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“…for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). Last Monday, I was spiraling (…again…) - one comment from a friend set my mind spinning, and before I knew it I had imagined all the “what ifs” the next year of my life could hold. As the evening went on, I regurgitated the conversation over and over again in my head, reading too deeply into words that weren’t meant to be dissected. Fear began leaking from my heart out of my mouth as I snapped at my kids to get ready for bed. Instead of residing in God I resisted Him, guarding myself and bracing for impact. Anxiety was reigning, ransacking my rational brain and my belief in the goodness of the King. And as I tightened my grip, gentleness fled the scene. I didn’t come to my gentle and lowly Jesus, but rather, I asserted my “independence,” thinking I was a picture of “strength,” all while protecting myself and pushing my kids away. And here’s where Philippians 4 stopped me in my tracks: “Let your gentleness be evident to all.” How in the world was I supposed to do that? Evident to ALL ? Gentleness is most certainly not the first reaction of my flesh, and in that particular moment it was the last quality that would describe me. It’s Paul’s next statement that struck me: “The LORD is near.” That’s it - the key. The Lord is near. When I believe in the Lord’s nearness - that He’s actually here with me - then gentleness can bubble up, spilling over onto those surrounding me. Why? Because when I acknowledge His presence, then I can rest in Him. I can stop feigning independence and strength, and start depending on the Source of it all. Conversely, when I forget His proximity, gentleness vacates the premises because I’m left to my own devices, fears and fleshly reactions. I’m finding it to be unavoidably true: the only way we can walk in gentleness is by acknowledging the powerful Presence of our gentle and lowly King. It’s a total paradox, the gentleness of our great and Almighty God. This is what God tells us about Himself in Isaiah: “Thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: ‘I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite’” (Isaiah 57:15). It’s incredible: God is the MOST powerful and yet His power is under complete control. He exemplifies all-encompassing strength and absolute gentleness. This is how we witness the gentleness of God: He often speaks in a whisper. He favors the humble and lowly, dwelling with them. He came as a BABY. It startles me to actually stop and consider the scandal of it all: the Creator of the cosmos came as a baby. Our God is high and holy and yet…gentle and lowly. Powerful, yet not harsh. He does not lash out in random rage or use force in unnecessary ways. And His meekness is not weakness. The coming of Jesus confirms it to our questioning minds and hearts: “When Jesus showed up seven hundred years after Isaiah prophesied and revealed his deepest heart as ‘gentle and lowly,’ he was proving once and for all that gentle lowliness is indeed where God loves to dwell. It is what he does. It is who he is” (Ortlund, Gentle and Lowly, 162). This is what Jesus articulates in Matthew 11:28-30: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). This is the one place in Scripture where Jesus tells us about His heart. He doesn’t say he is perfect in heart, or good, or holy…. He calls himself gentle. Author Dane Ortlund describes it this way in his beautiful book Gentle and Lowly: “Gentleness and lowliness of heart is who Christ is steadily, consistently, everlastingly, when all loveliness in us has withered” (Gentle and Lowly, 197). Despite our unloveliness in our stress, weaknesses and mess, Jesus never fails to meets us in His gentleness, and He continually calls us to Himself. How do we, as women of God, respond to and emulate the gentleness of Jesus? In this world where we are called to a standard of perfection, productivity, external beauty, independence, and power, how are we to embody the fruit of the spirit of gentleness? We allow ourselves to be fed and led by Jesus. He is our Good Shepherd, leading us gently along (especially those of us who are mothers, as we read in Isaiah 40:11). He will parent us, sustain us, and satisfy us when we follow after him. When we are fed and led by Jesus. our hearts can finally find rest, and His gentleness will exude from our very beings. When we come under His care, we can let go of control and stop carrying the yoke of this world. We can release our plans and all that we hold in our hands, yielding our lives and identities to Jesus. And as we do this, Jesus will make us beautiful: “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3-4, emphasis mine). Our spirits are so often loud, anxious, divided, or clamoring for attention. It almost feels like they have to be, in this wild world in which we dwell. But, the more closely we follow Jesus, the more quiet and gentle our inner selves will become. The woman with a gentle and quiet spirit trusts wholeheartedly that Jesus has her best interests in mind. She is willing to sit in the passenger seat rather than in the driver's seat. She is secure and settled as a daughter of the King, and she submits her strength to God and her life to His authority. And the funny thing? In this upside down way of our God, there is great strength in gentleness. We read these wise words in the book of Proverbs: “…a gentle tongue can break a bone,” (Proverbs 25:15) and, “A gentle answer turns away wrath” (Proverbs 15:1). We will actually find that our gentleness will enable the Holy Spirit to do the work that He needs to do. That when we stop storming around in our “strength” and instead speak and respond with a spirit of gentleness, He will bring the conviction, the power, and the transformation that only He can. May we stay close to Jesus this week, acknowledging that He is near and allowing ourselves to be fed and led by Him.

"His faithfulness continues through all generations" (Psalm 100:5). I’m learning it in real time: God’s faithfulness often looks different than I think it will. From my limited, earthly perspective, circumstances are not panning out how I imagined. The colors God is using to weave the tapestry of my life are not what I would’ve chosen, not my favorites. The design is still looking chaotic and unfinished. There are loose ends dangling, strands that don’t feel like they will ever be tied up. The final product remains unclear. In this life, I’m often left wondering when or how God will come through - which sometimes turns into wondering if He will at all. The wilderness can begin to feel like my permanent residence as I doubt that God will “make a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:19). And as I forget God’s faithfulness - the fact that He is always holding onto me and carrying me through - I start to lose hope, failing to see a way through the wasteland in front of me. But here’s what is True: God keeps His promises and holds His people. We read in His Word: “If we are faithless, He remains faithful…” (2 Timothy 2:13). “His faithfulness continues through all generations” (Psalm 100:5). “His faithfulness stretches to the skies” (Psalm 36:5). “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ” (2 Corinthians 1:20). “...his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart” (Psalm 91:4). “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). In other words: His faithfulness continues through family lines and failures. His faithfulness lies outside of our small human understanding. His record is flawless. He will always fulfill what He says He will. He is faithful to be our Refuge in the midst of life’s struggles. His faithfulness does not depend on us - He is the dependable One who never changes. This is the God who made a covenant with Abraham and put all the weight of it on himself (Genesis 15). He’s the fourth man in the fire, showing up to save His people in the most desperate of times (Daniel 3). He may fail to meet our earthly expectations, but He will never fail to come through on behalf of those who follow Him. Although we can only see the underside, the unfinished product, He is weaving together His story and all of history into the most beautiful tapestry possible. And then, there’s us…. Like the disciples crying out in the storm, we often have such little faith in His faithfulness (Mark 4). Our “trust” runs out quickly when we catch a glimpse of the waves and begin to question what comes next. We often fail to be faithful when it comes to following Jesus, fumbling into sin and falling in love with lesser things. But there He is - always forging the way forward. The God who made a way through the Red Sea is always making a way through the waves. While we plod along, He is keeping promises and providing, unveiling His perfect plan. His faithfulness does not mean that life will not be hard. It means that in fire and storms and raging rivers, He will be with us (Isaiah 43:2) - He will never forsake His people. He will feed our souls even when our flesh suffers or our fragile circumstances crumble (Psalm 73:24-28). He’s the expert Potter, forming us in His faithfulness - turning the wheel and sanctifying us with precision and proficiency that we can trust. And in the end, He will win - victory rests with our King who is called “Faithful and True” (Revelation 19:11). And here’s the most amazing part…we have only seen a glimpse of His faithfulness. One day we will see the tapestry He has woven and understand all that He has really done. We will comprehend all that He has orchestrated in our lives and protected us from; the miracles He has performed under the radar. We will learn about the prayers that He answered and the promises He kept. And then - how we will worship! Because while we’ve been wandering and wondering, He’s been making a way and weaving something more wonderful than we could’ve ever imagined. One day we will hear it from His lips: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23). And although we have failed to be faithful time and time again, in His faithfulness He will usher us into fullness of life with Him forever. (I was inspired by this poem by Corrie Ten Boom while writing this post)

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23:6 “God, you’re so good. God, you’re so good. God, you’re so good, you're so good to me.” I hear my youngest daughter singing it to her babies, putting them down for “naps.” And I’m holding back tears because this has been the soundtrack of the little years - I’ve sung this chorus to my girls thousands of times since my oldest daughter was born more than six years ago. And I want more than anything for my girls to know that God is good: for them to believe it and feel it and know it in the depths of their bones. I want them to “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8). I want God’s goodness to be the theme song of their lives. Even as I’ve sung about it daily, I’ve struggled at times to cling to God’s goodness. As human beings, our definitions of what is “good” often differ from God’s. We tend to rank things in worldly ways, fixing our eyes on gold and glory and worldly gains. We misunderstand and often misquote Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works together for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” We assume that “good” here refers to an easy, comfortable and predictable life - that our expectations will be met and the story of our actual lives will align with our dreams. This leaves us reeling when the “good” that God has for us comes through suffering, discomfort, unmet expectations and more - hard and holy things that form His goodness in us. God’s goodness often looks like what we need instead of what we want. It involves God giving us the good gifts of His presence, His rest, and His Truth in the midst of less than ideal circumstances. It looks like Him forming us into His image, forging the Spirit of goodness in us - whatever it takes. Suffering leads to sanctification, pain leads to purity, battles lead to inner beauty. In His goodness, God is more concerned with our character than our comfort. He is more concerned with our spiritual thriving than our physical well being. The eternal always trumps the temporal when it comes to the goodness of God. Even as we misunderstand God’s goodness, it continues to chase us (Psalm 23:6). From the Garden of Eden to Golgotha, from the resurrection until He comes again, God has been good and He will continue to be so. He is good in His nature, and He is good to His children personally. His goodness is like gravity - it is inevitable that it will fall on those who follow Him. As we anticipate Easter, may we receive the goodness that God offers to us in all of its forms (the Cross of Christ and all the crosses that we are called to carry), and may His goodness glow through our lowly lives to a watching and wounded world.

“But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things that we have done, but because of His mercy” (Titus 3:4-5). It was the kindest deed ever done to us by a human being , this radically low rent price offered to us by our landlord, Bryan. In a season of living month to month, our landlord was extravagantly generous to us (I believe because the Lord moved his heart and hands to do so), offering us a preposterously cheap price on his property. And it wasn’t just “nice” of him to do this. Nice would’ve been dropping the price by a couple hundred dollars, or offering to mow our lawn for us (which he also did). But instead, he slashed the price and in doing so incurred a cost. He could’ve rented that house out for double what we paid him. It was selfless and sacrificial - a truly miraculous act of kindness. There’s a difference between “nice” and “kind.” Nice is easy, cheap and superficial. It’s “Minnesota nice” - friendly at surface level (there are a lot of great Minnesotans out there, by the way 😉). On the other hand, kindness is costly - sacrificial in the deepest of ways, cutting straight to the heart. It will cost us time, energy, resources, comfort, relationships, and our pride. And as limited human beings, we feel this cost deeply. Jesus paid it all - the highest price, the full cost of kindness. The cross was the costliest act of kindness ever performed - nothing could compare. Our King of kings is the King of kindness - giving up His only Son for the sake of us all. “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things that we have done, but because of His mercy” (Titus 3:4-5). We cannot even begin to understand the kind heart of the Father towards us. Kindness comes naturally to him - Dane Ortlund puts it this way in his book Gentle and Lowly: “…picture a damned-up river, pent up, engorged, ready to burst forth - that is the kindness in the heart of Christ” (207). He delights in showing His children His immeasurable kindness. He directs his kindnesses toward each one of us personally, like arrows aimed at our hearts, handpicking his kindnesses towards us. And furthermore, he wants to show us this kindness forever - into eternity! In Ephesians 2:6-7 we read, “And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus.” In all his kindness towards us, Jesus carries our burdens and desires to walk with us through the challenges we face. Dane Ortlund explains: “The Greek word for kindness means a desire to do what is in your power to prevent discomfort in another. It’s the same word used in Matthew 11:30 where Jesus says ‘my yoke is easy.’ His yoke is kind” (210). When we come to Jesus and stop resisting his kindness, he sustains us - carrying us and our load and lavishing love on us. But what keeps us from receiving the fullness of God’s kindness, or even missing it altogether? I believe that in order to receive God’s kindness, we must have a soft and tender heart. We live in this age of calloused hearts - bitterness, brokenness, hurt and pain have hardened us. We must seek to keep our hearts soft in the midst of it all. How do we do this - how do we keep our hearts soft so that we can experience God’s kindness for ourselves? 1. We come to Him , as He invites us to do in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…” He wants to speak to us and show us His kindness. We must give him our time and our attention in order for Him to do so. 2. We repent , for “God’s kindness is intended to lead us to repentance” (Romans 2:4). His kindness is not a license to sin but rather an invitation to realign ourselves with the Spirit and receive His forgiveness. We come to Jesus with repentant hearts so that He can refresh us and bless us and keep our hearts tender. 3. We count God’s kindnesses towards us - not downplaying them but rejoicing in gratitude over each big and small kindness we receive, starting with the cross of Christ. We give God the credit, counting God’s kindnesses out loud in front of our children. This quote rings in my ears frequently: “Two women looked out of prison bars; one saw mud, the other saw stars.” We find the stars and follow them with our eyes and count the kindnesses of God toward us over and over again. 4. We are kind to ourselves , having compassion on ourselves and thinking true thoughts about ourselves - thoughts aligned with the Word of God. We don’t live as though we are unlimited beings - we live within our limits and give ourselves grace on the hard days. When our hearts are soft they are like a sponge, able to soak in the abundant ocean of the kindness of Jesus and then squeeze it out onto others. We will be filled to overflowing again and again as we allow His kindness to flow onto us and then through us to our families and into this world. The world would be a divinely different place if we all received for ourselves the kindness of Jesus that He is ever extending to us. We just need to reach out our hands, reject the lies of the enemy and the world (which tell us that God is not kind) and receive His kindness for ourselves. God’s kindness is immeasurable and it is eternal and it is for you. “In the coming age we will descend ever deeper into God’s grace in kindness, into his very heart, and the more we understand of it, the more we will see it to be beyond understanding. It is immeasurable” (Ortlund, 212). May you experience the beauty of His kindness towards you in the week ahead.

“We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.” Psalm 33:20-21 I was walking around a little lake by our house last Thursday when it hit me: this insatiable desire for spring. It was a warm day for January - twenty four degrees above the average high temperature - and as the sun settled on my skin so did this deep discontentment settle in my heart. The devastating reality is that spring is still months away. The Thursday thawing was a tease, the ground refroze in no time and they’re calling for snow tomorrow. My walk in the sun left me crying on the inside, desperate for spring to come - and I cannot deny that these Minnesota winters have brought me to real stinging tears before. The winter seizes me in this state of impatience, as motherhood often does, where I cease to believe that God is moving even when I can’t see it; that He brings good things even out of these dreaded months of the year and seasons of my life; and that no season is ever too long or too short because all of time rests in His hands. In these times of unwanted waiting, I find myself wandering into doubt, discontentment, and daydreaming of a “better” season. I start preempting what I think God has for me next and writhing when I have to wait. I refuse to remain where God has me - like when I left my hat at home on said walk, pretending it was spring instead of planting my feet where they actually were (I froze my ears off). Often I wait in hostility - feeling hurried, worried that life is passing me by, and putting hope in my circumstances instead of in my Risen King. I grow bitter and resentful as I carry the weight of waiting on my own instead of offering it to Jesus. Why do I do this? Why do I cling so tightly to my timelines and grasp at my plans? I forget what’s True: He holds me, the universe, and all of time in His hands. He’s never in a rush, He’s never late or panicked. With Him, “a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8) - His concept of time is altogether otherworldly. There’s a much better way to walk this marathon of motherhood and all things in life: waiting on God, with God, and for God. Walking in patience, even when it’s painful. Waiting on Someone instead of something (because won’t we always be waiting on something this side of heaven?). There’s a shift we must make here: throwing the weight of our waiting and worries on Him, and lifting our eyes from the earthly to the eternal. We take the psalmist’s words to heart: "I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord" (Psalm 27:13-14). We wait in hope, trusting the God will take care of us and has good things in store. We wait with endurance and perseverance, pressing on and pressing into Jesus even when the waiting feels endless. This type of waiting is not for the faint of heart. It requires great strength to wait like Psalm 130:5-6 describes: “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.” Let’s be “watchwomen,” waiting for Him who is our only Hope and allowing our impatience to drive us into the Word and into His arms. As we moan and groan, waiting for better things to come, all of creation is right there with us (Romans 8:22), waiting for the restoration of all things. One day, the beauty of spring will replace the wasteland of winter, and all things will be made new (Narnia, anyone?). There will be no more tears or mourning or death or pain (Revelation 21:4). We won’t feel impatient anymore, but rather completely and deeply satisfied - and God will dwell in our midst forever (Revelation 21:3). But for now, we wait in this “now but not yet” between the resurrection and Christ’s return. Our waiting is not in vain - Jesus is “the One who was and is and is to come” (Revelation 4:8), and He will fulfill all of His promises to His people. The best is yet to come - He tells us He is “coming soon,” and we plead along with John: “Come, Lord Jesus” (please, hurry!) (Revelation 22).

“Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times in every way.” 2 Thessalonians 3:16 Aren’t we all craving peace these days? We’re desperate - we know we are hurry-sick and worried sick, and we are all trying to curate a cure with our own hands. We’re tired of barreling through life, battling anxiety and crippling fear, and barely breathing through it all. It’s almost too much to bear. We know two things: something needs to change. And, peace is priceless. But we’re fooled, thinking peace can be cultivated through pointed practices and preaching to ourselves. Believing mindfulness is the answer or that we can buy our way to perfect peace. We’re feigning peace and finding temporary solutions when we’re really in pieces: fretful and fragmented. I’ve been there too - looking for peace in many places. I’ve looked along the path of least resistance, duped into believing that ease is synonymous with peace. I dropped a class in the beginning of almost every semester of college, thinking my light load would carry me to a peace-filled existence. As it turns out, I was left feeling bored for much of those years of my life. I’ve looked for peace in prosperity, in pleasure, in productivity, and applause. I’ve run to places and things and people, but as it turns out, Peace is a proper noun, a Person, and His name is Jesus. He is the Prince of Peace - He’s the only One who holds the keys to peace, and there’s no point in looking elsewhere. We’re missing it, missing the piece of the puzzle who is Peace Himself. We’re homesick for Jesus and it shows in our shaky and unsettled souls. Our aching hearts are laid bare before Him, this Prince of Peace, and He aches for us to experience the goodness of His peace. He offers us the only cure to our crisis: Himself. His hands open wide on the cross, His body broken for you and blood spilled - He was pierced to bring us peace and to bind up all of our broken places. He pieces us back together - providing the peace we longed for all along. And this peace is all-encompassing. It’s not partial peace or situational peace. It’s shalom (the Hebrew word for peace) - wholeness in every way: body, mind and spirit. Relational peace, with God and people. Flourishing and fullness of life, the way things God intended them to be. THIS is the peace God has in store for us if we would stop our striving and come to Him instead. We are meant to find our home in Jehovah Shalom - the God of Peace Himself. Peace is our privilege as children of God, our portion as those who call on the Prince of Peace. We cannot purchase it or earn it - He grants it to those who follow Him: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you” (John 14:27). His peace “transcends all understanding,” protecting our hearts and minds (Philippians 4:7). His peace is perfect, sustaining those who humbly trust in God (Isaiah 26:3). His peace can even circumvent our circumstances - we can experience peace in discomfort and poverty and pain and suffering and less than ideal situations because “the Lord is near” (Philippians 4:5). This is not a worldly peace but an altogether otherworldly gift of peace straight from the hands of God. It’s the New Year, and we’re all full of hopes and dreams. Maybe this will be the year… And we’re plotting out the year ahead and placing our hope into our own hands, thinking that we’ll find true peace in our plans. If only ________, then I’ll be happy and peace will be my prize. I’ll finally be fulfilled. I’ll never need anything again. And isn’t that just the way of humans - putting too much pressure on this world to satisfy? Searching for shalom in temporal places. How do we claim this peace that Jesus offers to us in 2025? How do we finally experience this peace that all of us so desperately long for? We stop our searching and start surrendering. We stop planning and plotting and start praying, inviting His presence into all that we do. We stop putting hope in our own hands and start opening our palms to receive peace from the only true Source of it. May this be the year we find shalom instead of success. May shalom settle on our homes this year, and in our hearts.

“Joy to the world; the Lord is come; Let Earth receive her King; Let ev'ry Heart prepare him room, And Heav'n and nature sing….” Where is the joy? Is it here, is it there? We’re seeking and searching - looking everywhere. Is it over the fence? Is it in the next season? Has she found true joy? What is the reason That joy feels so scarce - where did it go? It feels as though nobody knows. We’re worrying, hurrying, spending and tired. We’re wanting and hunting for joy in this mire. And we’re living this lie right in front of little eyes - That joy’s found in the world, Jesus isn’t our prize. Our attention has wandered, we’ve lost our first love, Our Savior, Messiah, this gift from above. We’re spending time filling our Amazon carts Instead of preparing Him room in our hearts. We don’t need more lights and we don’t need more cheer, We just need to acknowledge - Jesus is here! The Light of the World - our Father and friend, He’s the Good Shepherd - His love never ends. We go searching and chasing and seeking for naught - He’s all that we need and all we could want. He’s precious and priceless, He’s one of a kind, There’s no one like Jesus that you’ll ever find. He was sent as a baby, our God wrapped in skin, He lived and He died and then rose again. This is why we have joy - nothing else will come close. Our Mighty God, Jesus, He gave up the most. So let’s surrender our lives and release all our things, Receiving instead the King of all kings. May our kids see it’s true: it’s not about stuff! It’s all about Jesus - He’s more than enough. And may we be the most joy-filled of all - Not because of what we have but because we are called: We are His, we are whole, we are found and free We have life to the full and that’s more than we need. It’s the call of Christmas: to come and adore The only One worthy of bowing before He’s high and he’s holy and yet, He is near. Immanuel has come - we’ve nothing to fear. So turn your eyes upon Jesus, just focus on Him In the joy of His presence, all else will grow dim.

“I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure with all the fullness of God.” Ephesians 3:17-19 I collapsed onto the couch one Saturday night in October, realizing it had been a while since I’d prayed. The “prayer” that followed was basically a monologue - me presenting a laundry lists of requests, almost as if God is a vending machine (which He is not). I was sharing my concerns over my kids and lots of future things. All of the future things. When I finally finished my speech, I waited eagerly for a response (and I hoped it would be as specific as possible). And here’s what I heard (in a gentle and quiet whisper sort of way): “Oh, how I love you, Morgan.” It’s not at all what I thought He’d say. There I was, waiting for details and an action plan, and He told me that He loves me. And He called me by name. I couldn't stop crying as He continued to express His love towards me. He wanted to show me, speak to me and shower me with love and He wanted it to sink in all the way to the very depths of my being. I could hardly handle it. I think, for those of us who grew up in the church, we are so accustomed to hearing about how much God loves us. Some of us have heard it a million times, and so we shrug when we hear it. We “know” God loves us. We are in desperate need of a fresh revelation of God’s love for us. In our world today, we are weary, overstimulated, and spiritually malnourished. We are too busy, and yet simultaneously bored. We are not easily impressed, but we are itching for something more, something deeper than what’s been offered to us. We “know” a lot of things, but they often don’t make the long journey from our heads to our hearts. God desires so much more for us - He wants us to know His love in a real, experiential way so that it sinks into our very bones and beings. This is why He sends us the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit “testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children,” (Romans 8:16) taking the love of the Father from our heads and pouring it out into our hearts (Romans 5:5). Dane Ortlund explains it this way in his book Gentle and Lowly (a BEAUTIFUL book): “It is one thing, as a child, to be told your father loves you. You believe him. You take him at his word. But it is another thing, unutterably more real, to be swept up in his embrace, to feel the warmth, to hear his beating heart within his chest, to instantly know the protective grip of his arms. It’s one thing to hear he loves you; it’s another thing to feel his love. This is the glorious work of the Spirit” (122). I’ve found it true, what Ortlund says: “We are factories of fresh resistances to Christ’s love” (Gentle and Lowly, 63). We come up with excuses why God couldn’t or shouldn’t love us. Shame and guilt hold us back from experiencing the depths of God’s love. We distract ourselves or fill our lives so that we have no time to sit with God and experience His love. We would never call ourselves, as John did, “the disciple whom Jesus love[s]” (John 13:23). This saddens our Father greatly. Our inability to receive God’s love and experience its fullness stunts our growth, keeps us from goodness, and limits our intimacy with God. Without intending to, we keep God at an arm’s length when we refuse to receive His love for us. On the contrary, something powerful happens when we know and understand (experientially, not just intellectually) how great the love of God is for us (on a personal level, not just universally). Paul asserts in Ephesians 3: “I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure with all the fullness of God” (v. 17-19). When we grasp the love of God for us, we will be “filled to the measure with all the fullness of God.” That means we will be so filled to overflowing with all that the Spirit has to offer us that there won’t be room for anything else - doubt, fear, wayward identities or sin. Being “filled to the measure with all the fullness of God” means that nothing unwanted can find its way in, and that the lies of the enemy will be forced out. How we need to grasp this inconceivable Love in greater measure! And we need to ask for His help in this - we need Him to reveal His love to us. We need Him to remind us of who He is. We need help to remember who we were and where we were heading before He intervened so that we can respond appropriately - like the woman who broke the alabaster jar at Jesus’ feet (Luke 7). We need Him to help us to stop resisting the love of God and start receiving it. Ephesians 3:17-19 is the passage I pray over my children every night. I believe it could change their lives (and all of our lives) if we were to more fully understand the love of the Father for us. I’m praying this passage over you today - may the Spirit make His love more real to you today, in the depths of your soul, as you seek Him.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." Galatians 5:22-23 I’m angry cleaning one afternoon last summer when it happens - this wake up call from the Holy Spirit (“angry cleaning” is characterized by stomping, vigorous scrubbing, and heavy sighs, if you’re unfamiliar with the term 😉). You see, these framed words below - the literal fruit of the Spirit - fell on my head as I shoved crumpled laundry into one of our age-old dresser drawers. This brought my cleaning frenzy to a halt and me to my knees. It's the deepest struggle of my motherhood journey: as much as I desire to produce good fruit as a mom and follower of Jesus…I can’t do it. I fall flat on my face again and again - spewing sin and fallen fruit. I can’t escape this reality of the flesh which fights against the Spirit (Galatians 5:17) - sin has this grip on me that’s too strong, too sinister, and it spirals too deep (and as much as I try telling myself, “I’ll be a better mom tomorrow…” it just doesn’t work). Jesus puts it this way: “Apart from Me, you can do nothing” (John 15:5). And although I try to scrape up something good from the depths of my soul - I keep coming up empty. My kids are the victim of this void: the gap between the flesh and the Spirit. The mom I long to be and the mom I really am. As I face the fallenness of my flesh, I’m frustrated. Confused. How can I possibly live out the fruit of the Spirit in this broken body, confined by sin and shame? I’m undone by this Truth that hits me on the head in the midst of my mess: I cannot live up to this list. It’s utterly impossible. My head hurts with hopelessness when Paul’s words come to mind: “Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me…What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:21, 24). He continues on in Romans 8:1: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.” We have this freedom from the flesh and this Spirit who “brings about our adoption to sonship” (Romans 8:15). We are not defined by death or sin - the Spirit turns sinners into sons and daughters. Our situation is not hopeless but rather holy ground for the Spirit to move and plow and produce good things. He brings life from death - sanctifying the entirety of our souls over our lifetime as we submit our ways and wills to Him. And so I’m still holding my head but my heart feels lighter because, thankfully, we are not commanded to “produce good fruit” but rather to “remain in [Him]” (John 15:5). The fruit of the Spirit is not hidden within us, waiting to be unearthed. It grows only when we hide ourselves in Him - spending time in His presence and steeping ourselves in His Word. The fruit of the Spirit flourishes in the hiding and abiding - not the striving. And so we are like sunflowers, which follow the sun with their faces throughout the day to soak up as much sunlight as possible, so that they can be as fruitful as possible. In the same way, we turn our faces towards the Son, Jesus, in order to cultivate a place where good fruit can grow. We ourselves do not produce the fruit, but we position ourselves so that the Spirit can saturate the entirety of our beings and lives, and then allow God to grow good things in us. (This sunflower illustration is from this She Reads Truth podcast - not my own. The whole episode was great if you want more on the fruit of the Spirit!). It’s not my duty to produce the fruit, but rather my delight to bask in the light of the Son. What could this look like - “turning your face towards the Son”? This might look like waking up before your kids to spend time with Jesus (if they are finally sleeping through the night 🙌🏻). Going on a daily prayer walk. Accepting help with childcare. Taking a weekly nap (because sometimes the most holy thing you can do is take a nap…!!!). Getting yourself in Christian community. Attending church on Sundays. Starting a Bible reading plan. Getting help with a habitual sin. Listening to worship music in the car because if you’re anything like me, buckling kids into car seats sends your blood pressure sky-high. 😂 These days, this fruit of the Spirit sign is hanging in my girls’ room - a sunny yellow backdrop framing this list of all I long to be. Thankfully, it hasn’t fallen on my head again. But it’s this reminder to turn my face towards the Son, and the fruit will come. To be intentional with my days and my gaze - inviting the Son to illuminate every part of my life and heart - and I’m trusting Him for a harvest of good fruit. My campus pastor, Pete, always referred to his wife, Amy, as “the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” And Amy IS that - loving and patient and kind and all of the things described in Galatians 5:22-23.What if…a few years down the road, your husband referred to you that way? “My wife is so wonderful - she is like the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” What if…when your kids are older (and realize all that you have done for them 🤪), they said: “My mom - she’s amazing. She is basically the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” I’m praying it over all of us - that He would bring forth an abundance of good fruit in our lives as we remain in Him - that we might grow more and more towards women who look like “the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” I’ll be sharing a monthly reflection on each fruit of the Spirit over the coming nine months. I’m looking forward to growing with you. 💕

My heart is not proud, LORD, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore. Psalm 131 I’ve been that mom before - the one crying uncontrollably for no reason apparent to anybody but herself. 😂😭 (Please tell me I’m not alone in this…) For me, it was the releasing of the rocking chair - the one in which I nursed my first baby - in the process of weaning her. I’m going to blame my hysterical weeping on the hormones and the fact that I was five months pregnant with my second. 😉 (“The hormones” are usually a good excuse when needed.) Weaning can be a painful process. It can be emotional, uncomfortable, and even unwanted. But it is a non-negotiable to reach a new level of maturity - physically, emotionally, and in every sense. It may not be desired, but it is required. And we, as believers, must also undergo a weaning process as we mature in Christ. So often we are like a baby asking for “more” (more things, more people, more mountaintop moments) while God is there offering Himself. We love God for what He gives us rather than loving Him for who He is. And just as a baby will starve if she tries to survive on breastmilk forever, so will we starve spiritually if we fail to ever look up from God’s hand (what He provides) to His face (His presence). If we remain fixated on the gifts rather than the Giver, we will remain spiritual infants forever - shallow and self-indulgent. So although weaning is hard, it’s for our good. It’s for our sanctification, health, maturity, and fruitfulness. Weaning paves the way for peace, contentment, rest, and new depths of intimacy with God that could come no other way. And here’s where we turn to Psalm 131, which was called by Charles Spurgeon, “...one of the shortest psalms to read, but one of the longest to learn.” Because it’s our human nature to do the opposite of all that this psalm describes: to proudly desire all we see; to concern ourselves with all of the things; to refuse to be calm, quiet and content; and to put our hope in this world. How we need Jesus to wean us from these tendencies and usher us into a Psalm 131 type of existence: true contentment in Him. In the day when this psalm was written, weaning probably would’ve occurred around the age of three. You can just hear the protests and imagine the tantrums that took place - God bless those mamas (not to say anything about when you should wean your baby…but man, three-nagers can be tough to take on when they know what they want). And don’t we respond just the same way to weaning? We grasp so tightly to our comforts, it’s almost painful when God pries them from our fingers. We kick and scream when our idols are stripped from us and our crutches are exposed. We struggle against God and others. We are no different from the Israelites who got downright MEAN when they wanted their meat back (Exodus 16:1-3). They grumbled about their lack even as God provided faithfully for them morning by morning, raining down manna from heaven. God was weaning them from worldly things in the wilderness, and it was far from easy for them. I’ve found motherhood to be similar to what the Israelites experienced - this wilderness weaning process, stripping me of sleep, selfishness, free time, physical comforts…everything I was accustomed to in my pre-motherhood days. I’ve been weaned right alongside each of my babies, and even in my griping, He’s never failed to provide the manna I need for each day. Although it’s difficult, weaning is a kindness - it’s the whisper of our wise God: “Look up here at my eyes.” It’s what turns us to the Word instead of the world; the Father instead of the futile. It’s what reminds us: cling to Jesus tightly, hold everything else lightly. Because that IS the ultimate goal of weaning: that our hope would be in Jesus alone (Psalm 131:3). Anything that hinders our hope from hurtling straight to Jesus…we need to be weaned from it. No matter how good that thing might be (a relationship, a healthy habit, abundance of any form)… something needs to change if we are grasping that thing more tightly than Jesus. And here’s the situation in which we find ourselves in 2024: we have to contend for contentment - in this world of chaos and comforts and distractions, we will never stumble upon a Psalm 131 life by accident. This contentment has to be cultivated as we surrender our ways and wills and allow God to wean us. We must relinquish control instead of resisting - calming and quieting ourselves instead of asking countless questions. He’s reminding us: we’ll always be His children. He’s inviting us: we’ll never outgrow His lap or His love. He’s not handing us a coupon to contentment with an upcoming expiration date, but rather lifetime access to our Abba Father and all He has to offer. Why do we keep chasing and grasping and asking for more when He just wants us to come to Him? Why do we put our hope in products and promotions and podcasts all while He’s inviting us to climb onto His lap? Weaning makes way for what is best: connection and contentment (instead of consumption). God wants to give you soul manna - the bread of life. He wants you to be filled and satisfied by Him now and forever (John 6:47-51). May He give you the grace to undergo this weaning process that you might treasure His face all the more in your season.

“I lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1) I’m twenty four years old when the reality of motherhood hits me hard, nursing my firstborn in a musty university basement bathroom stall. I had gathered the entirety of my baby gear to attend a Monday evening event (back in our campus ministry days) in my first attempt to return to “normalcy” post-baby (as if such a thing exists 🤣). But after searching in vain for any semi-private place to nurse, I resort to said bathroom where I sit down on an uncovered toilet in a dimly lit stall and nurse Eden through bleeding, cracked nipples. Disappointed and disheartened, the isolation of my new life washes over me. And here’s what surfaces in the spilling of tears that night: I feel utterly unseen. Just shy of three and a half years later, I’m rocking baby number three and wondering who in the world understands this sleepless struggle of motherhood that I’m barely surviving. And through stifled sobs I’m memorizing and reciting Psalm 121 alongside two toddlers and a newborn: “He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over yo u - the LORD is your shade at your right hand… The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life ; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore” (v. 3-8). I draw eyes on colored construction paper in an attempt to help my kids understand: He’s watching over us (see photo below). I can’t escape His eyes - five times He repeats and reminds and reveals: His eyes are on me. And He’s not a Ring security camera or an exalted Elf on the Shelf. He’s not watching to condemn or heap guilt - He’s watching because He cares. His eyes are full of compassion. He’s always awake and always aware. Your heart, tears, sacrifices, desires, needs, fears: they are in full view. He sees you struggling and striving. Day and night, He graces your life with His gaze. But here’s where Psalm 121 finds me: fooled at different times into thinking that more eyes on me equates to greater significance and satisfaction. That being seen is the real goal of the good life. I wrestle with invisibility in this world of images; I struggle with feeling unseen in this world of followers and screens. These verses tilt my face towards this grace: a million eyes on me couldn’t make up for the eyes of the I Am looking at me and watching over me and seeing me - really seeing me. Sometimes He hides us intentionally: to heal us, to reveal things to us, to bring us to new heights of wholeness and holiness. He hides us and He holds us - He IS our hiding place (Psalm 32:7). He sees in the secret place as much as on the stage. The public and private have no bearing on His awareness. And because He’s looking, we can raise our eyes to meet His gaze and we can ask for His help. “I lift my eyes up to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1) I’m so often looking elsewhere for help: a screen. A human being. A break. An escape. I’m looking in all the wrong places - down here, too low - until in a moment of desperation, I finally look up to find His eyes. The Truth? He has been there all along - seeing me, searching me, offering Himself as Savior and Sustainer and Satisfier of all needs. He’s been holding out heavenly help while I’ve been scrounging around on the ground, making do with mud pies. I need to practice until it’s second nature: averting my gaze from this mortal mire, lifting my eyes up higher. I’m currently on the brink of thirty. If you’re wondering, I’m still spending way too much time in bathrooms these days between bath time and the wiping up of a whole slew of bodily fluids. 😂 And I’ve got these three little ones vying for my eyes: “Mom, watch me!” “Mama, look!” They’re desperate for my attention - for someone to see them, to really, truly see them. “Did you see that, Mom?” And aren’t they just the same as me? I smile at them: “I’m watching you! I see you!” And I know He is saying the same thing to me. I may be hidden from the world, but I am held and helped by God. I’m not unseen; I’m hidden in plain sight of the One whose eyes matter most.

“‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.’ The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.'” Psalm 46:10-11 I come in like a frazzled mess on Saturday morning - smile forced, fists clenched. “Are you okay?” my husband asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes,” I hear my lips respond. But in my heart and mind and body, a “no” resounds. I have run myself ragged on the hamster wheel of my week, refusing to rest. I am overstimulated and exhausted, but I don’t even remember how to stop: the act of stepping off the treadmill of life feels foreign, intimidating, and uncomfortable. And although I hate to admit it, this is not an isolated event but rather a pattern I have noticed in myself throughout motherhood. Many days, I become “machine mom" - I am simultaneously listening to a podcast, making dinner, answering a text, watching one of my kids do something “amazing,” and getting somebody else a drink. Mom’s are great at multitasking, right? 😉 But in my flurry of “productivity,” I hardly look my children in the eyes. I swirl around them, but I do not truly see them. And on top of that, I hardly acknowledge Jesus or sit with Him. And although I try to convince myself that I am “getting things done,” in reality I am feigning control - idolizing myself as the god of my life and ignoring my innate need to stop and be still. I’m a tornado of to-do lists, but I am not a peaceful presence. This is a constant struggle, my addiction to activity. Instead of being still, I want to FILL. I want to fill the silence, fill my schedule, fill my stomach. It’s much easier to fill than to be still. And as I’m speeding around - leaving the stench of self in my wake instead of the aroma of Christ - I begin to forget: I forget who He is. I forget who I am. I forget that He is in control. I forget that He holds me. And the result? Fear. Fear that I will not get it all done. Fear of man. Fear of the future. Fear for my children and my family. The absence of stillness leaves me scurrying around, scared. I am a frenzied mess of fear and forgetfulness, filling my life with too many things. In my flesh, I want to go fast, get it all done and forgo His help. But the need for speed will never lead me to where I need to be: my knees. And so on this particular Saturday, I go on a walk at a nearby lake and force myself to sit down. It’s almost too much to bear - I cannot stand the silence. I get back up, pacing nervously…and then I try again - back to the bench - and I stay, I linger. I let myself be seen by God. And when I still, the dust of my soul settles. God slows me and shows me what I need to know. He speaks and steadies me. He strengthens me and helps make sense out of my life. He saves me from myself. Why do I resist so stubbornly when I find all that I need when I still myself with Him? Jesus reminds me what I keep forgetting, these truths echoing loud in Psalm 46: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). “The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:7). And from His own lips: “‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth” (v. 6). He helps me remember the Truth: He’s both omnipotent and intimate. He’s there - enthroned - and here - encircling me; over it all and within my very being. He is all-powerful and my “ever present” help. He has all authority AND He’s my Abba Father. What more do I need? What have I been running around for all this time, anyways? We must learn this skill of being still for the sake of ourselves and our marriages and our children. It will go against our wills and our world, but it is worth the fight because the stillness is where Jesus meets us. There is no substitute for being still - it might just be the most important thing we ever do. It’s the upside down way of the Kingdom: the filling comes in the stilling. We are only fully satisfied when we choose to abide. And so I stay on that bench by the lake, the longest I’ve sat down all week. The cotton swirls around me, the water stirs, the reeds sway, but I am still - He is reigning on high and within my heart, and all is well.