Author: Gina B

This author has written 345 articles

Living in Reality

  "You don't get to decide reality. You just get to enter it." That's a phrase a friend of mine shared years ago, and it changed my life. Reality is what is true. It's true whether or not we believe it to be true, whether or not we want it to be true. It just is. How We Respond to Reality I think of this a lot, as I see people choosing the parts of our current reality they want to embrace. Not all of it-just what fits the picture we want to hold onto. Some of us prefer optimism-let's find the silver linings and look on the bright side. There's a benefit to that, but not when it's delusional. Not when it turns a blind eye on the plight of the less fortunate. Some focus on the gravity of the situation, with just cause. We can't look away from the reality of the pain this is causing so many, including ourselves. We can't avoid the hard truths, but in doing so sometimes we miss the good that is happening. Sometimes it's not optimism or pessimism that keeps us from reality. It's just willful ignorance. A stubborn refusal to name what is real. Like an athlete who says, "No, I'm good to play" when they are obviously injured. This reality isn't one that any of us would have chosen, but it what we have. We don't get to decide if we want it, but we do have the opportunity to enter it with Jesus at our side. My friend Iris recently said, "Jesus will not meet us in fantasyland. We meet Jesus at the foot of the cross in reality." Our current reality is rough. Each morning I wake up and wonder if maybe this pandemic is a nightmare we can shake off. We can't. So if we can't shake it off, how do we enter it? How Do We Enter Reality We enter it honestly, confessionally. As with any trial, we are being stirred. This situation shows us where our idols are-where we hold too tightly to comfort, security, control, success, peace. So as we recognize them, we confess them. We agree with God about the hold they have on us. We speak honestly about our emotions. So many are stirred in us in situations like this-anxiety, grief, anger, frustration, discouragement. God wants our unedited hearts. He can handle them. We speak the reality of how we feel, knowing that He will sift through it and bring us to His version of what is happening. We don't pretend that things are better than they are. Nor do we take God out of the equation and predict despair. We look suffering in the face and see God standing with us in it, holding us, comforting us. The more we are willing to enter suffering, the more we can minister to others in it. We enter it knowing that while we are all in this together, we are experiencing different realities.…

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Why We Need Kindness Right Now

  Sometimes as I think about this strange season we're in, and how much longer it's going to be I wonder how we will get through (honestly, it's good they're doing this in stages. We need to be eased into the reality of it). What I keep coming back to is this: we need a lot more kindness. Why We Need Kindness We need to be kind to ourselves, and we need to be kind to others. In stores, online, in zoom calls and on the streets (from a safe social distance, of course). Our world needs more kindness if we're going to get through this well. We need kindness because we've never done this before. And when we do something for the first time, we don't know what we're doing. Which means we'll feel lost and uncomfortable and incompetent. And the last thing we need right then is to put unrealistic expectations on ourselves to know what to do and be able to keep going just as we did before. No, we need someone to be kind to us. We need someone to be patient while we learn this new season. We need kindness because this is scary. And when things are scary we get anxious. That's normal. Some of us are more anxious than others for a lot of really good reasons-our health is poor, or our parents are old, or we have to work in hospitals. Whatever the reason, whether it makes sense to us or not, it's understandable. When someone is scared, it doesn't help to tell them not to be scared. They need empathy. They need someone to listen to their fears and tell them we're with them. We need kindness because it's just too much sometimes. And when it's too much it's not because we're weak or we did it wrong or we stink at this. It's too much because we weren't made to live this way. Adrenaline is only supposed to last us so long-just enough to get away from the danger. We can't get away from this danger. When we hit the wall (and we will) we need to be kind to ourselves about it. We need kindness because this isn't normal. But this is the only normal that we're going to get for a long time, and that's hard. Learning to live with that is discombobulating, which is a fantastic word but something none of us like to feel. We're living with little "t" trauma all the time. A lot of us feel disregulated. Kindness helps get us back to a healthy place. We need kindness because we're sad. The big, obvious losses we're incurring are easy to note, but we tend to ignore the little ones. We did a zoom call the other night with old friends from overseas, and while it was a delight, the fact that they are here in my city and I can't see them grieved me. Those little losses are like pinhole pricks in the…

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Holding Grief and Gratitude Together

  The other day I finally tackled our pile of clothes that needed ironing. Included in it was one of our daughter's school uniform shirts. As I ironed it, I thought, "Why am I doing this? She might not even wear it again." And I cried. Again. Watching all our plans for the spring slip away has meant grief after grief. But the other night as we walked together, we found ourselves grateful. We realized that had this happened a month earlier, she would have missed the incredible end to her high school soccer career during which she led her team to the state tournament. Can I be honest? It felt weird to be grateful. And that, in a nutshell, is my emotional state in this pandemic. Holding Grief and Gratitude One minute I'm sad because our daughter might not finish her senior year, and in the next breath I'm deeply grateful for what she did have. Her 18th birthday is in two weeks, and I don't know how to make it special for her under these circumstances. When I shared it with friends last night I was deeply blessed with a chorus of commitment to help make it the best it can be. I love having our kids home with us, but it's heartbreaking to tell them they can't go see their friends. I'm disappointed that the conference I've worked on for six months that should happen this week is postponed indefinitely, but I'm glad for the extra time. While I'm thankful we have a safe place to shelter, I'm saddened as I read about the suffering of many. Sometimes it feels like too much, this mix of joy and sorrow. It feels like emotional whiplash. I see other people responding to the mix in their own ways. Some are fixated on the losses and the suffering. Others insist on looking at the positive, celebrating the wins. There's a place for both. In fact, I think that to weather this well, we have to learn how to hold grief and gratitude in the same breath. Holding them simultaneously is hard. They feel contradictory. They’re not. Grief and gratitude go hand in hand. Holding them both is an attitude of faith. And the reality is this crisis carries both. What We Grieve There is much to grieve. We have missed birthday gatherings, graduation parties, sporting events, and church, some even canceled weddings and unattended funerals. There's a loss of human contact, the simple pleasure of coffee with a friend, of impromptu gatherings with others. We miss play dates and community meetings and dining out. Worse still, people are sick and dying. Many are struggling to make ends meet, are separated from their sick loved ones, or wondering how to care for their kids while keeping their jobs. Normal life is gone. It's scary and exhausting and overwhelming at times. And sad. We're so sad. Why We're Grateful But there is also so much good to celebrate. Each night our family…

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Speaking Truth to Ourselves

  "Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself?" (Martyn Lloyd Jones, Spiritual Depression). When our kids were little, I taught them that their thoughts were something they could actually control. We talked about how our minds are like airports, and there are always airplanes requesting to land, thoughts settling down. Some of those thoughts are good, but many aren't. Some are enemy airplanes. And we can tell them they do not have permission to land. Easier said than done. We too often passively listen to those voices. We let them land and then we let them take root. They are voices from the past, voices that have been around so long we no longer question their truth or origin. It's the voice of the enemy, hurling accusations at us. It's the voice of fear or discouragement or pride sneaking in. In moving through some hard experiences in the last year, I have become aware of the negative thoughts I listen to. I learned a helpful practice from Adam Young, on his podcast, The Place We Find Ourselves. In a fantastic series on spiritual warfare, he notes that we need to pay attention to the voice of the enemy. We need to recognize the accusations he brings against us. Our enemy knows us well-knows what lies about ourselves and others we will swallow without question, what most easily knocks us down at the knees. Adam said that we should write those thoughts down and note: the enemy isn't very creative. His lies tend to center around themes. For me: that it's all up to me to keep things together. If I fail, people will be disappointed and leave (hey, no pressure). Speak the Truth While I can name those accusations, and am becoming aware of when I hear them, it's not enough to just hope they'll stop. Or to hope that maybe some good thoughts, some positive truth will come flying by to take their place. No, what I'm learning I need to do is to be the one who talks back to the accusations. But we need to speak truth to ourselves, rather than passively listening to voices that we were never meant to hear. When we do, we are agreeing with God about who we are instead of the enemy. One of the phrases that has stood out to me recently in scripture is "thus says the Lord." There's something so definitive about that, isn't there? God said it, so that's that. And what He says about us is so good. Take Isaiah 43 for example, "Thus says the Lord . . . do not fear, I have redeemed you, I have summoned you by name, you are mine, I am with you, you are precious, I love you." Those are the kind of thoughts I want to plant myself in. That's where I make my home. So while I know…

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Leaning into Mystery

  Last summer at a spiritual retreat, the question was posed, "How do you feel about the idea of mystery?" The woman next to me took the words out of my mouth, "I like the idea of mystery, just not as it applies to me." I'll have what she's having. While there's something about mystery that intrigues and invites us, leaning into mystery can be frightening. It's unknown, unpredictable and uncontrollable. And God is mysterious. Pondering the idea that there is so much about Him that is beyond our comprehension, that He is a being unbound by our limitations, is exciting. It's an invitation to experience awe, wonder, the miraculous. That's what I like about the idea of mystery. It's humbling in a way that frees us. We don't have to know everything-we can trust what is simply beyond us. But leaning into that means letting go of whatever modicum of control we might think we have. It calls us to surrender to something we can't grasp, something greater than we can imagine. We have to submit to a God whose ways are often unpredictable and incomprehensible. We cannot shape Him in our own image anymore. My friend Catherine McNeil, in her new book, All Shall Be Well, says, "We're dying to leave the mystery behind for an idol, to form God, life, and the future into something that makes sense . . . sometimes we just can't handle the wildness of it all." Like I said, less appealing when it applies to my own life. But everything about God screams mystery. He says Himself that His ways and thoughts are so much higher than ours. Would any of us have written the redemption story the way He has? Would we lead people to wander in a desert for 40 years or make predictions of a Messiah 400 years before His birth, or send that promise in the form of an infant? But think of what all that mysterious work has given us. Would I substitute my salvation for a knowable, predictable god who does exactly what I ask? When I balk at mystery, what I think I'm really doing is thinking somehow that my version of the story would be better. It never is. Leaning into mystery is contingent on a dogged faith in the love of God for us. To believe that, as C.S. Lewis said with regard to his Christ figure Aslan, "Of course he isn't safe. But he is good." I can have a safe God or a good one. I will not allow myself to be caught up in mystery if I'm not convinced that the Mystery is relentlessly committed to loving goodness toward me. 2019 was a mysterious year in many ways. I didn't understand what God was doing with my health. I wondered how this book would turn out in the end. We waited on answers to prayer, wondering what on earth He would do. How easy it is to want to grasp…

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Complaining vs Honesty

  I read once of a missionary woman who determined not to complain about anything in her situation, even the weather. A good principle it seems, but as a young missionary overseas, I wondered about it. If I didn't speak of the the challenges of that life, what did I do about them? What should I do with the days when suddenly the water in our building was shut off, the moments when I couldn't make myself understood, when I ached for family and comfort? Was I just meant to swallow all that? If I did, would it just go away? Or maybe my recourse was just to look on the bright side. Maybe enough positive thoughts submerge the hard aspects of life. I don't disagree that complaining that keeps us focused on our lack is a practice to avoid. But I've seen (and experienced) the ways a commitment to not complaining becomes a subtle way of shaming and minimizing the impact of suffering on our souls. I began to wonder if there was a place for honesty in the life of a missionary. Is there a way for us to name that which weighs on us without it leading to discouragement and negativity? The Difference between Complaining and Honesty You may think honesty is simply a cleaned-up way to say complaining, but I disagree. Because I see honesty in scripture, particularly the Psalms. David brings his honest heart before God again and again. In fact, in some verses, David straight up calls it complaint: "Hear me, O God, as I voice my complaint" (Psalm 64:1) and, "I pour out before him my complaint; before him I tell my trouble" (Psalm 142:2). He names that which wars against his soul. He names the cost of it. But he does it as one with hope and trust. He doesn't take it to his neighbor-he takes it to God first. He speaks his truth to the One who He believes will hear and answer. This, to me, is the opposite of complaint. Complaint keeps our eyes on ourselves and our circumstances. It speaks from a place of entitlement, so easy for us to slip into when we are doing "God's work." As though God owes us a good life since we're "sacrificing" for Him. Complaint leaves us longing and believing that we've been shorted. It's a path toward disillusionment and bitterness. But honesty turns our eyes back to God. It reminds us that even in the hardest situation, God is there and what He has given us cannot be shaken. Our honest complaint to Him says, "This is hard, but I'm not going to pretend it isn't because You are here. I won't try to muscle through this in my own strength. I know You see how difficult this is and You have compassion. Please help me, heal me, give me the strength I lack to keep doing what You've called me to do in the middle of this mess."   Related posts: He Knows…

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Making Peace With Change Is Here!

  My book is in the world! Here's live video of me this week: https://gph.is/g/ZWm0WXv   This is the book I wish I'd had when I got married, when I moved overseas, when I had my children, when I changed jobs. So that's why I wrote it. I hope this book is a bit fat permission slip to people navigating messy change to admit where they're not ok. I want you to be honest in a way that helps you find the grace you need. Tell us where it's hard, and invite God and others in to help you. Give yourself grace as you rest in what is constant in God and how He sees you. Change may be challenging, but it's also a gift that can transform us. If you haven't bought a copy yet, I hope you will. My deepest prayer is that this book will find the hands of every person who needs it. Like paper missionaries, I want my book to go out and minister to hearts around the world. It's been a long publishing journey, and I'm grateful to get to this place. If you'd like to buy a copy of Making Peace with Change: Navigating Life's Messy Transitions with Honesty and Grace, it's available at Our Daily Bread Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Christianbook.com.

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Plan to Stay Where God Calls You

  In light of my recent book, Making Peace with Change, I thought it fitting to repost an old article on transition. It's based on thoughts from Jeremiah 29, a passage that has come to be a meaningful one to me when it comes to this topic. If you're new to my blog and you subscribe below, you can get a longer version of my reflections on this passage.   Leaving home is hard. Finding home is harder. We live in southeast Orlando, in one of the fastest-growing neighborhoods in the country. Few of us are "from" here. It's a transient community. Many of us never anticipated living in Florida, of all places. It feels like somewhere between where we were and where we plan to go, not home. We all face the challenge of how to carve out a new life here in this place to which God has called us. Like I said, it's hard to find home. Sometimes, it's because we're looking elsewhere. Maybe we can't settle where we are because we are looking back on the life we had. We miss the community we left, our favorite coffee shop, our old job, or the life we had before kids. Or we peer ahead to what is coming-the season when kids won't be in diapers, or we'll get that better job, when school will be over, or we're finally married. It's hard to dig in right where we are and live it fully. But if we dwell on the past, we won't see what God is doing in the here and now. If we focus on the future, we miss the blessings of today. We will not find home until we plan to stay. In Jeremiah 29:5-7, God told the exiled Israelites, "Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters . . . Increase in number there; do not decrease." Strange words to give to people wholly displaced. The Israelites did not want to stay there. They wanted another, a different life. This season was supposed to be temporary.  The fact is, this world is not our true home and never will be. We are on a journey from where we were when God found us to where He will take us in the end. Where we are now is exactly where He wants us to be. So how do we make it home? Invest where you are God told the Israelites to build homes and settle down. Life is different when you own something. You put in time, money, and energy to make it a place you want to stay. Finding home means living like we aren't renters but owners of this life, however long the season might be. We give fully of ourselves to the people and places in this season God's given us, believing that it is worth this time. Investing is hard because it means we pour pieces of our hearts into this season that…

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One Hurdle at a Time

  Publishing a book is a daunting process. It's a little like running hurdles. You keep running the race, and then along the way, there are tasks that ask more of you. Each hurdle requires a measure of courage, grit, and humility. Any one of them has the potential for failure or rejection. It seems the further we go in any endeavor, the more hurdles we face. The challenges get greater. They ask more of us than we may think we can offer. While it can be exhilarating to pass one and realized, "I made it!" the journey itself can be tiring and anxiety-producing. I had one of those hurdles earlier in the process. My marketing director (how did I get a marketing director?) called to talk about my launch team. Big hurdle. So I prayed. A lot. I prayed that I wouldn't feel overwhelmed. I prayed I wouldn't feel behind. Walking into that phone call I knew I needed to remember Whose I am and how much He is with me and for me, no matter what. And I wasn't alone. I asked others to pray for me too. They too prayed that God would give me what I needed to jump that next hurdle. And you know what? It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, thanks to God and others. I felt their strength and encouragement (and it helps that my marketing director is a great person who is for me). Crossing Each Hurdle When the temptation to be overwhelmed arises, I have to stop and do a little soul work. I acknowledge the lies that are creeping in-that I have to prove myself, that people are watching and waiting for me to mess up, that I am alone in this. Then I feed my soul the truth of who I am, and remind myself that this is for His glory, not mine. I look at my day and say, "God, what do you have for me to do today? Will you give me what I need to do it?" I think this is what Jesus meant when he talked about daily bread. And not worrying about tomorrow. Casting all your cares. Taking up your cross daily and following Him. That the truth will set us free. This is where the rubber meets the road. While it's tempting to look ahead and see the whole race, I'm reminded that He gives us just enough for today. For this hurdle. This thing that feels like it's more than we can do, He walks with us. He strengthens. A New Year of Hurdles As we venture into this new year, there will be hurdles. There will be things that ask more of us than we think we have. More of us than we do have. Thank God we don't have to do it alone. May this be a year of daily, peace-filled dependence on the One who gives us manna. May we stay close enough that we feel…

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He Knows Your Hard

  Do you ever have one of those moments when you think, "No one understands what I'm going through"? That sentiment isn't reserved for antsy teenagers or Enneagrams 4s. At some point, each of us walks through something that feels isolating and foreign to others. Maybe it's a particular illness (hello, dizziness that fits in no defined categories). Maybe no one understands your take on the world. Or you're walking through divorce surrounded by couples. Maybe depression threatens to suck you under. It could be a parenting struggle no one else you know has. The enemy loves it when we believe that no one understands. It keeps our eyes downward. It keeps us isolated. But this season reminds us that it's simply not true. We are never alone. "Jesus has journeyed to the far reaches of loneliness. In his broken body he has carried your sins and mine, every separation and loss, every heart broken, every wound of the spirit that refuses to close, all the riven experiences of men, women and children across the bands of time." Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel Emmanuel, God with Us Jesus is our Emmanuel-God with us. God with us in every sense of the word-not just physically, but in our experiences, our emotions, our humanity. There is nothing we go through where He is not fully engaged, feeling it with us. His willingness to identify with us in His lifetime means there is nothing in our life that He cannot and will not touch. I know. Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. Just this week, as I contemplated the challenges of launching my book, I thought, "I know God is with me, but I still want 'Jesus with skin on' as they say." Graciously, He gives that to us sometimes as well. But in the places where we don't feel it, let's find comfort in this: He knows. What we're going through is intimately known by God. We are not alone. One of my first years out of college, when I was new in full-time ministry and hadn't a clue what I was doing, it was hard. Jesus met me, alone in my dark little basement room, reminding me of this truth that He knows. I wrote a lot of poetry back then, some of which I have shared here. This is the poem I wrote during that time: HARD My soul longs for one one who knows my “hard.” a longing not out of self-pity or doubt but from an emptiness aching to be filled with understanding. Jesus, Lover of my soul let me to your bosom fly There to hear your heart beat in sympathy with mine, and, “I know, I know your hard” quenching my inmost being. As we experience Advent, let this truth reverberate in our hearts: He knows, He knows, He knows. However hard it is, He is closer than a heartbeat. Let that breath life into you this season.   Related posts: Do You Know What You're…

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