Ann Voskamp's Blog, page 165
August 23, 2016
Links for 2016-08-22 [del.icio.us]
Our #1 Best-Selling Drone--Meet the Dark Night of the Sky!
August 22, 2016
the secret to genuinely productive work weeks
Our Miz Hope-girl, she kicked me out of the kitchen, out of the house, while she made the cake.
While the girl grinds up flour, I go out to wheat fields.
Ride a few rounds with the kid in the tractor.
While he tells me about all the mistakes he made, tells me about how he’d jammed the grain buggy auger and they’d spent 27 minutes unplugging it (he timed it, because the boy knew that getting it done mattered and we’re not playing games here) and how they had to pail up the wheat that spilled like his blatant failure there at the end of the field. I get it, boy.
He’d bit his lip hard when he told me all that. Trying to stop what he could feel coming, but I could see how his eyes brimmed anyway.
I turned away — give the boy time to be brave.
He said it himself, how after he’d been in too high a gear going uphill, with not enough throttle, and how he’d stalled it and the tractor and him and one heaping full wagon of wheat had started slipping backward down the hill —-
and I’d closed my eyes tight at that point in the story, as if that could somehow ridiculously stop the whole mess from happening —-
and he’d pressed all his paltry weight of 11 years down on those brakes, but he ended up jack knifing the wagon and tractor real bad by the bottom of the hill. I nod but I don’t say it what I’ve felt right up there under the lung:
Go in high gear without enough soul fuel will stall and jack knife your life every single time, boy.
Sure, it can look like you’re harvesting a wheat crop but the point is that we’re raising men here. We’re raising future men who know how to work and future women who know how to dig deep and kids who know that you’ve got to have dirt under your fingernails to plant good things and procrastination can be a sin that sends you only a lot of sorrow.
Malakai’s working long days and into the night, running the tractor alongside the combine and his Dad and Shalom’s running the auger on the home farm, and Levi’s hauling wagons full of wheat from each farm back to Shalom and the bins.
It’s worth living a life so you’re kids can see it: there’s a lot of happiness in this world that depends on being brave enough to keep working when it’d be easier to quit.
Nothing good gets started without getting to work. And nothing great gets finished without staying at the work.
And no one express-ships the prize to you. You have to actually work to win it.
We work this many hours getting a harvest off and the kids know it not at a cerebral level but in their aching muscles: Laziness looks like a friend, but only work can invite you home.
Most opportunities come to you dressed in a pair of thread-bare Wranglers and sweating like work and you’ll miss them if you’re too afraid of callouses and plowing through like a horse.
And none of us here have really got time for being bored. There is only time for work and time for love —- and that is usually one in the same thing. There is no time after that.
“I don’t know if I can be a farmer, Mama —“ Malakai leans over from the steering wheel, whispers it to me quiet as the tractor idles. “Don’t know if I’m tough enough for everything that you get wrong.”
Don’t I know that, son. And I lay my hand gently on the back of the boy’s slender neck. Sometimes somebody says only a handful of words and they reach out and touch you not with their hands but their heart.
Yeah, kid —- we work but not as ones who do not know the relief of grace. We work hard but not as ones who grow hard. We work with our hands but what we’re ultimately always working out is our salvation.
“You know —“ I run my hand through Kai’s mop of hair. “We all get things wrong, Kai — we get things wrong, things seem to go wrong, even — or mostly —- we are wrong. But it’s not about growing tough enough to take life… It’s about staying open enough to life to receive it.”
Future men, future women need to know how to work —- and they need to know how to work out their salvation. It’s not about growing tough — it’s about growing open to life as it comes and simply growing.
How do you tell a farm boy that one of the most important things in life is this: To thrive is to surrender to a kind of openness. To surrender control and trust One who is in control —- though you will be taken beyond what you can control and into a kind of brokenness, a brokenness that will hurt and yet be kind. A painful grace.
This is the essence of really living, what it means to essentially be alive: surrender unshielded to the unknown — because there is a deeper Love that is Knowable.
And it is only possible to know the touch of His deeper love when you live without armour, when you live a vulnerable exposure. Work hard, boy — but don’t grow tough. Because at the end of the day? Jesus wants our worship more than our work.
It’s an old and universal truth: You are made of dust because you are made to grow.
You are made of dust because you are made to move in this world like a reed, not like a rock.
You were made to feel, you were made to bend vulnerable in wind, you were made to have the courage to reach for the sun.
It’s what the fields of wheat tell you: You were made to grow and that only happens if you are fragile and brave enough to break.
Sure, they’ll go ahead and loudly tell you need to be like a rock, that you’ll need to harden up to live in a harsh world, that you’ll need to be impenetrable, that you’ll need to be unmoved, but no one ever felt any of the really living that way. Live as hard as a rock long enough and there’s hardly any point to breathing. Rocks don’t. They’re dead.
It’s thin-skinned reeds that bravely breathe in their own way. It’s tender reeds that are deeply rooted. It’s only reeds reach for sun.
Rocks are formidable and reeds are fragile — and one is perfectly dead and only the other is exquisitely alive. Humanity’s particular beauty is only possible because of its fragility.
Your Beauty is not in your formidableness but in your fragility.
I tell Kai this. The boy brims and nods and the boy’s a mess like his mother but I’ll take him anyway, keep taking him anyway.
The thing is —- when you already have a rock, you can live the beauty of a reed.
Malakai hauls wheat wagons till 9:30 on a Saturday night, then heads to the barn and feeds a couple hundred sows.
The Farmer and Levi finish up in the field, get the wagons away, the auger down, the bin sealed up, all the tractors home and in the shed, and drag in the back door sometime between 11:50pm and the Lord’s day, a 20 hour day for the man and his boys.
Come Sunday, our Miz Hope-girl, she’s fills bowls up of her chicken salad, and a heap of fresh kale chips that she taken straight from garden to oven to plate, and these pans full of sweet potato fries that she’s made late into the night for a picnic of 17, 12 kids and a grandma, 2 sisters and our good men. It’s a thing to watch how she moves over her offering.
Humble work always becomes a work of art when signed with love.
We eat her cake.
There is cake and kale chips and vulnerable laughter and celebrating the way the work of all the people can be given for the harvest.
That all the people together can do hard and holy things and change the world, that all the people together can break and give themselves like bread and they’re the ones whose lives are a feast, that all our small work together is what does big and beautiful work in the world.
That all the people opening up rock hard places and giving into the wind of the Spirit, however it blows, are the reeds that make their lives yield the most.
After I finish my plate, after I wink and tell Malakai & Hope that when we get to heaven I want to sit at the table where they’re just serving kale chips —
the Farmer, he pulls me in.
And we laugh — because there is still hope to do the good work we’re called to and to bravely love and let ourselves be loved and trust enough to open up to life as it comes. We are called to move through life as reeds not rocks.
And yeah, we linger in a hope like that, like courageous fools, till the light ebbs out of the sky and the moon opens in its willing surrender.
You can see it in all the ditches along all the roads, all the way Home —
All the fragile reeds reaching and thriving in the silvered light.
This one’s for the honest and real, who want a real way forward… A way that’s authentic and powerful and transformative. Dare to take the way to abundance….
August 20, 2016
Only the Good Stuff: Multivitamins for Your Weekend [08.20.16]
Happy, happy, happy weekend!
Some real, down in the bones JOY to celebrate today! Links & stories this week 100% guaranteed to make you smile a mile wide & believe like crazy in a Good God redeeming everything — and that there’s love everywhere & for ((you))!
Serving up only the Good Stuff for you right here:
Christine Anderson
Christine Anderson
Christine Anderson
so this is what happens when a squirrel nabs a video camera
this humpback whale treated them to quite a show
Facebook/ Catholic High School for Boys
how a school is teaching students to handle ‘soft failures’
hold on for this one
athletes vs animals? how does it all stack up?
yup, this is in his living room
This week’s Sticky Note for Your Soul:
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so, did you know that?
Emily Freeman
and what did you learn this summer? let’s share
what does it mean to live well in this world? An animated walk through the book of Ecclesiastes
Sabrina Drude
you have to see what he did for this teacher
Meet Neal: come see how he’s giving kids hope
sometime all it takes to let go – is the right person to hold on to
Christian Dornhorst
“The Lord blessed us…there are enough people suffering here that I can do this to help.”
what can we go do?
compassion, love, and paying it forward
a story of sacrifice at the Rio games – spreading around the world
“I knew God was able…and I’m thankful that I was a witness to a power that wasn’t my own”
worship is our battle cry in the midst of the fight
…long day & you’ve had big, hard things coming at you. You may not even be saying it out loud — but really? It’s hard to keep showing up when it’d be easier to give up.
But can you hear Him?
“Just Call to Me. I guarantee I will answer you.
I will make you strong & brave.” (Ps.138:3MSG)
Ask Him — He will come & make you strong & brave for the Hard Things.
So that’s the plan as we look to the weekend: Be Brave.
And do not pray for the hard thing to go away.
But pray for a Bravery to come that’s bigger than the Hard Thing.
[excerpted from our little Facebook community … come join us each day?]
That’s all for this weekend, friends.
Go slow. Be God-struck. Grant grace. Live Truth.
Give Thanks. Love well. Re – joy, re- joy, ‘re- joys’ again
Share Whatever Is Good.
August 19, 2016
when you’re longing to know you are chosen
When life hits unexpectedly and everything is in chaos, we have an opportunity to be transformed. Through loss, tragedy, and the unknown, Bianca Juarez Olthoff discovered new ways to see God in the midst of the impossible. A loved one’s cancer diagnosis, a heartbreak, a season of confusion and chaos felt like her life was up in flames, but she discovered the same fire that destroys is the same fire that transforms; what matters is what we are made of. In her debut book, Play with Fire, Bianca invites readers into her story to inspire others to see God in their own story. Change is inevitable, but transformation is a choice. It’s never too late to become the person you were always meant to be. It’s a grace to welcome Bianca to the farm’s front porch today…
guest post by Bianca Juarez Olthoff
Sunday school was my safe haven, replete with small desks, plastic chairs, and Precious Moments Bibles.
It was my place to be with a God who was for me.
Every Sunday I ran my hand along the walls of the church corridors as I made my way into the fifth-grade classroom to help Mr. Charles wipe down the chalkboards and set up the chairs before class.
Mr. Charles was my favorite Sunday school teacher.
With his weathered hands, dark chocolate skin, and deep voice, he painted a picture of God that was mesmerizing.
As a guide leading us on a journey, his melodic baritone and slight Southern drawl—as sweet as a hint of honey—took us on an adventure every week. He wasn’t overly animated or showy like most Sunday school teachers, but he was like Moses, who led his people to freedom.
Mr. Charles taught from the Old Testament Scriptures about a chosen people group—the Israelites, God’s chosen people—who were called out of oppression and promised a land of abundance. Mr. Charles, an African American man with a Southern heritage, spoke with the fervency of his own reality.
He spoke of God’s freedom, and he smiled as if freedom were a cold glass of sweet tea on a scorching, humid day.
“Mmm hmm, it’s true,” he said. “As God’s chosen children, you too can cry out to God to rescue you, and He will save you. There is nothing our great God can’t do.” The word nothing was weighted with such emphasis I couldn’t help but believe him.
For the first time in my young life, I understood what being chosen meant.
It meant God wanted you and wanted to use you. But had I ever felt chosen? I was always picked last for kickball, never in first place, and didn’t fit in. I knew love from my parents, but nothing of being chosen.
FOR ME
Longing to be chosen and confident in God’s love, I began choosing to appropriate the promises of God as my own. If God was for me, I must have been chosen.
If His Word was for me, so were all the promises it held in its pages.
Despite the taunts, jeers, and shaming words of church kids and neighborhood kids alike, I developed a new sense of faith.
My life and circumstances didn’t change. My family rented a small house with no air conditioning next door to a schizophrenic neighbor who grew and sold marijuana in his backyard.
We shopped at thrift stores and bargain bins. Crack addicts looking for a cheap hit broke into our house and robbed us. But in the midst of this, as my faith grew, I began to believe I was chosen.
And I knew I was promised a life that looked different from the one I was living.
In a wide-ruled spiral-bound notebook, I wrote down Bible verses as if they were written especially for me.
Jesus told me, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you” (John 15:16).
Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was childlike foolishness. Maybe it was real faith.
Whatever the motivation, my eleven-year-old self began to believe God was for me and chose me.
God wanted me to be on His kickball team at recess and by His side and to hold on to His promises. I believed it.
A GREAT GOD
Although my mother took our home education seriously, formal methods of schooling weren’t her priority.
A hippie at heart, my mom was in a homeschool co-op (yes, I said co-op; didn’t I mention she was a hippie?). She subscribed to the tenets of Dr. Raymond Moore’s Better Late than Early, and wasn’t worried about state-mandated testing as she taught us with backyard art projects and hands-on science experiments.
The first time we took state standardized tests, my sister and I earned embarrassingly low scores, yet I’m not sure my mom was worried that her eleven-year-old twins couldn’t read.
I wanted to be chosen and changed and celebrated, but I was illiterate, obese, and poor. But I believed Mr. Charles and when he spoke about the Promise Land, it was deep in my chest and ached in my bones.
Maybe the rich promises of hope, redemption, and reparation in the Bible were for me. I was God’s chosen. In a world where I felt marginalized, over-looked, and ignored, He chose me.
I prayed a big prayer—the biggest prayer my eleven-year-old self could pray.
I promised God that if He would give me words, I would give Him my voice.
I had no idea what that really meant, but it sounded good. It was what I was moved to pray. I confessed that I didn’t want to be the stupid kid anymore, and I simply and honestly believed God could help me.
Over the following months, my mother was shocked to see a sudden shift in my comprehension and reading retention. Don’t get me wrong; I was no genius or anything, but my reading skills grew rapidly.
Once I knew I could read, I felt empowered.
A new world opened up, and I discovered that what I could read, I could learn. Knowledge became power, and I obsessively inhaled books like they were fresh loaves of bread. I was going to change my life. I wasn’t going to be the stupid dumb kid anymore.
******
When the time came for California state aptitude testing a few months later, I sat nervously at a small desk in a cavernous room with forty other homeschooled children. On my desk were a booklet, a Scantron test form, and three well-sharpened pencils. I stared at the other kids in the room and tried not to think about how they looked smarter than me.
I anxiously tapped my pencil on the desk and prayed a quick prayer.
Mr. Charles had assured me God would be faithful.
My mother had shown me He would be faithful.
God Himself promised that He always would be faithful.
I desperately trusted Him with my learning, and with this test. With my eyes squeezed shut as the teacher said, “Begin, class,” I asked God to help me, and I plunged into the test.
The test results arrived in the mail weeks later, and we waited until my father came home from work to open the envelopes containing our scores.
I anxiously tore mine open and read the results out loud to my parents. Confused, my mother asked in near disbelief to see what was written on the paper I held.
Not only had I achieved significant increases on the comprehension and retention components of the test, but I had demonstrated the reading level of an eleventh-grade student.
With pride and joy, my mother handed the test results back to me.
I felt like I was holding a letter from God Himself. In my hand was a tangible sign that God had heard my prayer.
On the cool linoleum floor, I twirled barefoot in the kitchen and threw my arms around the waist of my beaming mother.
“I prayed God would help me read, and He did!” I cried.
I heard the words of Mr. Charles ringing in my head:
“Mmm hmm, it’s true. There is nothing our great God can’t do.”
Bianca Juarez Olthoff is a homeschool survivor, freedom fighter, stepmom, and pastor’s wife. She works full-time for A21, an anti-human trafficking organization, and teaches the bible around the globe from churches to conferences. She loves beach runs, acai bowls, and reading next to her husband who she treats as a human pillow. To stay updated with Bianca, learn more about Play with Fire, or receive weekly video devotionals.
With Bianca’s distinct style, strong storytelling gifts, and powerful bible teaching, Play with Fire reminds us that God has huge dreams for us. In Bianca’s words, “He’s whispering in the wind and speaking through the fire and shouting in silence the extraordinary dream He is birthing in you. His dream for you is far greater than the dream you have for yourself. It’s not your identity or income or influence that will make this happen. Like Zechariah 4:6 says, “’It’s not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord.” Yes and amen: it’s time to play with fire.
.[ Our humble thanks to Zondervan for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
August 18, 2016
Links for 2016-08-17 [del.icio.us]
Our #1 Best-Selling Drone--Meet the Dark Night of the Sky!
August 16, 2016
how to find happiness in a sad and busted-up world
Before there were books, we were simply two heart-sisters who had a lot in common. We loved words and Jesus. And we were both farm wives married to men who raised crops and pigs. I once grabbed Jennifer Dukes Lee’s hand and told her I believed in God’s gifts in her, and I prayed for His words through her to keep coming. She’s a pure-hearted, soul-encouraging woman after God’s own heart, and reading her always makes me read more of Christ everywhere. Her newest book, The Happiness Dare, is maybe what we all need in this busted-up world, heaving from sadness. It’s a humbling grace to have Jennifer step off her farm porch and straight onto ours . . .
guest post by Jennifer Dukes Lee
It rained hard last night, and part of me wondered if that tired old sky was crying right along with all of us down here on earth.
This world has been one weary, grief-saturated place, hasn’t it?
Most mornings lately, before my feet hit the floor, I assume that the sky is doing more than crying. I wonder if it has already fallen.
I don’t know about you, but all the pain has challenged all that is good within me.
It has challenged my hope, my sense of security, my peace. I can’t fly in an airplane anymore without a foreboding sense that the worst is about to happen. If I’m in a crowd, I am edgy. When I tuck in my daughters, I wonder how to equip them to function in this broken world.
This is not who I am, or who I was created to be.
For most of my life, I considered myself a happy person—not the kind of woman who claps with giddy delight over her breakfast waffles, but the kind of woman who makes regular use of her grin. I have a bend toward optimism.
But lately, cynicism has been an enticing option.
In times like these, even an optimist can feel like happiness is irretrievable. In times like these, it can seem—quite frankly—that happiness doesn’t matter anyway. It can seem like God doesn’t care about happiness.
But then I re-remember what I re-forgot.
I remember what I learned way back when I took a God-made dare to find true happiness. I remember what I discovered, and how it made me feel warm and bright on the inside, like I’d swallowed a star. This is what I found out:
When you desire happiness, you are not a pleasure-seeking heretic. You are responding to something built into your soul.
Your desire to live happy is your soul’s memory of the original paradise, etched and alive in you.
Your happiness is a formidable weapon in a world wracked with pain.
Before I took the dare, I never would have spoken this sentence aloud:
“I want to be happy.”
I would have thought it, and secretly, I would have wanted happiness. But I would have been scared to admit it.
I would have told you that I wanted only joy instead. I would have told you that God cared more about my holiness than my happiness. And I would have believed that happiness was selfish.
But it turns out, I was wrong.
God actually does care about our happiness—not only for our sakes, but supremely for His. Turns out, this world needs my happiness. And it needs yours too, for such a time as this.
Here’s the truth: Happiness isn’t apart from our holiness; it’s a part of it. Happiness isn’t the opposite of joy; it’s hemmed in.
Happiness is a gift from a happy God. It’s permissible by God, and achievable through Him.
John Piper said it like this: “Our mistake lies not in the intensity of our desire for happiness, but in the weakness of it.”
Maybe you think that the pursuit of happiness will take you a mile-step away from Jesus. But what if happiness actually makes you more like Jesus?
On the night He was betrayed, Jesus told His disciples to abide in Him and hold fast to His teachings. He told them to remain in His love . . . even when life got hard.
“I have told you this to make you as completely happy as I am,” Jesus said (John 15:11, CEV).
I totally get how happiness can feel so . . . impossible . . . especially in hard times. But happiness is actually what propels us to take the next step forward, the step that might lead us into the light.
Happiness is why—in the midst of the sky-crying days—we reach out for someone to tell us there is still good in this shattered world.
Happiness is why, as Mr. Rogers once said, we “look for the helpers” when bad things happen. We still want to believe there’s good down here on earth, so we choose to go looking for it.
I am certain this is why, when one funny mama donned a Chewbacca mask, millions of people shared it on Facebook. We shared it because somewhere deep inside of us, we wanted to believe that happiness matters. We wanted to believe that it changes things, that it’s a weapon against all the awful in the world.
It’s why, when someone we love dies, we gather around kitchen tables to tell their funny stories. It’s why—research shows—a smile can make your brain feel like you received 16,000 in cash—or ate 2,000 chocolate bars.
Happiness isn’t for wimps. Happiness is a potent force.
Many of you are reading this today not because you know me, but because you trust and love Ann. She’s dear to me, too. Ann penned profound words in One Thousand Gifts that I return to when the pain of this world overwhelms:
“Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn’t rescue the suffering. The converse does. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small . . . and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring fullest Light to all the world.”
When we engage in a holy pursuit of happiness, we aren’t ignoring the pain of the world. We are refusing to give in to it.
Yeah, happiness is a feeling. But quite often, it’s a decision.
And when we decide to fight for happiness—fists to the sky—we are beating down the enemy. We are healing the wound in the world. And we are, in the end, making a public case for the One who is the Source of all our happiness.
Tomorrow, it may rain again. It may seem that the sky offers only tears.
But because of Jesus, we will be the ones who wait for the sun, who point to the sky, who tell the others, “Look! Look! The light is coming!”
And we will be the ones who fight for happiness as if it matters. Because it does.
Your happiness will make them wonder.
“How,” the onlookers will ask you, as you lift your face toward the sky, “how do you have such a light in this present darkness?”
And that’s when you’ll be able to tell them:
It is all because of Jesus.
Jennifer Dukes Lee is an award-winning former news journalist, an (in)courage writer, and a blogger.
Would you like to be happier? No matter who you are or how you feel, chances are you would answer yes. For years, Jennifer wrestled with a constant nagging sense that she wasn’t as happy as she could be. At the same time, she felt guilty for wanting something so “shallow.” After all, doesn’t God only care that we find joy in our circumstances? Or is it possible that God really does want us to be happy? She embarked on a dare to find out whether happiness matters to God and, if so, how to pursue it in a way that pleases Him. Out of that quest was born a book I’m highly recommending: The Happiness Dare: Pursuing Your Heart’s Deepest, Holiest, and Most Vulnerable Desire.
Take Jennifer’s Happiness Style Assessment and find out in five minutes or less what truly makes you happy.
[ Our humble thanks to Tyndale Publishers for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
August 13, 2016
Only the Good Stuff: Multivitamins for Your Weekend [08.13.16]
Happy, happy, happy weekend!
Some real, down in the bones JOY to celebrate today! Links & stories this week 100% guaranteed to make you smile a mile wide & believe like crazy in a Good God redeeming everything — and that there’s love everywhere & for ((you))!
Serving up only the Good Stuff for you right here:
Daniel Kordan
Daniel Kordan
Daniel Kordan
grin
grin.02
so we gathered ’round this one: a hydro-electric generator powered by a stream
This week’s Sticky Note for Your Soul:
FREE daily printables to encourage youSimply fill in your email here and the whole library of free printables and tools unfolds right before you:
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from 25,000 feet — with no parachute
Jesus Ortiz
Jesus Ortiz
Jesus Ortiz
turning the every day into art
giving away and blessing others: beautiful
So what’s the secret recipe recipe for a love that goes the distance?
once in a lifetime?!
she’s been working — and giving it all away
happy birthday, gran!
how this jeweler reached into his pocket and gave above and beyond
selfless sacrifice
reuniting after 10 long years
How My Special-Needs Sister Teaches Me To Trust God’s Heart
some good good words rights here
…maybe what we’re all craving — needing– right about now — a bit of abundance & hope —
comes something like this:
my new book & a new dare we all need right now
Right now is the time we need to not be afraid of broken things —
because He is redeeming everything.
PRE-ORDER TODAY
Join me in #365GIFT, starting with videos in your inbox next week — and become a GIFT to the world, every day for a year, a brokenhearted hallelujah, living broken and given, one intentional act of brokenhearted compassion at a time. Join us and let’s begin together next week?
Quiet Relief Near-Daily Quiet Relief in one Weekend BundleJOIN ME »
Dare to be a GIFTer, to live broken & given. Take The Broken Way.
just the way you are
from Syria to Rio – you must come meet her
you’ve got to meet her: Laura Benedict…come see what she’s doing
please listen: Every Giant Will Fall
…sometimes we need other people to be our eyes and ears, to hear our own heart in ways we can’t. And our anxiety and fears can make us blind to the abundance being made out of our brokenness.
You can do this thing this weekend —
because you were made to do hard & holy things.
You are always enough —
because You have Jesus & He is always enough.
You have enough of Him & strength to not give up. You have enough of Him & love to keep on giving.
Believe it – God takes what looks like not enough
and He will make it into abundance.
[excerpted from our little Facebook community … come join us each day?]
That’s all for this weekend, friends.
Go slow. Be God-struck. Grant grace. Live Truth.
Give Thanks. Love well. Re – joy, re- joy, ‘re- joys’ again
Share Whatever Is Good.
August 11, 2016
the one word that changed everything
Every time I break bread with Shauna Niequist, I am struck again with the rare, warm wisdom of the woman. It’s like she has a magnetic heart with the realest laughter that immediately says: you are safe with me. In a world that seems to value efficiency, multi-tasking, and busyness, Shauna found herself exhausted and empty, yearning for another way of living—one marked by joy, rest, simplicity and solitude. Present Over Perfect is an account of her three year journey along that path. One thing she discovered is that instead of overlaying a new way of living onto an already overly full life, she had to dismantle a complicated, cluttered schedule and way of living, and there was one word that she began to see as a powerful change-maker along the way. A grace to welcome the gem that is Shauna to the farm’s front porch today…
The word that changed everything, of course, is No.
I’d been saying yes and yes and yes, indiscriminately, haphazardly, resentfully for years.
And I realized all at once that I’d spent all my yeses, and in order to find peace and health in my life, I needed to learn to say no.
People love it when you say yes, and they get used to it—they start to figure out who the people are who will always say yes, always come through, always make it happen.
If you are one of these people, it does cause a little freak-out when you begin saying no. People are not generally down with this right away. That’s okay.
You may know that yes is an important word for me.
Maybe you’ve seen my yes sweatshirt, my yes earrings, my yes tote bag, my yes tattoo. I’m not kidding about any of those things.
Yes matters to me on a deep level—saying a broad and brave yes to this beautiful world, to love and challenge and hard laughter and dancing and trying and failing. Yes is totally my jam.
But you can’t have yes without no.
Another way to say it: if you’re not careful with your yeses, you start to say no to some very important things without even realizing it.
In my rampant yes-yes-yes-ing, I said no, without intending to, to rest, to peace, to groundedness, to listening, to deep and slow connection, built over years instead of moments.
All my yeses brought me to a shallow way of living—an exhausting, frantic lifestyle that actually ended up having little resemblance to that deep, brave yes I was searching for.
And so if you, like me, have said too many yeses, and found that all that hopeful, exciting, wide-open intention has actually left you scraped raw and empty, the word that can change everything is no.
I know. I don’t like it either.
Yes is fun and sparkly and printed on tote bags. No? What if you saw someone wearing a sweatshirt that just said no? I do not want to sit next to that bundle of fun.
But no became the scalpel I wielded as I remade my life, slicing through the tender tissue of what needed to go and what I wanted to remain.
My mentor’s words rang in my ears: Stop. Right now. Remake your life from the inside out.
I don’t know a way to remake anything without first taking down the existing structures, and that’s what no does—it puts the brakes on your screaming-fast life and gives you a chance to stop and inspect just exactly what you’ve created for yourself, as difficult as that might be.
It was very difficult for me to learn to say no.
I did it badly, awkwardly, sometimes too forcefully, and sometimes with so many disclaimers and weird ancillary statements that people actually had no idea what I was saying.
I hovered endlessly after I said it—Was that okay? Are we okay? Because I love you—you know I love you, right? We’re okay?
But like anything you learn, it gets easier over time. You begin to build up muscle memory for what it feels like to say exactly what you feel, what you need, what your limitations are.
And a very interesting thing begins to happen: some people peer into your face with fascination—I want some of that, essentially, is what they’re saying. Your honesty and freedom is giving them the permission to be honest and free as well.
And some people are not down with this way of living at all. They’d prefer you continue over-functioning for their own purposes, thank you very much. Or they’re so wrapped up in their own hyper-functioning life that it’s a personal affront to their value system when you say something insane like, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
Bless them. But don’t spend too much time with them.
Draw close to people who honor your no, who cheer you on for telling the truth, who value your growth more than they value their own needs getting met or their own pathologies celebrated.
Our little Cooking Club—my day-to-day lifeline best people—we’re cheering each other on along this journey, and it makes all the difference.
We talk every day, usually many times a day, and our constant refrain sounds like this: what can you lay down? How can we make this simpler? Are you getting enough rest? Can I take your kids for a couple hours?
Instead of competing for who’s busier or who’s more tired, who’s keeping more balls in the air, we’re constantly looking for ways to help each other’s lives get lighter, easier to carry, closer to the heart of what we love, less clogged with expectations and unnecessary tasks.
These women are like my training wheels as I learn this, keeping me upright as I wobble along, and I’m so thankful.
And don’t worry: no won’t always be the word you use most often.
I hate that for a season, no had to be the answer to almost everything.
But over time, when you rebuild a life that’s the right size and dimension and weight, full of the things you’re called to, emptied of the rest, then you do get to live some yes again.
But for a while, no is what gets you there.
Shauna Niequist is a bookworm, a beachbum, and a passionate gatherer of people, especially around the table. Present Over Perfect, her fifth book, is an invitation, a hand reaching out across the pages, calling out to each one of us who find ourselves drowning under the weight of our lives. In its pages, you’ll find a gentle friend, space to breathe, room to fail and get back up, and a vision for life grounded deeply in God’s unconditional love. This book is a keeper for years to come.
[ Our humble thanks to Zondervan for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
August 10, 2016
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August 9, 2016
when you feel a bit left out
When Susie Larson first interviewed me on her show Faith Radio, I knew I had met kin. I’m an intense introvert — I’ll answer a ringing phone less than a handful of times a year. But when I get off the phone with Susie? Absolutely energized. Because she speaks of Jesus — exudes Him, loves Him, knows Him, exalts Him. No one ushers you right into a sacred, God-saturated place quite like Susie Larson. Her mentor once told her that she has an up front ministry with a behind-the-scenes heart. Susie will tell you she’s also an introvert, wired for solitude and reflection. And it’s in that place, her passionate, powerful prayer life was born. She’d say that this is the place where she gets the most done in the world. This is the place where God reminds her who she is to Him. And this is the place where her heart beats in rhythm with His which compels her to pray bold, tenacious prayers and to ask for the impossible that the world might profoundly know that God is present, and personal, and loves deeply. It’s a grace to welcome Susie to the farm’s front porch today…
Often when I speak about our identity in Christ, I’ll have two tables on stage:
an orphan table and an heir table.
Picture the orphan table: a rickety, wobbly old table. Next to it is a splintered chair with uneven legs. A stale piece of bread sits on a cracked dinner plate. The very sight of it makes your mouth dry up and your heart ache.
Now picture the heir table: White linen covers the table. A high-back chair displays plush velvet fabric and ornamental cherrywood trim. A crystal vase boasts a bright bouquet of flowers. Polished silverware flanks the decorative china dinnerware.
A satin napkin sits wrapped in a gold embossed napkin ring. An assortment of breads is arranged next to a bowl of fresh fruit. The sparkling wine shimmers in a crystal carafe. All of it makes you wonder what these people do for a living.
Now notice the distinction between these two tables.
Scripture clearly conveys God’s heart for the poor, the orphaned, the misplaced, and the oppressed.
That’s why He asks those of us who have more to give to those who have less. That’s a part of our kingdom call.
Jesus cares about the literal orphans and He wants us to care about them too.
But He also cares deeply about the spiritual orphan.
He didn’t consider His equality with God a thing to be used for His benefit. In fact, He stepped away from His high, privileged position in heaven to meet us right where we live. He came to earth in the womb of a poor, vulnerable teenage girl; He came to us in the very depths of our need.
Jesus treasures the spiritual orphan. That’s why He made a way to adopt us into the family of God. But once we become heirs, He doesn’t want us acting or thinking like left out orphans any longer. Spiritual orphans beg and plead. Heirs pray and believe.
Think about it. What Jesus accomplished on the cross was not simply an invitation to think differently, nor was it a ticket to a hip Christian social club. Here’s the life-changing truth:
Jesus’ triumph over the grave, over sin and death, blew the doors off of the enemy’s claim on us!
And when we trusted Christ to make us alive in Him, the transformative power of the Holy Spirit took up residence in our soul and made us completely brand-new.
The power of the living God altered our spiritual DNA, changed the trajectory of our lives, and activated our spiritual genes so that the impossible could now be possible in and through us. Incredible!
This means we’re not a slightly improved version of ourselves. Our name is written in the Book of Life! We are citizens of heaven. Heirs of God. Joint heirs with Christ.
Consider the imagery of the two tables again.
As heirs of God and part of His family forever, why do we continue to vacillate between these two mind-sets? We sit at the orphan table and beg and plead. And when we’ve performed well, we more easily picture ourselves at the heir table as if we’ve somehow earned such a privileged status.
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. 1 Peter 2:9–10 NIV
In times of despair, we forget that we’re heirs. In times of favor, we forget why we’re heirs.
When life gets hard, or we’re not performing like the Christian we feel we should be, we see ourselves at the beggar’s table, hoping for a few scraps, thinking we deserve only that much.
We tend to shy away from bold prayer, and we either replace it with a good dose of negative self-talk, or we find ourselves whispering those begging types of prayers that leave us feeling small, not loved or embraced like we actually are.
And, instead of holding on to these two things . . .
Identity—firmly established in the finished work of Christ
Humility—harnessed strength fueled by the Spirit, empowered by His love
. . . we pick up the virus of spiritual passivity and let it suck the life right out of us.
May you remember today that Jesus’ overwhelming victory on the cross gave you a place at the table of grace.
You get to be there because Jesus unequivocally defeated sin, death, inferiority, insecurity, imperfection, isolation, and rejection, just to name a few. And He doesn’t yank you from your seat at the table when you occasionally lose a battle or forget who you are.
In Christ Jesus, you’ve been made brand-new, through and through; you’re an heir of God, a joint heir with Christ, a royal priest, clothed in righteousness, and dearly beloved.
You’re anointed and invited to enter the Most Holy of Holies to meet with the star-breathing God who put the galaxies in place.
And though He spends His days and hours overseeing the affairs of all people, He’s never too busy for you.
When you approach the throne of grace, you can be assured of God’s glad welcome and loving embrace. Why? Because you’re one of His own. Always. Forever. No matter what. Isn’t that just spectacular? Leaves me speechless.
Our safest place is at the table of grace—a place we’ve not earned but that Christ has earned for us.
Our only response can be one of humble, awe-inspired gratitude.
We rest in the finished work of Christ, and we work from that place of divine privilege.
We have nothing to prove and all of eternity to live for.
Susie Larson is a talk radio host, national speaker, and author of twelve books. Drawing from thirty years of journaling, trusted author and radio host Susie shares the secrets to effective prayer. She will help you put into action the powerful combination of a humble reverence before God and a tenacious hold on the promises He gives His beloved children, drawing you closer to God and changing how you see yourself and your circumstances.
I cannot recommend Susie Larson or her words to you highly enough — this woman is a gift to the church. A life-changing treasure of a book to revisit again and again — Your Powerful Prayers: Reaching the Heart of God with a Bold and Humble Faith.
[ Our humble thanks to Bethany House for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
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