fave books of 2023

Posted on by January 18, 2024

Welp, I did it: I met my goal and read fifty-two books last year. A lot of them were good, but these are the ones that made the cut for this list – these ones, I would recommend to a stranger or acquaintance who happened to look particularly bookish.

(Actually, I don’t really know what makes someone look particularly bookish. But if they reference Lord of the Rings in casual conversation, that’s definitely a sign.)

fave books of 2023

These are almost all novels. Not because novels are what I mostly read, but apparently they’re what I mostly like. And that is somehow a new revelation to me, though I can go back to my lists from 2021 and 2022 and see that the scales tip consistently that direction, which surprises me because about two-thirds of what I read is non-fiction. But as I think about it, it’s probably because most of those are books I feel like I need to read for some reason or other, as opposed to what I want to read.

People ask this a lot, so let’s get it out of the way: How many books do you read at a time? I’ve answered it elsewhere but for the record, here’s my method, which I don’t necessarily recommend. You do what works for you.

I read at least ten books at a time. Ten books on my own, that is, not counting books I’m reading with the kids or ones we read aloud as a family. You might think that’s ridiculous, but I like the variety. And it sorta came about naturally as a homeschooling mom years ago when I was trying to keep ahead of a couple of my kids in their curricula. Those were the days of reading twenty or more books at a time, so you can see I’ve trimmed down considerably.

Also, I am a slow reader, so it usually takes me several months to get through each book. I don’t mind this with non-fiction; I think it helps me retain information better. I don’t necessarily recommend this for novels though (especially long ones, especially Dickens) because they need a fair start. I talk about that here.

If I haven’t lost you by now (all of the non-readers fled somewhere around the fourth paragraph), here’s my list of favorite books from 2023. Some of these are fantasy or fantasy-related; some of them include references to magic; some of them deal with mature themes and immoral behavior. This isn’t a list for younger kids or easily offended people looking for sterile content; it’s a list of great books that I liked. I don’t like horror or smut or tons of foul language; therefore none of these books contain those. So there’s your disclaimer.

Alright, here we go:

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

This book is a great example of “Don’t judge a book by its movie.” I almost rejected it right off because I had already seen the movie, but grabbed it anyway because someone somewhere highly recommended it. And I’m so glad I did. If you’re familiar with the concept of hygge, this book is it: Cozy, introspective, beautiful details. It’s about a very poor family who lives in a run-down castle, and their lives (and hearts, and relationships) begin to change when they meet their new landlords, two American brothers.

Blue Like Jazz by Don Miller

Am I the only Christian churchgoer in the 21st century who hadn’t already read this book? (Besides my husband, who also read it at my insistence.) Just in case I’m not and you also missed this one, here’s what I loved about it: It’s not like normal Christian non-fiction. It’s not filled with the same principles and analogies we’ve already read in dozens of other books or heard in dozens of other sermons. It’s not formulaic or repetitive. It doesn’t use those stupid block quotes on every other page just to try to get a point across.

(My opinion: If authors need those to get their reader’s attention, they’re not writing in a way that deserves that attention.)

Don Miller says some things that will challenge and possibly offend people who prefer those other Christian books as he shares his story of finding Jesus. But every time he stretches the tent pegs out a little, he comes solidly back to Biblical truth. The book is full of Kingdom principles, not just regurgitated Churchianity, and he made me laugh out loud often, like here:

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

This was one of the highlights of the year at Gaining Ground, and I wrote in length about it here and here because it’s one of my all-time faves and I’ve read it a bazillion times. (Okay fine. Five.) But if you don’t have time to read those posts, here’s the TL;DR version:

ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS EVERRRRR, YOU TOTALLY HAVE TO READ IT.

Hope that helps.

Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

Also one of the favorites at Gaining Ground last year. Don’t be fooled; it’s not just a kid’s book and it’s also not just a girl’s book. We read it aloud as a family years ago, and Vin and our boys loved it (though some of them might not admit it now). This time around, it provoked some deep discussions in our group on childhood beliefs and coping methods, duty versus love, and the contrast of religion versus worshiping in spirit and truth.

I read this book several times as a kid and have read it at least three more times as an adult, but what stood out to me this time was the religious subculture that reveres duty more than a real relationship with God, and how that makes it hard to have real relationships with others and accept them as they are. We grow up in traditions that tend to trump truth because they’re more comfortable than vulnerability. But those attitudes are constantly confronted and exposed by Anne’s childlike, unabashed observations and her genuine admiration for a Creator who made the world such a beautiful place.

World Without Cancer by G. Edward Griffin

“It is an ominous fact that, each year, there are more people making a living from cancer than are dying from it.”

And that’s the crux of the book. Cancer is big business and a big part of that business is fighting natural methods (like vitamin B17, which this book centers on) that really work but can’t be patented and profited from, and replacing those with expensive and dangerous substitutes to perpetuate an addiction to expensive medical intervention.

The scientist is trained to search for complex answers and tends to look with smug amusement upon solutions that are not dependent upon his hard-earned skills.

To bring this a little closer to home, the average M.D. today has spent over ten years of intensive training to learn about health and disease. This educational process continues for as long as he practices his art. The greatest challenge to the medical profession today is cancer. If the solution to the cancer puzzle were to be found in the simple foods we eat (or don’t eat), then what other diseases might be traced to this cause? The implications are explosive. As one doctor put it so aptly, “Most of my medical training has been wasted. I’ve learned the wrong things!” And no one wants to discover that he has learned — or taught — the wrong things.

— G. Edward Griffin, from World Without Cancer

The Rains Came by Louis Bromfield

A cozy (but looong) novel set in 1930’s India about the culture, classes, and relationships toward the end of the British Empire. It’s incredibly well written and easy to read, with fascinating insight into human nature and personalities. And there’s a massive disaster (because…the rains came) so if you like books about survival and crisis, this is a good one.

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

If you want an easy way to try Dickens or introduce your kids to him, Oliver Twist is a good start. It’s a reasonable length and, thanks to fewer side characters, the story is easier to follow than many of his other popular books. But it is not a clean, sweet children’s story, so keep in mind the sensitivity of a child you might read it to – there is abuse, brutality, theft, and murder in it. It alludes to prostitution and child trafficking (meaning, there are characters actively involved in those activities but those terms are not actually used). It also is an unrealistic, saccharine look at orphans and adoption – wait, why am I recommending this, anyway? Oh yes, because it’s Dickens, for crying out loud. In spite of all those disclaimers, it’s a fantastic story and totally worth reading.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

Yes, I finished three books by Dickens in one year (actually four, but The Cricket on the Hearth didn’t make this list). Don’t be impressed though; it took over two years to finish this one because I read it aloud to my daughter, and the book is…eight hundred, nine hundred pages? Crazy long. But so good. Bleak House is the amazing story of a woman’s mysterious birth and her transition from loneliness to family.

His noble earnestness, his fidelity, his gallant shielding of her, his generous conquest of his own wrong and his own pride for her sake, are simply honorable, manly, and true. Nothing less worthy can be seen through the lustre of such qualities in the commonest mechanic, nothing less worthy can be seen in the best-born gentleman. In such a light both aspire alike, both rise alike, both children of the dust shine equally.

— Charles Dickens, Bleak House

Like most (all?) of Dickens’ books, it looks at class, poverty, and human nature; unlike the others, this one switches back and forth from a first person narrative to a third person omniscient narrative, and the effect lends to the mystery rather than creating any jarring disjointedness. Dickens is my fave and this is one of his best.

The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis

This is book #3 in the Narnia series and I’ve probably mentioned or quoted it in a dozen posts already. I can still remember the moment I first read the big reveal in the story: We were camping in our early 20s, and I was reading aloud to Vin in the tent, and the hair on my arms stood up on end as I read about the Lion. I think I actually gasped aloud.

This is a life changing, mind blowing book, and it’s good for all ages. If you have ever felt constrained, like you were meant for a level of freedom you don’t really understand, or you’ve wondered why some things happen the way they do, or you’re in a season of pushing and pushing and you’re not sure if it’s doing any good…this is a great book for you.

Letter to the American Church by Eric Metaxas

This is a must read: a wake up call to a sleepy church that has fallen more into worshipping their comfort zone more than the Creator. Published in 2022, it speaks specifically to the times we are living in and particularly illustrates why it is important to speak out courageously against wrongdoing and not just protect yourself by silence and “going along to get along.” If people had followed such advice instead of caving to masks and protocols in 2020, a lot of tragedies, trauma, and loss could have been avoided, like this one.

The Betrothed by Alessandro Manzoni

Here’s an Italian historical novel that spans themes like cowardice, righteousness, cruelty, injustice, political power, and redemption. It is long and reads a little like Les Mis or The Hunchback of Notre Dame in its epic-ness, but without the 100-page sidetrack obsessions about Waterloo or flying buttresses. (Sorry, Mr. Hugo.)

I loved two things about this book in particular: It gives incredible insight into human nature and why people do (or don’t do) things, and it portrays beautiful, thorough redemption in a character who seems to be lost beyond hope.

The Two Towers & Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien

These are books 2 and 3 of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, which we finished in Gaining Ground during the first part of the year. They are full of battles, friendships, courage, steadfastness, grief, determination, banter, and heroism. You can’t start with these two of course, but since I mentioned The Fellowship of the Ring in last year’s post, these couldn’t be neglected.

(Fun fact: This series has impacted me so much that if you put “Tolkien” in the search bar, no less than a dozen posts show up.)

A Green and Ancient Light by Frederic S. Durbin

Ohhhh, this was a cozy book. A boy goes to live with his grandmother, and he discovers a land (and some friends) that change his life. There’s mystery and fantasy blended here in a quaint small town and a not-so-distant war, and a riddle that you might be able to figure out before the end. Maybe.

By The Great Horn Spoon by Sid Fleischman

I’ve read this a couple times to our kids and it’s a clever, fun story about a boy and a servant who sail around the horn to participate in the Gold Rush, and they have to solve many problems and seemingly impossible situations along the way. It goes fast and gives a good look at the times in a way that’s appropriate for kids.

___

There you go! I hope you find some fun ones to try here. Happy reading. xo

P.S. Want a nerdy book mug to go with your bookish efforts this year? This one is in our shop, and you can see the full image below. If anyone gives you a disapproving glare while you’re reading, just hold it up in defense…and ask for a refill, since YOU are hard at work. ;)

P.P.S. Want to join us at Gaining Ground? Our discussion group on Telegram is here and I post articles once or twice a month here. I’ve also re-opened slots for writing coaching, and you can read about that here. Join us anytime — we’re currently in the middle of Lilith by George MacDonald, and we’ll start The Scarlet Pimpernel by Emma Orczy next month.

trying my patience: grace for others as we grow

Posted on by February 7, 2024

The kids were pulling presents out, and Kav held one up.

“Who’s this for?”

I pointed to the name written on it. “It starts with V. Who do you know starts with V?”

“Dad,” Finn answered for him.

Um, okay. Right, Dad starts with V…if his name is Vince, at least.

trying my patience: grace for others as we grow

We’re all working on the English language here in this house, even the parents who write and wrestle with commas for a living, and also the older kids in various levels of literature and language arts.

Reagan brings me her journal and holds it out to me. The sentence she’s trying to write is “Finn is coughing today,” and I bet you can guess which word is tripping her up. Because English is hard, and also stupid.

So far she’s tried “koring” and “caing” and I’m super excited that she’s figured out the “ing” part consistently. And I know you can’t sound out the word coughing because the letters don’t make sense, but she needs to at least try. She knows what the sounds are.

Often though, she doesn’t want to try, so we get these wild random spellings that aren’t even close. And I can’t blame her, sometimes laziness is my default, too.

I could just spell it for her. If she copied it enough times she would probably learn it, and learning is why we’re doing this, of course. But we’re not just wanting her to memorize; we’re wanting her to think, and solve, and resolve. And for that, she needs to sound it out. We want solving problems to be our (and her) default, not just memorizing answers.

And when she tries that, that’s when I’ll give her the real answer and explain that English is hard and stupid. (Okay fine, probably not.)

But I won’t step in if she’s not even trying. I’m not playing tricks on her; I’m teaching her that we can do hard things. Simultaneously, God is teaching me the same thing, because this slower-than-molasses progress tries my patience like you wouldn’t believe. Her way is not my way. But if I push her to do things my way, we take a small frustration and turn it into a much bigger conflict.

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

– Ephesians 4:1-3

I’m helping her navigate problems and grow, and we all do that growing and navigating at different levels. We understand things differently because we have different perspectives.

For example, most of us know exactly what’s happening in this verse:

…for [Jesus] was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.”

– Mark 9:31

It’s pretty straightforward to us. We’ve read the Book, seen the crime play out; we know what happened and we’ve heard the story a zillion times.

But His disciples – those closest to Him – didn’t get it. They didn’t see what was coming, and this was their response:

But they did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask him.

– Mark 9:32

To us, there’s no ambiguity. The way Jesus said it is the way it actually happened. But if we put ourselves in the disciples’ shoes, what He said was totally bewildering. Is He really talking about Himself? Is he being symbolic? Does “killed” really mean “killed,” or does it mean something else?

Are we dealing with something that’s straightforward, or is there more to it than that? Is “cough” spelled C-O-F-F, or does it have some of those confusing extra letters in it?

So in their misunderstanding, they respond in a way we totally relate to. They were afraid to ask Him. The Greek for fear here is “phobeo,” and it is a strong fear, meaning to put to flight, terrify, frighten, or incite dread. It’s the kind of fear that avoids and leads to more misunderstanding. I don’t want to know, so I won’t ask. So they didn’t.

Maybe they were too proud, too insecure to reveal their ignorance. Maybe they were hoping the situation would just go away. And we do those things too sometimes, glossing over and avoiding what makes us uncomfortable.

And sometimes we’re afraid to talk about things directly, so we talk behind each other’s back. We don’t want to look stupid or wrong, so we put other people down, instead. Which is interesting because in the very next verses, here’s what the disciples do:

And they came to Capernaum. And when [Jesus] was in the house he asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” But they kept silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest.

– Mark 9:33-34

They competed. They puffed up. They pointed fingers. And then they avoided again, refusing to admit what they’d been doing. Fear, pride, and insecurity were still driving them, and they didn’t want to do the hard work of considering something unfamiliar and seemingly impossible.

Which leads me to something that happens in our house occasionally: Vin or I will explain something to one of our kids, and they’ll interrupt us with, “I know.”

(Right, this never happens at your house. Humor me.)

So Vin or I will answer, “No, if you knew, I wouldn’t need to be telling you,” and then continue what we were saying, hoping that this time they’re paying attention. Because we know the “I know” is blowing us off. Sometimes it’s insecurity and pride, pretending to understand something they don’t; and sometimes it’s laziness, not wanting to take the time to consider a different perspective. It could be any number of things, really. If solving problems were easy, we wouldn’t call them “problems” in the first place.

And we don’t solve problems in all the same ways, any more than we sound things out in the same ways. For example, I have no idea how they teach language arts in the South, where they are reckless with vowels. Excuse me for yelling, but I AM SO GLAD I’M NOT TEACHING MY KIDS ENGLISH IN THE SOUTH.

Because in some places there, for example, little i says ee, and big I says ah. As in, “Be steel and know that Ah am God.” If I’m quiet, I can hear this in the voice of my pastor’s wife.

But it’s not just vowels; it’s also syllables. In the South they remove them from some words (I was shocked and bewildered the first time I heard a Southerner pronounce “oil,” which to me should sound like “oy-ul” and not just “ull”) and then, messing with vowels again, they put extra syllables into other words where God never intended them.

How many syllables does “sin” have? Two if you’re from certain parts of Texas: See-in. Clap, clap. Two syllables. No big deal, we both agree sin is wrong. We just say it differently.

Months ago I went to a reception for a new friend and I didn’t know how to spell her name on the card I brought for her. So I asked a mutual friend. Unfortunately, that friend is from the South, and I don’t even know how to phonetically write what she said. But as she coached me through the spelling, it was sort of like, “Kye (rhymes with eye) – ah – ee – ayus –”

And I thought to myself, What’s an Ah? What the heck is an AYus? I knew it made perfect sense to her, but I had no clue. So I smiled, nodded, and happened to look down at the cake, which had our friend’s name on it in frosting.

If you’re from the South, I hope you know I love you. We’re saying the same things; we just say them differently.

Communication can be hard. Understanding and loving each other can also be hard. Jesus didn’t buy peace with compromise, but He also knew His disciples were befuddled, wrestling, and had their own insecurities and growth to overcome.

So He patiently let them wrestle – you think He didn’t already know what they were talking about along the way about who was the greatest? – and then He brought some gentle correction and perspective.

And he sat down and called the twelve. And he said to them, “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.”

– Mark 9:35-37

The thing about little kids is that they love to learn. They don’t pretend to have all the answers. They love risk and wonder. They’re not afraid to ask questions and they’re not driven by pride or insecurity. And generally, if they’re with someone they trust, healthy kids are excited about the unfamiliar instead of afraid of it.

But when we see people doing something unfamiliar or unexpected, we tend to create circles of belonging and exclusion, like the disciples did in the very next verse:

John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

– Mark 9:38

Jesus responds to their tattling with perspective and wisdom in His correction, because He knows they are still sounding this out, too. He doesn’t want them — or us — to just memorize; He wants us to broaden our perspectives and consider new things. He wants us to think, and solve, and resolve.

But Jesus said, “Do not stop him, for no one who does a mighty work in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. For the one who is not against us is for us. For truly, I say to you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you belong to Christ will by no means lose his reward.”

– Mark 9:39-41

We often misunderstand things that are perfectly clear when they’re not what we expected or predicted. But the Holy Spirit is teaching us, making us like Him, and He doesn’t want us to just memorize principles, because memorizing answers isn’t the same as solving problems. He wants us to walk in a manner worthy of our calling:

With all humility and gentleness. With patience. Bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

(Even if we don’t know an A from an Ayus.)

To do that, we need to consider the unfamiliar, and do hard things. We need to grow deep and wide. We need to snuff out comparison with humility. We need to try our patience, stretching it farther than we thought it could go. And when we do, grace will press out our insecurities and pride and unnecessary conflicts, as light presses out darkness.

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bits and pieces: how we build the Kingdom with small offerings

Posted on by December 23, 2023

“You don’t need the light to go down the stairs,” I mumble as I flip the switch off. I do this at least once a day and the stairwell isn’t even dark; there’s a window at the bottom, and light from the kitchen filters in at the top.

And even if it were utterly dark (which it almost never is at our house), humans – even small humans – know how to walk on stairs. We’ve done it a million times, even carrying bags of groceries or dozens of eggs. It’s muscle memory. But the kids flip the light on just for the fun of it, I guess.

bits and pieces: how we build the Kingdom with small offerings

We like to see where we’re going, and we like the way to be clear. I was reminded of this last week when I drove to church through heavy snow and hated it with every mile, knowing I could do it but not liking it. In those times we kind of wish we had the cop-out of not being able to do something so we can beg off from the responsibility. But no, we can do hard things like driving on sloppy roads, and learning how to use cantankerous sewing machines, and going through the bureaucratic hoops of guardianship.

We were officially granted guardianship of Reagan on Tuesday, which is an odd thing because we’ve been her parents for over eleven years and she’s been 18 for a month already. So yay, that’s done – until next month, at least, when we repeat the process with Andrey. Now we just need to get used to all the new paperwork routines and deadlines (have I told you lately how much I hate paperwork? SO MUCH) and new adult-y things for her, like establishing her own bank account, which is also an odd thing because we’re supposed to get all this in place as soon as possible but we won’t even have the decree in hand to do so for 4-6 weeks, because this is the government we’re talking about.

Right, the sewing machine isn’t the only cantankerous one around here. Maybe we should switch subjects and talk about cheerful things, like how we didn’t die when we drove home in the ice fog last week.

It was the same day I mentioned a minute ago, when we were driving in the heavy snow to church. But on the way home, the snow had stopped and the roads were clearer, and I even told Cham she could turn on the radio to look for Christmas music.

And then four minutes later we hit the ice fog on the highway.

At first I thought it was fine, but then I quickly realized we were driving through a cloud that was adhering to us. Ice started building up at the top of the windshield, and then it crept lower. I flipped the wipers on and they helped a little, but within another mile they went right over the glaze that continued to spread downward.

“Turn off the radio,” I said, and flipped the heat to its highest setting. We were still four miles from home and all those little tiny particles kept building up on each other.

And I think this is when I repented of angrily flipping off the light switch to the stairwell, because seeing where we’re going is more than just a luxury sometimes. It’s one thing when you have muscle memory to walk down the stairs, but it’s a totally different thing when you’re on the highway in the dark, and ice is covering more and more of the windshield as it shrinks your view of the highway in front of you.

There was nowhere to pull over. The road was barely plowed, two lanes had shrunk to one and half, and there was no shoulder. Pulling over and putting on hazard lights meant blocking what was left of the slow lane, and surely we would’ve been hit in the fog.

So we did what we had to do, and kept going. The ice continued to crawl further down, and I continued to crouch further down so I could see the road out of the clear space left in the windshield. We were in this catch-22 – we had to drive slow because we couldn’t see far in the fog, but we also had to drive as fast as possible to get home before we couldn’t see anything at all.

Sometimes stopping and quitting isn’t an option. Sometimes we must keep going; we have to see it through, even when we can’t see ten feet in front of us. We know we’re in danger, we know God has to protect us, and we know that stopping doesn’t just mean rest or quitting, but something far worse.

And we made it, obviously, because I’m here writing to you about it. We barreled through the last intersection and pulled off the highway, drove up the hill, and then up our driveway, and the relief would’ve been complete if we hadn’t driven separately, because Vince and Afton were still out there behind us somewhere.

Eight minutes later they pulled in the driveway and pounded up the stairs and into the kitchen. Our conversations were all “Oh my gosh,” and “I’ve never seen it like that,” and gratitude that we pray over this highway every single day.

I wonder if those tiny daily prayers matched that ice fog granule for granule, keeping it at bay so we could get home in time. Because good and great things build up on themselves, too.

Over the last several months I’ve seen encouraging progress in prayer, and sometimes it surprises me in its suddenness: Oh yeah, I prayed for that, as I notice a kid making better media choices, and another kid having better sleeping patterns. I keep noticing small but visible victories, these little pieces that start adding up and instilling courage, reminding me that prayer is a powerful work that builds on itself, too. We don’t have to know what the answers or details are, we just need to agree with God’s will for goodness and healing and restoration.

And that brings me back to my efforts with the sewing machine, because I don’t really know what I’m doing with this fabric, either. I just know that I want to make something beautiful out of these bits and pieces.

I don’t have a pattern, and I don’t really want a pattern. Some people follow intricate geometric designs, and I admire their precision and planning. But I don’t want to do that; my brain space for precision and planning goes to writing, and this is play.

Why is it that it’s so much easier to not have a plan when it comes to this? With bigger life situations when I don’t see light on the next five steps, it’s not play; it’s frustration and fear and self-doubt. But here with these bits and pieces, I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m also not doubting myself. I know that if I mess up, I can seam rip; if I cut too many pieces, I can use them in something else.

That’s what I can do in your situations, too, the Holy Spirit keeps reminding me. That’s what grace is. Nothing is wasted.

We take things so seriously. A lot of our situations are serious, of course, but we fret over them as though we’re more attentive and concerned than God is, which is stupidly presumptuous. We spend a lot of our lives flying by the seat of our pants, and it seems like that’s by design because God does amazing things with our loaves and fishes, scraps and thread. He knows we don’t know what we’re doing half the time, and there’s huge comfort in that.

It’s not my job to create the material or know exactly what the finished product will look like. I’m just taking the material available and pulling certain pieces together, doing what I know to do – and when we know better, we do better – so these bits and pieces in front of me can become something beautiful, useful, and redeemed.

There’s a dark, moody scrap here, telling a kid no, they can’t go to a certain event. And there are lighter, brighter scraps over there, laughing together during movies and telling old family stories. Threads of abiding prayer weave through every day, holding pieces together. And I think, so far at least, this is all I need to really know.

We want to do something grand, but often all we have energy for is bits and pieces. Are the bits and pieces enough, though? They have to be, because it’s the only way things are made and accomplished. A book is read – or written – a word, a sentence, a page at a time. Relationships are built one interaction at a time. Breakthrough is achieved one steadfast, grace-filled, desperate day at a time.

Our obedient, faithful bits and pieces counter the ice fog of life, and it’s enough. We have vision for the next couple of small steps, we have strength for the one busy day ahead of us, we have patience for one more go-round with the kid who’s been cooking our grits. It’s all we can do. Like manna that cannot be hoarded for more than the day ahead, we cannot store the effort and strength and energy we need for all these things. We can only build the character that perseveres and comes out victorious with one small, obedient decision at a time.

It’s not about doing everything just right. We don’t always know if it’s working. We know if we’re obeying, though. And we also know when we’re procrastinating by praying for more guidance when the way is already clear, but just not as clear as we want it to be. We want undimmed light for all 17 steps, not just the first couple.

But if risky obedience is approached a little more like play, joy suddenly takes the place of anxiety. It all hinges on trust, though – Does He care? Does He have our best in mind? Is He big enough to cover my imperfections?

Yes, to all three.

Bring the full tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. And thereby put me to the test, says the Lord of hosts, if I will not open the windows of heaven for you and pour down for you a blessing until there is no more need. I will rebuke the devourer for you, so that it will not destroy the fruits of your soil, and your vine in the field shall not fail to bear, says the Lord of hosts. Then all nations will call you blessed, for you will be a land of delight, says the Lord of hosts.

– Malachi 3:10-12

The angel of the Lord encamps
    around those who fear him, and delivers them.
Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!
    Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
Oh, fear the Lord, you his saints,
    for those who fear him have no lack!

– Psalm 34:7-9

Joy and freedom and expansion are markers of the Kingdom. Fear and dread and anxiety are the enemy’s methods to waylay those.

Obedience, courage, and surrender are contagious. Sometimes people wait for the obedience of someone else to move. So your obedience creates a current that moves the less willing, and momentum sweeps through like a rising tide that lifts all boats and aligns many in the right direction. Our obedience isn’t just for ourselves; it changes the atmosphere and culture around us.

Is the dim light enough? Just enough for this step, and the next one, and then next one? Because these days, just those little steps might be all we have in us. And maybe that’s for a good reason.

Will you find your identity in your grand achievements and accomplishments, God asks us, or will you find it in Me?

I believe in the bits and pieces: Joy, freedom, expansion, obedience, courage, and surrender. He’s using these small steps of ours to make grand, beautiful things out of the scraps we have left.

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