This Thanksgiving, don’t let the good stuff go unsaid.
This Thanksgiving, don’t let the good stuff go unsaid.
This Thanksgiving, don’t let the good stuff go unsaid.
I don’t want a hand sanitizer faith. Two pumps and you’re done. Instant Jesus.
“Am I okay?” I think it’s the most important question we’re forgetting to ask ourselves.
There’s no way God can use this. There’s no way God can use this. In many ways, I used to be the pessimistic version of Dorothy. But what I couldn’t see back then was this: God will bless the broken…we just don’t know when.
We all have a go-to method of hiding pain. Maybe it’s food. Maybe it’s alcohol. Maybe it’s really good acting. But we do it. And it’s not to hide from the world around us. It’s to hide the hurt from ourselves.
My father died on a Friday afternoon in late March at the very beginning of the COVID crisis. Letting go and healing in months of isolation is what I would describe as macro-grieving.
We do this thing: We get really frustrated with ourselves. We thought we were past the pain. We thought we had transcended all the troubles. But we haven’t healed. We’re still healing.
When we try to escape forgiveness, we begin to build a wall. Brick-by-brick we praise our strength and admire just how efficiently we can protect our hearts.
I used to think there was something wrong with me. I would pray. I would worship. And I would study the Bible. (I even finished reading the whole Bible last year.) But it felt like I wasn’t growing.
I think shame is the worst of all enemies. It doesn’t matter what we did. And it doesn’t matter why we did it. Shame enters our heart and is nearly impossible to shake.