When You Need a Gift from a Child

Do many people have a specific emotion they feel the most awkward with? Mine is anger. In some ways, I’d rather meet any other feeling. When my worst memories play across my mind, anger appears as the villain, the direct enemy of love. Whether the anger is from others, or from me, the narrative says that anger destroys. It equates with shame and loss. The rise of this emotion can begin to feel like a threat. Don’t let your anger out, or else. There’s validity to my concerns. Out-of-control anger can hurt people deeply. It can damage and destroy and tear down connections we don’t actually want to tear down. The idea of anger makes me angry. Anger can cause typhoons of damage and sometimes I want to scream about it to the world. Sometimes when I start to feel angry, shame creeps in for the fact that I feel angry at all. On the other hand, part of me knows anger has important roles to play somewhere. It can let us know when something isn’t right. There are times to listen. So, at times, I’ll start to share my anger with someone. Often, I feel clumsy—caught in a world that’s too shaky and uncertain. Anger is a territory full of memories where abandonment happens, people are shamed and nothing is steady. So when I showed up for counseling a couple weeks ago and Chris, my counselor, asked me to consider good things about anger, I didn’t love the topic. But I know her question is valid. In the first several years of marriage, I tried hard to be as low-need as possible. I wanted to be a selfless wife, but I often thought that meant not having needs. The more I contained my needs, the more I felt disconnected from Nano. Anger would find ways to come out of me—it just didn’t look like anger and it always came out sideways. Now, Nano has seen more of my anger than anyone else combined. The more I search for healthier ways to listen to my anger and express my need—and the more we work through those moments—the more I feel connected to him. Marriage is the biggest place where I’ve seen good things come from learning to work with my anger. I’ve also seen hard things come when anger is ignored. How many of us know what it feels like to have a friend avoid us? Then, a long while later sometimes the truth comes out and we find out why. At times, I’ve longed to see a friends’ anger, because I wanted to know that our friendship mattered. In those situations, I’ve felt heartbroken by the silence. The unspoken needs. My own struggles with anger help me understand this better. Often, when I feel anger, something about that feeling is helping me know about a need that I may be struggling to recognize. That’s when fear strikes. I remember the times when I’ve tried to assert myself and lost control. I remember too, the times when my assertion was not received well, connections were damaged, and it felt difficult to know if it was worth it or not. The fear that I feel from those memories is real. Yet, when fear scares me away from navigating my anger, I get stuck in a place where I’m not moving forward. Sometimes we’ve had little experience with seeing positive things come when we assert ourselves. Understandably, this can make us feel cautious about being assertive at all. At times, taking a risk to be assertive in the healthiest way I can find takes all of the emotional energy I can muster. Don’t we all have a point at which the need for assertiveness in a situation drains too much energy and goes beyond what we can manage? Maybe we all have a different level of capacity for that. I have a greater capacity for assertiveness than I used to, though I have lots farther to grow. Often, the person on the other end of the situation is trying to grow their capacity for connection in their own way as well. In some ways, my greatest need may be in learning to be assertive with myself—telling myself what I can do to care for the hurt I feel. There is beauty in the desire to imagine what might be possible when the most unpracticed parts of me find ways to come alive. Somewhere inside, anger wants something good. Peace. Dignity. Better ways to connect. Anger longs to be seen for the goodness she’s after. I want to hear the good things anger has to say—the anger in me, the anger in others. In the movie, Because of Winn Dixie , there’s a nighttime scene where ten-year-old Opal and her father are searching for her missing dog, her best friend. When her dad says it’s time to return home, Opal lashes out at him, accusing him of giving up. In that moment, her deep-seated hurt overflows and she accuses him of giving up on her mother too—being the one at fault for the fact that her mother abandoned her. Rather than lash back at her, her father hears the pain inside her anger. He recognizes her need for safety and connection and he responds in love. That scene always draws my longing and stirs my questions. It leaves me searching to know what I feel invited toward. Don’t we all want to know that we can be seen in our wild anger and still be held in love? But mostly, when we rashly spill anger on people, it leads to less connection, not more. It hurts others, and it hurts us too. So I don’t think it’s correct to name this as what I want to do. It’s been more than two years since the last time I watched that movie with my kids. I still remember how I couldn’t place my finger on what that scene made me yearn for. While Chris spoke with me the other day, she didn’t say anything about that movie, but she brought me to that same place. The same set of questions. She gave the invitation. Feel your anger in the safety of the One whose love is strong enough for all of it. Let yourself be seen by your heavenly Father in your rage. He never fails to see the good longings within your anger and to wrap you in His love. I know what the scene in Winn-Dixie made me want—a place where my anger can co-exist with love. When anger and love find ways to join hands, miracles happen and love is multiplied. May imagination open wide to the good things that can come when we feel our deep anger in the presence of Love. When I remember I am safe to navigate anger, the security of love can guide me in what’s needed.

“Art can be seen as not hostile to faith, but as practice for it. Building the muscle of imagination makes us better fit to believe. And love, the central command of faith, requires enormous imagination, to understand the life, feelings, or needs of someone else” -Carey Wallace It’s because I’ve been deeply affected by good books that I enjoy making art on pages too. When we write, we engage imagination. When we read, we open to the experience of letting another soul’s imagination stir our own. Books are the most patient teachers. They never demand to be read. If you’ve had your fill for the day, they are content to rest in the corner for however long you need—whether a day, or a month. In a book, I step inside another’s mind, made available for me to enjoy or consider. But I can leave anytime I need to. I’m grateful for many people who chose to put their thoughts on paper, knowing they leave their readers with this gift. During the release of Stepping Home, I want to share some books I’ve been taught by—teachers I drew from while I wrote my book about belonging. I’ll share them in the order they appear in the endnotes of Stepping Home. The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses by C. S. Lewis To be honest, I’ve only read one of the other addresses, but “The Weight of Glory” is a must-read for any seeking soul. While originally shared as a sermon, it would never do for this to not be available in writing. I received this book as a birthday gift several years ago and savored every word of this sermon. Lewis puts language to desire in a way that soothes my fears, awakens my yearnings, clarifies my wants, and leaves me feeling free to let my heart come alive. Placemaker by Christie Purifoy I learned about Christie from an author I follow. Christie writes about trees and homes almost like they’re full of dreams—as if they are always open for us to help them bear a reflection of our perfect, eternal home. She leads her reader to see the physical places we share as tender invitations into the art of partnering with our Creator. Her love for magnolias and maples, and her soul-deep ache to tend well to the places that shelter her people, made me see life in our farmhouse home with new eyes. The Soul of Desire by Curt Thompson, MD I heard Curt Thompson interviewed on a podcast and needed to read his book. I read The Soul of Desire right after one of my biggest personal failures. It stirred my imagination for a hopeful future. Thompson explores the science behind our yearning humanity and our need for connection, and he considers it from a perspective of faith as well. His book gave me both scientific and biblical reasons to see my ever-searching heart, not as defective, but as beautifully made and capable of coming to trust and believe in the goodness God has in store. The Meaning of Marriage by Timothy Keller with Kathy Keller Nano and I did this study with a church small group. It’s a grounding, relatable guide that validates the human longing for companionship and takes great care in addressing the obstacles of attachment and commitment. What gave it the most value to me is how it stayed in tune with the desires of the reader and acknowledged our humanity with frankness. Marital conflict and sexual struggles were handled with candor and grace. It prompted good self-reflection. And it did a beautiful job of connecting the needs of marriage, in all aspects, with the work of Christ—both in laying Himself down for His bride, the church, and in submitting Himself to the Father. The Listening Life by Adam S. McHugh This is also a book I learned about from an author I follow. I’ve never read a better book about listening. Every time I read it, I remember how healing it feels to be listened to, and how powerful a gift we share when we choose to listen intentionally. McHugh walks his reader through the art of living life with a posture that holds space—to hear what lies beneath the surface of our lives and those around us. Whenever I return to McHugh’s words, I feel exposed in my need to listen, and also gently led to a richer place. Ideally, I’d like to read this book at least once a year to help myself remember. Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton I read this as part of a course I took on contemplative spirituality. In a noisy world, Barton invites her reader to slow down on the inside and embrace rhythms of solitude and stillness. She helped me learn beautiful ways to savor and experience Scripture when I need a break from diagrams and intellectualism. She connects deeply with desire, encouraging her reader to know that the longing for more is valid and worth our deep attention. The Path of Loneliness by Elisabeth Elliot The summer after I turned eighteen, I ran across this book for sale at an event. The title drew me in because I felt deeply alone. I’ve read a few of Elisabeth Elliot’s books and this is my very favorite. While not every page resonates with me, this book as a whole reaches me at my core every time I read it. It comforts me, convicts me and leads me to embrace the gifts that lie along the path of lonely places. While a good bit of what she writes comes from her two experiences of being widowed, Elliot’s words are deeply applicable to any kind of lonely season. Dear White Peacemakers by Osheta Moore Osheta wrote this after George Floyd’s death, and lovingly addressed it to her white brothers and sisters in Christ. In a way, she speaks to Christians who want to help bring us away from racism as a culture, but would like to know more about what it feels like to be in someone else’s shoes. I ran across her book online and wanted to learn from her perspective. She dives deep into the art of balancing grit and grace in the desire for peace. I find so much in her words that helps me consider more deeply, from a biblical perspective, what it means to listen, to repent, to take accountability and to embrace ways that make for peace. Spiritual Direction by Henri Nouwen This was originally a discourse Nouwen shared that was turned into a book after his lifetime—by one of his students, and by his editor. I came across it at a bookstore. I found it to be deeply refreshing in helping me hold space to listen to the voice of the Spirit of God. Nouwen addresses how we can create better space for this in our hearts, in Scripture, and in church community. While reading, I felt encouraged in my identity in Christ, and challenged to plainly see things I chase after for the wrong reasons. Not every teaching in the book was for me—and as for anything, I’d encourage testing this book through the lens of Scripture. Praying God’s Word by Beth Moore In Stepping Home , I share the story of how I stumbled upon an old stained copy of this book on the day I turned 29. The next morning Beth’s words had me in tears. In a kind way, she helped me to be pricked by Scripture, which prepared my heart to be faced a few days later with a difficult truth from a sermon that I needed to hear. This book is a helpful guide to using Scripture to pray through various struggles in life—from rejection, to idolatry, to despair. For each specific difficulty, Beth speaks into your heart, then provides words to help you in prayer—prayers she’s written based on specific Scripture. Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund I learned about this book while sitting in church. I found myself so hungry to hear what Scripture shares about the gentle heart of Jesus that when I finished the book, I turned back to the beginning and read the whole book through again. Ortlund shares the profound truth that when Jesus describes his own heart, the two words He chooses are “gentle and lowly.” This book is full of Scriptural assurance for the sinner, the doubter, the one who lives with fear and guilt. It does a thorough job of reaching into the reader’s heart, and carefully showing from Scripture how deeply God’s heart longs to meet His children where they are. The Holy Longing by Ronald Rolheiser While I wouldn’t agree with Rolheiser on many things, I find so much rich truth in his perspective, so much to gain and learn from. Most every time I hear him quoted, his words strike me to my core, and books about longing will always catch my attention. He speaks to our felt sense that our passion and our spirituality are at odds with each other. He invites his reader to consider how our longing, even our sexuality, is interconnected with our spirituality. Rolheiser invites his reader to come to the table of spirituality as a whole person, where our passionate parts can learn to thrive in healthy ways. I haven’t finished reading his book, and again, encourage discernment. Each of these books have met me in deep places. To share about them all stirs my memories and my gratitude for the means God uses to meet us. Perhaps one or two of these are books God has used, or will use, to meet you too. These twelve books all play a role in my own written journey. If you’d like to read a book that combines these ideas, that’s what you’ll find when you read Stepping Home. How do we engage in faith without pretending away the desiring, aching, yearning parts of us? It’s a healthy question to sit with, one that invites authenticity. I don’t promise black and white answers, but I share my favorite ways God has met me in this question. I’m so happy to share about the gift that is open for all—the gift of always having the option to take another step toward Home. "Stepping Home by Maggie Janaye" is available now through Amazon and other retailers.

On a chilly November day in 2018, I woke up feeling heavy with the weight of disappointment and unanswered questions. I had taken so many risks over the last several months—emotional risks that left me feeling exposed and empty. Could life go anywhere good from here? I reached for my Bible and ended up in Psalm 121. “I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber.” I locked onto verse three. “He will not let your foot be moved.” This is what I longed for—to trust that God had me…and that life could be more than a downhill tumble from here. Tears came, because I wanted to believe the words I read, but I wasn’t sure where to find the faith. I journaled a prayer, and told Nano about my wish to believe with more sureness that this could be true for my life. He listened while he finished shaving, then gave me hope to borrow. Over the next hour, I bundled my children in their hoodies and delivered them to their teachers—then made my weekly trip to Jo’s for coffee and a day of writing. Like every Wednesday morning, I greeted the familiar coffee shop faces, and ordered the signature latte. I found my favorite table by the window—bright with warm sunshine. I opened my journal to where I left off that morning. My wish continued to stir. I felt scared my heart was defective, and I longed for more light to guide me to hope. Around mid-morning, a low voice spoke to me—the man who just walked in the front door. I looked up to see twinkling eyes and an unfamiliar, fuzzy face. Ears tucked into his beanie, he approached me with a teddy-bear-like presence. With a careful slowness while he read my face, he placed his hand on the table in front of me. He said he hoped it didn’t come across the wrong way, but when he walked in the door and saw me, something urged him to come share a message. “I think you’re supposed to know that God says your heart is beautiful. And He is putting all of its broken pieces back together.” I felt a bit unsure, but curious, so I listened on. He continued for some time and I don’t remember everything, but I do remember these words, “You can trust that your help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved.” While he spoke, my eyes misted over. God sees me. When I heard him speak the words of Psalm 121, say them aloud, I knew God said yes to my prayer. He didn’t hesitate to help my unbelief. I learned the man’s name to be Chris, and I shared about my morning while drying my eyes. He smiled with the jolliest smile and said he just knew he was supposed to say something. I asked for a picture with him to help myself remember the moment. In the last seven years, I’ve seen him maybe five times. Jo’s is the only place I’ve ever seen him and he always has timely words of courage to share. He is one of the many reasons I love local coffee shops. In the light of Jo’s front window, I’ve put dreams onto paper, poured prayers into journals, and have met the image of God in dozens of caring people. At least a couple times a month, I still return to Jo’s to see if I can find a seat at my favorite writing table. When I settle into that old, familiar place and look around, my heart fills with memories of the faithfulness of God. It fills me to return to that moment and the place it happened. There are no supernatural qualities to that table or that building, but the act of returning there is an intentional practice that grounds me. It’s a tangible way to bring my heart back to a place where it’s easy to remember: I am loved and seen by a God who knows me.

It was the beginning of May, and my husband’s words over the phone left me feeling defensive. While I listened, I looked in the mirror and didn’t like the person looking back at me. Nano asked me to consider something that, in reality, could shape my person. He asked me to think about what my actions may have felt like on the receiving end. My heart raced. My jaw tightened. Restless, I paced around the living room while he spoke. My steps got heavier, more like a march. Trying to listen through the noise of my children, I stepped over toys and stubbed my toe. My chest started feeling tense. My breath came faster. I wanted to spill my anger, and my frustrated words came out. I spoke to defend myself. My anger was real, but Nano didn’t need my anger. My tears came. I didn’t like my response. Why does this make me so angry? Continuing the conversation right then didn’t seem wise. So I said so. We agreed to talk later and said goodbye. Two of my kids rushed up to ask for help with their project. I started to work with them while my thoughts readied to boil over. Then I remembered times when I’ve tried to engage with my children while I felt this way and how it never ended well. I told Liesel and Gideon how I needed a few minutes to calm myself down after the phone conversation. They understood and made their way to the bedroom. I plopped down in the big leather chair, closed my eyes, and breathed deep. I listened to the birds singing outside the window behind me. I heard the breeze blow as my kids played in the next room. I remembered I still belong to a good God. My prior thoughts fell quiet. I remembered some therapy conversations from the year before. Sometimes, fear distorts my reality. I tried to imagine what my therapist would ask. What are the simple facts of what was stated? Did I attribute a meaning to those words that was influenced by fear? Nano simply asked me to consider that my repeated invitations to a friend who clearly didn't have the time for a visit may not be as friendly as I hoped. It’s all he asked me to reflect on, and he was correct. But what I translated those words into…was not at all congruent with what was actually being said. Even while Nano spoke, I heard the story differently in my head. With the phone to my ear, fear spoke to me too. He’s saying you weren’t even trying to be a good friend. He’s accusing you of trying to be hurtful—saying you’re a terrible friend. My fear also began saying this one big, scary thing: When you try to help people the best way you know how...you only hurt people. I had never identified my fear like this. The more I reflected, the more I realized what is true. My fear was telling a story I’ve often believed. It’s a story that feeds my self-pity and shame. In that moment, I realized the person to be angry at was not Nano. His words could help me be a better friend if I could hear beyond the shame and learn. Because it’s true…I honestly wanted to be a good friend. But, my insistent invitation was not so beneficial. One truth doesn’t have to nullify the other. Both can be true. The one to be angry at is the enemy of my soul who loves it when I listen to fear. My soul knew it was time to be angry, and rightly so. But my mind did not know what to do with my anger until I acknowledged what my heart feared. My soul’s enemy wants to rush me forward in anger, or paralyze me with shame. He loves to numb me with shame—where I won’t have ears to hear information about my actions that can help me love better. He wants to show me my husband as an enemy, rather than someone who wants to see me grow. He wants me stuck in fear where I won’t step toward love. This situation was not what the voices in my head played it up to be. On the other side of shame, I felt free, and this story seemed easier to navigate. When I loosened my grip on the scary narratives, I found my footing in the facts. While I tried to be helpful, I did something unhelpful. While I cannot change that, I can hear feedback with an open heart. I can accept the situation, own it, and do my best to carry what I learned into the next step. I’ll do many imperfect things. The more willing I am to accept this reality, the more effectively I can move forward. When I listen to the good news of Jesus’ work for me, the unhelpful and hurtful things I’ve done do not define me. In the security of Christ, I have an identity that is never changed by mistakes I’ve made. I am covered in His life. Love can knit damaged things back together. Not through hands that are experts at knitting, but through hands open to the work Love is forming. We need ears to listen, and hearts open to truths that we don’t like to hear. God, give us grace to recognize the fears that cloud our view. Provide us with ways to clearly see the story beyond the fog of shame. The conversation continued later that day, and our relationship grew…hard, holy, and healing. It’s one of the most sacred gifts for two people to know and be formed by each other. Our God is good. His arms are more than able to carry us through, while He refines us for the Home we’re made for. _________________ This story was originally shared on May 11th, 2021, and has been edited for clarity. This post connects well with chapter four in my book, Stepping Home. Available October 14th!

One morning last school year, I pulled my van of kids into the school drop-off and noticed someone I hadn’t seen in a while. As I attempted to wave, I missed the fact that my foot had not fully engaged the brake. I crashed into a pole that helps support the awning in front of the school. I scanned the area and let out a breath. Minimal damage. Everyone’s okay. From the passenger seat, my daughter gave a flat stare. Then she broke into a smile and informed me she’d be giving Daddy a full report. After I waved off Amayah’s remark, backed up and double-checked that the van was in park, I stepped out to apologize to the school principal who witnessed my mishap. He assured me everything was fine. He just wanted to know if I was okay. Thankfully, everybody was safe and the pole was not bent out of shape. I couldn’t say the same for the bumper on my van. In the words of Amayah, it has a black eye now. Compared to other incidents in my van, I knew this didn’t amount to more than a blip. Leaving the school that day, I did my best to drive with more care. I also wasn’t surprised it happened. While I drove, I imagined what the conversation might be like at dinner and half-smiled. Doesn’t it sound like something I would do? I recalled other driving mistakes I’ve made. My worst blunders happened on days when everything else was going wrong already. Shame piled on shame. I try not to repeat those days. For weeks after my incident in the school drop-off, I got plenty of reminders from Amayah. “Watch out for poles, Mom!” Friends and teachers have asked her about that day, so she has more than one reason to keep an eye on my driving. Several months and a summer break have passed since then. School is back in swing. The second day of the school year, I turned into the school drop-off and managed to keep things peaceful between me and the pole. I pulled up beside it and stopped in line. Within seconds, the van in front of me started backing up in my direction. While I racked my brain for how to respond, he crashed into me. Amayah tapped my arm and spoke with amazement. “I’ll tell Daddy…this one is not your fault!” The man parked and stepped out of the car with drooped shoulders. He looked defeated. With a mess of hair partly hidden by his ballcap, his outfit looked as thrown together as mine. He was deeply apologetic. He wanted to make sure I knew he wasn’t going anywhere, and intended to take care of the damages. His voice wavered and cracked. His eyes looked heavy—like the eyes of someone who could barely hold it together with the one-more-thing to go wrong. While he spoke, I felt deeply conscious of the pole just a few feet away. I told him how I’d already damaged my van. He expressed more concern and eventually gratitude. Coming away from the interaction, I felt less alone in my flawed humanity. I thought of times when I’ve beat myself up over mistakes, feeling like the only one in the world who could be so dumb. When I feel burdened by the weight of my inadequacies, people like the dad at the school drop-off may feel the same heavy load. It struck me how, as imperfect as it may be, we serve each other best when we show up to life. When I feel like a failure, I tend to want to hide away from life. The purpose of sharing myself with others becomes something hard to imagine. I become convinced I’ll be a bother. But on this specific day, I felt encouraged in meeting a man who crashed his car into mine. I saw his humanity and it widened my hope… I am not the only one who is human. This confounds every reason I give for retreating from life when doubts flood me. On my drive away from school, I knew I wanted to go forward with trust in God's all-knowing plan. I’ll keep doing my best to watch out for poles. However, even if I accidentally crash along the way, there is more to the story. God’s love is bigger than any human mistake and is able to use each flaw to share the goodness of His grace. ******* This post coincides with point number two in the guide available below. It also connects with the theme of chapter two in my new book, Stepping Home. Available October 14th!

It was the glare of the sun off the icy surface of the pond that held my fancy. My eldest girl and little boy were pushing their toes against the edge to test the strength of the ice. Melting as it was, none of us had ever seen the pond out back of the house sit so frozen. It was new and delightful. Their giggles and awe were the soundtrack, with the glare of the sun freezing the moment too, like a dream. A hand reaching for mine. A question that remembers me, as if the Author of the story stepped in to tap a shoulder, show a smile, invite a heart like a dare - do you trust me? When so much in life feels bleak, that’s when my imagination can feel most eager to come alive , to catch the light and dream of what it’s saying. Lately, it’s a wondering question that keeps bringing itself back to my attention. Is this design on purpose? Maybe the imagination knows that it is a gift that was God-intended to help us hold onto hope for whatever it is that God is doing with the story? And when we’re most discouraged, is that where the imagination knows it has a role to play in helping us to imagine why we could still be hopeful? Perhaps imagination is most deeply intended as a beautiful gift meant to help a heart find hope. Maybe it’s a place longing to point to a God who is able to do more than all we could ask or think. For how would we think to ask for anything, if we could not first imagine the idea that God hears our asking and longs to meet us? And yet I know how much deceit likes to befriend my imagination, as if God’s own enemy wants to possess and distort his good creation. For my heart knows the path to be excruciating, when the story of life is imagined in a way that keeps one deceived about reality, not seeing what is really true inside of actual life. Imagining away the truth of what is real, has kept this heart stuck for seasons too long, exhausting itself for false kinds of hopes. And too, this heart has imagined away such good and real gifts, when its attention was most drawn to the gifts it didn’t have. It was a kind soul who first helped me see how I had imagined away the reality of so many different kinds of love in my life. How much beauty in the world can be imagined away for the sake of what we’re afraid to lose. Arresting is the lure to imagine the worst inside another if it can keep us in the comfort of the self-protections we know. In all the ways deceit longs to befriend our creative minds, perhaps all along what it’s most wanting is to interfere with the way we meet God. At its worst, my imagination would love for me to leave this present moment - the very place where God is waiting to meet me. And at its deepest root, deceit loves to tempt me to imagine God to be someone other than who He truly is… even if it’s in the most subtle of ways. For if I trust that God is as good a Shepherd as He promises to be, why would I need false hopes, false narratives, or preoccupation with what is missing? If I can trust God to be the God who provides, why would I need to imagine away the places in my heart that need care and support and healing for broken things? If I can trust that God is the same Love He says He is, who desires good for me, and is a safe place for all of me to come just as I am, why would I need to pretend away the worst in me, or imagine the worst inside my neighbor? Perhaps we are human with imaginations that are broken. Perhaps we all know this plight. We forget, and again we forget, how to imagine hope and beauty in light of our true God. And perhaps a shared humanity is the best gift we have to help imagine a tender world inside each other beyond what we can see. Maybe Love Himself knows each of us in the place where we are all children in need of the most tender Love. Perhaps a shared humanity is where He longs to meet us, a Love in flesh who lovingly wore this skin, grew into it, and cared for it as He cares for us. Imagine Him. See the truth of how He came for sinners (Luke 5:32), feel the truth of how He loved in flesh, and imagine how He looks at us. Maybe a broken imagination renews with healing hope every time it imagines the truth of Who He is. Maybe in the light of a loving Father who restores what things were made for, a broken imagination could rest so deep that it longs to hold rhythms of renewing in all of who He is. I’d dare believe it’s true, that imagination is a beautiful gift meant to help a heart find hope. So glare of Light, catch us up. A hand reaching out. A question that remembers us like a compassionate Author. Do you trust me? “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” Eph. 3:20-21. A prayer : Father, give us the grace to turn our imaginations into all of the Light of Who you are. Surprise us with the beauty of the glory of Christ and with it's imperfect, yet lovely reflection in Your beloved church. Practice : Read the stories of the Gospels and let yourself imagine that you are one who Jesus befriends and heals. Imagine how He looks at you, speaks to you, cares for you. Practice using your imagination to connect with your Savior. Consider ways deceit may be wanting to distort what is good and beautiful in your imagination recently. How does the truth of who your Jesus is, change the narrative?

The page of the calendar had freshly turned to November when I zipped up my boots on a cloudy light morning to wander through the evergreens behind the house so I could feel it as real. For it’s one thing to trace across words about your Evergreen God and it is another to step under the limbs of the cypress trees and touch them and take in their scent and remember the One who courts your soul faithfully holding out His branches through every season, like an Evergreen who relentlessly holds out His arms for a heart who forgets how deep she needs them alone. (Hos. 14:8, ESV) And there before the evergreen, a heart could still quiet, a heart that longs for evergreen peace. It was thirst for the quiet that brought me to sit, rest by the water, where the wind had already come to play gentle with the leaves. Almost still, yet moving. It brought them slow, one by one, from the trees to touch down on the water and follow its soft turning. All was still, yet stirring on, as if every last thing was held. As if a heart could trust that while it is resting still, all of the pieces are held, carried along, by a God who has already purposed to work every last thing for good, for those who love Him. The stillness of the water can bring springs up from the soul, to fall down a face and bring relief for everything that the heart has been holding. It can soothe a soul quiet in a world that is all so tenderly held in the mystery of a Love that is beyond our understanding. And when a mind lets go of its smarts enough to simply rest down into what is, a world and a life that is so terrible, so beautiful that it is far beyond the limits of your understanding or control is the most astounding gift to get to be part of after all. It was after the sun set that day that the words found me. “As [Jesus] approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, ‘If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.” Luke 19:41-42, NIV If you had only known what would bring you peace… Sometimes it can feel as if peace keeps flying away, and maybe if you just fight hard enough, say enough words, hold your ground enough, it will bring peace back to you somehow. Sometimes it can feel as if life keeps asking you to step through a doorway that feels like the absolute opposite direction of peace or anything right and everything inside you wants to slam the door. And when Jesus looked over Jerusalem and spoke those words, He knew what was coming (Lk. 19:43-44), how Jerusalem was getting ready to slam a door as if it would bring them peace. Yet Jesus knew, with a heart that churned in ache for them, that this would be their destruction. For they were more concerned over what looked wrong out there, than they were concerned with considering their hearts. Jerusalem wanted peace. And Jesus longed for them to know peace too. The deepest core of what they desired - peace - was the very same thing that Jesus desired for them. Yet, as readily as it was available, Jerusalem wouldn’t have eyes to see the Way that would truly bring them peace. And the image of Jesus’ broken weeping remains in Scripture with longing invitation to all who want peace. Here is a friend, a brother, who is not at war with our desiring hearts, but rather is broken with anguish when our trust in Him fails and we allow our desires to become distorted and twisted by fear into something that could never bring us what we most deeply want. It was Jesus’ Love, broken in longing for our own confused hearts, that carried Him to step through a doorway that felt like the opposite direction of peace or anything right and involved painful separation from His own Father. For the joy set before Him, Jesus chose the way of peace and stretched out His arms in the pain. Those arms stretched out are branches always green with the promise of life and a place where you will never once be without a friend, closer than a brother, who perfectly understands you without fail. While there are many ways we could go in this life and everyone of them will come with pain, here is the gift of an evergreen pain that comes with a promise always alive. And these evergreen trees that we can still live and breathe in the presence of promise us that the gift is here today. Until life passes, it asks us, always, which hard path we’ll choose, and heaven waits for us, longs for us, to look up, reach for the fruit that feeds a heart, and whisper it from a heart unshrinking… Be my Evergreen God.

You can wander under the branches of trees and feel how they simply invite your heart to come just as it is in a place where you are safe to wonder about anything under the trees that are so quietly patient with the space a heart needs. I wander along the path beside the creek and I spot a turtle. I stop under the shade of the trees and step into the grass for a closer look. I spy what seems to be a much younger, smaller turtle sitting close by her. I consider them for a while, the way their heads tilt, the way they warm themselves in the sun. I slowly step a bit closer, but I am noticed and it’s the older turtle that splashes down, ducks under the water first. Within a few seconds the baby slowly follows, as if maybe he’s not sure why, but it’s what she’s doing. He’s not as cautious as her, but he follows along, and I imagine him bidding me goodbye. He’s a little more new and open to the beauty of the world while she is older and seemingly, a good bit more careful, guarded. Later at home my girl asks me if I’ve noticed the little white flowers in our yard, how they close up tight in the heat of the day, but how in the cool of these September mornings they open wide their petals to take it all in. I had walked by those flowers day after day and I had not once noticed that. I begin to turn my gaze that way a little more each day, waiting to see each time they open up again. How do they know? How do they know when to open and when to close? How does anyone know when to open and when to close? And what is it inside us all that would keep us hungry for places to open our hearts again after the times when we’ve opened and it all went terribly wrong? How in the world is it that something inside us keeps wanting to believe that there is goodness in our desire to open? What inside us is continually hungry for that? I feel the questions while old turtles go on splashing back into the water, while flowers go on closing in the heat of day. And I feel them while the new life of young turtles linger in the sun just a little longer, while little white petals go on opening to the freshness of the morning. While those flowers in the yard tell me that it is not always a time to open, what they speak most to my heart is there to be found in the cool of the day. Each day those white flowers in the yard testify with assurance to my heart in what it can feel must be true: that there is utter beauty in the desire to open. And even while the old turtle has seen more life than the baby and has much that she knows, it’s the baby turtle that gets to feel the beauty of lingering in the sun just a little longer. And it’s my own children that pointed out to me the white flowers that I kept simply passing by without noticing the beauty of the sermon that they were offering with their silence. The act of opening wide to goodness was made to be beautiful, a thing to be desired. It’s a desire that was embedded into life from the beginning of the world. We enter this world with heart’s made in the image of our Maker’s heart. And whether we continue in this life to open to seeking out the goodness of our heart’s deepest desire or not, these hearts, deep down inside, long to open wide and keep seeking after all of the goodness of Love as it was most truly made to be. And how does one open well? And how does a heart begin to know what the Love truly looks like that it longs to open to? For we are also embedded in this broken world with hearts broken by sin, easily deceived into things that hold a kind of form of Love without being at all what we’re truly looking for. How are we to live toward Love? And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” Lk. 10:27. That’s how Jesus says it in Luke. He begins with the heart here. In Matthew, he says to love the Lord “with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” and “your neighbor as yourself.” Mt. 22:37. In Mark, he says to love the Lord “with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength,” and “your neighbor as yourself.” Mk. 12:30. While the order of things isn’t the same in each instance, one thing that is the same is that Jesus leads with the heart when He gives the greatest command. And he calls for a Love where the parts of us join together to live into it as a whole. Why, when it comes to the greatest command of Love, does Jesus begin with the heart? It’s an important question to sit with. One thing we know about these hearts inside us is that they won’t be intellectualized into submission; they simply are not persuaded that way. And the heart within us is the very wellspring of life (Prov. 4:23) that God has placed inside us. Everything we do flows from it. The heart is the life of our being. While Jesus calls us to Love God with all of our mind, He also calls us to a life that does not concede to dutifully obeying Love with the mind alone, or even with the mind first, but to a Love that gives way to seeking and searching out how to Love with all of the heart. The heart must seek out and find the deepest reason why it longs from the depths of its being to submit to something, and the heart will not settle for anything less. Perhaps these hearts inside us know something that really is quite true: that to Love out of duty, while the heart is not in it, is not the kind of Love that we were created for at all. What we do know is that it’s not the kind of Love that Jesus calls for in us. Astoundingly, Jesus calls us to a Love where the parts of us form a whole that we can live with heart. As people called to such a glorious wholeness, what do we do with the aching tensions, longings and questions that these hearts inside us can feel? We can keep our hearts with all vigilance and refuse to treat them as useless things to be afraid of and set aside. Fear of our own hearts leaves us making fragmented decisions, afraid that the very thing we were made to love and seek God with is only trying to drag us to the ground. He made these hearts inside us for beauty and we can safely hold that. We can fully validate and honor what our heart is feeling, without agreeing with fearful or untrue thoughts that we have in that place or acting on the deceitful impulses we feel. As an example, feeling sad about mistakes we’ve made is a valid feeling inside us that we can fully honor and grieve, even while disagreeing with fearful thoughts that we are a failure. This is not how God sees us, for He delights in us, ready to greet us with His beaming smile whenever we come to Him just as we are, needy for the goodness of His redeeming Love. Lk 15:20-24. In the same way, and through the comfort of that same Love, feelings of anger about a situation can be fully validated even while letting go of a desire to control a situation as if we are God. There is no feeling of the heart that ever needs to be invalidated, and we can navigate our feelings best when we know and acknowledge their true existence while letting go of fears. We can determine to gather the true information that our feelings help us find about the needs of our hearts. When I am feeling afraid or unloved, my heart is telling me true information that I have a need for something that will help me more deeply know or remember that I am safe and Loved. To deeply honor and regard that need is an essential way to live into Love with the heart. We can take the true information our feelings have given us and feel our way closer to the God who satisfies our souls and loves to provide for our needs. Sometimes we can do this through prayer and the Word and healthy rhythms of life, and sometimes we have a very real need to feel our way closer to God by taking other steps with the needs of our hearts. Sometimes it may be a need to let people we trust know how we’re really doing, the questions we’re really feeling, and asking for people to sit with us there so that we can seek out the places where God can speak Love to us through His people when we’re having trouble hearing the truth of His Love by ourselves. Sometimes we may carry a question in prayer and companioned love until we see one next little step through our heart’s questions to step toward the wholeness of Love. As we continue to seek truest Love with our hearts, even when we don’t know just what we’re doing, we’ll keep learning and we’ll have more wholehearted Love to give, because we have received God’s care and compassion for us. We Love because He first Loved us. 1 Jn. 4:19. Our deep curiosity and longing can be used in wonderful ways to follow after Love with our hearts and live into the wholeness of Love as God made it to be. And just like those little white flowers in my yard, what we’ll find when we follow Love with the heart is that the desire to open to goodness always was, at its core, a truly beautiful desire after all. It’s a desire meant to lead us to the goodness of the One who is truest Love Himself, the very thing that the depths of our hearts have always been hungry to open to after all.

It’s a Monday morning and I wake slow, eventually roll forward as if to start to get up, then pause long in the weight of what I can feel inside. When life feels messy, when the voice of fear keeps wanting to taunt at your heels with old news of your failures, where do you find the courage to keep trusting in God’s work in your heart? It’s a trust the heart needs: a kind of trust that keeps you believing that He is able to do good work, even in you. It’s a faith that can keep the heart opening, turning again, to the movement of His Spirit in your life. Perhaps each of God’s children knows days, times, seasons, when we find ourselves in this place of need, struggling to keep trusting and believing that God can still do good work in us. I eventually get out of bed and kiss my Nano goodbye as he heads out the door for work. I brush my girl’s hair and dress my boy before we snuggle on the couch to read the next tale in our storybook, about the people who see what’s on the outside and about the God who sees what’s in the heart. We pile into the van to take them to school, humming to our favorite songs on the way, and on the drive back home after dropping them off, I think about these hearts inside us. How they matter. How they matter to God. I pull into the driveway and sit awhile in the parked car. I think about my own heart’s needs and begin to ruminate over the fears that begin rolling around like a threat to those needs and my heart is beating faster until it feels bursting-ready to dump on somebody. But the voice of Love speaks softly too and it is remembering me to a day a few years back when Love came to find me with invitation. And the memory plays in my mind when the three of my kids were all tiny and I got away from the house with them, having forgotten to bring my phone or the little bag that held all of my money and cards. And when the van was nearly dry on gas and I realized my lack of resources, I panicked. When I couldn’t reach Nano with a borrowed phone, I broke into tears in a gas station store, desperate. And it was a lady there who paid - fifteen dollars worth of gas for my van was what she decided to give me. We made it home that day, pulled into the driveway and I was still sitting in the driver’s seat when I reached my hand into the corner to look for something else, but what I felt in my hand was something papery, folded. I pulled it out to find that it was fifteen dollars. I had no recollection of how it had gotten there, but there it was. Somehow, there was exactly fifteen dollars in my van the whole time. And what Love spoke to my heart with that moment came with the sound of an unconditional Love. Whether I fell weak under the flooding fears or whether I could find heart to receive the hope to keep turning my eyes onto Him through the flood, looking assuredly for Him to provide for me there… God was already waiting to provide me with fifteen dollars of gas, either way. What I felt Him inviting me to that day was an invitation that He has found other ways to Love me with again when I’ve forgotten. He invites me to keep coming again after falling, to keep aiming to test how sweet it will be when the fears find their quiet in trust and I see Him meeting me there. I hold that memory in my heart and step out of the driver’s seat to call for my dog and we go on a long walk down the road. And while Saucer and I walk in the morning sun, it comes to my heart, meeting me with the still-rising sun… the Love that “always believes” (1 Cor. 13:7 ESV) the Love that “always trusts” (NIV). Can I Love? Can my heart trust? How can my heart trust? And Love whispers, “because He first Loved us.” (1 John 4:19) And with a rush I remember Him there on that cross, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” (Lk. 23:34) While an unbelieving world was rejecting Him, Jesus Loved with a Love that believed the best in us... believed in who God made us to be. When we had done absolutely nothing to deserve it, when we were fully guilty of rejecting and misusing His Love, Love looked on us and Love believed the best for us. While we were still sinners, He died for us with a Love that always believes. And a Love like that could make you feel free. I got home from my walk with a heart that felt lighter coming back through that front door. And as I pulled up my chair at the kitchen table, I checked my phone and found it there - the provision I had felt in need of that morning - what my God always had for me. It was a text from my Nano. “I’ve been thinking about your sweet face… I believe and trust that God is working on you and your walk just as much as he is working on mine.” And rain fell through my lashes, down my face as the cat came bounding up into my lap to curl into a heap and I felt the Love of God through my husband's words. The goodness of God had always been coming for me that morning and I felt Loved with a Love that always believes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For the seasons when your heart needs ways to help settle itself in remembering that God is still working in you, here’s a daily breath prayer to hold through the little pauses in your day. (Based on God’s promise below.) You are more than able To do good work in me. You are more than able To do good work with me. You are more than able To give me enough for this place. You are more than longing To spill over me with that grace. Hold the promise. “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” 2 Cor. 9:8. Believe that He is able. Pray for people to trust and believe it with you, for you. (Or seek with God and pray for whatever it is that your heart truly needs.) Trust Him for the miracle of providing just what you need in that each day, hope for it without fear, look for it without confined agendas, and open your heart wide to every little bit of trust and goodness you see and hear and remember that helps you feel His own believing Love that helps your unbelief. Then go open your heart wide to the world, for how will they feel it sure in their hearts that Jesus believes in them, without the members of His body who will go and open to the cry of His heart longing to pour through us with a Love that always believes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For another resource on the verse "Love always believes," see the link below for further study on it presented by the Gospel Coalition... https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/erik-raymond/love-believes-all-things/#:~:text=love%20believes%20all%20things%E2%80%A6%E2%80%9D%20These,translated%20simply%20as%20%E2%80%9Cfaith%E2%80%9D.