grace Archives - Page 2 of 4 - Gina Brenna Butz

Why Do We Keep Ourselves from Grace?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 5, 2017
Post category:grace truth

When you see your child’s number appear on your phone in the middle of a school day, it’s usually not a great sign. Worse when the voice on the other end is in tears. The first thought in my mind was, “Who’s hurt? What’s broken?” (thankfully no one and nothing). Instead, I heard the story of a foolish mistake that resulted in negative (but necessary) consequences, leaving a wake of regret and embarrassment.

Throughout the day, text messages came at me, asking if I was disappointed, convinced that others were disappointed, determined that we should be disappointed. The reality was, the disappointment came from within.

Finally the words came out, “I just can’t forgive myself.” Ah, there it is. It’s not that others hadn’t forgiven. In fact, grace was abundant. Yet there was a determination to continue to stand in judgment of himself, refusing grace.

Sometimes, we’re the only ones keeping us from the grace we need.

Why do we do this?

We are hard wired for justice. The world tells us we don’t get things for free. There should be punishment for our failure. It feels right somehow to call ourselves to task. Someone must pay.

We forget Someone already has.

So we don’t allow ourselves to grab hold of the grace offered to us in times of failure. It’s our own negative self-talk that keeps us in a place of condemnation instead of resting in grace. Judge and jury hold court in our own heads. While others hold out forgiveness, we hold ourselves just beyond its grasp.

We keep ourselves in chains, when we are called live freely.

If the voice in our heads says we are out of reach of grace, it’s not God talking.

So what do we do? We claim what’s true.

I reminded my son there is only one Person in the world who has the right to judge us, and He has already made the ruling on our sin, failure, and weakness. No condemnation. Free and forgiven. Nothing we do surprises Him because He saw it before it happened. He sees more failure in us than we see, and He still forgives. Therefore, nothing makes Him withdraw grace. If He has declared us free, then our job is to agree with Him, and let ourselves off the hook.

Where our pride keeps us from owning our humanity, and shame chains us as unworthy, we must humbly accept that we are who we are-fallen people in need of grace.

Humility. Acceptance. Agreement.

Repeat and repeat and repeat, until His becomes the truest voice in our heads, overpowering our lies. This is how we unchain ourselves, and walk freely the grace we need every day.

Related posts:

Tell Me the Truth

We Need to Stop Hitting Ourselves

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”

A Willing Sacrifice

Post author:Gina B
Post published:March 30, 2017
Post category:expectations grace

I stood scrubbing the dishes with gritted teeth. This was my kids’ job, and they had failed to do it before bed. This was the job I had just asked my husband to come help do, and while he had verbally committed, he was still sitting on the couch watching YouTube. So there I was, alone, doing a job that was not mine, and I did not want to do. Yes, a sacrifice of my time and energy, but willing? Anything but.

I too was tired after a long day of meetings and driving kids. I wanted to relax. A small part of me knew this was an opportunity to serve my family with a joyful heart. The rest of me wanted them to see my service and feel guilty, or show up too late to help so I could feel more justified in my self-pity.

Not my finest moment.

Is it sacrifice if it isn’t willing? After all, I still gave. I still served. But I walked away with a heart tinged with bitterness, in need of forgiveness. Making that a practice is a sure way to harden me to the people I say I’m serving.

I’ve wondered, since that night, what it takes for me to sacrifice with a willing heart, even when it is challenging.

I know what gets in the way.

Pride. And pride can take so many forms.

Sometimes it looks like using serving others to gain approval. It happens when the giving of my time and energy seems like a worthy transaction to earn the good will of others. It feels willing, but if the response of others is tepid, my pride will hunt for more. What seems like sacrifice is nothing more than using others to prove my worth.

Sometimes it looks like being willing to carry others’ burdens, but denying others the opportunity to carry mine. It stems from the lie that what I offer is all people want from me, not my heart, not my desires, not my needs. Pride whispers that I am only as good as what I do, so I must give.

And still other times, pride says I am better than you because of my giving. It shows up as self-righteousness, stubborn obligation. I give because it is expected, because I outwardly fit the model of Christian service, while inwardly I stew over the dinner dishes.

But a willing sacrifice? Sacrifice means I have to give up something I value for the sake of others. Willing equates to ready, eager, prepared. To be a willing sacrifice I must walk away from self, and lay down the pride that gets in my way.

In Philippians chapter 2, Paul paints a picture of humility, asking us to be like Christ as he emptied himself and became human. Humility bids us to empty our souls of this focus on self. It requires us to die.

But there’s a difference between dying to self and shutting down our hearts.

In dying to self, I own when it is hard to sacrifice, when it feels like too much, when I have no more to give. Like Christ in the garden, I lay bare my weary heart and my desire to step away from the task.

When I die to self, I acknowledge that my motives can be selfish and self-serving. I call out pride where it exists, and turn my eyes upward. I choose to walk the road for His sake, and no one else’s. Only then am I unencumbered and free to serve with joy.

I think back to that night at the sink, and I wonder how I could have done it differently. I imagine stopping for just a minute to let myself feel my humanity. I picture giving myself space to acknowledge my fatigue, my reluctance, my desire to do anything else, as all valid.

I wish I had taken my angry, messy heart to God, confessing-let’s call it what it was-my hatred toward my family in that moment. I needed to spill out the prideful attitude that set me above them. God wanted to empty me of self-righteousness, my attempt to make a martyr of myself, so that I could move toward my family with an open heart.

And I wish I had simply done it for God; not my family, not for recognition or justification. I wish I had let that moment be a holy gift back to God, done out of love for Him alone, from the low ground He calls us to walk.

Humility leads to a willing sacrifice. When our giving is tangled up with pride, we are bound to the responses of others. But when our sacrifice is for Him, we walk freely.

Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 23, 2017
Post category:anxiety dependence on God faith grace prayer rest

In the quiet of a dimly lit room, standing unsteadily on a foam mat, wondering if everyone behind me was judging my form (they weren’t), I tried to focus. Arms up, down to prayer, bend over. Lift halfway, down again, now back up and reach . . . and oh yeah, don’t forget to breathe.

It seems like the lamest command one human could give another, “Don’t forget to breathe.” We breathe on average 17,000+ times per day involuntarily. I have done it for over 40 years. That’s, . . . (I don’t do math) a lot of breathing. I should be practiced by now.

And yet.

Every time our sweet yoga guide said it, I realized I was not breathing. So focused on the action I forgot to inhale and exhale.

When I did breathe, my body relaxed. I sank deeper, and became more aware of everything I was doing. The places that were tight, needing more attention, spoke to me.

Our instructor pointed out that the Jewish name for God-Yahweh-was meant to be breathed. It’s the only consonants in the Hebrew alphabet not articulated with the lips and tongue. So as you breathe in and out, you can say the name of Yahweh. That is what we practiced. Yah-weh. Yah-weh.

A way of breathing that reminds us who is with us and what He offers. It calls us to slow down, lean in, be aware that the very breath of God is in us.

So, in the moments when life feels a little rushed, too overwhelming, too hard, I’ve been trying to practice this.

We must remember to breathe.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when that guy in front of you is driving 40 in a 55 and there’s no possibility of passing . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in patience, peace and the knowledge that we will get there eventually. Then we breathe out grace toward those who slow us down when we want to be fast.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when we ask our children to do something and we can see the objections forming in their heads before they’re even words . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in time to speak to the heart. Then we breathe out words that love and invite.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when one more person presents one more need for us to meet . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the space we need to question if this yes is for us or not. Then we breathe out an honest, humble answer that offers the best for everyone.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when our best-laid plans fall to pieces . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the grace we need. Then we breathe out a good laugh at the idea that we were ever in control in the first place.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when anxiety grips our hearts and warns us to step away from the brave paths God’s calling us to take . . . Yah-weh . . .We breathe in his peace, his promise that He’s the one who brought us this far and He won’t let go now. Then we breathe out the determination that says we will keep walking this way because He is with us.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . when the pressure to be all things to everyone threatens to weigh us down . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in our humanity and let ourselves off the hook. Then we breathe out the tension as we remember that we are not the Saviors of the world.

Don’t forget . . .

. . . at the end of the day when we realize we’ve made it . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the joy and the blessings. Then we breathe out gratitude and worship to the One who gives it all to us. He is always with us, closer than our own breath.

Practice this Yah-weh breath with me. It slows us down, makes us conscious of the areas in our lives that need our attention, and brings a consciousness of His presence in our lives.

Don’t forget to breathe today, friends.

Related posts:

Keeping a Sabbath Heart

Lean In

Why I Don’t Teach Sunday School . . . or . . . Finding My Yes

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 26, 2017
Post category:expectations grace identity

Why I Won't Teach Sunday School . . . or Finding My Yes — photo by Jorigė Kuzmaitė

You will never see me teaching Sunday School to children.

It took me years to be able to say that without embarrassment. What kind of person isn’t willing to teach children? Does Gina not like children? Does she not see the great potential in shepherding young souls? These are the questions I was sure people would ask.

When my kids were little, and someone stood up front at church to talk about how important children’s ministry is (I swear in the background I could hear Whitney Houston singing, “I believe the children are our future . . .”) I would sink down in my seat, refusing to make eye contact, feeling terrible.

Then, one day, it hit me, “I am not called to this.” And suddenly I was free. I felt like Phoebe, in the pilot episode of Friends:

I don’t want to because it’s not what I’m supposed to do.

My calling is to other activities, things that you probably don’t want to do. I know this, because often when I tell people what I enjoy doing, they get a look on their face like they just smelled something weird. They would hate what I love. And that is as it should be.

We weren’t all given the same passions or gifts. How boring would that be? And ineffective. This isn’t Divergent. Five factions isn’t going to cut it.

Since coming back to the States, I have had opportunities to minister in a variety of ways unavailable to me overseas, which is fabulous.

What’s hard is discerning what I should and shouldn’t do.

At first, I felt I should say yes to everything because if I didn’t they might stop offering. Over time I’ve learned that when I say no to less ideal opportunities, it leaves space to pursue that which I love. God knows the good way I should walk, and He can guide me to the best yeses.

There is great freedom and joy in knowing that I am learning to give my time to what I am created to do, rather than just doing what I see, or what is asked of me. I want to give my energy to the activities God has for me, not what others want me to do.

In saying no, I am leaving space for someone who truly IS called to do that.

And I hope she does. She probably will, because she wants to say yes. And I will say yes somewhere else. There, we will both find joy and life.

So go ahead, ask me to teach Sunday School. I will politely decline and feel no remorse. It’s just not my calling.

What about you? What are you saying yes to today?

Related posts:

Stand at the Crossroads

Learning to Respect My Limits

Climbing 2017 One Step at a Time

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 5, 2017
Post category:faith grace rest

Two days into the New Year, and I whined to my husband, “I have too much to DO!”

“Like what?” he reasonably asked.

“I don’t know. EVERYTHING,” I told him (let me have this dramatic moment, mister). I have big plans this year, and those big plans are looming.

It didn’t help that I spent most of the last week and a half sick and fairly inactive. New Year’s Eve I was in bed by 9 pm (oh, who am I kidding? I’m always in bed by 9 pm, even on New Year’s Eve. A night owl I am not). After all that laying around, I came into 2017 like a racehorse fresh out of the box, like Pac Man ready to gobble down all the pac-dots and level up.

In all that down time, I was able to reflect on last year and dream big for this one. I filled that new planner with goals I want to accomplish and habits I hope to keep and books to read and ponies to ask for. I even added an extra page to capture the other roles and responsibilities I know God’s put on my plate for this year (I’ll send my planner 2.0 version to subscribers soon!). I immediately found myself wanting to chase down every goal, check every box, fulfill every hope that sprang to mind as I thought about this new year. And I wanted to do it before the end of the week.

It’s good and right to look ahead and hope for bigger and better, to plan for change and set our hearts in new directions. We want to lift our eyes from the path we’re on to see the next mountain we could climb. The problem is: mountain climbing is hard. Where to even begin?

Some of us look at that mountain and think, “What was I thinking? I can’t mountain climb,” and we give up. Others, like yours truly, think, “Well, if I run, I’ll get to the top faster.” Moron. You can’t run up a mountain.

It’s no secret I’m not the best at pacing myself. This may be why so many resolutions fall by the wayside: we who are so accustomed to instant results struggle to see the mountain and know how to conquer it a little at a time. We don’t know how to do the long journey. We have seen what could be, and we want it now. We see how hard the journey will be, and we doubt our ability to endure. It’s easier to decide not to climb.

The Chinese have a saying, “千里之行，始於足下.” (Qiān lĭ zhī xíng, shĭ yú zú xià for those of you who are familiar with Mandarin, or who just want to have a slighter better chance of reading it) We know it as, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

It’s important to lift our eyes, to dream of what could be. We must keep it in mind, as we live with the reality that today, maybe I only inch toward it. Tomorrow, maybe I leap. Tomorrow, maybe I check a box, or I accomplish something big. Then the next day, maybe I rest, or I go back and do the same step again. We keep our eyes on the top while we take the next step.

This morning as I walked, I prayed about this. I was reminded that I want to hold goals and dreams and hopes that are God-honoring, that are from Him. I want to do what He has called me to do, nothing more, nothing less. So if these are the mountains He has given me to climb, He can help me climb them, one step at at time. He can guide my pace, give me grace for the days when not much happens, and strength for the days I need to push through.

So I ask Him, “What step should I take today?” Do that, and it is enough. Remember: we don’t just have all year. We have our lives to keep moving in the direction He’s leading. The journey continues each day, one step at a time.

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

Grace for the Less Than Ideal Days

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 15, 2016
Post category:expectations grace rest

Some days, you end up eating dinner with a My Little Pony fork. And that’s ok.

It’s the time of year when a lot of activities start up again and with them, adjustment of schedules and coordination of details. It’s “who’s driving whom,” and “when will we eat,” and “oh right, we have a dog-did anyone feed the dog today?” (answer: probably not. That could explain why she’s staring at me so hard).

Strategic is one of my Strengths Finder top 5, so I tackle life like I’m playing a game of Tetris. Sometimes, I’m just not fast enough to make the pieces fit right.

Like Wednesday. It started out well, but when I got home at 4:30 and realized all that needed to occur before taking the kids to youth group by 7, I thought, “not gonna happen.”

My ideal scenario

Here’s my ideal scenario: dinner planned and ready by 6. Husband at home eating with us, at the table, with real plates and silverware, and engaging conversation. Dog walked, sheets out of the dryer and back on our bed. The dishwasher already clean and unloaded. Homework done and checked.

Instead, we ate dinner in the car out of plastic bowls on the way to youth group, so our car smelled like onions the rest of the night. My husband walked in the door, changed, helped with two pre-calc questions, and walked back out the door. The neighbor walked the dog. The sheets stayed in the dryer. There was still homework to be done. The last half hour before leaving I bordered on Tasmanian Devil mode. Which brings me to the My Little Pony fork-it was the only one left.

We all have pictures of our ideal life. We know how we want our relationships to be, how we want to conduct ourselves, run our homes, succeed at work and parenting and ministry and whatever fills our space.

But some days reality doesn’t match our ideals. For those days, there’s grace.

It’s tempting to stress when my ideals crumble to pieces. But as Anne Lamott says, “Perfectionism will keep you insane your whole life.”

So it’s life-giving to remember that especially when our lives take a different shape, there’s grace. We need lower expectations. Remember to breathe and laugh and know that it will work itself out eventually. We need to pick up the My Little Pony fork and call it good.

Related posts:

Let’s Be the Grace Givers

We Need to Stop Hitting Ourselves

When You’re Starting the Week Weary

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 22, 2016
Post category:faith grace rest

When You're Starting Out the Week Weary — Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

A friend of mine texted last night to see if I had any time this week to get together.

Everything in me wanted to say yes, but the reality was that looking at my schedule this week was already making me tired.

No margin. No white space. Mostly self-imposed, but it all feels necessary (“feel” being the operative word there).

Anybody else staring down a week of “I’m not sure when I’ll sit down” or “so much for cleaning the house?” (I say that like I actually would have cleaned the house if I had time. Ha).

Maybe it’s not that your schedule is too full, but that the activities that fill it ask so much of you. You’re trying to balance home and work and relationships and goals, and it’s enough to wear down the soul.

I opened my email this morning and saw this great post about walking away the Monday blues. What encouraged me most from it was this version of Matthew 11:28-30 from The Message:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Come to Me. Get away with Me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with Me and work with me-watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with Me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

I want those unforced rhythms of grace. Too often I try too hard, doing too much, one more task, one more activity squeezed in until there’s no space left. No grace. But if it’s heavy or ill-fitting, maybe it’s not what He’s called me to do.

Whether it’s a quiet walk or 10 minutes of silence (maybe in the bathroom cause that’s the only place you can get away) or just a moment when we stop and take some deep breaths-He’s calling us to come and remember that He can show us how to walk freely and lightly in the midst of busy.

He knows how to stare down a busy week-a week full of ministry and demands and conflict-and do it with a rested heart. He can teach us how to do it too.

Get away with Him. Get His perspective, His strength, His peace, His power. Keep company with Him this week.

Related posts:

Keeping a Sabbath Heart

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We Need to Stop Hitting Ourselves

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 15, 2016
Post category:grace identity truth

If you have siblings, at some point you played the ‘game’ where you forced a family member to hit themselves with their own hands, while saying, “Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?” This was really only funny for one of you, am I right?

Too often, though, we play this game all by ourselves. We are the ones hitting ourselves, beating ourselves up over failure and weakness, berating ourselves for being less than. We speak harshly, demanding more, demanding better, rarely letting ourselves off the hook. I know. I’m really good at that game.

This summer, I’ve seen levels of anxiety in my soul I didn’t know were there, and my natural inclination has been to pour contempt on it, willing it away. Instead of sitting with it, I want to run to a place of condemnation for what feels like weakness, failure, a lack of faith, as if that’s where I’ll find the salvation I seek.

Recently, a friend introduced me to this song, Be Kind to Yourself, by Andrew Peterson:

The line that gets me is, “How does it end when the war that you’re in is just you against you against you?”

We can live like our own worst enemies. We speak contempt to our own souls in a way that we would never speak to another. We shut down emotions that we think are unacceptable. We tell ourselves we just need more faith. When we mess up, we are the first in line to call it out and condemn. We admonish ourselves to suck it up and deal with life, rather than listen with grace to that in us which needs a voice. Who wins in this scenario?

So what do we do? For starters, we remind ourselves that we do have an enemy, and it’s not us.

We can chose to side with him against ourselves, or we can chose to side with the One who loves us. He never speaks harshly. He never condemns. He is patient with our weaknesses. He always speaks with compassion, grace, truth and acceptance. He expects more failure from us than we expect from ourselves, and yet it doesn’t change the fact that He’s wild about us.

So tell yourself it’s ok. You’re doing the best you can with what you have. Cut yourself some slack for your mistakes. Forgive yourself when you sin. Encourage yourself to get back up when you fall. Speak grace. Speak kindness. Speak compassion. Love yourself where you are, because He does.

He is kind to us. He invites us to be kind to ourselves. Stop hitting yourself. Lay down your weapons and rest.

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