Some mornings, my inner critic wakes up with me. As I eat my breakfast, my first thoughts appear auto-populated by what I “should’ve-would’ve-could’ve” done.

Instead of songs of deliverance surrounding me like the psalmist wrote about, my mind becomes filled with a noisy parade of troubling thoughts—regrets over what I wasn’t doing well, relationships that had turned hurtful, and indecisions tearing at my soul.

Why are you obsessing about things you have no control over? I lecture myself. Stop worrying about nothing. What’s wrong with you? I beat myself up, and I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.

I pray and read Scripture, but my heart doesn’t feel right. One morning, I tried to forget my troubles by diving into my emails. On the outside, all was good, but being hard on myself wasn’t what I needed.

What I need when I’m stuck in negative self-talk is God’s kindness and gentleness.

The world teaches us to quiet our inner critic by striving, networking with people of influence, and working very hard to be valued, find belonging, and acceptance.

But God’s way of restoring the soul is very quiet: real experiences of beauty, gentleness, and kindness.

We need two fruits of the Spirit: gentleness and kindness.

Later in the afternoon, I drove out to my favorite trail and stood quietly by the creek, listening to water bubbling over rocks and pebbles. Without any words, I felt God’s gentle love hold my heart.

My soul exhaled, and as the sun warmed my heart again, I heard God tenderly whisper, “You are safe with me. You are important to me.”

God draws us closer, saying, “I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love; With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself” (Jeremiah 31:3).

In a quiet place of beauty, my heart opened up. I shared my honest feelings with God—not trying to solve them but to confide in him.

Being in nature soothes us and gives us permission to slow down.

We observe how everything organic undergoes changes in different seasons, and we instinctively relax our shoulders and exhale.

As the breeze brushes our cheeks, we feel a softening. We notice how everything beautiful moves in quietness.

It was only there by the creek, only after I took the steps to enjoy something beautiful to refresh me, that my heart experienced God’s songs of deliverance.

Many times, we try to lecture ourselves out of a tough situation, but God’s gentle voice is always found in places of quiet beauty and intimacy.

Don’t be harder on yourself. Be gentle with yourself. God’s love is gentle.

*For further reflection, listen to Jeremiah 31 today.

Excerpted with permission from Breathe by Bonnie Gray published by Harvest House Publishers, Eugene, Oregon, 97408. Copyright 2023, Bonnie Gray. harvesthousepublishers.com

Jesus once asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

“Well,” they replied, some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, and others say Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.” (Matthew 16:13–14).

Jesus then asked one of the simplest yet most profound questions in Scripture: “Then he asked them, “But who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:15).

The twelve disciples had spent almost every waking moment with Jesus for a couple of years at that point. They had witnessed him heal people, perform countless miracles, and teach with authority in the presence of the Pharisees and Sadducees. If anyone should’ve known who Jesus was, it should have been them, right?

They saw his power with their own eyes and heard his words with their own ears.

And yet when Peter rightly responded, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” Jesus replied, “You are blessed, Simon son of John, because my Father in heaven has revealed this to you. You did not learn this from any human being” (Matthew 16:16–17).

Here is why Jesus’s statement is so profound: The people who saw and heard Jesus identified him as John the Baptist, Elijah, or Jeremiah because they compared Jesus’s ministry and teaching to that of these men.They identified Jesus based on who he reminded them of, and we do something similar when we identify people based on who they remind us of.

We say our daughter is cheerful like Aunt Sally, or our boss is mean and gruff like our old volleyball coach. We tend to identify people based on our sensory experience—what we see, hear, touch, or smell—and how it reminds us of someone else. This is part of what makes Jesus’s question significant.

He wanted to share this truth: people’s experience of you is not who you are.

Just as Jesus wasn’t John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets, you aren’t who other people say you are.

Jesus essentially said, “I am more than what you see me do. I am more than what you hear me say. I am more than what you feel when I’m around. I am who the Father says I am—and so are you.”

Taken from KILLING COMPARISON by Nona Jones. Copyright © September 27, 2022 by Nona Jones. Used by permission of Zondervan.com.

I’ve never been a good sleeper. But years of motherhood, of getting up with babies in the night, did me in. My ears are tuned to the faintest sound of distress. So I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that one of the best Christmas gifts I’ve ever received was a weighted blanket.

Weighted blankets are filled with pellets, and when they are draped over a hyper-stimulated body, they can help it relax. These blankets work on theory that something called “deep touch pressure” helps the body regulate itself when under physical and emotional distress.

Deep pressure is also the phenomenon behind infant swaddling and might help explain why Mary wrapped the newborn Jesus “snugly in strips of cloth” (Luke 2:7). Luke’s record of Mary wrapping her son in “swaddling bands” is the first record we have of the incarnated body of the Son of God.

The first thing you learn about Jesus’s physical humanity is his need for comfort and care.

“Swaddling clothes” also help a newborn transition from the womb to the world.

When birth ushers an infant into a world of intense physical sensation, his senses are bombarded—every touch, taste, smell, sound, and sight is amplified.

Now imagine this. The God of the universe chooses to come to earth as a baby. But to do this, he must cede control, even over his own body. So his mother does what any good mother would do: she wraps him tightly, knowing this will calm him. And suddenly his muscles begin to relax, his breathing is softer and finally, he falls asleep, safe in his mother’s arms.

When I think of how Mary clothed infant Jesus, it reminds me of how God clothed the naked bodies of Adam and Eve. After they’d eaten the forbidden fruit, Genesis 3:7 says that instantly “the eyes of both of them were opened, and they suddenly felt shame at their nakedness.”

Their sin ushered them into a new existence. And in the light of righteousness, they stand exposed and ashamed.

They try to hide themselves, but everything is out of their control. Then Genesis says this: “And the Lord God made clothing from animal skins for Adam and his wife” (Genesis 3:21).

You might be tempted to read this as their nakedness offended God. Or you might read as if God stepped in to solve a problem he had not created.

But reading it this way would miss the heart of a good Father.

In Isaiah 66, he promises: “I will comfort you there in Jerusalem as a mother comforts her child.”

And so he clothed them. He covered and comforted them.

Just as Mary cared for her son, God cares for us.

Seeing us helpless and exposed, he clothes us, wrapping us tightly in the bands of his merciful compassion.

And so today with eyes of faith, we learn to trust this care. We learn to trust that the God who clothed and comforted his restless children in the garden—the God who was clothed as a restless child—will do the same for us.

We trust that the bands of his everlasting love will hold us secure, today and for eternity.

Adapted with permission from Heaven and Nature Sing: 25 Advent Reflections to Bring Joy to the World by Hannah Anderson. Copyright 2022, B&H Publishing.

“Then Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan River. He was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, where he was tempted by the devil for forty days. Jesus ate nothing all that time and became very hungry” (Luke 4:1-2).

Hungry Son,

The Father called you Beloved

and then the Spirit

led you like a lamb

out into the scorching sun

where you

chose trust

in your Father

over proving

your own power.

Lead us to landscapes

we would not choose

to feed us with trust we cannot lose.

Because for far too long

we’ve been fed sugar

by shepherds on stages

in words that say fame

and power

and the removal of pain

are the proof

of bearing your name.

But your sonship reveals

what no stage can show:

it is into vulnerability

that you choose

to go.

Amen.

Show me a shepherd who listens long, who is not afraid of being seen as wrong.

Show me a shepherd who will sit on your couch, who asks how you’re doing when you’ve dropped off the earth.

Show me a shepherd who cries when you weep, whose heart is still moved by every hurt sheep.

Show me a shepherd who gives up their time, who counts not the minutes they’re falling behind.

Show me a shepherd whose kindness can preach louder than any sermon could reach.

Show me a shepherd who studies the language of hearts as much as Hebrew or Greek, who conjugates the verbs of being meek.

Show me a shepherd who dares to believe stories whose truths might make people leave.

Show me a shepherd who reports abuse, who respects people for more than their use.

Show me a shepherd who assumes there’s no stage as important as sitting with sheep in their pain.

*For further reflection, listen to Luke 4.

I believe deeply that there is a joy to be found in the mess of life.

I’ll never forget one afternoon when my toddler twins and five-year-old sat at the island in our kitchen, enjoying an early spaghetti dinner. Their faces were covered in spaghetti sauce as they tried to get the noodles (which I’d cut up for easy eating) into their mouths. They were so happy. And all I could think was, “This place is a mess.”

You know the feeling. Their joy is palpable, and my anxiety is rising, thinking of all the cleaning I’ll have to do.

But, as my children got older and I began to press actively against my perfectionist tendencies, I felt something inside me begin to loosen.

Granted, it’s still there: my desire to live in a perfectly tidy home at all times (even though five humans, three of them small, live here). But it’s less intense.

God doesn’t expect perfection from us. In fact, every single one of us falls short of perfection, of the glory of God. Order and tidiness are admirable and important goals, but what are we missing when we don’t fully live our lives for fear of mess or disorder?

Consider the delight of a kid in a swimsuit with a water hose in a backyard, bare feet stomping through the mud. The squeals, the laughter, the mess of it all.

There’s so much joy to be found in the process of truly living—not just when life is cleaned up.

Do you struggle with perfection? Who defined that standard for you?  Social media? Your mother? Your neighbor who seems always to have it all together?

There’s so much joy to be found in the process of truly living—not just when life is cleaned up.

Now that sounds perfect, doesn’t it?

“God’s Way is perfect. All the Lord’s promises prove true.

 He is a shield for all who look to him for protection” 

 (II Samuel 22:31).

*For further reflection, listen to (II Samuel 22)

Adapted from Sure as the Sunrise by Emily Ley. Copyright ©2022 by Emily Ley. Used by permission of Thomas Nelson. www.thomasnelson.com.

Jesus says, “My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life” (John 10:10).

In Deuteronomy 30, God addresses the whole company of Israel through Moses and says, “Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessing and curses. Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live!”

We experience daily choices of “life” and “death” that we can be attentive to and receive guidance from God. 

They could be that slight tension headache we get as we interact with a particular person or the aspect of our job that is draining, or the life-giving energy we feel in the presence of art and beauty. They may also include the sensation of being “in the flow” when we are engaged in a particular activity, the feeling of peace we notice as we walk into a particular building or space.

God’s will for us is generally to do more of that which gives us life (Deuteronomy 30:11-20) and to turn away from those things that drain life from us.

Furthermore, God points out that the wisdom that enables us to choose life is not something we will find outside of ourselves – in heaven or across the ocean, but this knowing is very near to us; it is in our mouths and in our hearts for us to notice and to observe (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

Many of our smaller decisions and most of our significant decisions – even decisions that require you to choose between two equally good options – involve the ability to notice what brings a sense of life, freedom in the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:17), and the peace that exceeds anything we can understand (Philippians 4:7).

These inner dynamics need not be attached to anything that is particularly momentous; in fact, they might seem relatively inconsequential until we learn to pay attention and trust what they have to tell us.

The opportunity to choose life is ours – in the day-to-day choices we face as well as in the larger decisions of our lives.

When we make it our habit to notice and respond to that which is life-giving, we are in touch with what is truest about God, ourselves and our world.

For me, the journey from error to truth has been a humbling experience. I had to admit that much of what I’d always believed was not just inaccurate; it was unhelpful, even harmful.

That wasn’t easy.

Maybe you, too, have been convinced for years that the only way to please God is by following specific, man-made rules from a particular teacher. God had to humble me so I could see that all my effort was not actually honoring God.

You may be in a similar situation, ready to examine your convictions and compare them to Scripture. That process is well worth it.

No matter who you are or where you come from, you need what I need—what we all need: humility.

Through this process, I’ve come to understand that humble people don’t think too much of themselves, but they also don’t think too low of themselves either. Humble people know who they are, what they are good at, and what talents they do not have.

Romans 12:3 provides a great description of a humble person: “Because of the privilege and authority God has given me, I give each of you this warning: Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given us.”

Ten years ago, I don’t think I understood that. I thought I had life figured out.

I’m grateful for the humility God is working in me. He opened my eyes, as only he can, to see that I was thinking too highly of myself. He gave me undeserved grace.

As James 4:6 says, “And he gives grace generously. As the Scriptures say, ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’”

Without God’s help, it’s tough to see our pride. In fact, I’d say it’s impossible. If you and I are ever going to submit to God and his Word, we need to begin by asking for humility.

That’s a request I know God will grant.

After all, Proverbs 11:2 says, “Pride leads to disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.” And I know that if I ask for wisdom, God will give it to me.

*For further reflection, listen to Romans 12 today.

Taken from “Becoming Free Indeed” by Jinger Duggar Vuolo. Copyright 2023 by Jinger Vuolo. Used with permission from Thomas Nelson.

If you had just a few more days to live, what would you say to your closest family and friends?

This is a question I often ask myself. Sometimes I brainstorm what crazy deep words of wisdom or groundbreaking encouragement I would give. How would I leave my loved ones with a big mic drop moment before I died? In Jesus’ final days on earth, he took full advantage of the time he had left just to be with His disciples.

Serve them.

Love them.

Pray for them.

Speak over them.

Break bread with them.

And then speak to them.

Jesus could have said anything, and I mean anything, before ascending to heaven.

He could have told them details about the growth of the church over the next hundred years, and how they would flourish and prevail despite the persecution they would face. He could have spoken to each disciple individually, foretelling exactly what the rest of their lives would look like.

But instead of sharing that kind of information, he left them with a gift.

After washing his disciples’ feet and foreshadowing His impending betrayal by Judas, Jesus comforted his disciples.

He spoke encouragement into their lives, rallying them to continue believing and persevering in the faith.

At the end of his mini sermon, Jesus promised the ultimate form of comfort. The ultimate gift. The Holy Spirit.

I am telling you these things now while I am still with you. But when the Father sends the Advocate as my representative – that is, the Holy Spirit–he will teach you everything and will remind you everything I have told you. I am leaving you with a gift–peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. IF you really loved me, you would be happy that I am going to the Father, who is greater than I am” (John 14:25–28).

On the surface this was probably not the most reassuring sentiment—their Savior and best friend telling them He was going to leave. Right?

But in typical Jesus fashion, even though he was leaving, he still had a plan for providing the disciples with all the comfort and help they would need to live.

Jesus also gives us this same gift of the greatest power source we’ll ever know and ever need – His Holy Spirit.

Adapted from Surrender Your Story: Ditch the Myth of Control and Discover Freedom in Trusting God© 2023 by Tara Sun. Published by Thomas Nelson.

Are you harassed and helpless, distressed and dispirited, feeling alone in your struggles as if no one sees you? You may feel alone, but God will never leave you or forsake you.

In the book of Genesis, we find an Egyptian slave woman named Hagar alone, broken, insignificant, and rejected. Hagar, whose name means one who fears, is a socially marginalized woman with no control over her life circumstances.

As she sits alone and desperate in the wilderness, we encounter an extraordinary moment in Scripture. An angel of the Lord finds Hagar and calls her by name, something her mistress had refused to do and tells Hagar the Lord has heard her affliction.

In response, she calls God by the name El Roi, meaning the “God Who Sees Me.” The angel instructs her to return and submit to her mistress. Her circumstances won’t change, but the strength and perspective with which she faces them will be different.

Every character in Hagar’s story experienced their own fears, doubts, insecurities, and injustices along a broken road, lost like sheep. The original Hebrew word Roi’iy means “shepherd,” “seeing,” “looking,” or “gazing.”

When you feel vulnerable and alone, you can find hope and comfort in the “God Who Sees Me.” Take comfort in the fact your compassionate Good Shepherd is always looking for you.

Even when you feel desperately isolated, God promises that you are never alone.

Reflect:

1. In the seasons of life where you feel alone, how can you look back at your story and see ways God has met you along the way to find you and bring you encouragement?
2. How can you find a friend struggling through a season of loneliness in the wilderness and offer companionship and encouragement?
3. How can you find tangible hope in the God Who Sees You?

Pray:

God, my soul is troubled. I am weary with argument and conversation, and my bed at night swims with the tears of my distress. I worry. I see hurt. I feel alone. My eyes waste away with grief as conflict makes me weary. I know You hear my voice lifted in desperate prayer. Give me faith in times of distress. I ask for mercy in the midst of pain. Bring healing where there is conflict. Pour over me Your unfailing love. I know You accept my prayer. I ask You to walk with me daily, putting people in my path who will speak encouragement and the words of life delivered straight from Your heart to mine, with confident affirmation to remind me I am never truly alone. Amen.

*For further reflection, listen to (Psalm 6).

Adapted from Behind Closed Doors: A Guide to Help Parents and Teens Navigate Through Life’s Toughest Issues (W Publishing Group, a division of HarperCollins Christian Publishing).

“Truth is, Women are the Unsung Heroes of This World.”

As we celebrate International Women’s Day, I reflect on the role women have played in my own spiritual formation. By and large, women have been the agents of grace in my life teaching me how to live, grow, stand tall, pray, take God at his Word, worship, praise, and, perhaps most importantly, laugh out loud.

Moses, who led the children of Israel out of Egypt was also influenced by women. In fact, the Exodus story began with two women rescuers: the Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah. When Pharaoh ordered the midwives to kill all the Hebrew boys, they refused. They rejected the murderous plan of the empire because they feared God more than the king (Exodus 1:15-21).

It was a significant risk to defy Pharaoh, and by doing so, these women saved vulnerable lives while looking death, danger, and darkness in the face. That was the first time women saved Moses’ life.

Next, Pharaoh ordered that all the Hebrew infant boys be thrown into the Nile while the girls would be spared (Exodus 1:22). The Nile River was a symbol of life to the Egyptians, but it offered a grave reminder to the Hebrews that their boys had no right to live. This genocide plot caused Moses’ mother to spring into action to save her son’s life.

Then Pharaoh’s daughter rescued Moses when she drew him out of the water. When she opened the basket, she immediately noticed that it was a Hebrew baby—but she did not mention that he was a boy.

Perhaps before Pharaoh’s daughter even saw the baby’s gender, Miriam jumped in to ask, “Should I go and find one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?” she asked.

“Yes, do!” the princess replied. So the girl went and called the baby’s mother. “Take this baby and nurse him for me,” the princess told the baby’s mother. “I will pay you for your help.” So the woman took her baby home and nursed him (Exodus 2:7-9)

So baby Moses’ life was thrice saved from death: by the wisdom and courage of the midwives, by his mother’s plan, and by Pharaoh’s daughter’s compassion.

Without the leadership and obedience of the women in his life,  God’s plan for Moses would have been aborted. God’s grace was consistently revealed in Moses’ life through the presence of wise, faithful, and risk-taking women.When I think about my own life and how I have become a leader, it is impossible to separate my story from the women who have shaped me. Like Moses, my life has been saved by the sacrifices, contributions, and faithful obedience of women.

But the strong female influences in my early life were not due to the absence of faithful black men in my community. There were simply more women in my biological family. This is how women have consistently showed up to save my life, and I don’t know where I would be without them.

And women are the unsung heroes of Moses’ story. These women were leaders who served as God’s grace and protection for Moses to ensure that he would rise as a leader among his people to fulfil the purpose God had for his life.

God’s saving grace to all of us is often revealed through the bosoms, the hands, the teaching, the correction, the unconditional love, the sacrifices, the laughter, the truth telling and the risks of faithful women.

We must not forget to regularly acknowledge their leadership and thank God for them.

*For further reflection, listen to Exodus 1.

Adapted from “A Sojourner’s Truth” by Natasha Sistrunk Robinson. Copyright (c) 2018 by Natasha Sistrunk Robinson.