws at the corners of your life and questions your value. You’re feeling let down by people in your life. Maybe you’re feeling the sting of rejection. We’re all hungry for just a little more love.

So let me say it again: You are loved. May this thought echo off the walls of your hearts today. Repeat it to yourself until it becomes the place where you live. He loves you.

Related posts:

The Lies of “Too Much” and “Not Enough”

Drop the Hot Dog – Learning to Feed on What Truly Satisfies

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 20, 2017
Post category:dependence on God expectations identity loved

Confession: While I deeply want to be loved for who I am (and fear that I might not be), I settle for admiration. It feels like love. But that’s like eating a hot dog when what I need is rich soul food.

It’s easier, feeding off admiration. Admiration is more accessible. It’s more within my control to seek out the praise of others than it is to lay myself bare before them and hope I am enough in myself. I pour my energy into dazzling others with my gifts and tell myself I’m satisfied while my true hunger lies under the surface, unmet.

We all have our hot dogs.

Our hot dogs are those easy, cheap, artificial substitutes for what our hearts deeply crave. We eat the worldly foods we hope will bring us life. Because we don’t believe our true needs will be met, we settle for less.

We all settle for something lesser to satisfy our souls.

We want to be wanted, but we settle for being needed.

Our souls need true connection, but we settle for false peace, fueled by a fear of confrontation.

We want intimacy, but we settle for staying in control, hiding our weaknesses where they cannot be touched.

We feed on competence, reputation, usefulness, perfectionism, security, self-righteousness, self-sufficiency, busy schedules and so much more.

A few years ago, the taste of success began to sour for me.

Oh, don’t get me wrong-I love the feeling that I have accomplished something. I never fail to appreciate admiration. But I could feed off success all day long and twice on Sunday and never satisfy the deep hunger of my soul to be known and loved for who I am. That is a desire for which admiration is a pale substitute.

It’s like I woke one day and realized I have been feeding myself bread made from sawdust. Worse than a hot dog. That is the act of a person who is starving and must feed herself any way she can. It is the act of a person who doesn’t believe there is manna for her to eat instead.

God in his mercy keeps showing me ways I am trying to find life and love where it is not meant to be found. He keeps drawing my eyes back to Him and His provisions. God loves me too much to let me go hungry.

He calls me to drop the hot dogs.

He tells me to stop trying to feed myself something that isn’t going to satisfy. (We can have a pretty tight grip on our hot dogs. Sometimes He has to outright smack them out of our hands. Word to the wise-just let go. It’s easier).

Instead of our hot dogs, God is offering us a feast.

When we stop scrambling to feed ourselves, we see how He is providing rich food all around us. We see the manna of His presence, peace, joy, and love in all the ordinary moments He gives us throughout the day. He is constantly trying to feed us.

As I step back from seeking admiration, the deeper hunger of my heart has come to the surface. I am learning to own the hunger, to feel it more deeply rather than ignore it. I hear His invitation to the feast. The call to feast on Him alone is more satisfying than anything I could feed myself.

Don’t believe the lie that the hot dog will satisfy.

It’s not what you need. What He offers is better. Ask Him to show you what you are settling for, and how you are trying to feed yourself. What you hunger for is found best in Him. He is the source of love, the bread of life. Be satisfied in Him.

Related posts:

Stop Telling Me to Be Amazing

A Story of Two Houses

The Power of Story

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 12, 2017
Post category:identity loved

“All children mythologize their birth. It is a universal trait. You want to know someone? Heart, mind and soul? Ask him to tell you about when he was born. What you get won’t be the truth; it will be a story. And nothing is more telling than a story.” – The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield

In the last few years, I’ve thought a lot more about my story. Partly this is from coaching others to know their stories, partly through reading To Be Told by Dan Allender, and partly it’s just the way God is leading me.

Many people think the past is just the past-over and done, let’s move on. But the past is part of us.

We are a composite of our stories and how they shaped us.

There are messages on our hearts from every moment we have lived-messages about who we are, what it takes for us to find love and belonging, and how to safeguard our hearts.

The problem is that those messages are often fuzzy versions of truth.

They lead us to seek ways of saving ourselves rather than calling us to rest in God. It’s unlikely we will change those messages and the behavior that stems from them unless we really examine the stories that shaped us.

And more importantly, we can’t know our stories well on our own.

The last spring we lived overseas, a group of us met every other week to watch a video series by Dan Allender called Learning to Love Your Story. Afterward, we broke into groups and reflected on what we heard. In the process, we told our stories to each other.

It’s interesting when you tell a story from your life to someone else. You think you know it and understand it, but until you tell it to someone else, you don’t see it for what it is.

I’ve had people tell me incredible sad stories, but they laugh while they tell them, not realizing their laughter helps them avoid feeling the pain of what happened.

I have told others stories, heard them say, “That must have been so hard,” and until that moment, I didn’t see it that way. We see our stories through a certain lens; we need help to zoom out and see them more clearly.

When we tell our stories, others can ask questions and help us connect the dots to who we are in the present because of our past. We need their reflection to help us see how what happened to us in the past still shapes us now, for good or harm. They can point us to wounds that need healing, sin that needs redeeming, lies that need the truth.

One of the greatest gifts is someone listening to your story, feeling it with you, and loving you in it.

It opens the door for healing and transformation. In telling our stories, others wipe the film from them to reveal the truth, to recognize the lies and vows we have embraced to help us save ourselves.

They can give us the grace and compassion many of us missed in our stories the first go around. This is the power of story.

Do you know your own story? Do others know it?

Related posts:

A Story of Two Houses

An Open Letter to the World

The World Is Dark, but We Know the Light

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 15, 2016
Post category:Christmas grace hope loved peace

Finding Light in a Dark World — Photo by Dmitry Ratushny on Unsplash

This has been a divisive year. Lines have been drawn and ugliness has risen to the surface in many places. Sometimes the darkness feels all too strong.

Jesus understands that kind of world.

When he entered it, the Jewish people had endured 400 years of silence from God. They lived under the oppressive rule of Rome. Soldiers walked the streets. Riots were not uncommon. Even within Judaism, there was division, as four sects fought for control. Shortly after he was born, Jesus and his family were forced to flee to a new country to avoid Herod’s massacre of children under 2. Dark times, indeed.

The Jews wanted someone to take away the darkness. They wanted a Savior, but their idea of how they would be saved and from what was misguided. Jesus didn’t come as a military or political leader. He didn’t free them from Rome. He wasn’t about conforming governments to his will. He didn’t erase dividing lines between people. He didn’t make everything easy, or pave a straight, conflict free path for us. He didn’t eradicate evil. Instead, he shone a light into it.

He was light in the darkness.

That light sets hearts free. He stepped into the darkness to make room for joy, peace, hope, mercy and grace. His light was life and love, come into the world, to transform us, rather than transforming our worlds to suit us.

We are not called to look at the darkness and be afraid. We are not meant to see it and complain and argue about what it all means. We don’t shake our heads and give up. We don’t wring our hands in despair.

We turn on the light.

We move into the world as people who know joy, peace, hope, grace, mercy, and above all, love. This is what we are about. We are about shining his light brighter and brighter. So this Christmas season, how can we remember to shine his light in the world?

We shine the light of hope. Our hope is in a person, not an outcome. We do not hope in government. We do not hope in society conforming to our standards. We hope in what he can do. We hope in what will be.

We shine the light of peace. Peace is not merely an emotion, but a state of reconciliation brought about through him. So where there is division and unrest, we speak peace. In the midst of chaos, we breathe peace.

We shine the light of joy. He gives us joy beyond circumstances, the joy of knowing him and being loved by him. That joy ought to show on our faces, in our spirits, in how we move through this world.

We shine the light of mercy and grace. Jesus came for the outcast, the downtrodden, the poor, weak and weary. We declare that the gospel is for the ragamuffin, for those who are not too proud to receive what they need. That starts with recognizing we are counted among the needy.

We shine the light of love. Most of all, the light that shines in the darkness declares that love overcomes. It overcomes the darkness in our hearts and opens the door for us to receive all that he offers us. Christmas is God’s shout of love to the world, a shout that makes the darkness flee. Let’s simmer in this reality long enough for it to show up in our actions, in our words.

Yes, the world is dark, but we know the light.

This Christmas, let’s seek ways to make the light brighter in what we say, how we treat others, how we make room for them, where we look for life. Let us be people who reflect the light to a dark world.

“for he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the son he loves.” Colossians 1:13

Related posts:

Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God

Reflections on a Christmas Morning

Feel Your Worth

On Becoming Real

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 27, 2016
Post category:loved poetry

People often tell me I’m authentic. I hope so, but I know it hasn’t always been the case. My journey of understanding what it means to be real, and learning to embrace it, began years ago.

When I was a youngster, I was a drama geek. I had no idea how uncool that was, but it didn’t matter because I loved it. One of my favorite plays was the Velveteen Rabbit in which I played “Crazed Jack in the Box” as well as “Real Rabbit #2.” I know. So, so utterly uncool.

But there’s a beautiful scene where the Velveteen Rabbit is speaking with the Skin Horse, the oldest toy in the nursery. This is their conversation:

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

For much of my life, I lived in fear of moving close enough to people to let them love all of me. I feared they might reject the weaker, less appealing parts that I saw. I believed the lie that I had to be a certain kind of person, not too much, not too little, in order to be loved.

For me, the journey to being authentic started with accepting that I am deeply, unreservedly loved by God and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it. It is in letting him bring out all that I believe is unlovely in me and hearing, “yes, I love even this” that I have begun to allow others to see it as well.

Paula Reinhart in Strong Women, Soft Hearts, says, [ictt-tweet-inline]“You can’t really love people well unless you are at home in your own soul. You will simply be too afraid.” [/ictt-tweet-inline] It is still a terrifying prospect to be simply me with others, and to waver in the hope that they will accept me just as I am. But when I come from a place of love, it gives me courage to truly be myself.

And it’s a beautiful thing, to be truly real with others. It is an opportunity for us to love others with his love, to be open and vulnerable and known. Yes, sometimes it hurts a little, and we get a little shabby in the process. But when we are REALLY loved, then we are free to become real.

Velveteen Rabbits and Skin Horses

Wonder at the miracle
of offering in trembling hands
pieces of yourself
to have them taken
oh so softly, gently,
with a smile.

The greater awe
of trust and faith
as pieces are returned
you hold and treasure them
and it does your soul
such good.

Roots sink deeper
hearts grow closer
as pieces show the truth
of who you are
and who they are
and how you learn to love
first the good
the bright and fun and healthy
parts exchanged
but soon, exposed, so nothing’s left
but worn and battered–
wish–they–were-not–there pieces

Quaking, wrapped in
hopeful prayers then growing joy
as we’re caught with “even this” acceptance

Oh sweet relief
this experience
of being worn but known
warm arms embracing
all your cracks and rips
and feeble, ugly ways

the miracle, the glorious one
of being loved
and loving back
And becoming real.

Related posts:

The Lies of Too Much and Not Enough

Free to Be Me (via Mudroom)

Stop Telling Me to Be Amazing

I Don’t Need Rescuing (Except I Do)

Post author:Gina B
Post published:June 7, 2016
Post category:anxiety dependence on God faith loved

There are people in the world who like to rescue others. There are others who look for someone to rescue them. And there are people like me, who think, “I don’t need rescuing, thank you very much.”

Except I do. I very much do.

I try, though. Oh, how I try.

I try to hold it together. Keep up the appearance of competence. I master self-sufficiency and ignore my needs and emotions for the sake of keeping it going. Deceive myself into thinking that rescuing is for someone else. My energy goes to rescuing the ones who can’t quite manage it on their own, who don’t have their stuff together.

I’m like a soldier on the battlefield who tries valiantly to press on despite repeated arrows, “Tis but a flesh wound.” Asking for help is out of the question.

But underneath this lie that I don’t need rescuing is not strength. It’s fear.

It’s a fear that if I call for help, no one’s coming. The fear is grounded in those lies of too much and not enough. It says there is no one who cares enough to offer their strength, no one stronger willing to step in. I fight for myself because I fear no one will fight for me.

I’m partway through a much-needed sabbatical. In the first days, as my soul slowed down, this is the fear that rose to the surface. It is the source of much of my anxiety and restlessness, my need to control my world. As I have turned it over and over, examining its root, I see it for the lie that it is.

Because there is Someone coming for me. There is One whose strength is always greater, who longs to rescue, who calls me to be the child I am and rest in Him.

When I feel weak, helpless, and incompetent, I can step off the battlefield and just receive; no need to press on, because He can take care of it, can take care of me.

He is calling me to deeper, dependent prayer, as I recognize those moments when I am tempted to take back the weight of the world on my shoulders.

He calls me to the images in scripture of our God who is our strong tower, our rock of refuge, our Savior, letting them speak grace into my tired places. I am so grateful for this fear to come to light, so that God can speak His words of life and truth to replace it.

“Because she loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue her; I will protect her, for she acknowledges my name. She will call upon me, and I will answer her. I will be with her in trouble. I will deliver her and honor her. With long life will I satisfy her and show her my salvation.” – Psalm 91:14-16

The Battle Belongs to Him