Category Archives: fighting fear

handle with care: the Kingdom’s response to grief & pain

Posted on by August 24, 2023

I walked down the hallway this morning toward the meeting room where we have weekly prayer. My friend whose husband died last Saturday was there, already being hugged by another friend, so I waited my turn. We prayed for her, and rejoiced for him – I’ve mentioned him to you before – and then we moved on to interceding for our church, community, nation, and world.

handle with care: the Kingdom's response to grief and pain

The world needs intercession. Maybe that’s why we’re noticing more alarms; there’s smoke everywhere. Something is definitely spiking in the atmosphere. More warfare, more attack – but also, more coming together, more standing back to back. More hugging and generosity. More looking out for each other. And we need to look out for each other.

One of my friends is losing her hair and facing hard choices about cancer treatment, and another is on alert for wildfire evacuations while her husband recovers from a chainsaw accident. We have close friends dealing with extreme financial hardship and health challenges. All around, we are fragile and broken, healing and raw, on edge and in His hands, because there’s no other place to run for safety.

In our family, we got Kavanagh’s cast off last week just in time for more medical appointments for Andrey as we navigate the medical merry-go-round of specialists with varying degrees of knowing what they are doing, and equally varying degrees of how much they charge for their particular blend of experimentation and expertise.

So far, we know there’s a CT scan and then a surgery coming up. We are praying for healing and expecting mighty things, while simultaneously calling down fire upon the racket of Big Pharma and looking for the right ENT specialist. Someone who doesn’t charge $1200 an hour to those who pay out of pocket would be greeeeeat.

Also, since I’m giving you the big family update, guardianship proceedings are coming up – we finished the courses, and the first round of paperwork goes to the Palmer Courthouse this week. And my heart is…better…I’m pretty sure it’s better, at least…about it.

One of the things that helped was, shockingly, the courses themselves. While most guardianship cases in Alaska seem to be for elderly people who need assistance, there was one case study that sounded a lot like both Andrey and Reagan. Even better, the mother in that case also felt frustrated at the need to go through a legal process (because, GAHHHH) just to simply keep caring for her child as she had been doing all along, which has been my main beef, too. But in a move that shows the government can do a few things right (grin) even the state of Alaska acknowledges those valid feelings, and explained the need for guardianship in a way that was gentle and on the family’s side. Repeatedly, they described how this is a delicate process.

And suddenly I felt the relief of not having to plow new ground. I am so tired of plowing new ground. Here, finally, I saw that someone has walked this path who wears shoes like mine, and the trail has already been somewhat cleared. A weight lifted off me.

We are fragile, broken and healing. We all need to be handled with care.

Walking gently is imperative right now, because the bull in the china shop doesn’t have eyes or ears to recognize the needs around them. These are days to move cautiously and deliberately; it’s hard to cultivate sensitivity and discernment about the times without a little stillness.

“I did not send the prophets, yet they ran; I did not speak to them, yet they prophesied.

But if they had stood in my council, then they would have proclaimed my words to my people, and they would have turned them from their evil way, and from the evil of their deeds.”

– Jeremiah 23:21-22

This is why we listen for His words and then pray for boldness to share them in the ways He has gifted and positioned us. It’s easy to make excuses when we’re hurting and grieving, but those things don’t let us off the hook of praying and abiding. You know what happens when we pray and abide? He tells us stuff. And often, He tell us to share about it.

Let me make a huge understatement: The Church hasn’t always been great at this.

The Church is filled with people who really aren’t familiar with the love of God, and it’s shown by how we puff ourselves up at the expense of each other. Love builds up, but knowledge puffs up – and we already know that wounded and hurting people tend to wound and hurt other people. But Kingdom culture changes that, because in Kingdom culture, we abide and surrender. Rather than festering inward, those wounds and pain draw us outward and give us wisdom to recognize similar wounds and pain in others. Oh friend, I recognize those shoes you’re wearing. They look like mine, too.

When we are tender and fragile, we naturally lean toward the friend who wields words and truth gently, who holds wisdom humbly because they won it through pain without allowing bitterness to fester. A heart that is ready to be comforted runs to the friend who carries compassion forged through experience.

– Risk the Ocean: An Adoptive Mom’s Memoir on Sinking and Sanctification

Have you ever broken something, fixed it, and then broke it again because you weren’t careful with it? We used to have a baby gate like this – actually, we’ve had a million things like this, but the baby gate is a strong memory because we had to teach our kids to use it gently. If it was treated with respect, it worked perfectly to keep our toddler from trespassing upstairs. But if someone just swung it open or slammed it shut, it would break again.

Because things are more fragile where they’ve already been fractured. We are, too.

So we are walking in more weakness, but also more strength. We are abiding and watchful, listening and interceding. Pain and hardship haven’t won the day; God has and is continuing to take everything the enemy throws at us and turning it for our good, for His glory.

For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

– 2 Corinthians 12:10

We are wiser and healthier. More strategic, more mature. Less prone to falling for the lies and manipulations of the enemy. Less likely to act out in puffing insecurity toward those around us who are also hurting, and more equipped to create an atmosphere of healing.

We can know things for ourselves but still need to hear them from others. We can encourage each other with truth and fight each other’s darkness, but still need others to shine that truth into us on the days that fall pitch black. We stumble and get our hands and knees in the mud, and a fellow traveler says, Here, I’ll hold your lantern for you while you get back up again. There you are. Bravely now, onward.

– Risk the Ocean: An Adoptive Mom’s Memoir on Sinking and Sanctification

We’re not looking down on those dealing with affliction and darkness because we remember our own pain and fumbling. Grief is not a competition.

But when we allow the Lord to use it to make us more like Him – the One who was acquainted with grief – it is a qualifier.

The wisdom and maturity wrought from it empowers us to lead others back into wholeness. Our brokenness helps break the path ahead, and plow the ground for others. And as we go there, we are bringing the culture with us.

if you’ve been walking on eggshells: a kindling post

Posted on by August 11, 2023

This photo of an omelette-in-progress is brought to you by strategic camera placement so as to avoid showing all the grungus on the stove top.

if you've been walking on eggshells: a kindling post

Is that okay, though? Showing a snapshot of one thing to conceal another? Or should I just zoom out and show you everything in the kitchen?

I think it’s okay to share snapshots as long as we’re honest about life. The internet isn’t a safe place to invite criticism because critics find so many flaws with honest expression, anyway.

Armchair quarterbacks online give advice to professional photographers about lighting, mistaking natural lighting for flash. People who claim to be Christian lecture, “You can’t ask God to make heaven on earth” even though He literally said Matthew 6:10. And of course, there are those who will ask why you hate and oppress chickens (or quail) by cooking eggs.

People are weird, man.

But most of us are at least a respectable, kind, sane level of weird.

So how do we share in peace? How do we express ourselves transparently in a way that protects us and still doesn’t compromise honesty by pretending to be something we’re not?

Because here’s the thing: Even that carefully angled photo of the omelette isn’t perfect. I can find plenty to critique — the eggs aren’t really whipped, there’s a lot of gross egg white, the green onions are clumped in places and not perfectly scattered.

But did any of you really care about that, if you even noticed? Probably not. You’re probably too busy being your own worst critic to notice the things I would criticize myself over.

Everyone has enough hard stuff to deal with. We don’t have to contribute to someone’s discouragement. We can be those who stoke flames of joy and enthusiasm and inspiration and humor rather than those who say, “Wellll, those quail will make a lot of poop. Yep, lots of poop, and butchering is no fun at all. I remember when [insert depressing story of chicken being prepared for dinner 70 years ago] and we’ll just see how you like having birds when that time comes.” (Actual conversation I’ve had.)

We don’t need that. There’s enough work to be done in front of each of us and enough bravery we’re each having to fight for to not waste time taking the dampers seriously. We will be stokers of joy, truth, and encouragement instead.

No, it’s not all sunshine and roses, and yes, speaking truth in love isn’t always warm and fuzzy. But we can protect an atmosphere of transparency by not covering everyone’s light with a wet blanket.

We have to keep the fire going. How else will we have enough heat to cook omelettes with?

A fool takes no pleasure in understanding,

but only in expressing his opinion.

The words of a man’s mouth are deep waters;

the fountain of wisdom is a bubbling brook.

— Proverbs 18:2&4

But also, unless it’s obvious (like the weirdo on the internet), we shouldn’t assume others are judging or criticizing us, either.

For example, that person who seemed annoyed with you probably wasn’t. The person who looked at you funny wasn’t judging you. The person who answered you with a short tone of voice wasn’t angry at you.

They probably had other things on their mind: pain, or distraction, or stress, or insecurities, or memories of trauma. Their response was not about you; it had nothing to do with you…except that the Lord trusted you to be in the other end of their response so you would pray for them.

So pray for them.

Call out the gold and intercede for their healing and victory, and make the experience mean something. You get to partner with God in destroying the works of the enemy. You’ll feel better, and the burden of the disturbing interaction will be lifted.

And one more thing, if you’ve been feeling stifled or kept small in the presence of others:

You don’t have to dismiss your feelings, grief, outrage, circumstances, etc, just because they don’t seem as big or important as someone else’s.

Don’t dismiss your progress that seems so much smaller than someone else’s, either.

Comparison will kill your love for God and your love for people.

When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!”

— John 21:21-22

One sunset does not look at the sunset from the night before and think, “Oh, I’m not really setting very well, my colors aren’t as bright as last night’s sunset.”

And today’s sunrise didn’t think, “Yesterday’s colors were so much more vibrant, I must not really be rising.”

Your experience stands on its own. Beloved, stop comparing it to those around you. Jesus knows and He sees, and you don’t have to prove anything. Moving through our situations is much smoother when we don’t complicate them with other people’s situations.

For what man knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man which is in him? Even so no one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might know the things that have been freely given to us by God.

— 1 Corinthians 2:11-12

Lord, give us wisdom with difficult people. And help us not to be difficult people.

We come against hair-splitting, nitpicking, determined-to-be-offended-ness in Jesus’ name. We come against the religious spirit that walks in fear and insecurity, and we ask for wisdom to know how to handle that kind of immaturity in others. If there’s any remnant of it in us, root it out of us.

Help us to walk in love, and to walk with good boundaries. We don’t have to correct everyone, especially strangers, and we don’t have to come under the condemnation of weirdos on the internet. We can let it go, and let You do the speaking. We will abide and wait for the right response, and trust You when the right response is to make no response.

Protect our families and our hearts this weekend. Thank You for healing, growth, and freedom.

Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.

— Romans 12:9-10

Here’s the printable download of this post:

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Looking for more posts like this? Kindling is a series of prophetic devotionals and encouragement to relight your fire in the places it’s gone out. They’re all right here. Or subscribe to get everything right to your inbox.

with book: introducing the one I always meant to write

Posted on by August 19, 2024

Long gone are the days when I would sit here, hitting these keys until 3 am. But not long gone – in fact, extremely present and frequently of late – are the hours of overtime on the couch after the kids are in bed.

with book: introducing the one I always meant to write

I have forgotten to eat dinner, left bowls of my beloved popcorn untouched, neglected normal writing schedules, and overlooked watering the garden. But this book is alllllmost done in spite of computer disasters and apps that eat landing pages and several unplanned medical appointments including two trips to urgent care in the last month…one for a kid who broke his arm and one for a bigger kid with a cyst who needs oral surgery again.

And we’re not quite done yet because, just for fun, we’re considering a new book distributor at the last minute.

But hey, friends…let me introduce you to the baby I’ve been pregnant with for eleven years.

“It burned me from within. It quickened; I was with book, as a woman is with child.”

– C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

risk the ocean: an adoptive mom's memoir of sinking and sanctification

This is a memoir of my post-adoption journey through the chaos of mothering and homeschooling six kids in the midst of multiple special needs and my subsequent depression and sanctification as I learned to surrender. If you read Upside Down and Oh My Soul and wondered what was really going on behind the scenes, it’s in this book.

Because we never know how far our dreams and callings will take us when we start pursuing them. The initial rose-colored ideas only get us ankle-deep along the shore, digging our toes in warm sand, before reality sinks in and we’re up to our ears in work we didn’t anticipate, opposition from out of nowhere, obstacles we don’t know how to solve, and expenses that threaten to suck us under.

At some point, we have to decide if it’s really worth the sacrifice to turn our vision into reality. And if it’s a daydream, maybe it’s not worth it. But if it’s a calling – a mission – then it’s a different story.

This, friends, is a different story.

In 2010, Vince and I started a process we didn’t know how to finish. We had four kids, a three-bedroom house, and two old vehicles. We lived frugally with one main income, one micro-business, and a little in savings. And God called us to adopt two children with special needs, bringing them home two years later to freedom, a new homeland, and our family. For good, forever.

And then hell broke loose.

We didn’t know what it would cost, or what it would take out of us. We didn’t know what we would gain, or how it would change us. We didn’t know how the story would end.

And I hate to spoil it for you, but years later I still don’t know how the story ends. We still live this story every day. But here’s what I’ve learned, and am continuing to learn, in the process:

We can talk about following our dreams all we want, but our calling is only achieved through giving up what feels safe and comfortable. It involves scary things like obedience and surrender, and letting go of our preconceived notions and penchant for control. We have to move out of the comfort zone and do hard things. We have to risk the ocean if we want to follow Him as He walks on water.

When we move out of that comfort zone, God may allow us to discover more about our own brokenness than we ever wanted to know. This is especially true when our dreams and callings entail facing someone else’s trauma in close proximity.

And I won’t lie to you – in our own weakness and brokenness, sometimes we look at the waves and can’t take it anymore, and we go under, to be refined like a rock worn smooth in the agitation of violent surf.

The sanctifying process might chafe you raw, until you think you can’t take anymore.

Doesn’t that sound fun? Still want to sign up?

The thing about obeying God in these big, scary callings is that it’s not about what we’re doing at all. It’s about what He ends up doing in us. Because as we follow Him in one task, He will lead us to another, and another, and another. And we discover that we’re not just called to a mission, but to a character of obedience – like children who watch what their Father is doing, and then they do it, too.

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, that the Son does likewise.”

– John 5:19

It turns out that achieving a dream is not about tying things up in the pretty bow we always expect, because redemption and achievement rarely look like a Hallmark Christmas movie.

They usually look more like God moving in deep and lasting triumph in spite of everything the enemy throws at us.

Risk the Ocean is available here. Thanks so much for supporting our family. xo

Risk the Ocean: An Adoptive Mom's Memoir of Sinking and Sanctification "Vulnerably shares the blood, sweat, and tear that real sacrificial love requires." "Integrity beams up and out of every page."