glenna marshall

So, You Failed Your Bible Reading Plan

It wasn’t that long ago that you made your New Year’s resolutions. Remember the one about reading the Bible more? Maybe you resolved to “read the Bible every day.” This was going to be the year you were faithful, you were certain. And now that we’re nearing the end of January, you’ve already gotten behind or have quit altogether. Maybe it was that stretch of reading in Leviticus that did it. Maybe it felt too hard to wake up early on these dark winter mornings to read. Maybe you felt like what you were reading was over your head. What do you do when you’ve failed your Bible reading plan?

resolutions list

Don’t Quit.
For those of you with perfectionist tendencies, your greatest temptation will be to quit altogether. If you can’t do something well, you won’t do it at all. If you’re behind on a one-year Bible reading plan, you might be tempted to toss the whole plan and think about starting again next January. But here’s what you need to remember: a Bible reading plan is a tool, not a rule. The goal is to immerse yourself in Scripture, not to check a box each day. Who cares if you only read a portion of the Bible this year? Who cares if it took you longer than a year to read the whole counsel of God? The point is to read and meditate on God’s Word regularly, and you don’t need to clock your progress to be faithful. You simply need to make Scripture intake a regular part of your life. Don’t quit. If it takes two years or ten, keep opening your Bible and reading the words of the Lord.

Don’t Start Over.
Whether you’re three days or three weeks “behind” on that one-year plan, you don’t have to start over. Perfectionism is the enemy here. You don’t have to go all the way back to the beginning. This isn’t a board game where a wrong move sends you back ten spaces. If you’ve fallen behind in your reading, simply pick up where you left off. You could spend an hour on a Saturday catching up so you’re back on schedule, but even if you don’t finish a reading plan in the allotted time, you’ll still be reading and meditating on Scripture regularly. And that is entirely the point. Where did you leave off? Open your Bible and keep going.

Do Make a Change if You Need To.
I’ve done one-year Bible reading plans many times, and while I commend them for the way they help build a daily habit of reading, I struggle with the fast pace of the readings each day. For me, a slow, inductive reading plan is my method of choice. I’ve used what I call The Slow Down Plan for nearly a decade, and it might be what you need if your current plan feels like too much. There are lots of other study plans out there, so before you decide that Bible reading is too hard or just not for you, try making a change. Your brain might need a different pace or method for chewing on Scripture.

Do Remember Your Why
Sanctification is not a race. Spiritual growth can’t be evaluated with regular metrics. “Failing” your Bible reading plan doesn’t mean you can’t read the Bible like other Christians. God’s Word is for you, too, and the reason you’ve planned to read it regularly isn’t to check a box but rather to become more like Jesus. God uses His Word to sanctify us, to helps us grow, to teach, correct, and train. His Word was written to give us hope.[1] The more closely you live to God’s Word, the farther you’ll live from sin. The more you immerse your mind in Scripture, the more certain you’ll be of God’s love for you. The more you expose your heart to the truths of the gospel of grace, the more you’ll love the Savior who laid down His life for yours. We read God’s Word to know how to live as God’s people, beloved and made holy by Christ. When you get frustrated with your failure to keep up the plan, remember why you’re doing this in the first place. To know Christ, to love Christ, and to make Him known.

This is not a hopeless endeavor. No moment spent in God’s Word is wasted. Start fresh today. Tomorrow’s mercies are waiting for you, and God’s Word is a feast you are always welcome to enjoy.

What do you do when you’ve failed your Bible reading plan? Share on X

[1] Romans 15:5
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

 

Spoons

The steam from the industrial dishwasher plumed into the air in the back part of the kitchen. My shift had ended an hour ago, but the rules were straightforward: every member of the wait staff had to roll fifty silverware bundles before leaving. Rolling silverware was mindless work, a nice reprieve after several hectic hours racing back and forth between the restaurant’s boiling kitchen and the perpetually hungry (and impatient) customers in the dining room. I didn’t hate rolling silverware like I hated waiting tables. I was eighteen, terrified of confrontation, and a conscientious rule-follower. If the silverware had to be rolled before calling it a night, the silverware would be rolled.

The problem was that the restaurant had a spoon shortage.

I don’t know if the managers knew about the spoon shortage, but for every seven forks, there was one spoon. What happened to all the spoons? Tossed with the dregs of an iced tea glass when a table was bussed and drinks were poured out? Pilfered by diners? Knocked beneath tables and swept into dark corners of the dining room? Was there a pile of spoons hidden in a floorboard under table 2? I can’t explain the shortage, but it caused problems among the wait staff. As the poorly paid bus boys would push those plastic cylinders of cutlery through the dishwashers, servers would make regular stops at the conveyor belt, grabbing the cylinders of steaming, sanitized spoons and hiding them around the kitchen for their mandatory silverware rolls. Something about hoarding the spoons didn’t sit well with me. I couldn’t do it.

So that day, that long day of serving was one of many when I just didn’t have enough spoons for the mandatory fifty rolls. I found a stool in the kitchen, propped it next to the dishwasher’s conveyor belt, and waited. This was long before smart phones; the internet barely existed back then. So I literally sat on the stool and watched the sanitized dishes make their way down the belt. I kept a keen eye out for cutlery. After an hour, one of my managers walked into the kitchen and noticed me sitting there by the dishwasher. I had three managers, and I was scared of them all. I’d recently been raked over the coals by one of them for cleaning up a spilled drink instead of taking orders at a nearby table. Another had assigned me an extra shift without telling me and I missed it. The third scowled and said little. So, my sitting next to the dishwasher was as motivated by fear as it was by duty.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked when he saw me. It was an accusation, not a question. I was sitting, apron untied, waiting. I gestured to the dishwasher. “Spoons,” I said timidly. “I need spoons.”

“Spoons?” he demanded.

“I can’t do the silverware rolls without spoons. There aren’t enough spoons,” I answered, heart pounding. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but maybe he was mad that I’d not clocked out. That extra $2.17 for an hour of sitting. What a tragedy.

“I’m waiting for spoons,” I whispered, my face red from steam and embarrassment. I tried so hard to fly under the radar to avoid confrontation, and here I was face-to-face with the world’s scariest manager. And I was rambling on about spoons.

He stood for a moment and just looked at me. No moment in my life to that point had ever stretched out so long. It was hours, days, weeks long.

He looked at the dishwasher, looked at me.

“Go home,” he sighed.

“Are you—? I mean, um…” I closed my mouth, swallowed my words, mumbled thanks, and grabbed my purse from the break room, a room I’d never once visited for a break. I nearly ran to my car in the parking lot.

single spoon on counter

I told this story to my kids recently. They love to hear about my life before my husband and I got married. My husband’s life, too. Our lives before them have a mysterious quality, I guess. The stuff of legends, apparently. They struggle to picture us as individual persons without marriage or children or mortgages. First jobs, first loves, first car accidents, big life events, college memories, embarrassing moments—my kids live for these stories. “Tell me about a time when you were younger,” my son often asks at dinner or at bedtime. So I told them the spoon story.

“I’d have walked out,” my teenager said. He’s so principled, just like his dad. And his dad chimed in right on cue: “You should have told the manager you couldn’t do your job unless he did his. All he had to do was order more spoons! No spoons, no silverware rolls. End of discussion.”

I mean, he’s not wrong. And now, at forty-two, I would demand the purchase of spoons on my first day. But at eighteen, I was afraid to ask for the thing I needed. My job waiting tables wasn’t complicated, but I wasn’t able to do what my bosses demanded without the means necessary. There should have been more spoons.

________

I was reading Hebrews 8 the other day about Jesus being our High Priest. His sacrifice at the cross was better than all the ones that had been made in the tabernacle and temple. He didn’t just supply the means for the offering. He was the offering. The standard was impossibly high for us—be holy as He is holy—and yet, Jesus made it possible. With His own body. His own blood.

Bible in my lap, I thought about the missing spoons again. I pictured my co-workers back then, how none us could do what was required because we just kept coming up short. Every day, we were short of spoons. We couldn’t order the spoons, invent more spoons, substitute something else for spoons. Unless someone supplied new spoons, we would continue to clock in every day, guaranteed to come up short. We were unable to do anything about our situation unless someone stepped in. I know it’s a silly metaphor, but the thing is, I haven’t thought about that night sitting by the steaming, industrial dishwasher in twenty-five years and I picture that eighteen year-old girl trying her best to follow the rules that were impossible for her to keep because she would come up short every single day. She didn’t have what she needed.

And while it’s my job as a writer to make this a story that works for the gospel, it works without my even trying because God gives what He demands. We’ll never have to sit and hope that we can come up with a way to make things right between us and Him. He’s already done that for us. What He demands, He provides. Because He is good. And kind. We needed someone to bridge the gap between sinful man and holy God, and He bridged it for us. He mended it. He fixed our sin problem by sending His beloved Son to pray for it. In Christ we have everything that we need to stand before Him justified, to obey, and to follow Him faithfully. There’s never a shortage of mercy, nor of grace.

________

Last year, my church moved locations and sold most of our possessions along with our property. We were moving into a smaller facility in an underserved neighborhood, and in the process of downsizing, the members were advised to take what we needed before the estate sale. I walked through the church kitchen, trying to decide if I needed anything. I opened a silverware drawer. I took two fistfuls of spoons.

In Christ we have everything that we need to stand before Him justified, to obey, and to follow Him faithfully. There’s never a shortage of mercy, nor of grace. Share on X

Photo by Anna Kumpan on Unsplash

You Could Be Faithful with Your Frailty

“You could be faithful with your frailty.”

I was walking the track at the gym like I do every morning before my workout, and the lyrics from the Christian hip-hop artist were so quick I almost missed them. You could be faithful with your frailty.[1] He’s speaking, I think, to our inability to make our own way to God. We can’t pay the debt that Christ paid for us, and if we understood that—really understood it—our dependency on God could produce something good. Pride and faithfulness cannot coexist.

There is much in the Christian life that demands us to be faithful with our frailty. Beyond admitting our weaknesses and inability to save ourselves comes the long charge to suffer with the glory of Jesus in view. A few scriptures come to mind:

“Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life.” -Revelation 2:10

“But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed.” -1 Peter 3:14

“For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps.” -1 Peter 2:21

“Not only that but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” -Romans 5:3-5

Scripture holds more promises than I have time to list of the certainty of sufferings in this life. We’re guaranteed to experience trials of various kinds, James assures us.[2] But trials are fertile ground for the fruit of perseverance to grow, thus they are also full of potential and good purpose. But, it’s hard, isn’t it? To look at trials as purposeful when mostly they feel futile and painful? I daresay my first reaction to suffering has never been to wonder how it might be grounds for faithfulness. Just before her second husband was diagnosed with cancer, Elisabeth Elliot wrote in her journal:

“How to deal with suffering of any kind:

1. Recognize it
2. Accept it
3. Offer it to God as a sacrifice
4. Offer yourself with it.”[3]

She was quickly tested to take her own words to heart. Well-schooled in the art of grief, she did seem to endure her second husband’s death with both sadness and submission. Most often my response to suffering of any kind goes like this:

1. Deny it
2. Get angry about it
3. Ask God why He doesn’t love me
4.Resist what He might be teaching me

And then, later, after much struggling and “kicking against the goads”:

5. Submit to God’s ways
6. Accept it (sort of)
7. Try to see how He carries me through it
8. Use it as a platform to encourage others

The longer I experience physical suffering, the more quickly I move through those first four steps.[4] My stubbornness has worn down a little over the years, thanks to the sandpapery effect of Scripture and God’s resolute pursuit of my faithfulness. How I long, as Elisabeth determined, to offer my suffering and myself as a sacrifice to honor the Lord. I wonder if I will ever truly live with open hands or if I will always hold tightly to my desires with such white, clenched fists. It seems the Lord pries back my fingers from my disordered loves with trials designed to put them straight.

delicate plant

You could be faithful with your frailty. Or—you could not. It might feel like a correction, like a rebuke for those who haven’t “suffered well.” But what does that even mean? I remember a conversation years ago with someone who was suffering deeply. “I wish people would stop telling me to ‘suffer well,’” she hissed at me, her words seething with bitterness. I didn’t know exactly what it meant to suffer well (and perhaps I still don’t), but I remember thinking, “Well, it can’t be this.” But who am I to judge how someone grieves? I certainly don’t want a trial by jury when my life falls apart. I’ve hissed so many bitter prayers to the Lord, I cannot point any fingers.

More recently, I remember the death of a dear friend. It was cancer. And it was suffering that would lead to death. The term “suffer well” absolutely applied here. It wasn’t that she was preaching sermons from her hospital bed or that her husband never wept or broke down with grief. She didn’t preach, and he regularly broke down. That wasn’t what made them faithful with their frailty. It was the perseverance that made it faithful. It was admitting that their suffering, though unwanted, was God’s and it was His to do with as He saw fit. It was a noticeable yielding. Humility. It was holding on to Him so tightly that even if He brought about the ending they dreaded most, He would still be “their hope and stay,” as my friend had voiced to a nurse in the hospital. She later bemoaned to me that she hadn’t taken the opportunity to explicitly share the gospel. “Why did I only quote the hymn lyrics?” she asked me. “Why didn’t say more about Jesus?” I told her she was a living proof of faith in Jesus.

That’s the thing, though. She wasn’t giving big gospel presentations in her chemo chair or from the hospital bed while the life slowly ebbed out of her. But she wasn’t bitter. And neither was her husband. And neither is her husband now, widowed these three years later. He loves Jesus more, better, deeper, louder. He talks to me at church about his wife because we both need to say her name, but there is always a “but Jesus is faithful” ending to our conversations. And it isn’t lip service.

I think about what made my friend’s suffering and death a faithfulness with her frailty, and I think I know what fed it. Daily faithfulness. For years. Both she and her husband had grounded their lives in Christ, in His Word, in worship, in prayer, in the church. Jesus wasn’t a portion of their lives but rather the whole purpose and meaning. And those years of living for Him and through Him and to Him prepared them to offer up their suffering as a sacrifice to Him. They would be the first to tell you He has loved them well.

You could be faithful with your frailty. I think about the things that hurt in my life. My body, mostly. All those sleepless nights, more than a decade’s worth. All those prayers for help, only God knows how many. All those desperate courses of treatments and supplements and strange herbal concoctions and needles and side effects and—realizing that this body will be raised, must be raised for my hope to mean anything at all. If it’s all a sacrifice, then isn’t my suffering His? Isn’t it His to do with as He pleases? Isn’t He trustworthy as the One who set His heart upon mine before He spoke light into existence? Can’t I trust Him with my trials and my weaknesses? Isn’t His grace enough for me?

You could be faithful with your frailty. I could be. And it wouldn’t be born of innate strength or evidenced by a brave face. It would be utter dependence on Jesus. It would be both tears of grief and eternal hope. It would be sorrowful yet rejoicing. It only makes sense because Jesus is faithful with our frailty. He will waste no sorrows.

You could be faithful with your frailty.  Share on X

[1] “What a Day” as performed by nobigdyl. Songwriters: Dylan Phillips / Ryan Bert, © Soundrights Music, Indie Tribe Publishing.
[2] James 1:2-4
[3] Ellen Vaughn, Being Elisabeth Elliot (Nashville: B&H Publishing, 2023), 177.
[4] Fourteen years with a painful inflammatory disease for which there is no cure.

Photo by Dominik Scythe on Unsplash

How I’m Reading the Bible in 2024

A quick scroll on any social media platform shows me one thing about the people I follow: everyone is mapping out their goals for 2024. Some are planning diets; others are beginning new exercise regimens. (Most are doing both.) Some are making financial goals or career plans. I’ve been encouraged to see many people making plans for Bible reading. Whether it’s refreshing an old goal that slipped during 2023 or continuing what we’ve faithfully maintained, we like to use the turn of the calendar as a chance for a new start.

The Slow Down Plan
While there’s always a surge in “Bible-in-a-Year” reading plans this time of year, I’d like to offer a reading plan for those who prefer to take a slower, more meditative approach to their Bible-reading in 2024. Don’t get me wrong—a plan with daily reading throughout the whole Bible is a great plan! These plans have the advantage of giving us the whole counsel of God in a set amount of time while also building in the habit of daily reading.

That said, if you’re looking for a way to read the Bible more slowly, I’ve got just the thing for you. I jokingly call it “The Slow Down Plan” because that’s what this method does for you: it forces you to read Scripture slowly, repetitively, and carefully. I’ve been using this plan for nearly a decade, and it works for every genre of Scripture. This is the plan I will continue to use for my Bible reading in 2024. I have a weekly Bible study that meets in my home, and the women all use the same plan so we can discuss the text each week. I’ve taught the method to women of all ages, including teens, and it’s accessible for every level of learning. You can make it as in-depth as you have time and margin for.

Before you get started, you’ll need to do a couple of things first.

Gather Your Tools
Bible, notebook, pen. (I love the ESV Study Bible, CSB, and NASB.)

Choose Your Time
Pick the time of day when you can most faithfully show up to read God’s Word and pray. For many of us this will be first thing in the morning. For others, it might be that last half hour or so before bed. Or, you might choose your lunch break at work or your baby’s mid-morning naptime.

Pick Your Place
Put all your tools in one place, including a place for your coffee if you drink it and reading glasses if you wear them. Once you make your decision of time and place and have collected your tools, you only need to show up to your Bible-reading time as planned.

Begin the Plan
First, choose a book you’d like to read through. If you’re not sure where to begin, I’d like to suggest the gospel of John or the book of James. The first week of the year, read through the book as many times as you can. If you choose John, you might only get through it once. You could get through James three or four times since it’s only five chapters. The next week, start with chapter one and choose a portion to read. That might be John 1:1-14 or James 1:1-10. On day one, read the passage and follow the first step below. Day two, read the passage again and take the second step. Keep doing this until you’ve finished all six steps. You’ll notice you’ve got an extra day to catch up if you miss a day or to simply pray through the text and think about what you’ve learned.

The following week, move to the next portion of the text and repeat all the steps, one per day. Keep going until you finish the book. The symbols for the steps below simply keep you from having to write out each step each day. The process will come very naturally after a few weeks, I promise!

6 steps for Bible reading

Step 1: Make a general summary statement about the text. Write down what you think the passage is about. This can be a sentence or a paragraph—it’s up to you.

Step 2: What does this teach me about God? This is His book, His story. It’s wise to always begin with Him. We’re tempted to rush to application, but we can’t know ourselves or how to live without first knowing who God is.

Step 3: What does this teach me about man? We learn a lot about humanity and our desperate need for Jesus from God’s Word! The Bible always tells the truth about who we are. Depending on where you are in the text, you might be jotting things down about the depravity of man, or you might be looking at the intrinsic value of human life as image-bearers of God. Or, you might be comparing the differences between the old man and the new creature in Christ. Resist the urge to personalize the text for now.

Step 4: What does this teach me about Jesus? He’s in all of Scripture, so don’t skip this step if you’re in the Old Testament! We must view Scripture with a gospel lens. If you struggle to see Jesus in an Old Testament passage, look at the passage with the gospel arc and see where the themes fall: creation, fall, redemption, restoration.

Step 5: How can I apply this to my life? God’s Word is useful for teaching, training, correction, and more. If we want to live a Scripture-shaped life, we must seek to obey God’s commands. Now that you’ve viewed the passage through the lens of God and the gospel, you can personalize the text without treading into heretical or man-centric waters. We must apply God’s Word, but we want to do it in proper view of Him and His redemptive story.

Step 6: Make another general summary statement. It might feel redundant, but you’ll see how you’ve grown in your understanding of the text over the week, and you’ll have a concise way to talk about what you’ve learned with others. We don’t just study God’s Word to gain knowledge. We study to know Him and make Him known! Once you start making summary statements about what you’ve read, you’ll find that the text comes up in your conversations over and over.

Keep Going
Continue the steps for each chapter until you finish the book. Then choose a new book and start over! Bible reading isn’t a race. It’s all about the journey of studying, praying, meditating, learning, digging, and growing in our love for God. We’ll never graduate from our need for Scripture, and we’ll never run out of new things to learn about our faithful, sovereign God. His Word is a treasure and a lifeline. As you make plans to reset and refresh your habits in 2024, make daily time in God’s Word a non-negotiable. We don’t read God’s Word to tick a box or feel accomplished but to be rooted in the nourishing words of the Lord. To stand firm in adversity. To hold up under trials. To speak the hope of Jesus to others. To grow in our knowledge of and love for God and to be so certain of His love for us.

How I'm Reading the Bible in 2024: The Slow Down Plan. Share on X

Author’s note:
If you need additional tools or help, check out this page for free downloadable instructions and a video tutorial.

This is a Gift You Can Give

Last Sunday, my family and I went to a local nursing home with a group of fellow church members to sing Christmas carols for the residents. I had prepared my kids for the nursing home as I have in the past, reminding them to be kind, to ignore the smells, and to notice how happy the residents would be to see children. There were a dozen or so residents gathered in the common room, and most of them sang along with every song. About ten minutes into our caroling, one of my kids began complaining about being bored. I know it’s not easy to stand still when you’re young, to try to sing songs you don’t yet know well, and to follow the music books when you’re not yet a strong reader. I took his chin in my hands and said softly, “We’re not here for you. We’re here for them,” nodding to the group of elderly folks gathered around in their wheelchairs. “This is a gift you can give.”  He nodded. He might be bored, but he’s not without compassion.

After we finished singing, we spent some time chatting with the residents. A church friend motioned me over to the chair of a lady who looked familiar. “This is Mrs. L,” he said. “She used to be your neighbor, remember?”

I haven’t seen her in seventeen years. We only lived in the church parsonage for one year before purchasing our own home to put down roots in this community way back in 2006. I remembered Mrs. L and her kindness to me when we moved in from out of state. I knew a couple of people at our new church by first name only, but that was it. I was twenty-four, two years married, and struggling with our move for my husband’s pastoral call. Mrs. L was a good neighbor for a lonely young pastor’s wife.

I stooped down to be eye level with her. “I’m so glad to see you!” I said. She grasped my hand tightly. I could tell there was part of her that recognized me and part of her that didn’t. “I can almost place you,” she said kindly. I laughed, for I remember her candor when we lived next door. She was always so honest and frank. “I was your neighbor for about a year,” I told her. “The day I moved in, you brought me a bowl of ripe peaches.” She smiled widely. “That sounds like me!” I laughed, “Yes, it does. You taught me to never show up at a new neighbor’s house empty-handed, and I never have!” I wasn’t lying. We’ve had quite a few neighbors in the neighborhood where we’ve lived for seventeen years, and I always walk over and introduce myself with cookies or a loaf of sourdough bread. I always think of Mrs. L when I do that.

We chatted for a bit as she caught me up on her life. She’s ninety-five and has buried her husband and two of her four sons. Her eyes welled up as she mentioned each son by name and in birth order.

“You just…you’re not—,” she couldn’t finish.
“You’re not supposed to outlive your children, are you?” I filled in.
She nodded and blinked back her tears.

I squeezed her hand. If memory serves me correctly, her sons had passed away several years back. You just never stop grieving your children, I thought. Just then, my young son walked up and watched me talking with Mrs. L. I could almost see my reminder on his face: this is a gift you can give. I would have understood if he’d walked away. He’s young. But he smiled and said, “hi,” and I’ll admit, I beamed at him. My other son walked up and shook Mrs. L’s hand, nice to meet you. She remarked on his height and asked if he played sports. She slipped into the past, remembering sitting on the bleachers all throughout her sons’ high school years as they played ball. “We never missed a game!” she said. We chatted a while longer, Mrs. L gripping my hand the whole time. I regretted leaving her there. I know she has family that live locally, but I determined to go back and see her again now that I know she’s there.

woman holding Christmas gift

In the car, I told my boys that I appreciated them meeting Mrs. L and how much it tickled her to see them. “Your dad and I lived next door to her before either of you were born,” I told them. “I want you to know how much kindness and presence means to people. It may be awkward to sing carols or visit with people you don’t know, but this is a gift we can give,” I said. “Our time, our love, our kindness, ourselves. Jesus gave us everything, His very life. His life for ours.”

My kids listened to me, but honestly, I’ve been thinking about our conversation in the car all week. Sometimes the words we say to our kids are the words we need to remember. I feel that a lot as a parent. When I’m correcting a child for this or that, the correction almost always hits the mark in my own heart with an appropriate sting. Bullseye.

We give gifts at Christmas because of the wise men or because God gave us the gift of Jesus. But, really, living the Christian life means loving others with the love we’ve experienced through Christ and His death on the cross. We serve because He stooped low to serve us. We forgive because He forgave us more than we can grasp. We sacrifice because He was the sacrifice we didn’t have. So much of our life as believers in Jesus means radiating Him to the world around us. If I’m serving my family at home through cooking and cleaning or just putting down my phone and locking eyes with them, this is a gift I can give. If I’m serving my church by scrubbing the toilets or folding bulletins or introducing my introverted self to a visitor, this is a gift I can give. If I’m at an outreach event with my church family or talking about Jesus at the grocery store with a stranger who doesn’t know Him, this is a gift I can give. I can give it because He gave Himself for me. 

It’s especially poignant at Christmas when we think about Jesus stepping into human history to fix our problem of sin—this is a gift we couldn’t earn or deserve or give to ourselves. But, the gospel applies all year round, for all of our days on earth. I may have said it to my sons, but truthfully, it’s been for me: Because of Jesus, this is a gift you can give.

Because of Jesus, this is a gift you can give. Share on X

Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash

I Need Sundays

“Why do you cry every single Sunday, Mom?”

I was rooting around under my seat for the wad of tissues I’d stuffed in my purse before heading to church that morning. I laughed at my young son’s whispered question because it’s true. I do cry every Sunday. My pastor-husband had just finished his sermon on Hebrews 6 with a picture of what it’s like to hold fast to the anchor who has made endurance in the faith possible for us. “Hold fast to your anchor: Jesus,” he encouraged. “Or rather, hold fast to the anchor who is holding on to you.”

I pondered my son’s question as I wiped away smudges from my so-called waterproof mascara and examined my heart during communion. The truth is, I need Sundays. I will never turn away from my individual spiritual disciplines of Bible reading, prayer, Scripture memorization. I’ve written so many words about the importance of those practices. The Lord meets me every single day over His Word in the quiet early mornings in my living room. My faith has been built and rebuilt and reconstituted through my daily time in Scripture and prayer. But, there is something about corporate worship and the Word being proclaimed with my spiritual family that hits a part of my heart differently. My church has different touchpoints throughout the week for connection and fellowship, and I will show up to each one because I know my soul needs both the encouragement and the relational spiritual growth that only comes from watching others live out their faith in Jesus in ordinary, practical ways. Women’s Bible study, Wednesday night studies, Sunday school before corporate worship—these are non-negotiable parts of my week that bolster my faith, knit me together with my church family, and remind me I am not walking alone towards the day I—we—will see Jesus face to face.

But then there’s corporate worship on Sundays that just does something to my heart that’s a little beyond words. Singing together, reading Scripture together, hearing the Word preached, intentional corporate prayer, communion—the elements of our worship services aren’t new, flashy, or complicated. They are ever the same. Ordinary in some respects. But they are vital to our spiritual growth. It’s the time of the week when we pause and devote a whole morning to nothing other than our endurance in the faith. Because that is the outcome of our worship of Jesus: a renewed commitment to follow Jesus each and every week. We proclaim His worth, exalt His words, obey His commands, pray to Him, encourage others because of Him. And the result is endurance.

That’s why the author of Hebrews hits corporate worship so hard in chapter 10. “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” Every morning when you wake up, you are one day closer to seeing Jesus. And the author says that as we get closer and closer to the return of Christ, we are to meet together for mutual encouragement all the more. We will never graduate from our need for the body of Christ.

I know some people will squirm to see such a statement without caveat or nuance. What about church hurt? What about abuse? What about church gone wrong? I get all of those things. I devoted a hefty portion of my first book to the subject of church hurt. But, I can’t get away from the truth that Jesus loves his Church. It was His idea. The abuses and failures of the church do not negate the commands of Scripture to gather as a body of believers. We will not always get it right, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean that we can toss the proverbial baby out with the bath water. The commands of Scripture are still ultimately for our good, our growth, our sanctification. If one of God’s very means of grace for our endurance in the Christian life is the church, then Christians will struggle to flourish in faith apart from it.

church pews

There was a time in my life when going to church unspooled a knot of fear and angst in my stomach. For some years, church had been a place of immense pain and betrayal. But, the Lord taught me that obedience was the path out of church hurt. It was not easy, but I learned to be “all in” when what I wanted was to be “all out.” Instead of skulking in the shadows and slipping out as quickly as I could, I immersed myself in relationships that needed to heal and be restored. I learned that the church, even with her flaws and faults and failings, could be beautiful. Could help me grow. Could turn my heart to Jesus again and again and again.

A decade later, I yearn for Sundays. I need the reminders that I am not alone in this Christian life. I need to know that I’m not the only one who has doubts, who struggles with fear, who wonders if she’ll ever get it right. I need my congregation to pray for me when I am weak. I need to hear the singing voices of the ones who are holding on to the anchor of Jesus in the midst of their personal storms for I will remember their voices when I am suffering. I need to know what’s going on in the lives of my church family so I can serve and pray for them. I need the truth of the gospel to wash over me while I do nothing other than sit in a sanctuary chair and receive it. I need to hold the cup and the bread and say with a room full of people who have staked their eternity with me on Jesus Christ: I believe!

This is why I cry every single Sunday. Because the gathering of the church on Sundays pushes me another step down the road of faithfulness toward the day we see Jesus face to face. That day is coming. We were never meant to walk toward it alone. I think that’s what the author of Hebrews is getting at in chapter 10: the longer you walk with Jesus, the more you will see and appreciate your need for the church.

I need Sundays. I need the time to be present for nothing more than worship and adoration of God and proclamation of His Word. So there will always be a wad of tissue stuffed into my purse beneath my seat and a moment when the good news of Jesus that I’ve heard a thousand times will once again permeate that corner of my heart that was too distracted to see it during the week.

Why do I cry every single Sunday? Because the gospel of Jesus is such good news. And it always will be.

We will never graduate from our need for the body of Christ. Share on X

Photo by Andrew Seaman on Unsplash

Good Either Way

My grandmother used to interrupt our stories to correct our theology.

We often praise the Lord when He protects us from something or when we barely scraped by in a tough situation. We say things like, “I almost had a car accident today, but the Lord protected me! Isn’t God good?!” or “I was afraid the diagnosis was going to be worse. But it wasn’t—God is good!” or “I had just enough money to pay that bill. God is so good to me!”

If you said something like that around my grandmother, she’d stop you mid-sentence and tell you God is good either way. She certainly wasn’t chastising you for praising God. Indeed, she was prone to praise Him in every circumstance and talked about Jesus all the time. But when she corrected you over the favorable evidence of God’s goodness, she wanted you to understand that is His very nature to be good. So, if we’d had the wreck, if the diagnosis had been worse, if the money hadn’t been enough—God would still be good because His goodness doesn’t evaporate in the midst of unresolved trials or adversity.

“You are good and do good; teach me your statutes.”
Psalm 119:68

I’ve been thinking about this as I’ve studied the life and ministry of Paul in the book of Acts. Sometimes the Lord protected him from persecution as he traveled around preaching Christ. But sometimes the Lord did not intervene, and Paul was brutally beaten by his opponents. Just this morning I was reading Acts 21 where Paul is warned by all the believers in his life that if he travels to Jerusalem, he will be persecuted. Ready to obey the Lord even in the face of suffering, Paul insisted on going, saying, “I am ready not only to be imprisoned but even to die in the Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus” (Acts 21:13). He went to Jerusalem. And was quickly dragged out of the temple and beaten severely, as he expected.

Just a couple chapters prior, the Lord had kept him from the mob that sought his life in Ephesus. It is jarring, then, to see him met with such abuse in Jerusalem. I jotted it down in my notebook as I read chapter 21 again and again: “Sometimes God protected Paul from persecution. And sometimes He didn’t. He’s good either way.” I think that Paul, having experienced both scenarios many times, trusted that the peace of Christ could rule in his heart no matter what happened to him. He learned contentment in every circumstance, and he held on to the steady, unchanging nature of God.

Paul knew God was good, and that his suffering would not cancel out God’s goodness. Somehow, he knew God would use his suffering for good. You get that from his many writings in the New Testament. The fact that I—a Gentile living two thousand years later in North America—am writing these sentences about God’s goodness testifies to ways that God has redeemed Paul’s suffering for the advance of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering,
and abounding in goodness and truth.”
Exodus 34:6

When Scripture illustrates so clearly that suffering is a part of the Christian life (for indeed we follow a Savior who suffered), it’s a wonder why our immediate response to hardship is to question God’s nature. I do it all the time, don’t you? We’re so quick to accuse God of being untrue to us when we face trials and suffering. Somewhere in our hearts and minds, we’ve been trained to equate God’s goodness with only favorable outcomes. But, Scripture doesn’t support that kind of thinking. As my grandmother believed, God’s goodness does not ebb and flow with our circumstances. If He intervenes and protects us, He is good. If He allows suffering and sorrow, He is good. In trials, He has the power to work good from evil. In suffering, He has the power to work good in our sanctification. Even in His discipline, He is being good to us the way that a good father loves his children (see Heb. 12:5-7).  It may not feel good to us at the time, but our God is especially skilled at redeeming hard or even bad things and working them for our good and His glory.

So, when the news isn’t good, the car is wrecked, the bills are too much, the nights are long, the pain doesn’t cease, God is still good. When we’re in the valley of the shadow, we must walk by faith and not sight, believing what we might not yet understand. We must trust that we are never alone in that valley, that He is our comfort in our trials, and that He chases after us with His goodness and mercy. His goodness is on your heels. 

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Psalm 23:6

As my grandmother so fervently believed—and as I am praying to believe every single day—God is good either way. And that means we can trust Him with our lives. Because if He’s good no matter what, He will make sure His people see a very good ending.

And by ending, I mean beginning.

“And he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
Revelation 7:15-17

God's goodness doesn’t evaporate in the midst of our unresolved trials or adversity. Share on X

Photo by Pablo García Saldaña on Unsplash

Because This is All I Have

The clouds were pink. And gold. And kind of orange. We’d left an overcast Nashville and slipped in between the gray and blue to a kind of cotton candy purgatory in the sky. I usually opt for an aisle seat, but this was a commuter plane, so if you were in seat A, you got a window and the aisle. I pulled up a worship playlist on Spotify, popped in my earbuds, and watched the atmosphere turn gold and warm and a little bit surreal. When I tell you I worshiped the Lord on the thirty-minute flight to Cape Girardeau, I mean it. I snapped a few pictures before everything faded into gray. Who can make something like this?

sunset on a plane

We landed in a deluge. Rain splashed against the tiny windows while we waited for the jet bridge. I pulled up my hoodie and prepared myself to be soaked while exiting on the tarmac. It had been cold in Minnesota where I’d just finished teaching a women’s retreat, unbearably warm for October in Nashville where I killed some time in the airport, and now frigid and wet in Missouri where I ran with my bags on my aching shoulders to my car in the dark airport parking lot while the sky unloaded its contents. Shivering, I turned up the heat in my car and sat for a moment, head against the steering wheel. Raindrops dripped down my face. It had been a great trip, full of good conversations, teaching that felt strong, and encouragement all around. But my body was tired, my brain was past fatigued, and a nagging gym injury had turned into a full-blown rotator cuff issue that I knew would have to be addressed in the four days I was home before boarding another plane for another city and another conference.

Why do I do this? I asked myself for the hundredth time. Putting the car in drive, I thanked the Lord that I was able to fly out of this tiny regional airport. Home was only thirty minutes away. In a week, I’d be making the two hour trek home from a larger airport. Rubbing my shoulder, I drove towards home. Why do I do this, indeed.

What you may not know about the writer’s life is that authoring books invariably comes with invitations to travel and speak on the content of your books. I know writers who turn down every invitation, and I know writers who say yes to them all. I fall somewhere in between. While I am most comfortable in the quiet of my home tapping away on my laptop, I find it impossible to say no when I’m asked to speak on topics like faithfulness, Scripture memorization, how to study the Bible, how to endure suffering. Not because I’m hungry for the stage (I could never step foot on another stage and be perfectly happy) but because this is all I have—this message about Jesus and how His Word sustains us when life is hard, when bodies ache, when suffering is the only thing we know.

On that golden hour flight home, I was thinking about Paul’s words to the Corinthians regarding the resurrection of Christ. If the resurrection isn’t real, then we Christians are most pitiable (1 Cor. 15:12-19). The keystone of our faith is not just the death of Christ but also His resurrection. For His resurrection guarantees our own. This promise of eternal life with Him is everything. We are staking our entire eternities on His promise of new bodies and a new heaven and earth. If Jesus didn’t really rise from the dead, then our faith is in vain. Futile. Purposeless. We might as well live life to the fullest here on earth if this is all there is (1 Cor. 15:32). Practically, though, I think many of us are so consumed with our present reality that we follow Jesus only for what He gives us now. Not what He promises later.

But there is more to following Jesus than peace in this life. There is hope forever. Permanent healing, lack of suffering, absence of sorrows, elimination of sin. The promises of our eternal home with Jesus makes these aching bodies, these lonely hearts, this challenging human existence feel more like a breath and a vapor when compared to what waits for us. Jesus won’t leave us like orphans. He’ll return one day and make all things new.

It’s this hope, this promise that drives the Christian life. The Lord gives us what we need for today, but He has so much more for us later. And we want people to be a part of the later, right? So we work and rest and parent and have friends and worship and give and serve and love and eat and drink and teach and learn—all in a way that speaks to where our real hope lies. The resurrection of Christ. We want people to have that same hope. Because this is all we have. So if we are spent to keep that promise in front of others, then what a way to be poured out for the kingdom of God!

With my arm in a sling, I’m packing a suitcase and going over teaching notes. Between heat and ice sessions, I’m praying for the next few days of grueling travel, intensive teaching, and minimal rest. I’m making meal lists for my husband and finishing the laundry so my kids don’t have to dig for something to wear. And I know that somewhere in all of the work that lays before me is an opportunity to say out loud with fervor and zeal: Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.

Because this is all I have. And I will gladly make it yours.

Daylight Saving and Spiritual Disciplines

I’ve long used January 1st as the day I’m going to get my life together. New diet? Clean slate starts January 1st. Exercise plan? I’ll begin on the first of the year. Keep the Tupperware cabinet from throwing plastic containers at me every time I open it? Organization will commence on the first day of the year. Bible reading plan? I’ll get right on that after the holidays. New Year’s resolutions are a thing because we feel like a new year is a clean slate, a blank page with nothing written on it to announce our screw-ups or failures yet.

But I think sometimes we view January 1st as an excuse to keep living life per usual, especially when it comes to spiritual disciplines like Bible-reading and prayer. We’ve made a mess of our spiritual habits to this point, we think. Might as well wait a few more months to start over. But for North American readers, I’d like to encourage you not to wait until January to start (or start again) reading your Bible and praying. Start this weekend when Daylight Saving Time ends.

pile of clocks

Several years ago, I realized that tucked into our fall schedule is a gift for investing in our spiritual growth. Most people I know despise the end of Daylight Saving Time because it gets dark so early in the evening. As a morning person, I secretly enjoy the change. I like the dark evenings that signify the coming of winter. Growing up in the heat and humidity of the south, I start longing for cold nights in July. When we “fall back” in autumn, we “gain” an hour, so to speak, which most of us earmark for an extra bit of sleep. However, I’ve learned that the end of Daylight Saving is the best time to begin the habit of reading the Bible first thing in the morning.

Now, I’m not saying you have to read the Bible in the morning. If you’re a night owl who can stay awake to pray and study the Word, the Lord bless you and keep you. I can barely hold my eyes open past 9 p.m. For many of us, morning is the best time to open our Bibles with regularity because our days simply get away from us after we finish our morning routines. Personally, I love getting up early while my kids are asleep and the house is quiet. I make coffee, open my Bible and notebook, pray, and enjoy being with the Lord when nothing else is competing for my attention. You don’t have to be a legalist to enjoy a morning habit of Scripture reading and prayer!

But, I haven’t always enjoyed meeting with the Lord early in the morning. I’ve struggled to get up early enough for anything but a shower and a cup of coffee. I’ve hit dry spells which have tempted me to stay in bed. I’ve parented through sleepless nights with infants and toddlers as well as long seasons of chronic pain that kept me from sleep. I do understand the difficulty of getting out of bed in the morning. But here is where the time change is a gift. You’re gaining an hour that you can spend on the Lord, and your body is unlikely to protest the way it normally does.

If you’re used to getting up at 6 a.m., then your body will be ready to get out of bed at 5 a.m. after Daylight Saving Time ends because 5 a.m. will feel like 6 a.m. Your body won’t know the difference if you don’t let it. You’ll get tired earlier in the evening, but you can begin going to bed earlier to compensate. Take advantage of this one time of the year when getting up earlier won’t be so hard! If you don’t have a regular habit of Bible reading and prayer or have tried and failed in the past, use the gift of “falling back” to establish the habit. An hour of spiritual rest will nourish your soul more than an extra hour of sleep ever could.

To help yourself take advantage of this little “life hack,” make your plan Saturday night and do the following:

  1. Move your clocks back an hour and set your alarm an hour earlier than usual (or thirty minutes, whatever is feasible for you).
  2. Pick a Bible reading plan. You can start this 1-year reading plan whenever you want—not just on January 1st.  Or follow a guide like this.
  3. Write out a list of things to pray for each day or week.
  4. Put your Bible, notebook, pen, reading glasses, etc. in a place designated for daily study and leave them there.
  5. Prepare and program your coffee maker if you need a bit of a caffeinated boost to get going in the morning.
  6. Go to bed (not too late!) knowing you don’t have any decisions to make in the morning except to get up to meet with the Lord.

Spiritual growth is something God is pleased to bring about in our lives, and He uses His Word, prayer, and the church to cultivate godliness in us. When we spend time knowing Him through His Word and prayer, He will bring about growth. We’ll be like the happy man in Psalm 1 who was always nourished by the Word, flourishing in every season because we delighted in the Word of the Lord day and night.

And if you get off track, don’t worry. Start again tomorrow. The day is full of new mercies and God’s faithfulness.

Don't wait until January 1st to begin a Bible reading plan! Did you know it's easier to practice a new discipline when Daylight Saving Time ends? Share on X

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Encircled, Enclosed, Squeezed In

The longest my husband and I have ever been apart is eleven days. He went on a mission trip to Malaysia many years ago, and my young son and I spent most of our time counting down the days until we were all together again. I struggled to sleep at night while William was on the other side of the world. The distance between us couldn’t have been any further, geographically speaking. I felt his absence at night when there were no layers of defense against potential and imagined home invasions that only seem threatening when my husband is out of town. To feel safe, I stacked a wall of pillows in our bed and slept with my back pressed against them. Ever the side-sleeper, I curled my arms and legs around another body-length pillow so that I was truly surrounded by pillows. Pressed in by cotton. As silly as it sounds, I felt hedged in, even if every bit of the whole thing was an illusion of both danger and safety.

There is comfort in being pressed in, of feeling the presence of the one who makes you feel safe on every side.

wooden tiles spelling the word safe

This morning, I woke up with the phrase from Psalm 139:5 on my mind. I poured some coffee, stretched in the darkness of 5:30 a.m., and sat down on the couch with my Bible. I worked through the passage of Acts I’m studying with my small group, but once finished, I turned the page to the words that wouldn’t stop interrupting my train of thought. “You hem in me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.”

Like an itch that must be scratched, I had to read the words over and over. In their greater context, the psalmist extols the nearness of God. It’s impossible to escape the presence of the one who created the universe. Wherever you go, he is there. Whatever you think, he already knows. Whenever you sleep, he is awake. Whenever you wake, he is still there with you. There’s no hiding from the one who knit your body and soul together. And while the inability to hide from God might strike fear in the hearts of some, I believe the psalmist paints a picture of being delightfully pressed in by God.

Translations vary in their approach to the word David uses in verse 5 to describe this pressing in. Some lean toward a military analogy, others a tightknit closeness. Encircled, hemmed, enclosed, hedged, beset, and (a personal favorite) squeezed in. Whatever the original intent, I see reassurance in every synonym. This enclosure is meant to be a comfort, a presence felt and recognized. On the heels of a description of God’s intimate acquaintance with our thoughts, habits, actions, sleep patterns, and words comes the phrase that makes his knowledge not fearful but comforting: You hem me in, you encircle me, you enclose me, you beset me, you squeeze me in. The definition for the Hebrew word here includes the word “cramped.” Delightful, I thought, smiling at my Bible in the early morning light. Cramped. The Lord is cramped in around me on all sides. And lest you worry that that is again a fearful thing, David follows it with the phrase, “you lay your hand upon me.”

I remember many nights curled up in my children’s beds waiting out a stomach bug or other ailments. My kids always want me close when they’re sick, so when they were small enough for me to wrap myself around them, I would. And like my mother did for me, I always laid my hand on their cheeks for assurance that mom wouldn’t leave. It’s a gentle gesture David is depicting here. You lay your hand upon me. You’ve surrounded me with your presence, and you lay your hand upon me. This is what it means to feel safe on all sides.

We have so many pictures of God in Scripture depicting his might, his power, his holiness, his wrath, his justice, his otherness. He is all of those things. But he is also gentle. And near. And fully invested in the individual lives of the people he has called to be his own. He is a Father who loves his children, who surrounds them with himself, a hand on their cheek, so they know he will never leave or forsake them. He presses in, hems us in behind and before. Encloses the space around us so there is no gap. Delightfully, blessedly, kindly—there is no escape. No matter where I go or stay, whether I sleep or rise, whether I feel him or not, he is there. On all sides. Squeezed in close.

We don’t always feel that the Lord is near. When life is hard, when grief is deep, when loss is the biggest thing in the room, we quickly wonder where God is. Surely he has left me in the darkness of my pain. Surely he isn’t present when I hurt this much. But Scripture can tell our hearts how to feel when we fear we are alone. Scripture tells us what is real in the depths of sadness and pain. Paul explains in Romans 8 that if we are in Christ, there is nothing in heaven or on earth that can separate us from God’s love. Nothing in creation, no circumstances, not even death. Nothing at all. We are hemmed in by his love. It surrounds us on all sides. We saw his love at the cross, and we’ll see it until we see him—when we’ll never again doubt its depth, breadth, and height.

As someone who struggles regularly with physical pain, I’m often asked how I get through it. I don’t have any other answer than this: God loves his people by being with them. He never leaves. He is in the shadowed valley, the raging sea, the Philippian prison, the dark night of the soul, the hospital room, the sleepless night, the lonely bedroom, the nightly walking of the floor with a body on fire. His love, his present, faithful love squeezes in around us. We’re positively cramped by his love. That’s how you get through it.

Wherever he calls you, Christian, he also goes. His gentle hand is on you.

 

We saw his love at the cross, and we’ll see it until we see him—when we’ll never again doubt its depth, breadth, and height. Share on X

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