Tag: Devotional

Life After Easter

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Easter was hard for me this year.

For starters, it was the first time in 44 years I didn’t get an Easter basket. I know, I know, poor me. But seriously, when you all of a sudden end a tradition after that many years, it’s quite a jolt to the system.

Nah, it wasn’t that I missed the basket full of Russell Stover cream eggs, it was more that I missed the person who always gave me the basket—my mom.

My mom loved Easter. Growing up, we had decorative eggs all over the place, along with bunny figurines and tulips in vases that looked like lettuce. My mom especially loved Easter egg hunts. Mom hosted my 2nd grade class Easter party, and she hid so many eggs, we were still finding them in July.

As I got older, Mom started hiding eggs with money in them, and as she got older, she wrote down each egg’s location in case I didn’t find one and she had to go back and retrieve her cash.

And then there were the Easter egg hunts for the neighbors. These had a special twist, with the surprises in the eggs being a little less Cadbury mini egg and a little more Crown mini bottle.

Like I said, the woman loved an egg hunt!

But Easter isn’t really about eggs and baskets and bunnies. Easter is about celebrating life after death.

I’ve thought a lot about that over the past two weeks, and I’ve realized something: when we say “life after death,” we are usually thinking about what that means for the deceased. We think about heaven. We think about the hereafter. We think about eternal life.

But what if we flip it and consider what “life after death” means for the people still living? What does it mean for my life after the death of my mom? What does it mean for me to live after the death of Jesus?

Regardless of who has died, I think a few things remain the same. We want the person’s legacy to live on. We want people to know who they were. We want to share what they taught us.

For my mom, that means we have a few extra desserts. We travel. We balance appreciating the finer things in life with digging in the dirt. We take time to stop and smell the roses.

For Jesus, it means we do our best to love the Lord with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our mind and with all our strength. It means we love our neighbor, and it means we love ourselves (Mark 12:30-31).

Living life after losing someone isn’t easy, to say the least. Sometimes we’re left with guilt or anger or more questions than answers. We’re often on an emotional roller coaster, and I know for me, just when I think things are going ok, grief jumps up and knocks me flat on my back.

But Easter gives us hope and offers us grace. Easter teaches us death isn’t an end, it’s a beginning, and there is life after death for all of us, whether we’re talking about in the here and now or the hereafter.

Ultimately, Easter is a call to action, a challenge to use what we’ve learned from the people we’ve lost to make life better for ourselves and for others. Whether we’re talking about a family member, a friend, or Jesus himself, our job is to take the love they gave us during their lives and pass it on.

Because let’s face it: Easter isn’t a one-day celebration—it’s a reminder to live intentionally all year long.

Living Life Line By Line

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Third grade is no joke. It’s the real deal, where the rubber meets the road and lessons start to get tough. Third grade means multiplication tables and cursive writing, and for Reeves, it has meant the dreaded Reader’s Notebook.

In the simplest terms, Reader’s Notebook requires Reeves to read a few chapters in a book and then write a full page entry about what he read.

What we figured out early on was that Reeves could tell us every single thing that happened in the story. He could make predictions and connections and all the other English-y things teachers look for, but getting all that down on paper was a completely different story. When he saw that blank sheet of paper staring up at him, he froze. It was paralyzing for him to think he had to fill it up.

A counselor taught us a strategy to help Reeves. She suggested he use a blank sheet of typing paper to cover up everything but the first line of the notebook paper. Once he’s written on that first line, he moves the typing paper down so he can see the second line and fills it up. Reeves continues this revealing process line by line until he has, indeed, written his entry on the entire sheet of paper.

This new method works like a charm. Now that Reeves only has one little space to focus on instead of a whole sheet of paper, his anxiety disappears. He knows he can handle one line at a time.

Lately, I find myself thinking of this strategy a lot because I know exactly what Reeves has been feeling.

Three years ago, Brooks was diagnosed with Apraxia of Speech, and even though I still can’t tell you exactly what it is, I can tell you he struggles with communication, and that struggle often leads to frustration and aggression because he knows exactly what he’s trying to say, but he has trouble getting the words out.

The other thing I know about Apraxia is that there’s no set timeline for treatment. Some kids work through their speech difficulties in elementary school. Others overcome them in middle school. And still others deal with them their entire lives.

Not having an end in sight is terrifying.

When I look too far ahead, I feel just like Reeves does when he stares at a blank sheet of paper. It just seems so vast, and I don’t have any idea how the story is going to go.

I start filling in that blank page of Brooks’ future with all sorts of worries—Will he need to go to a special school? Will he go to college? Hold down a job? Get married? I mean, you name it, I’ve worried about it.

It’s overwhelming and daunting to have so many unknowns.

I’ve worked really hard since January to change my focus, to use my own cover sheet to zero-in on the week ahead and not think about years from now. I remind myself to celebrate the growth we see at therapy each session. I remember to be thankful for the tremendous therapists we have worked with. I try to take joy in the crazy words Brooks actually can say, like, oddly enough, the name of every dinosaur that ever roamed the earth.

Does it always work? Nope—absolutely not. But I’m giving myself grace and focusing on progress over perfection for myself and for Brooks. What I have to remember is today is doable. One day at a time. One word at a time. One prayer at a time.

I don’t know what challenge you’re facing, friend. It could be related to your work, your health, your relationships, or your children. But I do know that God doesn’t want us to think too far ahead. He wants us to trust that He will provide what we need for today and that it will be enough.

The Message version of Matthew 6:34 says, “Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.”

It’s not easy by any means, but when life gets tough, let’s try to take it line by line, remembering that God is the author of our stories, and He has promised to make them good.

Praying Through Fear

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Ever since he learned to talk, Jackson has been asking questions.

“Can we leave the Christmas tree up til my birthday?”

“Why doesn’t Panda Express have real pandas?”

“Can we have tacos for dinner every . . . single . . . night?”

Monday night, though, his questions took a more serious tone.

I was at the kitchen table trying to finish the yearbook and was quickly losing my patience because Jackson wouldn’t go back to his room and take a shower by himself. After going back and forth for five minutes over why I would not, in fact, go back to my room to sit on my bed and wait for him to get clean, Jackson finally confessed that the reason he always wants Alex or me with him is because he’s scared someone will be in the house, like the lump under his covers he thinks is his pillow will turn out to be a person waiting to grab him.

That tugged at my mama heart, y’all. After I went through all of the reasons why that scenario was highly unlikely and assured him he was safe, Jackson looked at me and asked:

“Mom, do you ever get scared at home?”

Uh-oh . . . I was in trouble.

See, my truthful answer would be, “All the time! Why do you think I sleep with my car keys and the wasp spray beside my bed when Daddy is out of town? And don’t get me started on my irrational paranoia around closed shower curtains.”

I wanted to be honest, but I also didn’t want to send him into a tizzy, so I just said, “Sure, sometimes.”

“Well, what do you do?”

That was a question I was better prepared to answer.

“Well, I do what I can do to stay safe, and then I pray for God to be my fortress and my shield.”

Jackson thought about it for a second, decided it sounded like a good idea, and headed down the hall to take a shower.

My answer was 100 percent true–I do pray for God to be my fortress and my shield. I take comfort envisioning myself in a stone castle that’s impenetrable to any sort of boogey man, thanks to God’s bubble of safety and protection. That mental picture helps me fall asleep.

As I thought about it, I realized it would probably be a good idea to have Jackson memorize that fortress and shield verse. That way, when he’s scared, he can recite it to himself. I figured it probably wouldn’t hurt for me to memorize it too. Might cut down on my reliance on Raid.

There’s just one problem . . . I’m not great at memorizing scripture.

It’s funny because recently someone complimented my book, saying I have “such a good command of the scriptures.” I had to laugh and confess that what I really have is a good command of the Google.

I always remember parts and pieces of scripture, but never the whole thing, and never, ever chapters and verses. So while I knew to pray for God to be my fortress and shield, and I knew those words were in a psalm, I had absolutely no idea which one. I had to Google all the key words to come up with Psalm 18:2: The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer, my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Hmmm . . . that’s a biggie. And what, pray tell, is a “horn of salvation” anyway? I wasn’t so sure either one of us was going to have much success memorizing this one.

While I may not be the best at getting entire verses to stick in my head, a little four-line rhyme is right up my ally. I think it has something to do with all the Shel Silverstein poems I read when I was younger. To this day, I can still recite There’s Too Many Kids in This Tub.

Taking all of that into consideration, I wrote the prayer below, in hopes that my boys can remember it when their fears are creeping in. It’s a prayer for them, but I’ve tucked it away in my heart too.  Because no matter how old we are, we all have fears. And while they may be vastly different, the way to conquer them remains the same: by trusting in God.

Dear God,

You are my fortress and my shield.

With your comfort, I am filled.

You protect me from my fear.

I’m thankful that you’re always near.

Amen

Keep On Keepin’ On

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Do you ever stop and ask yourself, “Is anyone even listening to me?”

Please tell me you do.

As a teacher and as a mom, I ask myself this question at least once a day.

It usually involves a situation like this:

“Hey, Bud, didn’t I just ask you to sit down?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why are you still wandering around my room?”

Or a little something like this:

“Didn’t I just tell you to get off your brother?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why are you sitting on his head?”

In times like these, I wonder if I’ve lapsed into Chinese without knowing it. Or maybe Spanish. Or maybe the words got stuck inside my head and never even made it out of my mouth to begin with. Maybe I just imagined speaking out loud because surely, surely, my sweet students and children wouldn’t disregard my directions so completely.

I often get so frustrated, I want to throw in the towel and stop asking anyone to do anything. What’s the point if everyone is just going to ignore me, right?

Wrong.

A few years ago, a friend shared her family’s tradition of praying in the car on the way to school. She made it seem like a treasured, idyllic way to start the day. It made good sense to me since everybody would be fresh and (trapped) in one place, so I thought we’d give it a try. I pictured us like the von Trapps, matching clothes and smiling faces, enjoying a special time of bonding and togetherness.

It was not.

Jackson, my people-pleasing first born, was more than happy to join in the prayers, but Reeves? Reeves was not interested in the least. In fact, instead of praying, he barked.

Like a dog.

The entire time.

Needless to say, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I felt like an epic failure. I mean, seriously, what kind of mom can’t get her five year old to pray? My only consolation to this disheartening turn of events was that if God could understand the Holy Spirit’s groans in Romans 8:26, maybe He could understand Reeves’ barks too.

His barking continued for a few days, until finally, at my wits end, I told Reeves he didn’t have to pray, but he did have to be respectfully quiet.

That helped–a little. Instead of barking, Reeves switched to a low growl for a few days, and after that, he just sat in silence, staring out the window while Jackson and I said our prayers. I honestly didn’t even think he was listening to us.

So imagine my surprise one morning a few months later when we were almost to school, and I heard Reeves say, “Mom, we need to pray.”

I was so shocked, I almost ran off the road. The child who I thought wasn’t paying me any attention had actually been internalizing everything we were doing . . . and he wanted to keep doing it. I was blown away.

These days, if we make it to the baseball field without praying, Reeves is the one who reminds us we need to get started since we’re almost to school. His prayers are simple and heartfelt, and in those moments, I’m thankful I didn’t throw in the towel. In those moments, I’m reminded of 2 Chronicles 15:7, when the Spirit of God tells Asa: But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded.

That’s the tricky thing about parenting . . . and teaching . . . and living life in general, really—we never know what people are listening to, what they’re picking up on, what words are making their way from the ears to the heart.

So let this be a word of encouragement for you today. Keep on keepin’ on, friend. Keep saying those prayers, keep speaking those truths, keep sowing those seeds. After all, we never know what will end up taking root and changing someone’s heart.

She Said What?

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Picture it . . . Shandon . . . 2007.

A dashing, blue-eyed guy is making plans to take his favorite girl out to dinner. He feels confident because he knows he’s chosen her favorite restaurant, but he’s nervous at the same time. You see, dear reader, he’s decided tonight is the night. Tonight is the night he’s going to do it. Tonight, he’s going to go all the way.

Tonight . . . he’s going to tell his girlfriend he loves her.

(Seriously, get your head out of the gutter! Where’d you think I was going with that? This is not that type of blog.)

And so, after a wonderful evening of delicious food and delightful conversation, he prepares to say good night. He wraps his girl in his arms, he leans down, nuzzles into her curls and whispers those three special words:

“I love you.”

There is a pause . . .

The girl’s breath catches . . . she gazes up at him with those sparkling green eyes of hers . . . and she says, with all sincerity,

“Thank you.”

Doh!

Talk about awkward.

Obviously, that was not the response Alex was hoping for that night. And it wasn’t really the one I meant to give him, it’s just he caught me a little off guard, and those were the first words that came out of my mouth. I think we can all agree he should just feel lucky I didn’t laugh in his face, as is my natural tendency in emotional situations.

Thankfully, Alex was able to shake off the utter devastation of my reply and give me a second chance, but I still maintain I wasn’t totally off base in my response.

Because here’s the thing, I was thankful for Alex’s love for me then, and I’m even more thankful for it now.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the easiest person to live with. I can be stubborn and sassy and even a little bit salty when the mood strikes. To be honest, I like things my way, I have high expectations, and I may “breathe heavily” and steal the covers on occasion. There are plenty of days when I can’t figure out why in the world Alex loves this hot mess express. On those days especially, I don’t feel like I deserve his love, so I am genuinely thankful he continues to tell me he loves me day after day.

I feel the same way about my relationship with God sometimes too. I don’t understand why He loves me so much. I’m flawed in so many ways, and I know I must frustrate Him to no end, and yet, His love never fails.

The problem is while I had no problem telling Alex thanks that night long ago, I don’t do a very good job of stopping to thank God for His love, which is a shame, considering it’s the greatest gift ever given.

God’s love is free of charge to every single one of us. There’s nothing we have to do to earn it, and there’s nothing we can do to erase it. As Paul writes in Romans 8:39, nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

When life gets rough, it’s easy to forget that truth. I get all wrapped up in my feelings of guilt or shame. But the good news is this: Stubborn, sassy, or a little bit salty, God loves me no matter what, and friend, He loves you too.

So today, let’s “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever” (Psalm 107:1). God’s love is something we don’t deserve; it’s unconditional, given to us through nothing but God’s own grace and mercy.

And because of that, all we need to do, all we really can do, is open our hearts and say, “Thank you.”

I Got Your Mat

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One of the top items on my bucket list has always been to ride a mechanical bull. I have absolutely no idea why or how that made it to the top of my list other than I’ve always loved the soundtrack to Urban Cowboy, which features a picture of John Travolta riding a mechanical bull on the album cover.

Regardless, whatever the reason, it’s been a dream for as long as I can remember.

So, imagine my delight last April when my high school friends and I took a girls’ trip to Nashville. I knew this was my chance to make my dream come true, and I . . . was . . . pumped!

Oddly enough, there aren’t as many mechanical bulls in Nashville as you might think. Hot chicken on every corner—you bet! Mechanical bulls—not so much.

But my girls were bound and determined to find me a bull, and after a lot of time on the Google, they came up with two options.

The first bull was located at an establishment with a name that would make you blush, and we decided no self-respecting ladies from Rock Hill would dare cross that threshold. Our mamas raised us better than that, after all.

But my crew wasn’t about to call of the search so quickly. We kept looking and finally found a bull at an upstanding establishment, Nashville Underground, so we pulled on our boots and headed down Broadway to check an item off my bucket list.

When we arrived, there was a bit of a crowd, but that wasn’t going to slow us down. Ashley headed straight for the front of the line and sweet talked the bouncer into helping us out. (Bless him, he probably realized we were up way past our bedtime and felt sorry for us!)

We were in, and I was ready!

Long story short, riding that mechanical bull was as thrilling and memorable as I ever imagined.

When it was my turn, I hiked up my dress*, hopped into the saddle, and hung on for dear life as that bull bucked me around and around. And even though I got thrown off multiple times and could barely walk the next day, it was totally worth it, thanks in large part to the laughter and encouragement of dear friends.

Looking back, the whole experience reminds me of the story in Luke 5 of the friends who outsmart the crowd and lower their paralyzed friend’s mat through the roof so Jesus can heal him.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Katherine, you can’t possibly be comparing your friends’ dedication to finding you a mechanical bull to the paralyzed man’s friends’ loyalty in taking him to Jesus for a miracle.”

Well, technically, this is my blog, and I can write whatever my little heart desires, but no, I agree, that does seem like a bit of a stretch. However, this comparison isn’t so much about the mechanical bull.

It’s more about the fact that four months later, when my mom died, this same group of friends showed up again to truly carry me through. They, along with so many others, picked me up at my lowest point and demonstrated the power of Jesus’ healing love.

I would imagine the paralyzed man was thankful for Jesus the day he was healed, but I would also wager he was even more grateful for his friends, for without them, he never would have seen Jesus. It was their faith that led to his miracle.

I know how he felt.

My friends’ love, support, memories, and laughter carried me through then and continue to lift me up even now. Their faith and their actions are tangible reminders that even when life gets heavy, Jesus is right here with us, and he uses others to lighten our load.

So, let’s all strive to be more like the paralyzed man’s friends. Let’s do what we can to lift each other up. Let’s carry each other through the hard times and celebrate together in the good ones.

After all, one thing is for certain: There will be times in life when we get bucked right off the proverbial bull, but with the love and support of faithful friends, we can dust ourselves off and get back in the saddle, ready to ride a full eight seconds and make our dreams come true.

*A word to future Nashville travelers: If you think there’s any chance your evening will end up with you on the back of a bull, DO NOT wear a dress! Sure, I looked really cute, but it made for a seriously awkward dismount. #thankgoodnessforspanx.

Let’s Get to Work!

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In the past 22 years of teaching, things have really changed. Power School is in, paper gradebooks are out. Passing notes has been replaced by posting on social media. And AirPods . . . well, AirPods are everywhere.

Even with all the changes, one key component of school life has stayed the same: The daily struggle to get some students to work up to their potential.

The battle usually goes a little something like this:

“Hey, Chris, what’s going on here, bud?”

“Mrs. Bryant, maaaan, I’m not even doing anything.”

“Mmm, yes, yes, I’m aware . . . that’s actually kinda the problem.”

“But, I . . . “

“No, no, look, it get it. You’re not doing anything like hiding somebody’s lunchbox or smacking your buddy in the back of the head today, and for that, I am genuinely thankful. Truly. But you’re also not doing any work, and that is a problem. You need to do some work because that’s what you’re here for.”

This conversation is often followed by some sighing or some eye rolling or some paper shuffling, but usually . . . eventually . . . the student will start to work . . . at least a little.

It’s frustrating, to say the least, especially when it involves a student who I know can do more but is choosing to neglect his or her work.

This week, I started wondering, does God have the same frustration with me? While I might not be out there breaking laws and causing trouble, I’m not sure I’m always doing all that I’m here to do.

The Bible provides us with some pretty straightforward directions for living. Ephesians 2:10 reminds us that we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

I’m not saying we all need to drop what we’re doing to take in three foster children, fund two overseas missionaries, and build a Habitat house.

Honestly, we all have different gifts, and I learned a long time ago at Salkehatchie, the Methodist version of Habitat, that using a circular saw might not be the best—or safest—use of my time at a building site. Let’s just say our leaders quickly redirected my energy when I kept running over the nails in the floorboard, causing them to shoot around the room at innocent bystanders and costing us a fortune in saw blades.

But I do wonder if I’m giving my best. Am I following in John Wesley’s footsteps? Am I doing all that I can, by all the means that I can, in all the ways I can, in all the places I can, at all the times I can, to all the people I can, as long as I ever can?

Here’s the thing—just because I’m not doing anything wrong doesn’t mean that I’m necessarily doing anything right.

It’s easy to sit back and rest, to get comfortable with the status quo. But if I get too comfortable, I could forget to use my gifts and talents to care for the lost and the least. Some days I accidentally overlook opportunities to serve, but there have been times, more than I care to admit, when I have turned the other way and ignored the work right in front of me.

We get one chance in this life; there is no dress rehearsal. We need to take advantage of opportunities to reach out and to lift up. We need to share our gifts and love others in order to maximize our potential and live out our true purpose.

So, let’s do it.

Let’s reach out to who we can, whenever we can, however we can.

That way, when we meet our Teacher face to face, we just might be lucky enough to hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23).

Which Way Do I Go?

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I am horrible with directions.

I mean, horrible.

If you look up “directionally challenged” in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of me, looking utterly confused, holding a map upside down.

I’m that bad.

It’s a truth I had always known but never really wanted to acknowledge . . . until I started teaching at Mid-Carolina in Prosperity.

There I was, teaching my heart out in the third week of school, when I realized I had a new teacher meeting at the Newberry County Career Center after school. Problem was, I had no clue how to get there. In a bit of a panic, I paused what I’m sure was a stellar lesson, and casually asked my group of juniors if they could help me out.

“Hey, y’all, how do I get to the Career Center?”

“Oh, that’s easy! You just get on 76 and . . .”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m not from here, remember? First, tell me how I get to 76.”

 . . . . . . Crickets . . . . . .

Finally, a sweet girl in the back apologetically whispered, “Ummm, Ms. Smith, 76 is the road in front of the school.”

See what I mean—directionally challenged.

Unfortunately, the years have done nothing to improve my sense of direction.

Just last week I had a deer in the headlights moment leaving my own house. Some friends had come to pick me up to go on our church’s women’s retreat, and as we pulled out of the driveway, Caroline, Margaret’s co-pilot, asked me how to get to I-26.

Seems like a simple question for someone who has lived in the same house for 13 years, right?

WRONG!

Here’s what happened in my brain when I heard Caroline’s question: I-26? Does that go to Spartanburg/Charleston or Florence/Augusta? No, Florence/Augusta is I-20. But can’t 20 take you to 26? Or is that I-77? And where am I going when I go down Two Notch and take that short cut Alex showed me? Is that 20, 26, or 77?

Needless to say, all I could do was stare blankly at Caroline, shrug my shoulders and say, “I honestly have no idea.”

Thankfully, the Bible is one place I can find clear directions, especially when it comes to getting to heaven.

In Luke 14, Thomas sounds a lot like me when he says, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” (5).

Jesus replies, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (6).

That’s it, plain and simple.

There’s no need to ask Waze to re-route us, and Siri doesn’t need to give us one of her alleged “short cuts.” The way to eternal life is a clear path. And like true north on a compass, the direction never changes, no matter what we do.

Jesus paved the way for us. He taught us how to serve, how to love, how to live. If we accept him and do our best to follow in his footsteps, we will get to where we want to go.

So, when we feel lost, there is hope. We can return to Luke 14 over and over again to get us back on track, because the good news is we can never get so turned around that Jesus can’t show us the way home.

It’s Not Fantasy

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A few weeks ago, my students were working on a current events assignment when we got into a heated discussion about all of the latest coaches getting hired and fired in the NFL.

At some point during the conversation, one of my students said, “Man, Mrs. Bryant, you know a lot about football for a . . . “

He immediately caught himself and kinda looked sideways at me, a little nervous about what would happen next.

I flashed him my best death stare and said, “Cameron Jones, I dare you to finish that sentence.”

Cam just shook his head and started laughing,

“Nah, nah, Mrs. Bryant. That’s all I was going to say. You know a lot about football.”

Smart kid. I’d hate to think what would have happened to him if he had put “for a girl” at the end of that thought.

And he’s right. I do know a good deal about football.

That would be because from August until February, all Alex, Jackson, and Reeves talk about is football, football, football, namely their fantasy team. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they owned a real team by the amount of time they spend debating player stats, free agency, and injuries. But no, no . . . it’s a complete fantasyland they live in.

As we waited for our food at Home Team BBQ two Sundays ago, Adam Thielen, a wide receiver for the Minnesota Vikings, popped up on the big screen, prompting Jackson to comment, “Hey, we had him on our fantasy team, but we had to trade him away.”

When I asked Jack why they traded Thielen, he shrugged and replied, “Well, after three games, he was only averaging two points per game for us, so we had to get rid of him.”

That seemed pretty harsh to my mama heart. After all, it’s not like the poor guy hadn’t gotten them any points at all. And who’s to say he wasn’t going to crush it the next week?

As I sat there feeling sorry for Adam Thielen (and a little taken aback by GM Jackson’s heartless flippancy), I realized that unlike fantasy players, I am really lucky: I’m part of a team I will belong to for life.

As Christians, we can take comfort knowing God will never kick us off His team or trade us away. If we make our best effort to follow Him, we’re always on His roster.

In Psalm 103, David writes: The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.

Thankfully, God doesn’t dismiss us when we underperform. Instead, He offers us love and grace, inviting us back into His huddle time and time again.

This same promise appears in the New Testament as well.

In Romans 8, Paul reiterates David’s message: And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord (38-39).

Both of these passages prove an important truth: We mean something to God. He is a God of second chances . . . and third and fourth if need be. He longs for a relationship with each one of us, and He will never just cast us aside. That’s a promise as current and real today as it was over 2,000 years ago.

So, my friends, take heart, knowing that God will keep you on His roster week after week, no matter how your season is going.

Lessons from Joe Mama

Published on by katherinebryant26788 Comments

I will NEVER buy an Elf on the Shelf.

At least that’s what I would have told you four years ago.

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I’d intentionally torture myself trying to create all of these elf adventures when I was already exhausted from the holidays. Plus, shouldn’t my boys be good because it’s the right thing to do, not because an inanimate doll “watches” them? I mean, let’s be honest, that’s kinda creepy.

But then one night a friend with adult children started talking about all of her family’s wonderful elf memories and how she sometimes longs for the magic of childhood Christmas again, and much like the Grinch, my heart started to thaw as I reconsidered all of my elf-loathing.

Within 24 hours, I had purchased an elf. Granted, I still maintained the tiniest bit of cynicism about the whole thing, which is why I named our elf Joe. See, I figure in a few years, I can tell the boys, “Joe mama was the one moving that thing around at night.” What can I say—middle school humor is my jam.

Anyway, now that Joe has been with us for a few years, he’s grown on me and is truly one of the family. He’s like that long-distance cousin we only see around the holidays but talk about all year long.

A few days after Christmas this year, I was feeling a little down, and no joke, I realized it was because I missed Joe. Not so much the pressure to make him do fun things, mind you, but the feelings that came with him.

I missed waking up to the magic that Joe brought every morning. I missed watching the boys hunt for him, working together with giggles and awe. And I especially missed hearing them brainstorm how he must have gotten to his new location. To hear them tell it, Joe can do better stunts that Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible.

Even when Joe didn’t move—and let’s face it, there was a time or two when he didn’t, thanks to some unsavory behavior—the boys still believed in his magic, promising Joe and us they’d be better behaved going forward.

I think that’s what I like most about Joe. He always offered the boys the chance of a fresh start. Yes, there were consequences for poor choices, but there was also the hope of forgiveness at the start of a new day.

What’s funny is that God does the same exact thing for us. Lamentations 3:22-23 tells us “because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

In a way, God is our very own Elf on the Shelf 365 days a year. (Bet you never thought you’d read that sentence!)

But think about it—every morning when we wake up, God is waiting for us, ready to help us face the day. The good news is we don’t have to look all over the place to find Him. That’s because “the Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing” (Zephaniah 3:17). God is always right here with us, no searching required. He wants us to delight in Him, and He wants to celebrate over us.

I hope all of us can begin waking up like the boys do with Joe, full of the same kind of excitement, wondering what blessings God has in store for us. Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about the past; God is focused on making things new. Even when we mess up, which is bound to happen, God stays close, longing to guide us down the right path (Isaiah 43:18-19).

So, whether you’re pro-elf or not so much, one thing remains true—God watches over each one of us with love and forgiveness all year long.