All of this COVID-19 stuff is affecting us each differently, bringing up a range of emotions from indifference to panic. But I think regardless of what we're feeling today, we could all use some comfort. I hope this post is a reminder that in the midst of it all there is still rest and peace to be found.
In a beautiful way, the birth of this church has been one of the most tangible ways I have seen God's faithfulness to us. But, if I'm honest, I struggle to see God's faithfulness in every area of my life, and I have a feeling I'm not alone in this.
It's a little surreal, seeing something we've hoped for for the last two years become a tangible reality. But I won't lie, there have been days where it has been hard to hope for good things (about this church and about many other things). So this post is about hope and how hope can feel impossible. But also how hope is exactly what we're guaranteed in the Christian life.
When it comes to my walk with God, most of my doubts and spiritual struggles come down to the question "Am I really believing that God is who he says he is?" This question seems to come up again and again as I struggle through the ups and downs of life.
I get it. The happy-go-lucky posts might get more views. The fluffy, easy posts might garner more likes. But oftentimes the happy and the fluffy are masking what's really going on. And when it comes down to it, I'm not really sure that's what people actually want to read.
Grief can feel exceptionally heavy and lonely. It can lead us to cry out in confusion, "God, where are you?" It can feel natural, and oftentimes easier, to follow this spiral of despair. But it's here that we must turn our lament heavenward.
A guest post by Myra Dempsey... "She stomps snow off her boots; an audible shiver escapes her lips as she hangs her coat. Mallory glances again at the photo as she passes. A beautiful beach sunset. Some days when she sees it, the emotions of last summer’s vacation swell quickly. The picturesque moments of the trip overshadowed by the fear of her brother dying soon..."
My year-long Bible reading plan is taking me through the Gospels and I just love it. I've been able to see Jesus' character as I read the accounts from the disciples who spent so much time with him. Recently I read this verse and I slowed down a bit...
This month has been FULL and my head is still spinning from it all. November marks the first full month of juggling a new job and additional freelance hours, so this reading list is a little shorter, but I treasured every book.
I often struggle with the contradiction between striving to be more like Christ while also trusting God to work through me. The juxtaposition seems almost impossible. How are we supposed to work out our own salvation if it is God who is working in us?
Am I the only one who has a hard time accepting it when God says "no" to me? Am I the only one who grits my teeth in frustration when God's response to my prayer for a good thing is "wait"? Am I the only one who feels forgotten by God when something hard happens in my life?
In a way that I can only attribute to the power and sanctifying work of the Spirit, my faith has become less blind understanding, less knowledge of seminary-ingrained truths, and more real, concrete, deeply-rooted-in-my-soul knowledge of God.
As believers, we must write as one who will give an account for every word we speak (and write). At the same time, there is grace when we don't get it right. We must embrace this tension, writing with fear and trembling while leaning into the abundant grace of God.
Maybe it’s the season I’m in now, but life feels especially uncomfortable lately. As much as I try to fight for joy, discontentment seems to continually rear its ugly head in my heart. It feels like the things I am praying and striving for most, God has chosen to keep just out of reach...
We are scared of failing. Scared of imperfection and - moreso - of letting people see the ways we don't quite meet the standards we've set for ourselves. But, you see...in the most beautiful way, imperfection is an invitation.