Tag: Jesus

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10 Bible Verses for Anxious Moms (That Actually Help)

Personal Note from One Mama to Another

I’m watching my darling daughter-in-law juggle two babies under two, and I’m taken right back. I remember those days of complete surrender—when a quiet time, a shower, and maybe a quick workout (AKA a brisk walk with the stroller) defined self-care and sanity. In those early years, there was a fine line between letting go of anxiety and letting in the moments that took my breath away: tiny arms wrapped around my neck, first words and giggles, the magic of seeing the world through brand-new eyes. Was I terrified a seagull might eat my itty-bitty newborn when we walked on the pier? Yes-but I pushed through the new mommy phase and gained confidence one sippy cup at a time.

But then life got busier—school drop-offs, sports, scraped knees, and building a life that felt both full and complete. And then, the bottom fell out. I became a single mom. And anxiety? It stopped being an occasional visitor and became a constant companion. When you’re carrying the financial weight, the emotional load, and the spiritual burden alone—it’s no longer just stress. It’s survival.

During that season, quiet time wasn’t a sweet addition to my day—it was my oxygen. I couldn’t breathe without God’s presence. I still can’t.

Motherhood will test you in ways you never imagined. It will grow you, stretch you, and sanctify you. These verses below are the ones I’ve clung to in the early years, the single-parent years, and now—as I raise my youngest teen daughter and watch my children become parents themselves.

If you’re reading this while wiping tears or eating leftover macaroni off your toddler’s plate and calling it lunch—these verses are for you, too.

You’re Not Alone: What the Research Says

If you’ve ever wondered, “Is it just me?”—the answer is a compassionate no.

  • The American Psychological Association found that 46% of moms report high levels of stress, especially those with children under 18.
  • A 2023 study in The Journal of Affective Disorders revealed that moms are especially vulnerable to anxiety and depression due to role overload, sleep deprivation, and cultural expectations.
  • And here’s the hope: A 2019 study in Psychology of Religion and Spirituality found that spiritual practices—like prayer, scripture meditation, and trusting in God—are linked to reduced anxiety and greater emotional resilience.
  • Neuroscientist Dr. Andrew Newberg even found that consistent spiritual habits can physically change the brain to help you stay calmer and more emotionally grounded over time.

In other words, your quiet time isn’t just a spiritual discipline—it’s a healing practice.

The Scriptures That Carried Me—And Still Do

Here are 10 verses that helped anchor me in the stormiest seasons of motherhood. I return to them often—and I pray they speak life and peace over you today:

1. Philippians 4:6–7

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God…”
➡️ God invites you to release the worry and come to Him with every messy, real fear.

2. Isaiah 26:3

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”
➡️ Peace is promised—not perfection—when your eyes stay fixed on Him.

3. 1 Peter 5:7

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”
➡️ God isn’t distant. He’s a loving Father who wants your burdens.

4. Matthew 11:28–30

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…”
➡️ You don’t have to earn rest. It’s your inheritance.

5. Psalm 94:19

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
➡️ Even in spiraling moments, His comfort reaches you.

6. John 14:27

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you… Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
➡️ Jesus offers a kind of peace the world can’t mimic—steady, deep, and real.

7. Proverbs 3:5–6

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…”
➡️ You don’t have to figure everything out. Trust unfolds peace.

8. Psalm 121:1–2

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord…”
➡️ God is your steady help when you feel like falling apart.

9. Lamentations 3:22–23

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning…”
➡️ Motherhood may deplete you—but God’s mercy refills you daily.

10. Zephaniah 3:17

“The Lord your God is with you… He will quiet you with his love…”
➡️ God doesn’t just fix problems. He soothes your anxious heart with His presence.

Bonus Resources for Your Journey

If you’re looking for more support, encouragement, or just a good cry-laugh while folding laundry, here are some grace-filled reads:

📚 “Mom Set Free” by Jeannie Cunnion
📚 “Midnight Mom Devotional” by Becky Thompson
📚 “Calm My Anxious Heart” by Linda Dillow
📚 “Rhythms of Renewal” by Rebekah Lyons

A Final Word, Mama

You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Your anxiety doesn’t disqualify you. You’re not a bad mom because you cry in the pantry or lose your marbles in Target. You are human. You are held. And you are wildly, fiercely, faithfully loved by a God who is not overwhelmed by your overwhelm.

He is with you in the endless bottle sterilization, in the pickup line, in the midnight teething wakeups—and right now, in this moment, as you take a deep breath and read these words.

And if no one has told you today: You’re doing better than you think.

-Samantha

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How to Help Your Teen Find Faith in a Culture That’s Losing It

teens and faith

Teen faith is built less on lectures and more on late-night talks, honest questions, and knowing they’re loved no matter what.

I’d love to tell you I’ve got this all figured out. That my home is a walking worship set, my kids wake up quoting Scripture, and every mealtime ends in a revival.

But here’s the truth: I have three kids—two bigs and one teenager. Two love the Lord, attend church, and follow Christ wholeheartedly. One is wrestling—not with Jesus, but with church, with hurt, with the messy side of ministry life that leaves scars. (Translation: I’m not getting a parenting trophy anytime soon, but I do get the “Still Praying and Showing Up” badge, which is honestly more useful.)

When kids grow up under the roof of ministry, the stars don’t always align. They see behind the curtain—the burnout, the brokenness, the inconsistencies. And sometimes, that shakes the foundation they’re still trying to build. As parents, we do our best to lead well, but life interrupts even the best of plans. And sometimes those interruptions involve slammed doors, eye rolls, and theological debates over tacos.

Here’s what I do know: Every morning, I grab my Bible and journal. I spend time with God. My kids see that. They see me go to church—or at least watch it online when there’s a pandemic… or I’ve hit my personal limit of small talk and hard chairs They see me forgive. They also see me mess up—and ask for forgiveness. And that matters. Because faith isn’t a formula. It’s a living, breathing relationship. Parenting isn’t about raising “perfect Christians”—it’s about being faithful guides on the journey.

And that journey isn’t linear. In the story of the prodigal son, there are two children. One stayed. One ran. Both were fully loved. Both had a place in the Father’s arms. That’s the reminder I cling to when I’m tempted to control, fix, or fear—or when I’m Googling “How to make your teenager like church again” at 2 a.m.

Why This Matters: What the Research Shows

We’re not imagining it—our teens are growing up in a radically different world. Faith is not the cultural norm anymore. (Shocking, I know, especially when TikTok seems to have become the new gospel.)

According to Pew Research, 32% of U.S. teens now identify as religiously unaffiliated. That’s more than their own parents (24%).

Less than half of teens say they pray daily, and only 40% believe in God with absolute certainty.

Church attendance among teens is declining—even when parents are deeply involved in faith.

But there’s also good news:

  • 77% of teens say they’re open to learning more about Jesus, even if they’re not involved in church.
  • Many Gen Z teens aren’t rejecting Jesus—they’re questioning religion, institutions, and inconsistencies.
  • Their faith may look different—but the spiritual hunger is still there.

So How Do We Help Our Teens Grow Real Faith in a Culture That’s Losing It?

1. Live It Loud—But Humbly

Let them see your real, lived-out faith. Not just in church pews, but in the car, in the kitchen, in the way you treat people and respond to stress. Teens are radar-sensitive to hypocrisy, but they’re also drawn to authenticity.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” — Proverbs 22:6

Your rhythms of prayer, Scripture, and grace—those aren’t wasted. Even if it feels like your teen is watching YouTube shorts instead of your life example, trust me: seeds are being planted.

2. Normalize Questions and Doubt

Faith isn’t inherited. It has to be wrestled with. Your teen may ask hard questions or even pull back from church. That’s not rebellion—it’s part of growing a faith that’s theirs, not just a copy of yours.

“Jesus said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here… Stop doubting and believe.’” — John 20:27

Jesus didn’t scold Thomas for doubting. He invited him closer. We can do the same for our teens—without panicking or turning into a one-woman apologetics conference.

3. Address Church Hurt Honestly

If your teen has been wounded by church or Christians, don’t sweep it under the rug. Acknowledge the pain. Don’t defend broken systems. Model the humility of Christ and remind them that Jesus is not the Church’s failures.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

Sometimes the most healing thing you can say is: “I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I get why you’d feel that way.” (Not followed by a five-point sermon.)

4. Give Them Voices Besides Yours

Research shows that teens who stick with their faith often have five or more Christian adults in their lives who invest in them spiritually. Youth pastors, coaches, small group leaders, family friends—they help your child see faith from different angles.

“In the multitude of counselors there is safety.” — Proverbs 11:14

Let’s face it: sometimes your teen will listen to a random podcast host or TikTok creator before they listen to you. It’s fine. Let God use the village.

5. Keep Praying—Especially When It’s Quiet

Even when it feels like nothing is shifting, don’t stop praying. Prayer isn’t just the last resort—it’s the foundation. You may not see immediate fruit, but faith takes root in hidden places.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” — James 5:16

Keep showing up in the quiet, in the waiting, in the spaces where it feels like nothing is happening. God is still working—even if your teen rolls their eyes while you pray over their Chick-fil-A.

Your child’s faith journey may not look like you expected. It may come with detours, doubts, and seasons of distance. But remember this: you are not the Savior. Jesus is.

Your job is to reflect His love, to walk in grace, to trust Him deeply—and to never stop hoping.

Whether your teen is the one who stayed close or the one who’s out finding their way, the Father is always watching the road. Arms wide open. Heart full of love. Ready to run.Father is always watching the road. Arms wide open. Heart full of love. Ready to run.

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Divine Resilience: God’s Lavish Love When Life Takes Unexpected Turns

Last fall, I prayed a prayer. A rather greedy prayer, but my heart was hungry–a roaring hunger for something deeper than the ordinary. I wanted a glimpse of the divine. Some reassurance HE hears me.

I needed a whisper, a Holy Spirit high five, a manna flyover. The rhema word. Just something. Can I get a Jesus with skin on, please?

On my bed, snuggled in tight, early in the darkness of the morning, coffee cup by my side, with tears rolling down my face, I pleaded, “God, will you show me a sign of lavish love?”

I wrote the words in my journal and closed up my little bookstore in peace. I say bookstore, because I generally have about 5-10 books and devotionals in my morning nest, with blankets and pillows and sometimes my dog cuddled at my feet. It’s the best part of my day. The stillness, The sacred. The words that pour out of my heart. The promises I say over and over to remind myself of the truth. And the beauty of a God that is so close.

I knew He would answer. I didn’t know how. But I knew enough to wait, to watch and to be curious.

On some level, I thought he might show me a sign of romantic love. But a few days later I knew it was finally time to end an on-again off-again relationship. Maybe the lavish love was the solace of being alone?

All I knew was it felt bad…but then strangely good. I felt relief.

Over and over, as I mature as a believer, I find what appears to be abysmal circumstances are actually GIFTS from God. I just have to unwrap them and do the work.

My lavish love wasn’t going to be tied up in pretty wrapping. It might look like a capsizing ship or a fiery trial.

They say be careful what you pray for…

It started with one of THOSE weeks. The kind that Murphy invented. When everything that can go wrong, does. So DARN WRONG.

I got a serious health scare. Abnormal lab results. The waiting.

There were prayers and anxiety and tears until I surrendered like a child.

Finally, the appointment.

And while the news wasn’t great, it was fixable.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

That evening my engine blew up on the freeway as I was on my way to pick up my daughter from dance. My power steering went out and my brakes. It’s always an adventure traveling on the 5 freeway at 75mph and losing the ability to steer or stop.

I dragged the wheel as hard as I could and tried to pull over, but the car just kept going and then rolled down an off-ramp. It finally slowed and came to a stop at the corner of a major intersection one hot second before I careened into oncoming traffic. I was blocking a lane, but I was alive. It was dark and I was in a construction zone. But I was alive.

Did I say I was alive?

I’m just a little grateful here. Beholden. Delighted. Filled with gratitude.

A man pulled his car up next to me and rolled down his window. He waved at me to come over. My Spidey senses were on high alert. I approached with trepidation, ready to use kickboxing or hair pulling if necessary. (I’ve seen the trailer for Taken, so I know the signs!).

But this guy was more angel than villain. He hopped out of his car and jumped into action. Turns out my hero was a mechanic in overalls. He grabbed some tools and tried to charge the battery, but my car was not responding to the CPR. Super Dude thought it was the fuel pump and encouraged me to call AAA.

Which I did. After I stopped hyperventilating and reeled in the dying cat noises.

He also told me the safest place to stand as cars flew by. It was dark, cold and truly terrifying. But this man made it feel strangely safe. Peace in the midst of total chaos. I thanked him profusely and he laughed and said he would have stayed with me, but he had to get home because his wife had dinner waiting.

It felt like a little heaven in that moment. A God rescue.

The tow truck took 2 hours to arrive, and I just stood there directing cars who got stuck behind mine. My best friend pulled up an hour later and we waited in her car until the tow guy arrived. A nice and warm toasty car with giggles and her bestie love.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

The next morning, I woke up with a scratchy throat and a headache. Then the auto shop called. The car was totaled. My only option was to rebuild the engine or donate it to Cars for Kids.

Ouch.

The scratchy throat turned into the flu. Seriously?

A few days later my dad and I went to look at cars. We found a little SUV I wanted with low mileage and a solid price and as I started to give the guy my credit info while coughing up a lung and watching my savings disappear, my stepdad whipped out his check book and said, “don’t bother with that. I got it.”

I’m sorry…what? (Insert happy dance, more coughing and tears)

And I felt loved. Outrageously. Lavishly.

God knew I needed the kind of love and support that only dear friends, random mechanics and a loving dad can bring after you’ve had a relentless shit storm.

I needed Philia: friendship and affectionate love that does not involve any passion or sexual impulse.

I needed Storge: love for family.

I needed Pragma: enduring love by my heavenly Father.

And most of all… Agape: perfect/unconditional love that only the God of the universe provides.

The child, in danger of the fire, just clings to the fireman, and trusts to him alone. She raises no question about the strength of his limbs to carry her, or the zeal of his heart to rescue her; but she clings. The heat is terrible, the smoke is blinding, but she clings; and her deliverer quickly bears her to safety. In the same childlike confidence cling to Jesus, who can and will bear you out of danger from the flames of sin.

Charles Spurgeon

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Peep Roast

FullSizeRenderIt was a simple command, really, but I suffered a mini-meltdown in my seat.

“Think of one friend you know that you can invite to the Peep Roast and send them this card.”

I looked down at the ground, I casually glanced around at everyone else thinking and writing and I choked in the death pause of uncertainty.

I couldn’t think of one person.

The truth hit me hard, painfully hard and it ached in places I didn’t know I could ache.

Here is my reality right now, I live in a Christian bubble.

No one put me here, it just happened because I let myself get comfortable.

And it’s revolting to me. It’s against everything I believe to be true about the gospel.

My kids go to Christian school. My neighborhood all goes to the church we helped start in our local area. I see the same people day in and day out. And I love this community with all my heart, but sometimes I need to get out of it a little too.

How can you invite new peeps to the Peeps Roast when you don’t know any?

When your husband is a pastor and you are a Christian writer, every conversation begins with, “Come check out our church.”

But I invite people so casually, I don’t even think about it anymore. It’s like “How are you?”–or some other greeting I drop like I don’t really mean.  It’s just a rote expression I do by routine.

When did I stop being intentional about meeting new people that are different from me?

………………….

I will never forget the night Tim when asked me where I wanted to go to dinner and I replied “Mutt Lynches.”

He looked at me like I was cray-cray, because Mutts is a rowdy bar on the boardwalk of Balboa Penninsula.  I was pregnant at the time and could barely stomach the smell of beer, barf, or people in general.

But I nodded yes vehemently because my intuition or (prompt from God) was powerful.

That night we met a group of guys and one in particular we connected with. Over too many beers on his part, he confided that his wife had filed for divorce and served him papers that day. He had come home to an empty house void of his little ones and all he held dear.

He started to tear up as he shared that he deserved it. He had put his family’s needs below his quest for success and climbing the corporate ladder. He had erroneously believed they would always be there until they weren’t.

His friends had taken him out to tie one on. But it wasn’t helping. It just magnified the pain. His friends were stunned at his admission but too drunk to know what to do.

Then he jumped up and ran out the bar.

Tim and I huddled up and decided that Tim would go after him and I would stay with all my sweet drunk friends who would protect me or vice versa.

Tim found the guy walking towards the water’s edge.

Tim walked up and asked if he could pray with him and the guy collapsed on the beach weeping.

“I was ready to kill myself,”he confessed. I was going towards the water to drown myself. I cried out to God, “If you are real, give me one sign that you love me.”

“And you found me.”

They spent a long time on the sand simply crying out to God together and lifting heavy hearts, as the waves crashed and I played beer pong with iced tea back in the bar with the guys.

We later heard from the guy that he was working hard to repair his family. He thanked us over and over.

But the gift of that evening was just as profound for us as it was for him.

I, we, want to be available when God is moving. I want to get my hands dirty and wipe the tears of the broken and spiritually wounded.

And I don’t think staying comfortable is helping.

It’s probably time to start venturing out and hanging out with some rowdy folks again. Maybe you need to get your hands a little dirty again too?

–Samantha

 

Maybe no one has invited you to an Easter service this year?  Can I?

Saturday March 26th at 5:00pm

Easter Service at Mariners Mission Viejo (with our annual Peep Roast following the service)

26862 Crown Valley Parkway, Mission Viejo

 

 

 

 

 

 

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How do I explain this Crazy to my Kids??

My friend is at the airport on her way to Hawaii.  Her family is pumped because they are heading to the Disney Island Resort of Mickey awesomeness.

But, six hours is a long time with three kids on a plane, so she herds her adorable brood of blond tots to the potty for one last go.

And this is what she encounters…

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Text from Friend: “How do I explain this to my kids?”

I won’t treat you to the text I wrote back because it’s politically incorrect.

But I will say this.  Be very careful near airports!

There are apparently uniboob half-skirted creatures walking around with surly expressions and no one can stop them from making weird faces and peeing in this airport bathroom because the government says you can pick your gender and expression.

I must confess some confusion over the peeing part.  If you are a dude and you get a sex change, do you lose or keep the unit?  Some do and some don’t right?

(In all honesty, my parent’s wouldn’t let me see the “Crying Game” which I’m sure would have explained some of this.

Do they have fake vajayjay’s?  And how do the doctors re-pipe?  Anatomy didn’t cover this and I’m afraid to Google it on my work computer.  It’s like Jr. High again.  I laughed with all the other kids about the “69” graffiti on the wall but I didn’t actually know what it meant until college.

So how do mommies and daddies explain trans-gender to the kids when we are clueless too?

I know there are a few TV shows on the Family Channel now to help us make sense of our changing culture–“I am Cait” and “Help..my dad is turning into a woman.”  But, strangely enough, I haven’t found compelled to watch.

So, here’s what I’m telling my kids.

Mommy doesn’t personally understand the motives to move towards trans-gender, but she does understand brokenness and its ramifications.  She know sadness and loneliness and the extreme measures people will go to find the elusive happiness that eludes them.

Your purpose and meaning go far beyond your sexuality.  Your identity is not in your maleness or femaleness or even in ambiguity.

Your identity is in Christ alone.  But  culture is sending a very different message to you.

The world says we can choose our identity by choosing our gender.  Mommy disagrees.  

Male and female God created them.  In God’s image.  We are all a reflection of our creator.

Our identity is in CHRIST ALONE.

I believe Trans-gender is throwing us all for a loop but it doesn’t have too.

It’s pretty simple.  Our job is to love God and love our neighbor.  And yes, that means the trans-gender neighbor-even if it’s awkward and confusing.

The truth is we are all in some type of bondage to the lies of culture.  Some of us just wear the chains on the outside and it’s more obvious.  I too have bought into the lies of sex, beauty and materialism equaling my worth.  Only a belief in something bigger can deliver us.

Trans-gender is complicated and messy and its’ really hard to explain to kids. But it’s a conversation we all need to initiate because it’s not going away. 

I hope you wrestle with this dialogue too.  Let me know what you think and how you are explaining it.

 

–Samantha

And please, I’m cool if you disagree but keep it clean. Only grown-up comments please.

 

 

 

 

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Letting God out of the Box

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Why do I limit God? 

My husband and I sit in a café and discuss buying a car.

Tim is the type of guy who becomes an expert on something before he pulls the trigger.  So by this point, he can now tell me the make, model and location of every top-rated used car under 10k in the OC area.

We’ve narrowed it down to two options—one is new and one is used.  The new car is a 2015 Hyundai Elantra and it’s AWESOME and has all the bells and whistles we “po’ ministry folk” are unaccustomed to.  It’s a deal beyond a deal but it’s also out of our budget.

The used car is well, ummm…used.  It has great gas mileage and it’s a 2006 Prius and more fiscally responsible—meaning we can afford it. it’s also good for the environment—right?

(did I mention the new car has a back-up camera, so cool!)

“What would our friend’s do?” My husband Tim asks.

“”Well we can’t compare ourselves to our neighbors because we make about a third of their incomes.”  I reply.

“Ok, who do we compare ourselves to then?” Tim responds.

“We compare ourselves to the Ramsay’s.  John is a pastor.  Deanna is a singer/speaker and works part time.  That’s an appropriate comparison.”

Tim looks at me wide eyed.  “Yeah, but Deanna won a car on the Ellen Show.”

I nod.  “Yeah, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us.”

We hold hands.  Our tummies churn and we contemplate our finances.

……

This whole car business started because of a few numbers.

  1. 366,000

A big number, certainly, It’s also the amount of miles shared between our two aging but faithful SUV’s.

  1. 16 ½

That’s how many years my son has been alive.  Not so big—but a big kid milestone.  In two short weeks, my almost senior boy/man gets his license and like any teenage boy, Kyle is ready to roll

So we start a search for an another automobile that get’s more than the whopping 12 mpg of our 2004 Expedition or the 15 mpg of my newer 2006 Xterra.

The budget is limited.  We have some money saved—enough for another really crappy car—but we also have mounting expenses from Tim’s hospital bills (spine injury and subsequent surgery), three kids this year in private school and college looming. Truthfully, it’s a tad overwhelming.

Tim finds some cars online and we debate each one’s merits like it’s a resolution in the UN.

Tim’s sweet father, upon hearing our car predicament, offers us a large chunk of change.  We are thrilled and so blessed to be cared for so lavishly!

Now we had enough to get a NEWER used car.  (And yes, for all those wondering, we could have financed a newer car but are committed to keeping our overhead low rather than raising it)

Through the car ministry at our church we are put in touch with the owner of the Hyundai dealership in Tustin.   After a great phone conversation, he invites us to his dealership and we test drive a used Elantra and with a little prompting from the salesman a new one.

(ok, it’s not like he had to push real hard)

With the tremendous discount the owner of the dealership offers us (did I mention he is a generous volunteer at our main campus?), the new car is only 3 thousand more than the used car, but still, 6 thousand more than our budget.  They are going above and beyond to bless us.  The discount is even more than employees get.

Now what do we do? Do we justify spending more because it’s a great deal?

We go and sit in the 2015 model and pray, lifting this car dealio up to God. The people in the dealership probably think we are Jesus dorks—whatever.  We close our eyes, hold hands and talk to God.  We surrender up the decision and go to lunch.

…………..

Back at the cafe we make the painful choice to let the shiny new car go.  It stings a little because it’s SO AWESOME, but we probably shouldn’t have been shopping in the lot we couldn’t afford to begin with.

I leave the restaurant and call my step-dad.  He asks what I was doing at the dealership.  I tell him about the two cars and how we have decided to stay within our budget, honor our financial goals to lower our overhead, and be responsible with the precious gift Tim’s father has given us.

“Why, don’t I give you the money?  Six thousand–I’ll just give it to you.” My step-dad offers happily.

Silent tears stream down my face.  “I wasn’t asking for money.”

“I know honey, he replies.  “I love you.  It’s a gift.”

And I think back to my own words.  “That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us,” And like Peter I am blown away at my doubts and God’s provision.

The next day we return to the dealership and climb in the new car before we write the check to take it home.  As the ignition fires up a song blasts through the car.

God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
Be my everything

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything

You are everything, You are everything
You are everything, You are everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus, everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus everything

We look at each other in amazement.  “You think God is trying to tell us something,” I weakly laugh swiping away at the tears running down my cheeks.

Back inside the dealership, Tim asks the salesman, “Did you turn it to a Christian station because you know I’m a pastor?”

The salesman replies, “No, generally the boys in the back play the thump-thump music when they get the cars ready.”

We give each other the look—the “OMG, I’m freaking out inside look.”

I call my step-dad on the way home and tell him the story.

“I’m a part of an answered prayer?” he says.

“Yep, you are.” I whisper.

“Huh.”

I can picture his bemused grin over the phone.

Later I thank God in my prayers.

And I think about the love of a father—Tim’s father who blessed us, my step-dad who surprised us so generously, and our Father God who blew us away with this gift.

We didn’t ask.  We didn’t beg.  We aren’t worthier than any other person out there.  But God through our parents gifted us anyway.

Everything.  He is my Everything.

One day later we sit in church and the last song of the service sounds familiar.

God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking

Coincidence?—I don’t think so…

–Samantha

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The Day I Met Jesus–Why it’s a Must Read

The day I Met

A few years ago I had the privilege of meeting the author Mary DeMuth at a writers conference.  I confess I was a bit nervous–I mean, she’s kind of a big deal in the Christian world.

I was already a fan–her books are beautiful and raw, with words woven together like tapestry–but Mary put me right at ease with her humble and loving spirit.

Fast forward to now: A few weeks ago, Mary sent me a copy of her latest book co-authored with Frank Viola–The Day I Met Jesus.  It’s the stories of five women from the Bible turned into narrative.

And don’t we all love a good story?

The book came at a time when my own family has been clinging to our faith and crying out for Jesus in a tumultuous and stormy season.  My husband’s back injury, nerve damage and subsequent spine surgery have been challenging, to say the least.  I’m not complaining, OK, maybe a little…but it’s been really, really hard over here. (Tear, tear, hiccup…tear)

And I have been on my knees clinging to hope.  Reading these stories resonated in my own parallel struggles.  In the dark moments, I too, am the broken woman waiting for the stones to be thrown and looking to Christ for mercy.

(Not adulterous…just broken)

But I think we can all find ourselves in these women.

Until March 17th Mary and Frank are giving away 7 bonuses to those who purchase the book from Parable.com and I wanted to share this with you because I love it and I’m guessing you will too!

I’ve included their interview here if you want to learn more about the book.

–Samantha  (And please keep up the prayers.  We deeply appreciate all your support!  Tim has a long way to go in recovery.  We are praying for full restoration of the nerves in his leg)

Interview with Frank Viola and Mary DeMuth on The Day I Met Jesus
Why did you write this book?

Frank: Back in 2007, I got an idea to create a new genre of Christian literature. I call that genre biblical narrative. The new genre would contain autobiographical fiction closely based on the Scriptural narratives and faithful to first-century history. It would also contain a nonfiction section that practically applies the narratives to our lives. Finally, it would include a discussion guide so that readers could better digest and apply the content to their lives.  It was my first book in this genre. In it, Lazarus tells the story of when Jesus came to His hometown Bethany and all the amazing things that took place there.  It is the second book in this genre.

I wanted it to tell the story of five women whom Jesus encountered, allowing each woman tell their own story. I also wanted to draw out practical lessons and critical insights from each narrative. Because I am not a woman, I couldn’t do justice to the stories on my own, so I asked the top female Christian fiction writer of our time — Mary DeMuth — to coauthor it with me.

Mary: I wrote it because I love stories, and I felt that some of these encounters with Jesus didn’t get the air time they deserved. By doing careful research and weaving more of a story arc into the five women and encounter, I hope to show people that the characters of the New Testament are actual, breathing people with stress and dysfunction and hopes just like us. Frank pioneered the idea of this book, so all credit goes to him for imagining it. I’m grateful he asked me to be a part.

Tell the story of how you two came to coauthor it.

Mary: Frank approached me about writing the fiction side of The Day I Met Jesus after he found out I wrote fiction as well as nonfiction.

Frank: When I began to think about a female coauthor for the project, I wanted it to be someone who (1) writes fiction (2) is a remarkable writer, and (3) believes in the classic tenets of the Christian faith (Jesus is divine and human, He rose again from the dead, Jesus is Lord and Savior of the world, etc.) As I investigated authors who fit the bill, I quickly thought of folks like Francine Rivers and Karen Kingsbury. But then I discovered that Mary DeMuth wrote fiction. I had known that she was a non-fiction writer, but had no idea that she could “switch hit.”

I also discovered that she was an outstanding writer of fiction as she was of nonfiction. (I regard Mary to be the Mickey Mantle of Christian literature — she has enormous power from both sides!) So Mary ended up being the only name on my “short list.” You feature five women from the Gospels. Why pick women in particular as your subjects?

Frank: Some of the most gripping, instructive, inspiring stories in the Gospels involve women. The longest recorded conversation that Jesus ever had was with a woman. And some of the most amazing things He said and did related to women. So I thought that a book in which some of these women told their own stories about Jesus would not only bring the Gospels to life in our minds, but it would also bring Jesus alive in our hearts.

Mary: Women had significant, personal encounters with Jesus, a fact that we sometimes miss, particularly since so many stories revolve around the 12 disciples(who were men). I love that we’re elevating these stories, helping people re-imagine just how radical it was that Jesus so beautifully interacted with these women.

Which one is your favorite and why?

Mary: For me, it’s hard to say. I love them all in different ways. This week, I’ll say it’s Mary of Bethany. She didn’t have a blatant “need” for Jesus. She was just downright faithful and often misunderstood. I think a lot of people can relate to that.

Frank: Mary of Bethany is my all-time favorite disciple of Jesus. This came home to me when I wrote God’s Favorite Place on Earth. (Mary was the sister of Lazarus, so she gets ample airtime in that book.)I love Mary because she knew Jesus better than most, anticipating His reactions and even His impending death. She also paid the price for loving Him, for she was falsely accused by both her sister and the other disciples (on two different occasions), mostly out of jealousy. In both situations, Mary embraced the spirit of the Lamb, refusing to defend herself. But Jesus Himself rose to her defense on both occasions. He also gave her an enduring honor that He gave no one else. would someone want to read the book?

Frank: If someone wants a good story to get tied up into . . . or if they want to see the Bible come to life in a compelling way . . . or if they want to experience Jesus Christ anew and afresh . . . or if they want to identify with people who were far worse off than they are, and see what Jesus did for them . . . or if they want to be given hope and encouragement in their situation . . . or if they are lacking love for the Lord and want that love to be rekindled . . . or if they want new motivation and fresh inspiration to follow Jesus more closely . . . or if they want to increase their faith and expectation in the Lord, they’ll want to read The Day I Met Jesus.

Mary: Someone would want to read it because it’s truly unique. It’s biblical narrative, but in short story form, but it doesn’t end there. After you’ve been absorbed into a page-turning story, Frank exegetes the wisdom from each encounter and helps you apply it to your life.ll us about the course upplements the book.

Frank: The Day I Met Jesus Master Course is designed for those who wish to delve deeper into the themes set forth in the book. It includes a workbook and 20 audio messages delivered by Mary and I. In addition, it includes 8 bonus eBooks from Mary and I. It also includes a closed forum where people can access us both directly for Q&A and dialogue. People can check it out at The Day I Met Jesus.Parable.com.

Frank: They’ll get these 7 exclusive bonuses. 1. An exclusive audio interview where Mary and I give a behind-the-scenes look at all the facets of the book. The interview covers where the idea of the book came from, why we wrote the book, what it was like collaborating, the hardest part about writing it, and much more. 2. Mary’s Book Beautiful Battle in Kindle & Nook. 2. Mary’s Book Beautiful Battle in Kindle & Nook. 3. My Book, Rethinking Spiritual Growth in PDF, Kindle, and Nook. 4. A never-before-released audio conference message entitled “A Woman Inside of a Man.” 5. Mary’s Book What To Do After People Poop on You in PDF. 6. A never-before-released audio conference message entitled “He’s Not Ashamed to Call Them Brothers and Sisters.” 7. A 15% discount off The Day I Met Jesus Master Course. Click here to order The Day I Met Jesus from Parable before March 17th and get your 7 exclusive bonuses.

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The One Thing You Need to Give Up For Lent

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What the Rhema?

They call it Rhema—those really bizarre tingles down your spine you get when you go to church and it’s like the pastor is speaking directly to you.

You look around, casually wiping the sweat from your brow and mildly freak out.  Seriously, did the dude read your journal?  Does everyone know this is your message?

No…they don’t.

But it’s a real thing—a God thing.

It’s Rhema.  When the spoken word of God penetrates into your soul and moves stuff around in you uncomfortably.

You get convicted.  Inspired.  Repentent,

Rhema.

And Rhema happened this week to me.

The sermon was on judgment and forgiveness.

Oh, wait my favorite topic. Not.

Un-forgive-ness

It coincides with an occurrence in my life where I’ve been asked to forgive something big–a debt incurred against me of a large magnitude.  

Did I say it was big?  Yeah.  BIG.

And I’m sorry I can’t be clearer.  I really hate it when people are vague, but to protect those I love, I’m asking for grace on this part.

Anyway, I alone can forgive this penalty.

Hot tears of sadness fell from my eyes when I was asked for mercy—because the truth is I want a little vengeance or at the very least control of the situation.

“Are you freaking kidding me?”  I thought.

Flashes of hurt washed over me.  I considered the fear, the uncertainty and the overwhelming burden I carried for years regarding this matter.

And a part of me revels in the fact that the consequence for this sin is too big to ever repay.

Too bad sucka… you messed with the wrong girl.

I sit in church on Sunday.  I’m not even at my church; I’m at a different one.  It’s like God is following me.

Forgiveness.  Judgement.  Hello Sam?

Na, na, na, na na…I can’t hear you Jesus.  Not listening.

And then God whispers, will you forgive this person like I forgive you?

More tears.

No God…it’s too much.

And then I think of MY too much.

How much I’ve been granted mercy.  Not once, not twice but seventy-times seven.

God promises to forgive my past, present and future sin.  I’m covered for the crummy stuff I will say tomorrow (which I inevitably will) and the hurt I will cause to others because I’m human and fantastically flawed.

What about my debt to God and others that is big to ever repay?

Letting Go

My husband shared a true story with me not too long ago about a guy he knows.

Let’s call him Todd—truthfully I don’t even remember his real name and Todd if I’ve jacked up your story, please forgive me.  It’s an analogy based on truth.  Don’t judge me buddy.

Todd was difficult at best.  He struggled to maintain relationships.  He had a harsh and brittle spirit, was generally demanding and rather unpleasant to be around.

Ever heard of that saying—hurt people hurt people?

Well, at some point, Todd got hurt and everyone else was going to pay for it.

Todd, like many of us, internalized his pain and unforgiveness and became a bitter hard shell of the person God created him to be.

One day Todd was struck down by a widow-maker heart attack.  For a short period of time Todd was clinically dead.

During the time of his non-responsiveness Todd recalls he was lifted up to heaven and then straight out of the pit of hell a chain came flying up and wrapped around his ankle pulling him down.  He heard a voice say, “You do not offer the forgiveness I’ve shared with you.” God identified individuals that he had not forgiven throughout his life.

And Todd cried and begged for a second chance.

Todd woke up from his unconscious state after a quadruple bypass surgery and turned his life into a radical testimony of grace and forgiveness.  He went to each person and exacted forgiveness to each one, releasing his bitterness. My husband says his personality is now radiant, like pure sunshine.  Todd has transformed into a loving, warm and caring person.  Todd chose to allow forgiveness to transform his life and he gives all the glory to God.

I imagine the next time Todd dies—the flight up will be easier.

I thought deeply about Todd’s story this week.

I want to be like Todd.  And hopefully, I won’t have to have a near-death experience to understand this radical type of forgiveness, but I do believe I will have to spiritually die to self—once again.

(Oh Whoop-de doo! Does this Christian thing ever get easier?)

I use the mental imagery I read about in a book on controlling anxiety.

I imagine myself walking up to a waterfall with a heavy bag of burdens.  They are like boulders I carry around.  I pry open the sack and pull out self-righteousness, then hold it out onto the streaming water and let it wash away.  I hold out vengeance, then anger and bitterness.  And I drop them one by one into the raging waters.

I leave it all in the waters of the spirit in a symbolic language of release and redemption.

And the hurt washes away in the waters as I am stretched…open…wide.  Ravaged by my own indebtedness to my Savior and convicted of my own sin.

How can I not let go of this debt?  How can I truly follow Christ if I am not willing to extend the mercy given to me?

It’s the Lenton season.  Will you join me in ridding your heart of unforgiveness? I can’t think of anything more important than this one thing  holding us back from living  abundant and joy filled lives.

I know it’s hard.  And I am in this with you.  We get hurt and we hold onto the pain tightly like a prize to validate our identity—but God has a better way.

The truth is forgiveness sets me (and you) free—not the one who hurt us.

–Sam

Will you pray for me this week?  My darling husband Tim is having spine surgery on Wed the 25th of Feb.  Please lift him up!  

And please let me know how I can pray for you?

 

Matthew 6:14-15New International Version (NIV)

14 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

 

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Re-sil-ient

It’s 2:15pm on a Monday afternoon and I’m already yawning—which is why I’m stopping at Starbucks for a little caffeine treat.  Standing at the coffee bar doctoring up my Americano, a little note pinned up on the community board catches my eye.

 Starbucks image

The writing is haphazard—a jumbled thought tossed out for the world to read (you know, like how we used to communicate before social media)

It says: Can we stay open in a world that grinds and chews—can we keep our hearts?”

I can picture the scragly unshaven college student with rolled up jeans and boots who wrote this.  (Think Lumber-Sexual)  He’s frustrated and angst ridden.  His girl has dropped him for a thirty-year old-financial planner.  His heart is crushed.  He brushes an errant lock of hair out of his weepy eyes as he stabs at the board with a push pin and leaves his note for the world to engage with.  Then he grabs his guitar and journal and trudges back out onto the mean streets of South Orange County.

I chuckle at my imaginations.

But his (or her) question haunts me. I go back and I snap a pic so I can ruminate on it further.

(Because that’s what writers do…we create drama in our minds)

I don’t know this guy’s story.  Maybe he’s in the worst pain imaginable.  Maybe he’s struggling to go on.

Maybe his heart is shattered and he wonders if he will ever love again?

And I want to wrap my arms around this hurting kid I’ve conjured up in my mind and hold on tight.

I’ll pat him on the back (just like when my own son is sad) as he cries guttural howls of pain and hiccups with snot pouring out of nose on his hipster boots.

I’ll hang with him (or her).

I’ll tell him I see your crushing sorrow.

And I will mourn with him.

Because I too remember the moments I thought I would die from pain.

Loss, betrayal, divorce, death…

But hope intervened.  Hope steered me to the shore.

So, my friend, Can we stay open in a world that grinds and chews—can we keep our hearts?”

Yes…

Yes we can. But it requires effort.

It requires an emptying of self—a (symbolic) sacrifice on the altar of entitlement where we release all the anger, bitterness and perceived control.

It requires a belief in a greater love—a hope in something bigger than the pain.

It requires eyes to see all the ways God cares and reaches out to us in the darkest night.

I think of my dear friends and loved ones who’ve walked me through trauma—certainly glimpses of Jesus with skin on.

But if I had closed myself off from them, I would have missed all the mystery and bigness of God reminding me I am never alone.  I am never forsaken.

I had to let them in.  I had to reach out for their hand in the storm.

And hold on.

An open heart embraces community.

My counselor recently commented that the healthiest people engage.  They cry easily and feel intensely—joy, sadness, and frustration.  They are present in the moment.

They are open, tender, raw and real.

They are RESILIENT.

I gasped when she said this word. Because it was a word I keep sensing in prayer.

RESILIENT.

So, my darling Starbucks friend, Can we stay open in a world that grinds and chews—can we keep our hearts?”

Yes, Yes and yes!

And I think the mere fact that you reached out on a board at Starbucks is kind of awesome.  It’s an open, bold and risky kind of move.  It shows that you aren’t giving up.

It shows resilience…

Here is the link on the card if you want to join the discussion.

(And here are a few verses to remind you of how loved you are!)

re·sil·ient

able to become strong, healthy, or successful again after something bad happens. : able to return to an original shape after being pulled, stretched, pressed, …

God says

 

 

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A Time to Plant

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As soon as day breaks, I hear the pitter patter of little feet slide open the back door to head outside.

“Mama, daddy and I are going out to the garden,” Kolby whispers in my ear.

I love the way that word sounds—“garden”—it implies so much more than an ordinary backyard.

The ordinary backyard is what I’m most familiar with. A few rogue bushes the professional gardener maintains and no more. I’ve kept my backyard simple and streamlined because life is busy enough (or maybe I was just too busy to care?).

In all truth, I’ve struggled to even keep a house plant alive. Orchids flee when they see me coming. My thumb was nowhere near a shade of green—black perhaps?

And I’m not sure I cared very much. Our backyard wasn’t a place we often visited. Yes, we barbequed and yes, we were blessed with some lovely patio furniture—thanks to our generous neighbors—but it wasn’t an inviting place. It was a square box with a large expanse of wall—yawnable at best, the before version of any good makeover story and a perfect blank palette for an episode of Backyard Crashers.

I didn’t find rest there. In fact, I didn’t really go out there.

But I do now.

It started with a trip to Home Depot and then many more trips to nurseries and Lowes. Soon, we couldn’t stop planting. I found some Hello Kitty gloves for Kolby and mini tools for tiny hands. We bought roses and fruits, herbs and vegetables. The siren call to get our hands dirty and engage in the dance of soil, sun and water won us over.

And I’m learning far more than how to grow a jalepeno, I’m learning how to live differently.

Lessons from the garden:

1. Gardens nurse a broken spirit back to health

One of my favorite books as a kid was The Secret Garden. It’s about some children who discover a walled and locked garden, break in and learn to care for it. Through their efforts they bring it back to life. Not surprisingly, they too transform in the process—one child moves from a sickly and withdrawn orphan into a lively and engaged girl, another takes her first steps after a terrible accident paralyzed her and the father of the paralyzed girl finds redemption in the restoration of his lost wife’s passion—the garden.

The garden is a metaphor for God’s deliverance—from weeds of sickness and bitterness to roots of liberation.

And just like the book, our little garden is moving within us and changing our hearts too. It has become a place of healing and recovery. In the garden we find solace and respite. I am able to pray and release hot tears to water the soil with hope and anticipation of the beauty just under the surface.

We watch our plants grow, we do all we can to assist them (water, water, water)—but ultimately we surrender to God’s will and provision—the elements are his alone. We can coax the plants to grow but not control them. We can plant the seeds but ultimately God bears the fruit.

After a brutal season of turmoil, chaos and death, our garden is a symbol of new life—both tangible and spiritual and a reminder that despair is not the end of the story.

2. The Garden awakens Delight

The garden is a place of whimsy and toil, of watching our nine tomato plants sprout baby green fruit. It’s a place where we battle rats (six down) and fight for our strawberries, a daily adventure of nurturing and culling patience and finding enchantment in the smallest buds. It’s where glorious roses parade their blooms and show off displaying their vibrant colors—like a strutting peacock’s plume.

Food tastes better when you grow it. We savor the fruits of our labor. And I know it’s organic because I grew it! We ate cilantro with our carnitas tacos the other night and the smell of the fresh herbs made the whole house smell like a taco bar.

I also find myself connecting with my husband differently. The garden is a shared project—a journey we take together, separate from work and kids sports and hurried life. When he turns and lazily smiles at me, wiping away a sweaty and dirty brow, my tummy flutters with butterflies of desire. In the garden we can be our truest selves, working side by side as partners and friends.

3. The garden connects us to the seasons of life

Living in the land of constant summer—AKA Southern California—I forget that life is not a balmy 73 degrees every day. I forget that reality is far from the Disneyland suburbia I call home, filled with Real Housewives and athletic families in yoga pants. I become anesthetized to pain because life is pretty dang comfortable and I know how to play this game all too well.

My garden reminds me that to everything there is a season…a time to plant and a time to harvest (Ecc.3:2)

And even in Orange County—land of eternal sunshine—there is a time for pain and death. I will have to replant my tomatoes in the spring because they too will wither and die.

When I forget the rhythms God placed in my life to remind me of time, I lose track of my purpose and focus. I think it’s all about the here and now (and all about me) instead of harvesting a thankful spirit. I forget to prepare for the winter and store up during the summer bounty because I think the frost will never come. I focus too much on leaving a legacy or being “more” awesome instead of drinking in the bigness of God and simply enjoying the obscurity of following a far greater light than I could ever aspire too.

How about you? Is it your time to plant a garden?

“There is always music amongst the trees in the garden but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it”.—Minnie Aumonier

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