Her eyes are big, gentle and kind. Her music is beautiful, her fingers upon keys, her body dancing, her voice singing out. In her words, her glory--I glimpse the more that is here. But she tells me she doesn't see it. Her beauty. Her value.She is displaced, feeling separate from the exquisiteness of her own soul even while she creates beauty, and is loved, so loved, here.

“I am lost,” is what she says. But she is stronger than she knows.She is beautiful but doesn’t believe it yet. Rather, she is convinced of a lie: there is no hope for her; she can never be found.Who would look for her? Who would come for the daughter who flounders, doubting her role, her purpose? How can she find her way?Who will hear the questions she whispers in the night?I am restless, God. How do I get more of You?Where are You when it is eight o’clock and my patience is gone and I’m wondering how to keep loving people while feeling completely spent?How do I pray to You when I don’t know the words?When did that lie come in, God—the lie that I’m not enough?These are the questions of the women of Breathing Eden. Do you ask these questions, too? Read More . . .

Jesus, it is even in the cracks of moments, when hearts turn themselves over, begging for hope to cover, You come.It is not only in the darkness that you enter, when tears leave us empty, parched. But it is in darkness too, when we are in the desert, wondering if You are close. And You are. We know it, yet we wonder still.The earth is aching. Pain that is too much to bear. And You bear it. In the confusion and disorder. In the darkness unleashed, You are still mighty. You are justice, in the night. You are love in the hate. You are comfort in the chaos. You are peace in the mess.Wise friends share how it is hatred that is here, a thunderous movement upon the scarred land. Hearts are calloused, but the ones who know You cry out. You hear. You are here. You do not abandon the downtrodden, the alone and desperate and afraid. Read More and pray with me . . .

You aren't swimming underwater now, waves tossing you so you aren't sure which way is down, or up. But I know this isn't how you feel. You are convinced you are sinking, that she is smarter, that you are slower. That she's prettier, that you're not so special.Come to think of it, you aren't sure what is worthwhile anymore.That job. This home. This struggle to make ends meet.You scream the prayers in the night. Father, where are you, in the middle of the mess? Do you hear my cries? Do you recognize me, even here, where it is surely only dark? Can your light shine on me? I can't find you.I don't even believe I know where to look.You say it again: Why do your words, God, feel hollow, just letters on a page? How is your voice one I can hear? Would you even speak to me? Would you even want to? How can I believe this love you have for this world is love that applies to me? Read More . . .

This Monday can feel heavy, a weight we carry. It is the expectation to not expect anything good. But we push through.We push through because we remember these days are not supposed to be easy.We push through because in the difficulty, the doubt, we choose to remember we are not alone.We choose to remember the God of Joshua, who went before and conquered armies and fulfilled every promise.We choose to remember the God of Eve and Adam in the garden, who walked with his daughter and son and delighted in being with them.We choose to remember the God of Moses and Elijah, who calls each of us by name. Read More . . .