Arlow is laying on the floor by my feet right now.

He played all day at daycare and is probably tired, but I keep studying his face. Is he okay? Is he bored? Depressed? Am I being a good mom? Does he know I love him?

This is my brain always.

Does he know I love him? Does she?

And also: Am I enough? Am I lovable?

Followed by: Yes, they know you love them. And they love you, they love you, they love you.


Not everything is fragile.

Love isn’t supposed to be a fragile, fleeting thing. It’s a commitment. A thing that just is and that cannot be lost. Because love doesn’t forsake us.

I am alive because I love.

And I am alive because they love me too.

That, love, (and Love), is the solid ground beneath my feet when all the world grows hazy and unreal to me. When my brain is flooded with a silent scream, and my chest is tight from trying to keep breathing, love keeps me committed to this fight.


I remember when things used to matter to me, not just consciously, but in a life-affirming, deep-in-my-soul sort of way.

How the dishwasher exhales steam when you open it, breathing wet, warm air onto your face.

The calming way the sunlight comes through the window in the early morning if you leave the lights off.

I remember who I used to be. I remember when life held magic and possibility and felt like a hug from the Lord, even when it was hard. I remember how just the simple act of existing felt like a gift.

The entire man-made world is designed to make life better. iPhones; and boats; and vacations; and TV shows; and recipes for something homemade and warm and delicious. And God gives us love. Love and sunshine and the smell of freshly cut grass and bananas and hugs and Himself. The entire world is infused with good, reasons to laugh and enjoy, and I can’t feel ANYTHING.

I read good books, and drink warm tea, and let myself be loved, and bend low to kiss Arlow’s wet nose. I laugh at jokes my coworkers tell, and hold doors open for people, and plan to go see movies with those whose company makes my life better.

I’m doing everything I can to try to make myself, the me I really am, return. The me who can feel joy in budding flowers and the smell of a freshly cut cucumber. I am desperate to stop floating somewhere above this world, unable to feel or touch anything, like it’s all a dream. I am begging myself to come back.

But the harder I try, the more panicked I feel. Because it isn’t working. Trying harder isn’t always the solution. But this? This version of living? This isn’t going to work for me either.


I text my therapist tonight. “I need to know if anything–grief or experiences or lies I’m believing–is contributing to this depression and panic,” I said. “I need to fix it. I need to not feel powerless. I need to be me again.”

Someday I’ll look back on this season and I won’t see it as wasted time.

God hasn’t brought me (or kept me) here to suffer.

And even now, I can see His hand in all of it.

I am currently here with two of my favorite kids, in a house that feels as much like home to me as my own. And I have a place here. I belong here.

And regularly people text me and tell me they’re thinking of me and love me, or that something funny or good happened in their day, or that they need prayer or to talk to someone who understands. My life matters to people. I know that to be true.

And I have a job that I love. It’s hard, brutally hard at times, but rewarding. I have lots of time to myself, and I regularly get home early, and my clients are so lovable. It’s the perfect job for me in so many ways.

And Arlow. My whole heart loves him.

All of that is God.

And the way I feel Sundays, surrounded by my church family, watching the band play and candles on stage flicker, and knowing we’ve all come together with our brokenness and joy to worship the Lord? Oh, it’s so undeniably God. His hand in my life. An unmistakable gift.


Maybe I don’t need to try so hard.

Sometimes “trying harder” just breeds panic, especially when you’re already doing the best you can.

So I’ll look down at Arlow, and rather than worrying that I’m failing him, I’ll say, “He is loved. And he knows it. He is resting because he feels safe and secure and relaxed. He is resting. He is not depressed.”

And I’ll look at myself and offer myself the same gift of speaking truth. “I am okay. I am still breathing, in the midst of the crazy I still have the breath of God in my lungs, and that is not a mistake. I am going to be okay. I am held. I am loved. I am His precious child. And I am not going to be gone from myself forever.”

Sometimes you have to stand firm and wield your weapons and fight.

And sometimes you have to be still and know.

And that’s a kind of fighting too.


The Questions We Ask

He whines and tries to push his wet nose between my hands and face when I cry. Which is definitely more endearing when he hasn’t been throwing up all night.

I rolled out of bed and slipped on some Uggs, and my unbrushed hair and pajama-clad self and I went to Albertson’s for some canned pumpkin tonight. Because that’s supposed to help doggy tummies.

And mamas crawl out of bed and go to the store for their babies.

He threw that up the little bit of pumpkin I gave him too, so I wiped his runny nose with my hand and turned out the lights and told him he needed to rest. He’s here at my side now, while we sit in the dark. And I pray for his body, occasionally reaching over and placing my hand on him while I pray.

I pray for his body, and I pray for my heart. He’s throwing up and my eyelids are swollen from crying. It’s been quite the night.


Laura spoke at church the other night about serving. And I found myself wondering if God’s call to serve (others and Him) is almost protective. Because when we keep in mind that we’re serving Him, we don’t have to have the answers. We don’t have to understand things or be orchestrating things or hold anything together. That isn’t our role. All we have to know is what the next thing is that God is asking us to do.

It keeps us safe when we go through life remembering He is the one scripting it, and that our job is to surrender and serve.

Surrender and serve, admittedly, are two words that have a traditionally negative connotation. But when I think of them in relation to our God who is Love? All I hear is: “Rest, child. You are held. Be still and know.”

So often my anxiety and fear stems from a desire to control things that aren’t mine to control. I’ll lie in bed all tangled up, analyzing what is or might be, and how I can fix it or undo it, and what that means for my future and life and hope.

And in the midst of all that, God whispers to me: “You’re asking the wrong questions.”

The right questions are more along the lines of: “What are You saying to me in this moment?” “What do I KNOW to be true?”

And it strikes me that, even if God gave me the answers to all of the things I want to know, often times I suspect He’d have to say: “But these things are still in process. The answers I’m giving you might not even be the same tomorrow or the next day or in a month or a year.”

It would be like drawing conclusions about the ending of a book based on paragraph three, chapter six.

So, questions that demand answers aren’t really helpful. Questions that help us feel like we’re able to dig our nails back into our lives in some manner of control? That’s not His goal for us.

He’s protecting us by what He doesn’t reveal.
He’s loving us when He refuses to let us believe we’re in control.
And when He is silent in response to our petitions? Even that is proof of His goodness.

We know we’re asking the right questions when we feel more surrendered and peaceful in the asking. The right questions are those that help us shed the weight of things that were never ours to carry. They leave us with our hearts open to life and possibility, rather than shut down and suspicious.


“What are your favorite things about God?” Laura asked that the other night as well.

Mine? He’s always available. He loves to hear what’s on my heart.
He loves me and understands me and delights in me so completely that my heart is always safe with Him.
I never have to be afraid or weigh my words or be scared He’ll yell at me for something I feel.
He always sees me, even when I’m at my worst, through eyes of love.
He is gentle and compassionate and leads me with kindness.
He is invested in me, and He isn’t going anywhere. No matter what.

And as I made that list I thought, “…Isn’t that ironic? All the things about Him that I love the most are the things my heart is so desperate to find in human relationships.”

And I don’t know what that means necessarily. I do believe that those things (although imperfect forms of them) can be found in relationship with others. But I am grateful that in this season, He is teaching me that I can also find what I long for in Him.


I spread my arms out wide. “Lord, strip away all that isn’t of You.”

“Teach me, Lord, that it’s enough to go through life as just me.”

“Teach me to live surrendered and at peace. Teach me to live held.”


And when I feel out of place and like I don’t belong, I can go lock myself in a bathroom stall and tilt my eyes to heaven.

And because He and I have spent so much time together rehearsing truth, I can meet His eyes and remember that the God of the Universe knows my heart and smiles when He thinks of me. Who I am, just as I am, is enough.

I don’t have to feel in control, even in social situations. I don’t have to be well-spoken or magnetic or present myself “well”. I can let go of that pressure because He’s the one doing the orchestrating, and He knew what He was doing when He placed my silly self there among those people.

And so I can go back out there, just as I am, and know that feeling “out of place” isn’t a reflection of me. And that “not belonging” is a lie because God handpicked me and placed me there for a reason.

I don’t have to stand against a wall, feeling conspicuous and awkward and like there’s a neon sign flashing above my head that reads: “No one wants this girl.”

I don’t have to stand there, palms sweaty, asking: “What is wrong with me?”, “Will I always feel like this?”, “Do they love me even though it doesn’t seem that way right now?”

Because back in the bathroom stall, God reminded me: “Those are the wrong questions, child.”

“Oh. Right.” I am called to serve Him. Which means the right question is: “What do you want me to do right now?”

And He smiles. Because yes, that is the right question. And what He says next almost makes me want to roll my eyes because “what a God thing to say!” 😉

“Go love people.”

Which, oddly enough, is a lot easier to do when you’re not trying to control them. Or yourself. 🙂

The Redeeming Of Mistakes

When I sit down to write a blog lately, my stomach fills with knots and butterflies and all the other things nervous stomachs fill up with. And I don’t know why. Maybe I’m subconsciously afraid I won’t hear from God (which is the whole point of my writing). Maybe it’s the enemy trying to dissuade me from trying. I don’t know. I just know I won’t let my nervous stomach win.

That said,

The other night, I watched Tomorrowland. I honestly didn’t have huge hopes for it, but I was pleasantly surprised. It was one of those “I have to pee but don’t want to get up” movies. So I just sat there, uncomfortable, willing my body to cooperate until the movie ended.

I’ve heard before that there are two wolves battling inside us, hope and despair, and what wolf wins is whatever one you feed. And yet, there was something about hearing that in the context of this movie that made my heart fill with lightness.

The main character, Casey, was relentlessly, unwaveringly hopeful. Even in the face of really overwhelming, depressing, seemingly inevitable things. She didn’t give up. She was convinced there was something that could be done. Anne Frank-style, she saw the beauty through the tragedy. She didn’t deny that the present was hard, she just opened her eyes up to see that it wasn’t JUST hard. And in doing that, she had the power to create for herself a future that reflected the hope she was holding tight to.

And isn’t that what we’re called to do as Christians? To look at impossibilities and seeming inevitability and overwhelming darkness and say “no”? Demand that it bend its knee to the name of Jesus? We are called to look at hard things and speak hope and life over them, calling them to reflect heaven. On earth as it is in heaven, right?


It has only been two and a half months.

The other night, I sat in a car with someone who witnessed that season of my life, and I talked about it. And I felt shame-induced nervousness rising into my throat. But I talked about it anyway.

“I forgive me. She still loves me. It’s in the past. God is doing a new thing,” I kept reminding myself.

I REFUSE to submit to shame. I refuse to not talk about it. Even if it makes my hands shake and my stomach hurt and my eyes tear. Even if it makes my cheeks redden and my insecurities about love and relationships and my own mental health resurface, I refuse to hide. I refuse to just carry truth around with me in a backpack, trying to forget it or only sneaking a peak at it in my most private moments.

I will unpack it–brokenness and embarrassment and shame and all–and lay it before my loved ones and I, and we will all look at it. We will look at the truth and we will talk about what needs to be talked about.

And I won’t hide it.

It happened. It’s part of my story, and I can’t move forward without embracing that. I refuse to carry it around with me on my back for the rest of my life, trying to keep people from noticing the metaphorical backpack I’m always lugging around.

Instead, I choose to ditch the backpack all-together as I lay bare my truth. And in doing so, I choose freedom. I choose humility. I choose to trust God with all of it.

When I look back on that season in my life, I can’t believe it actually happened. I don’t recognize the person I was. But the miracle is that, slowly, shame and embarrassment are being stripped away. And all that’s left is gratitude- gratitude for how far God has brought me, and gratitude for the people who’ve remained.

It’s pointless and exhausting to think through the events over and over again, remembering who saw what, and how I felt, and what people must’ve thought, and the person that I was, and what people remember, and what I remember, and how much they all think about it, and whether or not they still see me the same way. It’s pointless and just keeps me stuck there, trying to think my way out of it- turning things over and over in my mind, as if doing so will eventually make them not have happened.

So I say no. I say it’s done and I can’t undo it. I say, “Here are the contents of my backpack.” And I smile because some run the other way, yes, but not everyone does. And that’s beautiful.

Here’s what I know: I forgive myself. God forgives me. And I am still loved. And really, what more could I want? What else matters?

Yes, loved one, you’ve seen me at my worst. You’ve seen me embarrass myself. And yet, you’re still here. …And how much freedom is there in that?! In knowing you’ve seen me as unlovable as I’ve ever been, and you still love me?

So, maybe it’s not embarrassment I should be feeling. Maybe I should just be feeling incredibly blessed. Blessed to be alive, and blessed to be loved.

And grateful that God, knowing this season was coming, placed me among the people who would be safest for me and best for me and see me through it, administering some “tough love” and all.

And anyway, isn’t that what love does? It sees our embarrassment and says, “No, I will still love you.” And embarrassment can’t continue to exist in that environment. In the face of relentless, unwavering love, when the people who witnessed our embarrassment refuse to call it that but instead say “I love you”, the only way we can still be burdened with embarrassment is if we are refusing to forgive ourselves.

And refusing to trust that God is able to restore and redeem even out biggest mistakes.

And He does.

I don’t ever want to go through an experience like that again. I pray over myself regularly that God will protect me and help me guard my heart and stand firm in truth. But He can (and does) take even our biggest mistakes and make them something beautiful. It’s astounding.

You know, I spent a long time thinking I didn’t matter. That I was unloved. That I didn’t have family, simply because it didn’t look the way I had thought family should look.

And I fell into a deep, dark pit.

And they saw. They watched. I embarrassed myself. I scared them. And still, they showed up.

And who does that–who stands by, even while we are destroying ourselves–other than family?!

It’s not embarrassing because it’s cloaked in forgiveness and love. And the result? All I can see now is that God’s given me a wonderful gift. He’s revealing to me His incredible provision and protection for that season in my life, and my continued recovery.

And oh, how the right people are in my life. People who love me without allowing me to unintentionally project my need for God onto them.

And He did that. He said, “These are the people who will love her without letting her forget that, more than anything else, it’s My love she needs. They will be her family.”

It’s only been two and a half months. Oh, how far He’s brought me…

The pit was dark and deep.

And yet, here I am today, still climbing out, but looking up. Smiling. With the sun on my face.

Where Hope Is Found

What is it about not feeling well that makes me want to cry?

And I don’t even want to cry because I can’t sleep and my eyes burn and my nose is running and my throat hurts and I keep coughing. No, none of that makes me sad or teary. It’s inconvenient and annoying, sure, but apart from that, I don’t really “mind” being sick.

In some ways, I kind of appreciate that my body is demanding my attention. When I’m sick, my body requires that I recognize that I am a person with needs. It demands I slow down. That’s not a bad thing. It gives me permission to make myself a priority without feeling selfish.

When I’m at work at my nose is running while I talk to a client, I remember I’m more than a therapist- I’m a living, breathing, human being. That becomes the bigger, truer thing in all aspects of my life when I’m sick- I am a person and I have needs.

I want to cry because being sick makes me feel sensitive and young and small. Why does my birth certificate say that I’m 28, because I’m pretty sure I’m still a child, and who’s going to make me dinner and tuck me into bed and kiss my forehead as my eyes close?!

I don’t know what to do when I feel this way. And I think that’s because there’s nothing I can do.

I can’t point at someone and say, “You. I choose you to be what I need. I choose you to come over and sit with me on my couch and let me rest my head on your shoulder. I choose you to love me the way I think I need to be loved.”

Everything, it seems, is a call to surrender- to give up my desire for control and fix my eyes instead on the face of the Lord, who loves me passionately and relentlessly and forever.

I’ve believed for a long time that I could find security in my relationships if only I had some sort of guarantee that the people in my life love me, that they carry me in their hearts and minds even when we’re apart. But the irony is that looking for security in relationships only breeds insecurity.

It’s a freaking waste of time.

Not only that, but it kills relationships. Trust me, I know. People don’t want to have to reassure you constantly that they love you.

The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy. And that? The fear of losing love? Needing reassurance and validation? That’s got his name written all over it. I see you, Satan. I see you and I’m calling you out.

We can’t find our security in anything apart from the Lord because the hard, undeniable truth is that life doesn’t come with any guarantees.

Help us to fix our eyes on You, Jesus. Help us to know You as the source of all our hope.

No matter how many times someone says they love me, it won’t be what I need. The anxiety in my brain won’t shut off like a switch after the 31st “I love you”.

Because relationships are fluid things built on trust. They are not contracts.

I mean, Jesus Himself modeled that. His life demonstrated that we cannot make anyone love us. But that our mission, regardless of the love we receive, is to love.

I have to learn to live with the anxiety when it arises. I have to tell my anxiety to sit down, stop ranting and raving about how scary everything is, and remember that our God is still on the throne.

When I ask God for some promise that so-and-so will love me forever, when I ask Him if I’ll ever have someone to hold me when I’m sad, He gently whispers that I am asking the wrong questions. My focus is on the wrong thing.

He keeps in perfect peace those whose minds are stayed on Him. (Is. 26:3)

We are to seek Him with our whole hearts and He will provide for our needs. (Jer. 29:13, Ps. 119:2, Amos 5:4, Deut. 11:13)

Over and over again in scripture He reminds us that our focus HAS to be Him.

If I focus my eyes on anything else, that’s when anxiety replaces peace. Even if I don’t understand how it’s possible, I know from scripture that He is all that I need. And I know I can trust Him with my heart, with my life, with my needs.

My focus is wrong when I look to the world for love, with big, questioning eyes.

When I look to the world, it should be to love, not to be loved.

And when I need love? It’s then I should look to Jesus.

All I can do is that- keep my eyes on Him and leave the outcomes in His hands. Everything surrendered, everything at the foot of the cross, and my arms wrapped around His waist- too full of Him to hold on to anything else.

I’m sick. And no one is going to cover me with a blanket if I fall asleep on the couch or make me soup.

And that’s okay. It’s sad, but it’s okay because God is good and He can be trusted. He knows what He’s doing, and even when I don’t understand, I know He doesn’t make mistakes.

And because He is my Father, because He loves me so wildly, He beckons, “Arise, daughter. Let hope arise. Take heart. Abide in My love. And when you fall asleep on the couch, I’ll cover you- not with a blanket, but with My love.”


“Home is where you’re made to feel like a big deal. More than welcome, you are wanted.”

“There’s nothing better than the warm embrace of belonging.”

Tithing. And Worship.

Anxiety and “need” have been plaguing me lately.

But I welcome them. I see them as a call to spend more time with the Lord. If I don’t feel okay inwardly, it means there is to much world or self occupying my heart and mind and not enough Truth and Love and Abba.

Last night, at a shamefully late hour, my brain decided it was a good time to panic about finances. And before I knew it, I was telling myself I really needed to stop tithing.

As soon as that thought entered my mind, however, a second thought followed: “Where is your trust?!”

My trust is in God. My trust isn’t in a paycheck. It’s not in my bank account. It’s not in hoarding and collecting and saving every penny I possibly can in order to feel “safe” or “secure”. I don’t want to find my safety or security in money. I want to find it only in God.

And I know He will provide, but I want to trust Him and love Him so fully that I would continue to tithe even as my bank account neared zero.

And so I tithe. I tithe without fear of the future. I tithe without any contingency. I don’t tithe to get something back, I tithe because that is what my Lord asks of me.

I tithe because the things of this world are temporary. I tithe because I can do more with God by my side than I can with any sum of money. I tithe because as God’s child, I know I am rich.

I tithe because it helps me to bow down to the only One who deserves my worship.

How often do I bow to other things! I don’t think of it that way, of course, but that is what it is.

When I fear people won’t like me, when I fear I don’t measure up, when I disregard who God says I am, I bow to man.

When I worry about money and decide the only remedy is to become stingy with it, I bow to money.

When I think I need to wear a certain thing or look a certain way in order to have value or worth, I bow to beauty,

When I think I need more than what I have, I bow to material possessions.

And how often do I bow to fear!? Is that not the root of all that I bow to apart from the Lord?!

Every time I bow to something other than the Lord, I am taking my life into my own hands in the worst possible way. I am telling the Lord I know best. I am telling Him I don’t trust He will provide.

Lord, I want nothing more than to furiously and passionately pursue You. I don’t want to pursue financial wealth or beauty or others’ love. I simply want You. You alone are God.

And so, I give it all to You. Not just my money, but everything. I give You all that I might feel tempted to pursue that isn’t You- respect, love, revenge. I give You it all. I don’t want anything more or less than what You have for me, Lord.

I love You.

And Lord, I know You will provide, I know You have a plan and that You love me, but even when I don’t understand, even when it looks like You aren’t providing, I want to continue to love and seek You alone. I want to continue to be obedient. Help me to be obedient.

And so I tithe. I tithe because nothing, not one thing, matters more to me than my relationship with God. I want nothing more than to love Him more, trust Him move, know Him more, and make Him proud of me.

Lord, when my heart feels like it needs something, when I feel anxious about what I have and what I lack, help me to remember that all I really need is You. Help me to be heaven-minded. Help me be willing to give You anything You ask of me without hesitation.


In Candy Land, kids move their players along the path with their goal in mind. Their eyes are on the… Sugar Palace or whatever it’s called. And yes, the road has highs and lows, there are times when they have to backtrack a few spaces and times when they get to jump ahead. But it doesn’t matter, not really, because they know where the road leads.

That is how I want to live. Regardless of the highs and lows of life, I know how this story ends. It ends with You.


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More Than Enough

It is incredible to me how, no matter what thought enters my mind, God’s word is the salve. Or the confirmation.

I don’t know how people do life apart from Him. It is way too hard when you go through life without the comfort of His word and the steady assurance that you are loved in a bigger way than you can even fathom, and you are never alone.

He is my best friend.

When I am going to sleep at night, I picture Him bending down to kiss my forehead and smooth back my hair. Because He is Abba. And I am His daughter.

When I see Mt. Rainier in the distance, glowing pink from the sunset, I know He is smiling at my enjoyment of His creation.

When I come home after work and greet my fur-babies, I feel Him delighting in the fact that I am embracing the nurturing nature He gave me.

When something funny happens, I can sense Him laughing with me. And sometimes maybe even laughing at me a tiny bit. 😉

When I don’t feel like I fit in or worry that I don’t measure up, He is there, whispering truth into my ear.

When a semi truck comes into my lane, oblivious to my presence there, but I see it soon enough to slam on my brakes, I feel gratitude. And I know that the only reason I stayed safe was because He was protecting me. And I marvel at how many times a day He protects me and how often I am completely unaware.

When I am crying, He comforts me.

When I’m scared, He is strong.

When I’m lonely, He is present.

When life seems overwhelmingly big, I can rest in the knowledge that my God is bigger.

I’ve known all this for a long time of course, but it’s like a Polaroid that is gradually darkening. I thought I really understood and saw Him clearly, but the more time that passes, the richer and more detailed my knowledge of Him (and love for Him!) gets. And I hope that never changes. I hope I never get so familiar with this religion of mine that it ceases to be a relationship.

Lord, thank You that every single day is an adventure when I go through it with my eyes wide open and my heart tuned in to You.

“God’s word is more certain, more secure, more immovable than any event on earth. Reality itself must conform to the perfect purpose and plan of God.”

I love that. I love that God is bigger than our understanding of reality.

That’s one of the main topics that has been on my mind lately, and I loved seeing it confirmed in writing: any time you make your understanding of reality bigger than God, you are putting Him in a box.

And God doesn’t fit in a box.

He is unchanging, yes, but He is also the creator of this “reality” we think we know so well. The rules of reality don’t apply to Him.

Hallelujah. 🙂

“The disciples are gathered in a room ‘for fear of the Jew’ (John 20:19). Imagine this situation. Feel the oppression of the fear of man in the air. Picture the bars across the doors and the captives inside who only a short time before had wielded power to cast out demons and heal the sick. Had they been stripped of their authority? Of their abilities? No, indeed. Powerless is always the message the enemy sends fear to bring.”

Such a good little liar the enemy is.

Lord, help me to never mistake Satan’s voice for Yours. Or my own. Help me know when I am being lied to, and help me be quick to remind Satan that I belong to You.

Thank You, Lord, for Your word. Thank You that You gave us the Bible and the Holy Spirit. Thank You that we are well-equipped to do this life, whatever may come.

And help us to remember, Lord, that we are never powerless. Help us remember that we never need to do life afraid.

“Don’t default into our past. Don’t jump the gun for our future. Just behold and know. Instructions will come when the time is right. In the meantime, being is so much harder than doing, isn’t it?”

Again, I find that incredibly comforting. Yes, waiting is hard, but the hardest thing about it is that you worry you aren’t doing enough, that you are somehow missing the boat or not keeping up with life.

However, your life isn’t going to rush on ahead without you.

Don’t forget that your life is more than what you hope to achieve or what you dream for, your life is today. It is this moment. And God is in control. And if you have no direction and you sense God telling you to wait, it is for a reason. Your life isn’t just just made up of action and activity, it is also the pauses, the moments of rest and reflection. Your life is continuing to take shape and unfold beautifully, even in the waiting. And so, you can eliminate the fear that you aren’t doing all that you “should” be.

No matter what you are waiting on, whatever God has for you in this moment is just as important.

Lord, I thank You that even in my discomfort and uncertainty, there is the opportunity for growth. Thank You that You are good always and that my needs (both actual and imagined) are familiar and important to You. Thank You that You are invested in my life.

Help me to stay present.

Help me to think of the future, not with anxiety, but with joy and excitement.

No matter what happens between today and the day I die, I know the ending already. I already know heaven awaits me. And so I don’t have to be afraid of what this life holds. I can do life with joy and comfort. I can do it fearlessly and boldly.

Thank You, so much, for every single breath. Help me not to waste this time I am given. Help me not to be overwhelmed by life. Help me remember that You are bigger and that my concept of reality is clouded. Help me to remember the world as I see it now is a hazy Polaroid. I cannot see the whole picture.

And help me, Lord, to rely on You for joy and comfort and boldness and not try to create those things within myself.

I am like a balloon, Lord. I am a balloon, and when I try to do life on my own, I am a balloon filled with CO2. I don’t float. I catch some air occasionally on a bounce, but gravity (reality) keeps me pinned pretty firmly to the earth.

However, when I go to You for life and love and comfort and joy, I am a balloon filled with helium. Nothing can get me down. The rules of reality and the confines of this world don’t call the shots- You do.

And life with You in control is a life that is destined to be beautiful.

So, we can wait with confidence.

“Do you belong to Jesus Christ? If so, the Holy Spirit dwells in you (Rom. 8:9), and He did not cheat you of a single ounce of His power. He came to show off in you. As He does, your whole life will become a living witness just like the disciples. Our assignments may differ, but you and I have exactly the same Holy Spirit that Christ promised to His first disciples. If we only knew what we had, our lives would be so different!”

Lord, help us become aware. Help us never to minimize Your power or presence or what it is You want to do with us today, in this very moment.

Help us not to forget that You are God.

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