Self-Pity Is An Inward Collapse

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Elijah replied, ‘I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.'”  I Kings 19:10

When I am physically suffering or emotionally threadbare, I am often tempted to reach for self-pity as if it were comfort. It feels familiar and promises to soothe the ache somehow.

But self-pity is a false comforter. The moment it takes hold, the lies begin to multiply. No one sees me. I am on my own. No one has ever borne what I am carrying. My world grows very small. My posture bends inward. I become closed to the people around me and, tragically, closed to the nearness of God. 

Elijah fell into it after a great spiritual battle, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion and insisting that he was the only one left. Jonah sank into it outside Nineveh, angry enough to die because God had been merciful in a way that offended him. Even the elder brother in the prodigal story stood outside the feast and nursed his resentment. In each case, God came near. He questioned. He fed. He reasoned. He invited them to step out of the cramped space of their own perspective and into the spacious, cleansing air of His.  That is what God always does. He does not indulge distorted thinking, but neither does He despise weakness. 

He wants to make sure we know there is an alternative to self-pity. It’s compassion.

Compassion turns me outward when self-pity curves me inward. Compassion humbles me enough to admit that I need help. It moves me to reach instead of retreat. I am called to let trusted people into my pain, to tell my story, to name my feelings without dramatizing them. I can, and should, confess my sin without hiding behind it.

I need a few safe people who know how to listen without flinching. They will help me re-enter the larger story where my pain is real but not center stage.  Compassion teaches me to come out of hiding and be held. Am I courageous enough?

Lord, when suffering tempts me to turn inward and make a home in self-pity, give me the humility to receive compassion. Amen

Letting Sisters Carry Me

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The strongest thing a woman can do is to let herself be carried to Jesus by her sisters. 

Do me a favor and read that first sentence again, slowly. Let it sit with you for a moment. About a month ago, God brought that very truth to my mind, and I literally drew in my breath. I couldn’t stop circling back to it. Strength and being carried feel like opposites, don’t they? But the Holy Spirit kept whispering: you show real strength and courage the moment you allow yourself to be carried… the moment you allow yourself to be vulnerable.

I’m an introvert, and solitude feels entirely comfortable. I can easily slip into isolation and believe it to be critical for “spiritual growth.” And to a point, it helps. Self-reflection helps me notice that something is off. But I’ve learned that I usually need community to helps me name what’s off. Otherwise, I stay stuck inside the echo chamber of my own head. My narratives loop. My conclusions harden. And I walk around with half-answered questions that never quite land.

In the Spirit-filled company of safe sisters, something different happens. I’m invited to put words to the swirl inside. As I speak, the fog begins to thin. They ask questions, reflect back what they hear, and gently reframe. Things that were tangled start to separate. Clarity comes because God’s presence is in the room.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”   Jeremiah 17:9

God used Jeremiah’s words to remind me that this isn’t a shaming diagnosis.  It’s a loving warning. I have blind spots, especially when I try to go it alone. If my growth depends only on my own insight, I will always plateau right at the edge of what I can see. My inner storyteller might be eloquent, but she is not a reliable theologian.

I tend to carry my issues by myself because I’m convinced I’m the only one who truly understands them. Underneath that is a quieter fear: If I don’t hold everything together myself, I will fall apart.

But here is the truth I’m slowly learning.  Falling apart in safe company is not my undoing.  It may be the doorway to my breakthrough.  Letting myself be carried by God, and sometimes by His people, is not weakness. It is a holy, trembling kind of strength.

Lord, let my unraveling in safe hands become the beginning of my healing.  Amen

Walking In The Ways Of My Parents

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Teach me to do Your will, for You are my God; Let Your good Spirit lead me on level ground.  Psalms 143:10

God fathers each of His children differently. His path for me is a solitary one, and it will never perfectly mirror the path He chose for my parents. If my parents were iconic in their faith, trying to “measure up” to their story can feel suffocating and impossible. I am not either of them, nor am I meant to be.

Scripture itself reflects this. Isaac was told by God not to go down to Egypt during the famine; Egypt was off limits to him. Yet Isaac’s son, Jacob, was led by God into Egypt in his famine and told to settle there. The very place that was forbidden to the father became the place of provision for the son. Obedience did not look identical from one generation to the next. I imagine Jacob’s confusion at first ~ doing something so different from what his father had been told must have felt risky, even disloyal. And yet it was the will of God for him.

God stretched me out of my own family’s mold in my mid-forties. Some of my views on peripheral biblical issues began to differ from those of my father and the legalistic church that shaped my early faith. The conversations were tense. His disapproval cast a shadow over our relationship for a time. But as the years passed, he saw that God’s hand was on my life, and I learned to speak of my convictions with more grace and less defensiveness. Before he died, the Lord brought us beautifully onto the same page through some “end-of-life” mercies. I treasure that.

Through all of this, God’s message has grown clearer.  I am His children first, and members of my earthly family second. Egypt may be off-limits to my father and yet, in another season, be precisely where He sends me. The point is not to replicate anyone else’s obedience, but to respond to the voice of my own Shepherd.

He is a kind Father who leads deliberately, giving His children the courage to step away from “the way our family has always done it” when He asks. The relational fallout can make us second-guess the path, but the same grace that calls us also sustains us. His voice is sometimes wild and wonderfully peculiar. His way is often solitary. But any price we pay is more than repaid in the joy of walking in step with Him, and one day, in hearing Him say, “Well done.”

I long to be shaped by You, Father, by Your Word, Your Spirit, and no one else.  Amen.

God Longs To Father Us

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Let them give thanks to the LORD for His loving devotion and His wonders to the sons of men. For he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. Psalm 107:8-9

My emotional well is deep and living on this earth leaves gaping holes that only God can fill.  It’s taken me a long time to learn how to hear Him speak.  Until then, I hid.  I blamed.  I misjudged.  But ah, when I connected, everything changed. 

I am not whole yet.  But I am not crippled anymore.  I often limp but I’ve found my legs and I feel God’s wind behind me. The healing journey of fully living as God’s child will take me the rest of my life but I’m grateful for what He’s taught me so far.  Each piece of instruction has felt like the golden whispered secrets spoken between two who love each other and can’t stop talking late into the night. 

Over the years, I’ve seen your faces in my dreams; curious, tentative, even a little hopeful that God’s love is for real and His power is available to you in all the places where powerlessness has snuffed out the promise of an abundant life.  My prayer today is that God will break through the fog of pain and misunderstanding so that you may hear His call to live. 

It is time to put down the sword against those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give us what we needed.  Our heavenly father has it all and is willing to share it all. Some of it is deferred, but it is ours nonetheless, and is waiting for us as we step into eternity and breathe celestial air.

“Your fame spread among the nations on account of your beauty, because the splendor I had given to you made your beauty perfect,” declares the Sovereign Lord.   Ezekiel 16:14

WHEN I AM VILIFIED

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Even though princes sit plotting against me, your servant will meditate on your statutes.  Psalm 119:23

David was slandered by Saul. He was opposed even by his own son. Those who follow Jesus should not be surprised when they, too, are misunderstood, misrepresented, and vilified. There will always be those offended by the gospel, and some of them will not remain quietly offended. They will rise up to resist what they cannot control, explain, or receive.

What makes vilification so painful is not only the wound itself, but the hand from which it comes. When it comes from a stranger, it is easier to absorb. When it comes from a respected member of the community, the pain deepens because credibility carries influence, and influence can shape how others see us. But when it comes from family, or from those once trusted, it can be especially devastating unless the soul is anchored by a strong spiritual rudder.

Jesus was scorned by religious leaders and condemned by rulers. Their power was formidable, yet He never lost His way. He was grounded in His mission and lived in unbroken communion with His Father. He did not react out of fear, nor did He alter His message to preserve His reputation. John the Baptist, too, provoked the rage of Herod and Herodias, yet their hostility did not weaken his voice. He understood that truth will always disturb darkness, and that kingdom clashes are never merely personal. There is a deeper battle beneath them.

I am to endure scorn without losing my way, I must live deeply in the Scriptures and learn the abiding language of communion with the Spirit. I must expect resistance without becoming hardened by it. Jesus prepared His disciples to be spiritually discerning and sober-minded. “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you.” I am not fully at home here. I belong to another kingdom, and this world will often find that foreignness unsettling.

Lord, when I am misunderstood, guard my heart from bitterness. Keep me from scrambling to defend myself in the flesh. When I am wounded by words, root me more deeply in the silence where Your voice still speaks truth over me. Let me not be shaped by accusation, but by communion. Amen

 

The Secret of a King

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The secret of my spiritual success today does not reside in clever planning. The secret was revealed by a king. King David. “I do not involve myself in great matters, or in things too difficult of me. Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; like a weaned child rests against his mother.” Psalm 131

Resting in God is underrated. A rested and quieted soul is always ready to hear His voice. And in matters where it’s easy for me to fail, my Father’s voice is my assurance of victory. I will be still. I will draw close. I will listen.  I will do something different from the rest of the world, where noise and distraction dull good judgment and threaten righteous choices.

I will never outgrow the needs of a child who needs her Father for everything.

Hopeful Countenance

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Lift up your heads, O gates! And be lifted up, O ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in. Psalm 24:7

God spoke to His people and commanded them to lift their heads. He went out to battle on their behalf and assured them that He would come back victorious.  Raising a hopeful countenance to their Deliverer took faith, and the waiting was difficult, no matter how beautiful the promise.

I recall when Joseph told the Pharaoh’s cupbearer, who was falsely accused, that Pharaoh would lift up his head in three days. The Hebrew idiom paints a beautiful picture. It is when the one shrunken in shame is restored to his position of honor. It’s also used other places in scripture that expand its beauty.  King David, on the run from Absalom with just the clothes on his back, turned to God for vindication. He climbed the Mount of Olives, covered his head, wept, and said, “You, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high.” Psalm 3:3. As king, David could have formed an army to get back his throne but he abandoned such ideas. He recognized that God was his rescuer.

Who has stripped you of your honor?  No matter what the context, the experience is gut-wrenching. Your mind runs tapes of the accusations made against you as your body language turns inward.  Perhaps you have vowed to take revenge, to get back what you’ve lost, no matter who has to pay. It’s easy to get tired of waiting for your Redeemer to ‘redeem’ and take up your own cause.

The hardest thing for any of us to do is to wait on God to move. He always will; we just don’t know when. In the meantime, waiting is never wasted. God draws near, comforts us with just the right words framed with compassion.  Each disclosure is a treasure upon treasure, the kind only found in the darkness. He is our King and He is the lifter of our heads.

Satan offered you a way out of waiting when he offered you the kingdoms of the world in exchange for worship. Thank you for not caving. Everything would have been lost. So teach me to wait! Amen

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Where’s The Shelter?

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Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. Psalm 91:1

There are not many truly safe places in this world. When you feel like you’re coming apart, when you honestly can’t hold it together anymore, you will start mentally scanning your places of refuge. As people come to mind, you wonder if all of your disclosures will be welcomed. Will they be received the way Jesus would receive them? Without shock, without dismissal, and without subtle judgment? Most of us know the answer. Partially. The relief is usually limited. So there are details you will still keep back, corners you will still guard.

Not so with God. He doesn’t simply provide a shelter; He is the shelter. We are hidden in Christ. With Him, no disclosure is too personal, too raw, or too desperate. As we begin to unburden our souls, Jesus does more than listen. He assesses the damage the enemy has inflicted and begins spiritual surgery. He reframes what we’ve lived through with perfect wisdom. He uncovers lies, clarifies the truth, and starts rebuilding weakened foundations.

His Word becomes the iron in the framework of our minds and emotions, the unseen strength inside a life that has learned where true safety really is.

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Deuteronomy 33:27

The Effects Of You

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Make your face shine upon your servant, and teach me your statues.  Psalm 119:135

When lovers walk into the same room after a long separation, there is a pregnant moment when their faces light up, wordless exclamations pour out, and then arms are open to embrace without any thought of restraint.  Sheer happiness causes their faces to glow.

One of the meanings of ‘shine’ in this text is what happens when the sun arises at daybreak.  The dark begins to abate with the glorious entrance of light on the horizon.  It is not just any light; it is a bit orange and golden.  Nothing resembles a sunrise because it has characteristics all its own.  Perhaps David is trying to convey that God is so warmed by His children that His countenance is transformed when He sees us.  It is like the dawning of a sunrise upon the heart.  What a beautiful picture.

To feel the warmth of His smile is to have the best of all gifts today. I can stand in any storm if I know His face is turned toward me. I can find endless reserves of strength if I know that His face is traced with tenderness.  David did not ask for more power, more wealth, or even more peace.  He asked for God’s smile.  In the radiance of God’s favor, David wants to be taught.  Instruction is never more effective than when one worships the Teacher.  David  is the star pupil in a class of one.  God is not a distant professor but a warm, engaging, and storytelling Father.

Bring to me the sunrise of your smile, Father.  Then let my face be radiant with all the effects of You.  Amen

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Learning God’s Pace

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Keep steady my steps according to your promise, and let no iniquity get dominion over me. Psalm 119:133

When I was young, my parents used to say I played “nervous music.” Whenever our family was getting ready for a special event, I was usually the first one dressed. I’d come downstairs, slip onto the piano bench, and launch into something fast and demanding—maybe a Bach fugue, maybe a string of Hanon exercises at full speed. It was my way of burning off the dread of being around people, my introverted heart bracing itself for crowds and conversations. What no one knew then was that my nervous music was almost always accompanied by a nervous stomach. My body was preaching a sermon I didn’t yet know how to hear: You’re pushing too hard.

This morning I woke up with the image of a sprinter in my mind; a runner exploding out of the starting line, using everything he has in the first stretch. He looks impressive for a moment, but he won’t win. The one who finishes well is the one who knows how to pace himself. A wise runner still exerts effort, still strains and sweats, but he does it with steadiness.

The same is true of a life lived for Jesus. He has never asked me to be the fastest or the brightest. He asks me to show up, to stay on the track, to keep moving with Him. The temptation, though, is always there to compete, to impress, to push past my limits so I’ll stand out. That kind of striving feels spiritual on the surface, but it ends in a crash. It’s not holy; it’s just adrenaline in a religious disguise.

I’m learning that my Father is not a taskmaster with a stopwatch; He is a Shepherd who graciously offers me the grace I need for a kind, steady pace. There is a deep stability in measured steps. Even in seasons when I have an abundance of energy and ideas, there is still a “right pace” for me, and God is faithful to show me how to channel it instead of being consumed by it. But when I feel myself driven, bearing down, and internally sprinting, I know it: I’ve slipped out of my holy gait.

Better to slow, breathe, and fall back in step with You. Help me. Amen