daily devotional for women
A playful nod to Creatis and the wobbly Spring of Minnesota.
Over a decade ago I sat in front of my computer staring at a blank screen, trying to decide what to say. Finally, the words came to me, and I wrote, “Be courageous and write in a way that scares you a little.” I’d spent the last few months dreaming and planning with my (in)courage co-founder Stephanie Bryant and now the site was almost ready to launch. We’d spent many hours praying and imagining what this community could become. Back then we talked about it like God’s beach house — a place where you could put your sandy, dirty feet
Breathe in courage, exhale stress. Want to keep this feeling going and take it to the next step? Comment "Me" and I'll share a free copy of my 31-Days Mindset Journal to help you guide your way. #progress #selfgrowth #selfcare #selflove #mindset #change #mentalhealth #mindsetcoach
When God Whispers
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I’m trying to prepare myself for the funeral of a friend. It’s the second funeral in a matter of weeks. Two different women from my church passed away just three weeks apart. Our church isn’t very large, and as one of the pastors, I’m still processing how to lead and how to grieve at the same time. The memories we shared pierce through my mind, a bittersweetness I hold onto. I prayed with both of them to give their lives to Jesus. I remember both days perfectly – one over the phone last September, and the other in a back
But you are God’s chosen treasure—priests who are kings, a spiritual “nation” set apart as God’s devoted ones. He called you out of darkness to experience his marvelous light, and now he claims you as his very own. He did this so that you would broadcast his glorious wonders throughout the world. For at one time you were not God’s people, but now you are. At one time you knew nothing of God’s mercy, because you hadn’t received it yet, but now you are drenched with it! 1 Peter 2:9 When I was in junior high and high school, my
O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord . . . . How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! Psalm 139:1-4, 17-18 (NLT) My degree is in youth and family
I’ve been asking God where He is. On Sunday, my church family sang these words: I am chosen, not forsaken. I am who You say I am. You are for me, not against me. I am who You say I am. I hung my head and raised my hands and wondered if faith sometimes looks like singing through the sadness, like coming empty but showing up anyway. Although there have been lessons worth learning along the way, this summer has felt much more like the wilderness than the Promised Land. I have more questions than answers, and my hands hold
Nana and Mama gathered the ingredients for making our special Italian pastry called pita piata. Daddy wiped off the table so we could roll out the dough. My little brother Paul squealed with glee, escaping Papa’s strong, hairy arms as he chased him around the room. While they played, my older cousin Carl and I brought bowls of chopped walnuts and raisins to the table. I sneaked a golden raisin. Mmmm, my favorite. Nana and Mama measured the ingredients into our giant bowl. Daddy and Papa took turns mixing the dough. They really had to use their muscles to make
I’ll never forget when we announced to our colleagues and friends that we were leaving our jobs in the city to move to my husband’s family farm. We were stressed out and overworked, and at the pace we were running, we knew our family would eventually pay the price if we didn't make a change. When I told my boss we were starting over, his jaw dropped so low it could have won a limbo competition. Co-workers chided us, saying we were throwing away our potential. Friends begged us to stay. True enough, we had respectable and exciting careers, along
My eyes scanned the dimly lit room as I started my message. This would be the last session of the conference I co-hosted in Iceland. The weekend had been filled with many significant moments for the women attending and the ones who had traveled far to help set it up. But even as I whispered prayers in my heart and then voiced an opening one out loud for the audience, I couldn’t deny the frustration fogging my brain nor the stress that had tightened my shoulders all weekend. Would the experiences in the conference room of this hotel last beyond
Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies. Growing up with a dad who was a chef helped ignite a passion in me for food and confidence in the kitchen even as a young girl. I am a rule follower by nature, but when it came to cooking I didn’t have to stick with the rules, so it was a creative outlet for me. In the kitchen, I get to omit or add ingredients based on how the food looks and tastes, which makes the process fun. But I have always been cautious with salt because if you add too much,
The Syllables Are Love, a post from the blog (in)courage on Bloglovin’
Lately, I’ve been taking a lot of long social media breaks. Even though my career has led me to start social media for major organizations, co-found (in)courage, and help authors and entrepreneurs creatively utilize social media to grow their businesses, I had become discouraged by my own social media experience. For me and many others, the social media space started to feel unsafe. I watched as friends ripped each other apart over political preferences, shared their toxic feelings about news stories, and fanned the flames of injustice. During my social media breaks, I realized I was grieving. I was upset
Look for the Light
After eight hours of painting my daughter’s room, I stood back, tilted my head, and squinted my eyes. On the little swatch from Sherwin Williams, the color 'Danube' was the perfect blue. But now it just looked all wrong. It was bold and abrasive and hard to look at. I wanted a calm, soothing, moody color. I sent pictures to my artsy friends and asked for their opinion. I was trying to convince myself that I loved the color because I didn’t want to use up another day painting or spend more money on gallons of new paint. I was
I enjoy my coffee without cream, without sugar, and most importantly, without caffeine. That’s because if I consume caffeine, I’m doomed to lie awake in bed until the early morning hours, as alert as an unblinking baby doll. Decaf is essential. Though it’s a simple pleasure, the comfort of a quiet cup of coffee has become one of the highlights of my day. So when the grocery store ran out of my preferred blend, my disappointment was acute. Several times over the following weeks, I checked the store to see if they had re-stocked. Each time, I hurried to the
