When I Need God to Hold Me

When I Need God to Hold Me

I work at a coffee shop this summer, and every day an entire cast of characters walks through our small jingly door and into my life.

So many of them are like little shots of espresso or a warm hug on a hard day.

There’s Sue, the old yet sprightly lady who routinely drinks 3 cups of coffee before 9 am. When she learned my name was Maddie, she exclaimed that her “granddaughter’s name was also Maddie!” and hasn’t failed to remind me of that fact every single day since. She sits at the table closest to the door, goes to the bathroom about 13 times, and speaks to every single person who walks into the shop.

Joe, the lawyer who wears suspenders and button up striped shirts and tortoise rimmed glasses, grabs his unsweetened iced tea and hides behind the door to get work done. And yet, as I go to the back for more cups or coffee or milk he will stop me to chat, smiling and asking me about myself, and I simply do not have the heart to tell him I’m on the clock.

Marla shows up every day at 4:00 pm, dark hair under a bandana and hat. Her face is worn and weathered, lined with years of life. She always puts $1.75 down on the counter to get her mug full of coffee, yet often falls asleep on the table without taking a sip. She doesn’t say much, but she is always there. And one time, we almost got her to dance.

And yet there are some souls that walk past my barista counter from time to time that break my heart.

Derek, can’t be older than a teenager, drugged up every day, begging people for money.

Laura, lines on her face, entire life in a bag across her shoulder. Comes in every day for water and monopolizes a table for her crossword puzzles.

The man who’s name I do not know. He speaks incoherently and smells like he hasn’t showered in a year, which I believe to be true. Sometimes he has money, sometimes not, but we give him a glass of milk and he walks out the front door.

It can be hard for me, crossing paths with these people. I wonder how they got here, the story life has painted on their hearts. Some know Jesus, I can see it by the vibrancy and life in their eyes. But many are dead, and as I steam milk or pour coffee I have to pray so that I don’t carry a load that is not mine to bear.

No customer, however, has implanted herself on my heart the way one did today.

I didn’t see her at first. A woman came in and began to order, speaking to my coworker and glancing up at the menu board. I was taking a quick break, lost in thought and waiting to make the drink the woman wanted.

But she never quite finished, because suddenly a shriek erupted from behind her, the unmistakeable cries of a newborn baby, scratchy and raw. The woman looked apologetically at us and turned around quickly to uncover what I now saw as a stroller. Her face became gentle as she bent over and slowly lifted out a nugget of a child, pink-clad, red and wrinkly, eyes scrunched and fists clenched.

And as her daughter cried she rocked her, right in the middle of the coffee shop, as if she had all the time in the world. Up and down and back and forth, and eventually the little girl found a stillness, all 12 pounds of her going slack and laying her head on the chest of her mama.

And she was quiet, wrapped in the warm arms of the woman she trusts more than anything she has ever known in this world.

I’ve seen crying babies before, but for the first time I put myself into the head of one. Small, undeveloped eyes, completely dependent on the ones that love her, this little girl cried because she needed help. Maybe she was hungry or too hot, or maybe the world just became a little too big for her.

And I realized that so often that’s me. Something hurts down inside of me and I can’t quite figure out what it is. The world is overwhelming, my eyes can’t see clearly. I need help taking something off or putting something on or being filled with life giving food. But I can’t do it on my own, completely dependent on the One who hears my cries.

I have heard stories of babies that don’t cry. Left alone, in an orphanage, they learn that crying does no good, that no one who hears will do anything about it. And so they stay silent.

And yet this child cried because she knew her mother would come and scoop her up and hold her close, no matter where she was.

Friends, it stuck to my heart. We have a God who HEARS. He is a Good Father, the kind that holds us close and brings us to his chest, stroking us and telling us that He will never let go. No matter what this dark world throws at us, we will never be torn from His clutches.

Lately, I need reminded of this everyday. Multiple times a day. Because I’m in a season where I can’t see where I’m going, and I can’t feed myself food that sustains. I need my Dad. I need Him to hold me close and tell me that it’s going to be OK. That no matter where I go or how lonely I get He will never leave me.

I am Moses, waiting 40 years in a desert. I am Abraham, called into lands completely unknown. I am Rahab, fighting labels given by this world and instead choosing to see myself as a Child of God. I am Joshua, clinging to God’s call to be courageous. I am Paul, longing for Heaven and feeling the weight the world we live in. I am that child, crying to be drawn into the arms of comfort.

And I am the scoffer, spitting at the feet of Jesus of Nazareth, nailing Him to a cross.

Lord, forgive me. Fill me to overflowing with your Life. Hold me as I cry, and don’t let go when the tears fade. I need You.

Oh, how I need You.






The Light We Choose Not To See

The Light We Choose Not To See

This summer, I find myself always writing from the same place. I sit on my queen sized, 4 poster bed, blinds up on my oversized window, beams of fresh light across my grey bedspread. My toes are a tad cold, as usual, make-up worn out from the day, and (if I’m lucky), my 11 year old Shih-Tzu naps near my feet. And I sip french vanilla iced coffee because somewhere along the road it became my favorite thing in the world, and I ain’t mad.

A year ago this would have terrified me, and my minds runs back to those days often, whenever a moment is so good and the coffee is so sweet. I think of the days I was afraid of goodness – afraid of quiet and newness and my own shadow if it towered high enough.

And something tells me that I’m not alone. That’s why I write today – any day.

If you read my blog, you know that I’ve had a rough going these past 12 months. Anxiety and depression became extra coats I kept in my closet, thrown on when the tiniest shiver ran through my body. I began to wear distrust like the holes in my jeans and the socks on my feet and I fell, fell, fell into a place I never thought I would be.

Because that’s what happens when you stop trusting God. Suddenly that cross He asked you to bear becomes a menace. For God calls greatly, and demands great trust from us.

I will never forget the moments – innumerable moments – where I felt as if I was trapped. My mind repeatedly ran down roads that should not be taken – roads of hopelessness, panic, disbelief – and every time rationed its way through them.

I was in my last counseling session of the school year a few weeks ago. Essential oils, billowing out of a machine in the corner, coated my nostrils as I took a seat in one of the two plush chairs along the wall. I had grabbed a mini Snickers out of a bowl at the front desk, as usual, and felt the chocolate melt on my tongue as I settled down onto the cushion, pulling the throw pillow tight around my midsection and crossing my legs.

I had gone in every Thursday for the semester, and by the end I began to look back on my time in that office as sections of railroad track – week by week the weight of my mind and life bore down, adding pressure, heat, but week by week they got me farther towards where I wanted to go. They held up. I needed something to hold up.

By this point, we had little to talk about. Four months prior I had walked into that very office eyes hot and mind weary, but as I began to walk the journey of healing, ticking weeks by, I felt that I could stand just a little bit straighter every time. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I just sat. But that’s counseling, somewhere you can be whoever you need to be.

And this week, this final week, I began to look on the past months as a memory. I had wondered so long how I could fall so hard, how my distrust in God could happen so quickly and so completely. It was a puzzle that was missing a piece, causing me to look under the table and in the couch cushions and with every crick in my neck and scrape on my arm I grew more and more irritated. With every glance at the un-finished puzzle on the metaphorical coffee table, I cried out for some kind of explanation. “How? How? How?

And I sat in that room and it hit me. Finally. That final Thursday it hit me. And moment after moment since it has hit me. And as I sit here today, rain gently cascading the roof, cars drifting by outside, it hits me. And I smile.

Every day I make a choice.

Scratch that. Every moment I make a choice.

Now I know that there is beauty interwoven into the ice in my toes and the scratch on my contact and the ticks in my dog’s back. There is a miracle in every breath and an opportunity after every blink of an eye. But for months I chose to believe otherwise.

Now I know that I choose what glasses I wear, choose what I see and how I see it. Choose to know that “it is good”. What is good? All of it! No, it’s not all easy or enjoyable or smooth, glassy, or soft. But it is good. Because God created it and because He called it good.

For so long I put on darkness like a cloak. I would say it sounds crazy, but something tells me there are hearts reading this that understand. It’s a choice we all make once or twice or a hundred times. We choose to doubt God, choose to give the devil a foothold, choose to see flowers as fading and rain as wet and Tuesdays as stressful.

And for me it took 3 panic attacks, a bottle of Xanax, 4 months of anti-depressants, and half a year of counseling to understand even a sliver of what God has been trying to tell me.

Choose beauty. Choose to see it. I know it’s not easy but choose it anyways. 

Joy. Joy. Joy. 

There is a light, a beauty, that can only be seen through a broken lens. When beauty is handed you, perhaps as a child, you take it for granted and brush it aside, closing your eyes to it because you expect it to be there when you open them again.

But when you lose that light, that beauty, for a time, it becomes the treasure you will traverse miles to find and never let go.

That’s how I feel today. My dog still naps at my side and birds fly by the window and I can smell and feel and hear the lawn mowers outside which means it’s summer and wow if only I could have more senses to feel more and breathe more. Because light after darkness is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

And I choose to see.

It’s not easy. This world is dark, we know that. Loved ones die and minds fall astray and friends choose to leave and countries make bombs and it’s easy to find the darkness. It will not resist you. Instead, it will beckon, enticing you towards itself. Don’t go. Run, fast, and choose the other way.

You have a choice, friends.

It takes courage to find the light. We all have reason not to, reasons to forget our value and pray less and swallow the sun with clouds of worry.

But God calls higher, past the clouds and into His glorious light. “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” (James 4:7-8)

And He will never lose the fight. So many of us will simply never choose to see the victory.



What Is That In Your Hand?

What Is That In Your Hand?

Then Moses answered, “But behold, they will not believe me or listen to my voice, for they will say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you.'” The Lord said to him, “What is that in your hand?” He said, “A staff”.

Moses – a man who had nothing to offer God but a stick he held in his hand and a pile of sand.

A man born into a nation that hated him.

Born to a Hebrew family during the reign of a ruthless Pharaoh in the nation of Egypt, Moses had a target on his back the moment he joined this earth. With nothing to offer God but a cry and a death sentence, Moses entered this world as the nation cried out:


Born at the hands of a nation that wanted him dead.

Riding on the faith of his mother and sister, the infant Hebrew child was spared the sword as his mother looked in faith to the God of Israel and sent Moses in a basket down a river, shrouded in prayer for the baby with no hope but that of God.

And so Moses found himself drawn into the hands of the daughter of Pharaoh, bathing in the river and filled with compassion for the child with no home. Wrapped in the Will of God, Moses was handed a second chance at life – a life covered in grace and conflict as he was a Hebrew raised as an Egyptian in the very palace that oppressed the people he came from.

And one day, he made a choice – a choice that revealed his loyalty and burst forth from the conflict inside of him. He killed an Egyptian in order to save a Hebrew. And he ran for his life, the all-too-familiar death sentence sealed back onto his forehead.

He ran until he found desert far enough away and he sat and he… stayed.

Moses was born into a nation that hated him, joined the nation that hated him, and then fled from the nation that hated him – leaving himself with nothing but dry desert air and sand and sticks and a defeated heart, orphaned once again with no one to scoop him from a river.

And yet, the depravity of this one man could do nothing to halt the plans of the All-Powerful God. And God’s call ran out and found the heart of Moses, the lowly Moses, the murderer Moses.

How often am I Moses? Though I am given a second chance at life – a New Birth – I kill and steal and then I run. I run away and hide in my desert corner, surrounded by nothing but rocks and heat and mortality.

And yet the call of God rings clear. How can it be? I am Moses, staring at a bush that won’t burn. Given a call I don’t deserve. Bare feet. Unbelieving heart.

How can it be? 

But the call. The call is too grand, I complain to God. I can’t do it. It’s too hard. Too impossible.

“But Moses said to God, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?'”

Who am I, God? Who am I to love the un-lovable, find the hurting, weep with the weeping? Who am I to learn your word, pray with sincerity? Who am I to say “Yes” always?

Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?

The more I know my Lord, the more I know the question is not “Who am I?” I have been wrong for too long. The question is not “Who am I?”, for I am just as I feel.




The question is not “Who am I?”. Instead, God looks to Moses and asks,

“What is that in your hand?”

What is that in your hand?

God was unconcerned with the list of sins Moses had committed, for if God desired to call perfect people He would never have called a soul. God’s Will ran clear through shame and murder and found the soul He desired, beside a burning bush.

And He only asked him one question. “What is that in your hand?”.

A staff. I think I have little to offer the Lord? Moses had a stick.

And yet that stick parted oceans. That stick turned water into blood. That stick became a God-stick because God made it so.

God has a way of taking our nothingness and using it to change nations and move mountains.

What is that in your hand?

As I write I begin to tally every excuse I’ve ever made to the Almighty God. How dare I tell the Creator how to create? Tell the Caller how to call? The Lamb took every ounce of my torture and punishment upon Himself, and I stand in His presence, watching a bush that will never burn, and tell Him that since all I have is a staff He has called the wrong person.

“Forgive me for being so ordinary while claiming to know so extraordinary a God.”

Jim Elliot

It Was Never Meant To Be A Game

It Was Never Meant To Be A Game

Every day, it seems, I am having a conversation about singleness and the mind-rattling frustration it brings countless beautiful girls who just can’t figure out what they’re “doing wrong”.

Sometimes these conversations happen over coffee, or in the middle of watching Netflix, or, well… too often with myself as I stare in the mirror in the morning. “What’s the point of curling my hair if no boys ever seem to take a second glance?” Of course, thinking like that is instrumentally detrimental and just down-right unhealthy, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

Singleness can be a weary reality indeed.

These thoughts and frustrations from myself and others have made me search for wisdom like hidden treasure. My mom always told me that choosing who I will marry will be the second most important decision in my life, second only to choosing to follow Jesus.

So you’d better believe I want to make that decision correctly, and I can’t help but know that it all begins in my single days.

In my Wisdom Search, I ran across a book full of articles by a woman named Elisabeth Elliot (many of you may know of her. I have taken to calling her my “new best friend” because her words tend to my heart in a way few have ever been able to.) She wrote one particular article on the topic of singleness- but more than that, prolonged singleness. Like me, she had had countless conversations with many jaw-dropping, loving girls who felt utterly trapped in a life of singleness.

She speaks of women who prayed for 20 years for a husband who never came. Of women with feelings that have no outlet. Of women who have given everything to following Jesus, trusting Him with every aspect of their lives, yet finding themselves humanly alone even though their hearts long to share their lives with someone.


Am I doing something wrong?

Should I go to more “singles barbeques”?

Should I just ask him out already? I’m allowed to do that, right? Right?

Why does this all feel like a big game?


A game. What a way to describe it.

Last night I stayed up late talking through life with a dear friend. Our conversation traveled from faith to family to… well, boys. (Hey, we’re 21. It happens.) We’re both single, but both all-too aware of the plethora of attractive and God-fearing men on our college campus. (Last time my parents visited campus, my mom remarked, “Maddie, there are so many cute guys on this campus!” Yes, mom. I know.)

Once we had covered the basics (who we like. how many encounters we had had with him in the past week), we let our laughter fade and fell silent. Why? Because, at the end of the day, we both have no idea what to do about these feelings we can’t seem to shoo away. We don’t know how to play the game. 

“Nobody does” remarks Elisabeth, “It’s chaos, frustration, confusion, and emotional devastation. It was never meant to be a game, so don’t try to play it. Leave it all in the Hands that were wounded for you.”

There have been times in my life where I have been tempted to stop praying for my future husband. Often, conversations with other single girls end with “I’ve stopped praying for a husband because God doesn’t guarantee one. It will just end in frustration.” But then what do I do about verses like Philippians 4:6 that tell me to “not be anxious about anything, but in everything- by prayer and petition- present my requests to God”?

Now, if your singleness isn’t making you anxious, then maybe God isn’t stirring your heart in that direction right now. But, if you’re like me and your current relationship status has a tendency to keep you up at night, tossing and turning and making you want to cry out in frustration, “Oh, can’t I just ask HIM out??” then I urge you- PRAY ABOUT IT.

Elisabeth tells you to leave it all in the Hands that were wounded for you. Let me ask you a question: Do you trust God with your love story? Do you really truly believe the Bible when it promises that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose”?

When did we take earthly love out of the category of “all good things”?

God didn’t create romance to be a game. He created marriage to reflect His love for the church. He created it to be something His children thoughtfully trusted Him with.

It’s not meant to be a game, and thank goodness because I don’t know how to play it.

So instead, I will pray. I will cast my anxieties on the LORD and trust that He sees my heart and truly knows me. I will focus on being His Bride and prayerfully wait to see if He designed me to be anybody else’s.

“It was never meant to be a game, so don’t try to play it. Leave it all in the Hands that were wounded for you.”

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Romans 8:28

Lend Me Your Hope

Lend Me Your Hope

I ran across a poem the other day that stopped me in my tracks.

Lend me your hope for a while,
I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
pain and confusion are my companions.

I know not where to turn.
Looking ahead to future times
does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times,
pain-filled days,
and more tragedy.

Lend me your hope for a while,
I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
listen to all my ramblings,
recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing
seems like a long and lonely one.

Lend me your hope for a while,
I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me,
offer me your presence,
your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain,
it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed
with sad and conflicting thoughts.

Lend me your hope for a while.
A time will come when I will heal,
and I will share my renewal,
hope and love with others.

Do those words resonate in your soul? They do mine.

We live in a broken world, one full of depression and death and blinding suffering. One of the greatest issues I have known and observed that accompanies times of suffering is the question, “Where do I go from here?” In the throws of the storm it seems impossible to function at any level of normalcy, and conversations with those hurting often land somewhere around the tearful wondering:


How can I keep up with the life I once knew?

How do I even pretend to function like I once did?

How do I get out of bed?

How do I go to work, or school, or even church?

How do I live surrounded by people that appear to have it all together when my life is literally falling apart at the seams?


And those conversations usually end with a tear-stained face and puffy eyes, emotions overwhelming the sufferer to the point of collapse. Oh, how the wars Satan wages can rock us off of our feet! Whether it was a gradual collapse or an overnight crumbling, many of us at some point in our lives find ourselves weeping and running to the bottom of the rocking ship to wake Jesus and scream “Where have you been? Can’t you see I’m drowning??”

Many of us have, at some point, had a deficit of hope in our hearts. Maybe we know in our minds that light and hope has come into the world, but in the pits of the despair we are currently sinking into we cannot see anything but darkness.

This post is not really about the healing that comes through Jesus Christ, though I need to say that healing exists and is very, very real in His hands. Instead, however, this post is for those of us that need to know how to function today. Suffering is real, and many of us right now are waking up and staring at our bedroom ceiling thinking, “How am I going to get through today?”

The poem starts with “lend me your hope for a while, for I seem to have mislaid mine”. Oh, what an accurate description of what it feels like to be in the throws of a trial! Many of us wake up one day and realize that our hope somehow left without our permission, leaving us desperate for its return. This poem is a cry to those around us, the people in our lives that have perhaps been asking what they can do to help us through this difficult time. In my sufferings, I have grown accustomed to saying:

“Just lend me your hope.”

I don’t know about you, but there are mornings where I rely on the hope of those around me to get me moving. The concept of borrowing hope is, quite honestly, a hopeful one.

But that wasn’t even the line that stopped me in my tracks when I first this poem.

This past month, as I rode out a painful trial, my parents longed to know how to best help me, and my answer surprised me. I’m not an incredibly touchy person, but I realized that what I needed most in the days to come is somebody to hug me and hold my hand and be with me through what was undeniably going to be a torturous season of life.

Hold my hand and hug me;
listen to all my ramblings,
recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing
seems like a long and lonely one.

Hold my hand and hug me. Listen to all of my ramblings. Lend me your hope in the form of your presence, for the road out of suffering can be long and lonely and I need to know that I am not alone.

If you are reading this as someone striving to help a loved one through a trial, remember that what sufferers need most is companionship. They need to know that they are not alone. They don’t need you to solve their problems, they simply need you to hold their hand and let them cry for as many days as it takes. They need you to listen to their ramblings and love them through it all. Tell them that you love them and tell them that you are going to be by their side until the storm has passed.

And if you, dear friend, are the one in the midst of the storm, please please please remember that Jesus is not absent. In fact, he allows storms to happen so that we are able to see Him calm the waves that rock us. If you are suffering, remember that you are in the exact right place for your faith to be transformed. 1 Peter reminds us that “Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine.”

Genuine faith. That’s your prize after all of this is said and done. Don’t lose heart!

If you are blinded by darkness, know without a shadow of a doubt that the True Light has come into the world and, if you have allowed Him, into even your heart.

For one day, perhaps not too far down the road, you will be able to lend your hope to someone else. “Lend me your hope for a while. A time will come when I will heal,
and I will share my renewal, hope and love with others.” What a day that will be!

But today, friend, give yourself grace. Pray. Cry. Sleep. Find beauty. Go for a walk. Cry again. Read and paint and run. Do what fills your heart and balms your soul. And remember: Jesus is the Great Physician and He begins healing you the moment you ask Him to.

But in the meantime, borrow hope. Borrow it from friends, family, and from the Hope of the world Himself. For there is unquenchable Hope in this world, and it is yours for the taking.


What Would You Do If I Told You Somebody Died For You?

What Would You Do If I Told You Somebody Died For You?

I’ve celebrated Christmas 21 times in my life.

21 mornings of cranberry bread and red-wrapped packages and the Steven Curtis Chapman Christmas album. 21 times I have run down the stairs with my 5 siblings to see what Santa left for us while we were sleeping. (Yes, Santa still brings the Bowsers presents. Yes, 75% of us are adults.)

And we eat monkey bread and tear into presents (one by one, of course) and we laugh and gawk over what was waiting for us under the tree. And by the time we’re all on our 3rd cup of coffee, we pop a Christmas movie in and settle down in our new Christmas pj’s and we cuddle with our dog under the lights of the decorated tree.

And that’s Christmas. At least, on the outside, that’s Christmas.

But if I’m honest with myself, friends, for so many years my inside has looked pretty much the same. Sure, as I grew older, I would pay a little more attention to the story in Luke about the brave teenage mother and the long journey she took to give birth in a cave. Yeah, I knew that her son was Jesus, and I knew that Jesus was good because He came to save the world from its darkness. And of course, I knew that Christmas was the day we celebrated that.

And so as I unwrapped presents and drank orange juice and laughed with my family I would think about that sometimes.

But Christmas, if I’m honest, has often been all about me.


This morning is different. This morning, all I can think about is a garden from 2,000 years ago.

It was late, and a man was there, and he was hunched over, in agony. With his hands pressed up against his eyes, sweat like blood dripped down over his wrists and he cried out,

“Father… if it’s possible, let this cup pass from me…”

He paused, glanced at the trees and wiped the sweat from his forehead, his face scrunched and his vision blurry. Rubbing his hands on his knees, he buried his face in the spotty grass and moaned,

“….nevertheless…” looking up to the sky, tasting his own blood, “not my will, but your will be done…”

And within minutes, soldiers came into the very garden, and he rose to meet them, wiping dirt from his knees and tears from his eyes. And this very man, who minutes before had begged to be pardoned, willingly gave himself into the hands of the soldiers.

He didn’t even fight it.

And the next day they beat him, and tore his clothes, and they killed him. They took nails and they dug them into his wrists, and they hung him by those nails, on a tree. And he suffocated as his body weight dragged him down, his bloodied wrists the only force attempting to pull him up.

And so he died, slowly, in front of a mass of people who spat at him and cheered as he breathed his last.

This Christmas morning, that’s what comes to mind.


You see, that really happened.

2,000 years ago, if you had gone to a place called the Garden of Gethsemane in Jerusalem, you would have found a man with blood on his face. You would have seen him crying, heard him praying, begging for something. You would have seen him walk up to guards and give himself to them, no longer saying a word. You would have seen him being dragged to the officials, sentenced to death, and killed.

And you would have noticed that he never said a word, never put up a fight.

That’s what I think about this Christmas morning.


How would you feel if I told you that the reason we have a holiday called Christmas is because somebody died for you?

You were alone on a crowed highway, a semi-truck heading full force your way.

Standing on thin ice, watching it crack beneath your feet.

In your bedroom alone, trying to think of a reason, any reason, to live.

You were done, fresh out of hope, fresh out of reason. You couldn’t explain why, but you knew that unless somehow somebody did something, you were done.

Maybe that’s you this morning. Maybe you’ve run out of strength, scraped dry your reserves.


What if I told you that the reason Christmas exists is because Jesus came to this world in order to die for you? He came to be born as a baby, humbly. He came to die, painfully, on a cross. He came so that you and I today can have hope. 

Hope. Hope that this world isn’t it. Hope that despite everything, we have been saved from the darkness around us.


2,000 years ago Jesus lay in a garden and sweated blood as he took on himself our burdens. He voluntarily came into this world, this dark world, to be its light. He is God, but he became human. The Bible says that he came to serve, not to be served, and to give his life in order to save ours.

He gave his life in order that our darkness would be pardoned.


This Christmas morning, I cannot help but think about that. I cannot help but sit in awe of the God who takes away my darkness. I cannot help but give him my life because he has given me his. Without Jesus, without the man in the garden, I am hopeless.

But because Jesus was born in a little town 2,000 years ago, I can have life. Because he was born, because he made the choice to die for me, I can have hope. 


That’s Christmas. This December 25th, I really hope you know that.

You are loved- loved so much that God Himself, Jesus, jumped in front of that train for you. In the midst of packages and popcorn and playlists, I beg you to remember.

You have been handed hope. What are you going to do about it?

Why God Wants Me To Almost Get What I Want.

Why God Wants Me To Almost Get What I Want.

Do you ever feel like your life is a constant stream of near-misses?

Like, from your eyes it seems like God has recently acquired a Heavenly Fishing Pole and His bait is what you want the most: your highest desire. And He sits up in His Heavenly Folding Chair in His Heavenly Galoshes and He throws His bait right in front of your face.

And so you start salivating like a dog.

And you grab for that bate. You grab for it because it is your highest desire. It’s what you’ve waited your whole life for. 

It’s that JOB.

Or that BOY.



Or that COMFORT.

And you claw and you grab and it must be yours because it’s right there in front of your eyes and you

need it.

At least, you feel like you need it. Or maybe you feel like you’re entitled to it. And you’ve waited for it, and you’ve hoped for it, and when you can finally see it, smell it, touch it, no part of you is able to resist doing whatever it takes to make it yours.

Because… because you deserve it, right? You’re a nice person. You help people. Maybe you even strive to follow God every day and you selflessly put others first. Maybe you spend your life in prayer and you talk to God all of the time and He seemingly creates these desires in your heart and you begin praying for these things.

For that relationship. Or that promotion. Or that family. Or that health.

And you know it must be on the horizon because God has great plans for you! And He loves you! And He wants what’s best for you! And then suddenly, that greatest-thing-ever is there! Right in front of your eyes!

And you think, “This is it.” Finally. Those prayers are answered and that desires is about to be fulfilled because you can see it. It’s right there.

But then you blink. And… it’s gone.

God grabbed His fishing pole and yanked that bate right back out of reach. And you find yourself empty and disappointed and crying by yourself on a Saturday night because you still don’t have what you think you desperately need. After you had seen and practically touched it, it’s still not yours. You just missed it.

Have you ever…been there?

Do you ever feel like your life is a constant stream of near-misses?


I haven’t written in a while. God’s been pretty active with that ole Heavenly Fishing Pole in my life, and it’s left my head pretty clouded and my heart pretty raw.

That very heart lead me to an academic building pretty early the other morning (much to the confusion of my roommate). Before the campus had woken up, I was sitting on a stiff couch and drinking lukewarm coffee and holding my Bible in my hand, feeling farther from God than I had in a while.

Sometimes, all I can do is hold my Bible in white-knuckled fists and pray that God says something. Anything.

And so I did, and I opened it’s pages and they fell to the book of Job. Taking a sip of my vanilla-flavored coffee, I closed my eyes and felt Him speaking to me, almost chuckling to myself at the horrendous irony.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the book of Job, it is about a man who basically had it all: family, property, wealth, status. And not only did he have everything, he was also well known for what he had. He was recognized. But none of those things kept him from seeing God and devoting his life to Him.

So… Job pretty much had it going on.

But then, the unthinkable happened. In one day, his income, his property, his health, even his family are all taken away from him. Tragedy after tragedy, leaving Job a broken man. The Bible says that he tore his clothes and he fell to the ground. This wasn’t just a near-miss. This was the biggest loss imaginable.

And I sat there, and I stared at the pages of this story, and I felt them seep into me, throwing my recent days into a mirror that stared at me.


Not because of Job’s loss, but because of what the Bible says he did after falling to the ground. After losing everything he could have possibly put his hope into, he tore his clothes and he fell to the ground and he…


He worshiped.

The Bible says that he worship God and he said


Let that sink in for a minute.


Oh, how easy it is to worship God when life looks good. But what about when it doesn’t? What about when you’re constantly finding yourself short of what you so desperately want? What about when you’re still single, or still battling that illness, or still unemployed.

What then?

That is what makes the story of Job so miraculous: not that he followed God in his prosperity, but that he worship God in his humility. It’s incredible because he said “blessed by the name of the Lord” not only because God gave,

but also because He had taken away.

There is a special kind of worship that comes in the face of difficulties, one that sees God not as a preference, but as life itself. Sometimes, I feel like God yanks His fishing pole out of our faces not to take from us, but to give us something we didn’t even know we needed.

The taste of true worship.

Do you ever feel like your life is a constant stream of near misses?

Yeah, me too.

Somehow, I think that’s the whole point.