Important things happen on the mountains and in the valleys; important things happen in the highs and lows of life, and I need to be fully present for both.

Rest can be kind of scoffed at under the guise of I don’t have time to rest or Nobody will let me rest. Those two sentiments feel absolutely true, no matter what. Whether you work from home or not, whether you’re a mom or not, whether you’re married or not — there are always phases of time when we feel like rest is a luxury. Friends, it is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

Finding peace in the midst of turmoil is like finding the other sock that was eaten by the dryer monster: it’s frustrating and darn near impossible, even though you swear you both of them in. We think we can achieve peace on our own but we just can’t. There are too many external factors that shift like the sand at high tide.

That’s the thing about forgiveness. We can go about our daily work and it can seem like the unforgiveness isn’t touching us at all. We still have good relationships here and there, we’re doing our work in excellence because we’re putting everything in a box. Well, the unforgiveness box leaks. It’s a small drip that, if not tended to when it’s small, turns into a massive issue that makes a mess of everything.

Prayer doesn’t “work” the way that we think of the word “work”. Prayer is the verb. It’s a noun with itself as the working verb. You pray a prayer because your heart needs more than earth can provide at that moment. You pray a prayer because overwhelm is threatening your sanity. You pray a prayer because of your Even If. Because, friend, I promise you, Even If will be Even when at some point.

Let’s not be so nit-picky with ourselves. Let’s be quick to listen to our hearts, our minds, and our bodies and what they need. Let’s be quick to listen to the voice of Jesus as he tells us who we are and who he’s making us into. Let’s be slow to get angry with our imperfections. Remember what my 5-year-old said when she and I were having a talk (you know what I mean): Nobody is perfect. Let’s not pretend to be and let’s not get angry with ourselves for something we literally cannot be.

Those moments matter so much. They are it. You are bringing heaven to earth when you invest in people, because people is why God did what he did. People is God’s love language.

But since my trauma and heartache matters to God and your trauma and heartache matter to God, we have to remember: so does everyone else’s.

Even if every external factor of your life is the same today as it was yesterday, see if you can make space for your soul to walk on the sure ground that is a heavenly father who made you, who loves you, who has a purpose for you.

We’re still here. And since we’re still here, we’re meant to be a part of this story, and if we’re meant to be a part of the story then we are meant to be part of redemption. We’re meant to see redemption and we’re meant to experience redemption and we’re meant to be a picture of redemption.

To make peace is to seek peace and pursue it (Psalm 34:14). Sometimes that’s starting an interaction with a smile; sometimes that’s setting a boundary, firm and fair, that protects someone or something. Sometimes seeking peace and pursuing it is easier at home, sometimes it’s easier beyond the home.

So many opportunities to practice acceptance of kairos. So many chances to truly say, in the deepest part of your heart:
Your will; not mine.
Your time; not mine.
Your story; not mine.
Your kingdom; not mine.

From what I’ve experienced and from what I know my friends and family have experienced in this last year, we are worn out.
Worn out from the political divides and the nastiness.
Worn out from the COVID restrictions and the social limitations.
Worn out from forced homeschool and the social skills regression we’ve seen not only in our kids but in ourselves.
We’re worn out from the weather (or is that just me?) and we’re worn out from our jobs, from video chatting, and from unfair expectations coming from every which way.

He’ll sustain in the morning, afternoon and evening.
He’ll sustain in the praising and in the asking.
He’ll sustain in the highs and in the lows.

Intimacy with God is within our grasp, if only we would spend the time and energy to pursue it.

It all matters. It all gets poured into ground that becomes fertile soil for the kind of families we want to raise. The families that hang out with each other because they want to, not because they have to. The families that spend time with one another out of love, not obligation. The kind that fills the next generation’s home with kindness, grace, love, truth, silliness, and sunshine.

There are policies and systems and issues that are not to be taken lightly, things that are not to be dismissed. Also, you will always hear me talk about how we could do so much better in working together. You’ll always hear me say: if it’s not in scripture, my answer leans closer to “I don’t know” than anything else, because I. Don’t. Always. Know. And neither do you. Neither do your friends. Neither do the prophets you listen to. Our feelings get so intermingled with our faith, that even when we’re constantly checking ourselves against scripture, we are not God. We can’t know it all 100%.

Words make the biggest difference. It’s the request vs. the demand, the insult vs. the compliment, the bridge building vs. bridge destroying, the helping vs. the hurting, the encouraging vs. discouraging, the blessing vs. the cursing, the building up vs. the tearing down. They don’t even have to be perfect. Just authentic and kind, true with tact, gracious, generous, and encouraging.

What asking does, in my opinion and in my experience, is remind me of my limited human capacity. In an earthly sense, I can only do what I can do. I come in juuuust under 5 feet tall, so I ask for things on the top shelf all the time. I mean, sometimes I climb up on the counter or step on the bottom shelf or do the jump-and-grab, but sometimes I ask the nearest person for some assistance. I’m also one human and I need help sometimes.

If we can take our earthly eyesight and turn on our spiritual eyesight, toward others and toward ourselves. (That means remembering that you’re made in the image of God as much as your neighbor is.)
If we can take our earthly hearts and open them up, as God asks us to, and see with the heart of a child of God.
Anything is possible.