“Can you help me?” That’s a question we learn to avoid from an early age. If you’ve been around children, you know that point in development where they insist, “Me do it!” Unfortunately, that stubborn independence rarely fades with age. Asking for help is a confession of weakness, an acknowledgment that we can’t do something alone. It’s a humbling truth to admit. Perhaps that’s why the Lord chose to end the creation story with a slow, extended observation of our need for help. Throughout ... [keep reading]

Regardless of whether we achieve lifelong-friend status or simply enjoy friendship for a season, what should the guiding principles of godly mom friendships be? I asked Jennifer—whom so many call friend—for her best tips on the topic, and I’ve included them with mine (many of ours overlap), in no particular order, below: Making godly mom connections is hard, friends. I know. It’s only in mythirties and early forties, after years of learning from mistakes, after decadesof consistent ... [keep reading]

If you have experienced loss, the way forward can often feel confusing and difficult. But the following excerpts show that the path to healing is not a race; rather, a slow, intentional journey of patience and compassion.  These affirmations, taken from Gentle Thoughts After Loss, seek to provide gentle comfort as you navigate this season of hurt. Whatever your loss may be—a loved one, your health, your job, your security, your freedom, or your spirit—let these ... [keep reading]

“Take your weakness to Jesus.” That’s easy to say. But what exactly does it mean? Taking our weakness to Jesus involves at least three things. 1. We must know that we are weak. Weakness, simply put is a lack of strength, the inability to act or produce an effect. To be weak is to be unable to do certain things or make things happen. We are all weak in one way or another. Unless we’re willing to admit that, we can’t begin to deal with our weakness. The one who cannot confess their ... [keep reading]

“What happened here?” Jess slows the car on a dusty gravel road. We are passing a vineyard in the heart of Italy and there are thousands of ripe grape clusters lying on the ground below the vines, row after row. He stops the car so we can take a closer look. “Maybe they’re coming through later to gather them,” I say, and bend down to pick up a cluster. The grapes are perfect, plump, and full of juice. We garden and live on a farm and the idea of these grapes withering in the sun is hard to ... [keep reading]