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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

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

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

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.

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

You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. Psalm 91:6-7

In the original Hebrew, these verses were thought to pertain to flesh-and- blood enemies.  But hundreds of years before Jesus, the Jews who translated this passage into Greek understood that these enemies were demonic forces.  Demons are referenced all through this Psalm. 

There’s a lot to learn about the demonic; why they present themselves in certain places and not others, and what must be done to close the door to their activity.  None of us needs to fear dark spirits. If we grasp the power and authority that is ours in Christ, they will fear us!   

Having traveled extensively, I’ve stayed in all kinds of places.  Each has a history. Wherever historical atrocities have been committed, there is a demonic residue that remains.  Think of every hotel room ~ how many people stay there. Think of what has transpired.  The first thing I do after unlocking the door is address the darkness, pray scripture, and use my God-given authority to cleanse it.  I’ve spent many sleepless, fitful nights in rooms I’d been too lazy to take care of beforehand.  Agitation and bad dreams ruined my stay.  Believe me, it’s not worth ignoring it. 

I’ve also stayed in many homes.  Some felt peaceful when I entered.  Others felt dark as soon as I pulled in the driveway.  

It’s instinctive to fear enemies we cannot see, but God sees them. He is a kind Father who equips His children to prevail over spiritual forces.  In Christ, we have every weapon to fight, and win.  Every sniveling, pathetic creature, even high-ranking spirits, will tremble when saints know how to wield the sharp sword of the Word of God.

Hidden in You, I am feared by Your enemies.  Thank you.  Amen

Will you not revive us again: that Your people may rejoice in you? Psalm 85:6

I’ve known periods when I couldn’t seem to hear God’s voice. Pain and discouragement veiled His voice.  He was there but I couldn’t sense Him.  He was guiding me, but I couldn’t discern the guidance.  It was a spiritual battle to just believe that I wasn’t alone. 

I’ve also known periods where God seemed very much engaged with me.  So much of what I read impacted me like electricity to my spirit.  Answers to prayer came in quick succession.  My pen couldn’t seem to capture the litany of things I was being taught by God.  I lived on a mountaintop and journal entries read with the intensity of someone in love.

But most of life is lived some place in the middle – in between being fully alive and partially dulled.  There are inspiring moments but mostly, days require spiritual discipline to walk faithfully.  It can be confusing.  You’d be hard pressed to describe what is wrong.  It’s a nagging malaise and you’d give anything just to feel something again.

What precipitates a journey into numbness?  The crash after a mountaintop.  The day after a victorious battle.  The period following prolonged stress.   A season during which multiple changes are occurring.  The flesh is tired.  The heart is spent.  Only God knows how to restore and revive.

If you are there today, let me write a prayer using today’s scripture as a springboard.  This is the beginning of healing. 

“Revive me, Lord!  I’m bringing my lifeless heart to you.  Something has dulled it.  I don’t know myself well enough to even diagnose why I’m in this condition.  All I know is ~ I want to want You again.  I want to be thrilled by Your voice.  I want to be alive to Your Word.  Give life to my lifeless heart.  In Jesus name, Amen”

The story is told of an actor known for his readings and recitations of the Classics. He always ended his performance with a dramatic recital of Psalm 23. Each night, without exception, as the actor began his recitation — “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” — the crowd would listen attentively and then rise with thunderous applause, in appreciation of the actor’s ability to bring the psalm to life. 

One night, just before the actor was to offer his customary recital of Psalm 23, a young man from the audience spoke up. “Sir, would you mind if tonight, I recite Psalm 23?” 

The actor was surprised by this unusual request. However he invited the young man to come onto the stage to recite the psalm; curious to see the how the ability of this youth weighed against his own talent.  

Softly the young man began to recite the words of the psalm. When he was finished, there was no applause. There was no standing ovation as on other nights. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping. The audience had been so moved by the youth’s recitation that every eye was tearful. 

Amazed by what he had experienced, the actor queried, “I don’t understand. I have been performing Psalm 23 for years. I have a lifetime of experience and training — but I have never been able to move an audience as you have tonight. Tell me, what is your secret?” The young man humbly replied, “Well sir, you know the psalm…but I know the Shepherd.”

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalm 23:6

Ask a college student why they are eager to go home on Spring Break, and all kinds of answers emerge.  Sleep in. See their dog. Eat their favorite foods.  Go to their favorite local places with friends.  What might be far down on the list is spending time with parents.  

But heaven?  My Father is the center of my joy and the source of all other pleasures.  The feasting, prepared by God’s own hands, is depicted earlier in this Psalm.  Oil that runs abundantly over His child’s head is also described.  All of this portrays lavish hospitality in the Near Eastern culture.  This is a Father who satiates His children with unfathomable abundance. David says elsewhere, in his prayer to God, that he feasts on the abundance of God’s house and basks in the rivers of His delights.  

The word ‘delights’ is built from the same root word for Eden! Paradise restored.  The ending of our mortality is only a new beginning.  I shouldn’t be calling death the ‘end of life stage.’  It is the ‘embryo for new-life-stage.’  

It doesn’t feel good to go home and be treated like a guest; there are limits and a certain formality.  I’m not free to roam and fully relax. I can’t get a drink or fix myself a meal without it being offered.  Or, I know I have to ask for it.  I will not be a guest in the house of the Lord.  I will be home.  God’s lavish hospitality will be poured out on sons and daughters.

Someone once said, “Homecoming is hope with a scent: the moment your heart recognizes what your eyes haven’t seen in years.”  We might assume that to experience nostalgia, we have to have known it before.  Ah, but that is the grand mystery of heaven.  We are going home, and although we’ve never been there, it will feel like a homecoming.  All along, this eternity was put in our hearts.  

I can’t wait, God.  Amen