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  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…

  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…

  I wish I had a dollar for every time someone has said to me, “Oh I could never . . .” fill in the blank, usually with “live overseas” or “be in full-time ministry” or “homeschool my kids” or some other lifestyle choice we’ve made along the way. It’s hard to know how to respond to statements like that. I used to think, “Sure you could!” But now I think, “You know what? You could, but you’re not supposed to do this. And that’s okay.” See, I can do what I do only because this is what I’m called to do. You might be called to do something else.  (Probably you are because if God called us all to the same thing, well, that would be highly inefficient). We each have our own calling. And God gives us what we need for what we are called to do. The Uniqueness of Our Calling I didn’t decide to move overseas or be in full-time ministry or homeschool my kids because I thought I’d be awesome at these things and they seemed manageable and fun. (and honestly, those are usually grids I would use!) No, I had great reservations about all of them. But it was obvious to me when I chose to enter each of those situations that it was what God wanted for me. It was what He was leading me to do.  As Christians, we often espouse the view that to truly follow God, we must all live a certain way. It’s easy to feel pressure to conform to the choices we see others around us making. We judge others when they don’t make the same choices we do. We question others, we doubt ourselves. All of that negates calling. Recently, a friend of mine was sharing about her decision to have a larger family. It wasn't one she took lightly. It was what she felt God asked of her. She receives more than her share of, “Oh I could never . . .” statements with regard to the number of children she has. But the truth she keeps returning to is that she knows it is how she and her husband were led. It is what God had for them. The Broadness of God's Calling Calling can be a nebulous word. What do we mean by that? I used to believe that God's calling on my life was some target I had to hit; miss it and you're outside His will. All bets for a good life are off then. But I believe now that God's will is broader than that. I fully believe God designs us with specific gifts and passions meant to be used for His glory (Ephesian 2:10). That call is unique to us. Therefore calling combats comparison. When we are sure that the choices we make are what God has for us personally, it silences the voices that say, “But other people are doing this” or “I should live like that person.” Bring What You…

  I still remember the door shutting behind our two kids as they walked out the door for the first day of their senior and sophomore years of high school. With the new-found freedom of being able to drive themselves, it was the first time I didn’t have to accompany them. The sudden silence overwhelmed me. Rather than feeling my own freedom, I felt empty. Tempted to fill the space with activity, instead, I felt compelled to sit and acknowledge it for a moment. I turned it over, questioning where it came from and why. What did it say about my soul? It wasn’t a comfortable moment. It was another tug at my soul from God, a whisper from a place of quietness I have always been loath to enter. Productivity, input, engagement-this is where I feel at home. God Calling Me to Silence Since then, through various means, including books like You Are What You Love and Liturgy of the Ordinary, God keeps calling me to order my life so that the lonely places are not something to avoid, but something to practice. I have the best intentions. I believe what people say about the importance of silence, making space for my soul to speak, and space for the Spirit to respond. So I began carving out that space: ten minutes of silence to start my time with God in the morning. Then fifteen. Even sometimes twenty. Turning off the radio during a drive. Choosing not to pull up a podcast on a long walk with my dog. I love what I find there, I do. Creating space for silence lets my soul breathe. All the anxiety that hides in corners of my soul, weighing it down, comes crawling out into the open. There’s relief in offering it to Someone far more capable than I. Thoughts crystallize. I become conscious of what holds my heart. My soul gets quiet enough to listen to God. My Struggle with Silence But just as quickly, I let the noise creep back in. It’s easier. I fill a boring moment with a new TV show episode, and suddenly I’m hooked. Someone mentions a new podcast and I pick it up. It’s more fun to cook with something occupying my mind. Soon enough, distractions take over once again. It’s tempting to be discouraged, to give up. Perhaps I am simply too hard-wired for activity, I think. It helps to remember that there is a war for my soul, and the enemy loves using noise and distraction in the fight. This isn’t merely a matter of discipline, but of the kingdom, for which I am ill-equipped to fight on my own. I need God's help. So I keep listening for His whispers, calling me back. I know He holds no contempt for me when I finally turn down the sounds of my life and get quiet again. He is patient. He is waiting. Making Peace with Silence Places of solitude and silence can overwhelm. But…

  I'm no stranger to packing up and moving homes, so you'd think I would be pretty good at it by now. Unfortunately, I have a strong streak of impatience and a high commitment to efficiency, so I tend to pack carelessly. This is particularly true in the kitchen because so much is fragile and requires extra work. I remember packing a box of glasses once to give away. I debated the merits of squeezing them all into one box over padding them well enough that they wouldn't break in transit (especially because I couldn't find another box and was too lazy to keep looking. Also, I value efficiency over accuracy). This is how we can fill our schedules. When I look at my calendar and see wide open spaces, my instinct is to fill them. It's like Pac-Man, trying to level up by gobbling empty slots. The problem is when I add something new, I don't always think about the padding it needs to not bump up against other activities. Here's an example: Someone asked me once to take on a role that on paper is a 3-hour activity once a month. I thought, "That's totally doable!" (this is generally my reaction to any prospect). When I talked it over with a wise friend, though, he pointed out that it wasn't just 3 hours. Taking on that time meant 6-8 new relationships with people I want to invest in knowing well. It meant praying for them, probably meeting individually, social activities together, being available to them. When I thought about the amount of space it would really take in my box, I knew it wasn't going to fit. It's not just about the activities we do, but all the bubble wrap time that will go into making that activity succeed. It includes all the prayer, preparation, thinking, and meeting that might surround it. Most importantly, we have to consider the relational and emotional energy expended on top of the actual time invested. I don't know about you, but I don't often have an excess of that kind of energy laying around. I've experienced the side effects of over packing. Things break. I break. Bubble Wrapping Our Lives So I'm trying these days to bubble wrap my activities. Leave space around them to actually think about them. Space to be fully present in what I choose, to let them bleed a bit outside the lines of the time I allotted for them. It's not easy. My ego gets in the way, wanting to prove myself through the busyness of my calendar. My heart gets in the way too-I want to help. I love saying yes. But if it's going to cause me to overwork, it's not my best yes. It's not the best yes for anyone. So we need helping packing. Sometimes we need to run it by a friend, as I mentioned earlier, someone with no skin in the game, who can call us out when our hearts and egos run…

  I'm going to come straight to the point: we don't talk about sin anymore. We talk about brokenness and being messy, which is good. We talk about crushed Cheerios in our minivans or how we just can't get to the gym. Maybe even about the truth of our hard days, and where we feel we don't measure up. All good. And in light of all that, we talk a lot about God's love for us, a most necessary shift from the past. There is nothing we can do to make Him love us less; we know that now, right? It's important to know that God sees into our brokenness and mess and does not turn away. Again, all good. Authenticity is great. Being grounded in God's love is necessary. But what happens when we divorce it from sin? When we don't look past our crushed Cheerios and failed gym membership to see the ways we rebel against God Himself? What Happens When We Don't Talk About Sin Well, if that happens, then we can go to church and just feel good about ourselves. We go sing about how much God loves us and it fills us up to live another week. We sing what I call "Law 1" songs. If you aren't familiar, the gospel tract we often use in Cru ministry called "Knowing God Personally" used to be called "The Four Spiritual Laws." Law 1 is, "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." Good news, but not if we forget law 2, "Man is sinful and separated from God." I know. Who wants to talk about that? I do. Because what does it mean to us that God loves us if we aren't conscious of the fact that we don't deserve that love? If we don't face the hard truth that apart from the death of Christ, I cannot stand in the presence of God? Why We Need to Talk About Sin When our "brokenness" and "mess" fails to encompass the reality of sin, we miss something of God. When it's only about bringing our wounds and not our moral failure to the surface, we don't experience the full extent of what God has done for us. Jesus didn't die for our crushed Cheerios or our failure to work out. He died for the ways we choose to walk away from God, over and over, day after day. Growing up, I was not acutely aware of my sin. I was a good kid. The kind other parents probably wished they had. So when I was presented with the idea that I was a sinner in need of grace, I accepted it at a head level. I couldn't really see much God was saving me from. But as I grew, I began to be confronted by the depths of how I do try to live independently of God. I saw the deep desire in my heart to be my own savior, ruler of my own…