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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Jen Hatmaker
Read between
January 4 - January 8, 2019
G. K. Chesterton wrote: “A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it.”2 Change means you’re alive, my friend.
You can care about new things and new people and new beginnings, and until you are dead in the ground, you are not stuck. If you move with the blessing of your people, marvelous. But even if you don’t, this is your one life, and fear, approval, and self-preservation are terrible reasons to stay silent, stay put, stay sidelined.
He is on the move, which means, if we are paying attention, we are on the move with Him.
Mamas, if we are winning roughly 80 percent of the votes, if the majority poll involves laughter and nurture, attention and grace, presence and patience, we are winning.
I believe we can take a handful of things quite seriously as parents and take the rest less seriously, and it is all going to be okay.
The contest is a race to see who is the better Christian, and beyond the basics of behaving, extra points are awarded to people who do the hardest work with the least amount of fluff.
A Christian in tune with God’s whole character neither regards herself as too important or too unworthy to enjoy this life. Yes, we are part of God’s plan to heal the world, but we are also sons and daughters in the family. We are not just the distributors of God’s abundant mercies but also their recipients.
unlikely sources of joy,
God gives us both Good News and good times, and neither cancels out the other. What a wonderful world, what a wonderful life, what a wonderful God.
Somewhere deep within, from the place I’d deposited God’s Word my entire life, finally rose a quiet truth that laid the first paver stone out of anguish: “God has not given you a spirit of fear.” I do not mean this in any contrived, pithy Sunday School way. It emerged as the only solid piece of ground to stand on: fear is a liar. It cannot be relied upon to lead well, to lead out, or to lead forward. It is an untrustworthy emotion, not of God, and it never leads to health, wholeness, wisdom, or resurrection.
I remembered: He is good. He has always been good. He loves us, and He is here. He is paying attention, and He heals. He can redeem what has been harmed. I do believe this. I was so terrified that I forgot for a minute, but I remembered. It was such a comfort that I cried from relief. God is faithful. He can be trusted.
Isolation concentrates every struggle. The longer we keep our heartaches tucked away in the dark, the more menacing they become. Pulling them into the light among trusted people who love you is, I swear, 50 percent of the recovery process.
Healing requires partnering with Jesus in the work He is accomplishing in us. We move. We engage. We do the things. Sometimes that involves therapy or medication, and by the way, there is no shame in either. It is not “lack of faith.” Rather, it is a sign of incredible strength.
Life can be hard because life can be hard. We’re not doing it wrong. What matters is excavating our pluck from the rubble and refusing to be defined by loss.
Rock bottom teaches us that God is who He says He is and He can do what He says He can do.
When we sow seeds of love into our children, between our children, it will eventually bear fruit. Our job is just to plant, plant, plant, and wait.
Creating beauty and nurture under your roof with colors that soothe, art that inspires, furniture that invites, and textures that thrill is a wonderful use of your small space on the planet.
If God decided to make his whole earth pretty, we can choose to make our little homes pretty without tension, guilt, or shame.
Go with what you love, not necessarily what you see on design shows or in your neighbor’s house.
Making your home pretty is nice, but making it nourishing is holy.
In a world increasingly dominated by fear and violence and isolation and loneliness, you can claim restoration under your small roof, where people are nurtured and loved and fed and embraced, where God reigns and hope is spoken, and where everything from the walls to your books to the conversations communicate the sentiment penned by Julian of Norwich in the fourteenth century: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
People may hate us because of Jesus, but they should never hate Jesus because of us. The way we treat others should lead them to only one conclusion: “If this is how Jesus loves, then I’m in.”
What does love look like in the ordinary connection between two human people? Usually it means prioritizing someone’s dignity, belovedness, and experience over being right or pointing out errors.
Love means saying to someone else’s story or pain or anger or experience: “I’m listening. Tell me more.” Love refuses to deny or dismantle another’s perspective simply because I don’t share it.
dialogue is an activity of curiosity, cooperation, discovery, and learning rather than persuasion, competition, fear, and conflict. This is love, and it is increasingly rare.
Tell me more about that. Tell me how
Remember, the plan involves a heavy, obscene amount of love on my part, but I can take the task of “fixing someone” entirely off the table, permanently. I’m free to love him or her without stipulation, which creates a much wider, safer space to actually let God do what God does, which is redeem all of our lives into glory.
Love is a genuine solution. It breaks down barriers and repairs relationships. It invites in the lonely and defeats shame. It provides the lighted path to forgiveness, which sets everyone free. Love makes us brave, pulls up seats to the table, defuses bigotry, and attacks injustice. It is our most powerful spiritual tool. Do not underestimate it as the solution to almost everything that is broken.
