There was something inside me, some hopeful, small faltering voice that said, “There‘s room for you.” I don‘t know why, but I trusted that voice.
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Savor: Living Abundantly Where You Are, As You Are | 
There was something inside me, some hopeful, small faltering voice that said, “There‘s room for you.” I don‘t know why, but I trusted that voice.
God made a world of extraordinary beauty, and sometimes the most important thing we can do is slow ourselves down enough to see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, enter into it.
“We love big stories….but sometimes being courageous means less, quieter, stiller, smaller.”
We were made to be the things that He is: forgivers, redeemers, second chance givers, truth tellers, hope bringers.
The food and table and the laughter help to create sacred space, a place to give someone the gift of words. That‘s what some of the best nights are about—sacred space and words of love.
Meals can be so much more than refueling stops. When we slow down to enjoy the food and the company and think about what we‘re doing, meals can nourish our spirits as well as our bodies.
When we stop to gather around the table and eat a meal made by someone‘s hands, we honor our bodies and the God who created them. And in that moment we acknowledge that even though life is fast and frantic, we‘re not machines and we do require nourishment, physically and otherwise.
Preparing food and feeding people brings nourishment not only to our bodies but to our spirits. Feeding people is a way of loving them, and it is a way of honoring our own createdness and fragility.
“…..it‘s not hard to decide what you want your life to be about. What‘s hard…is figuring out what you‘re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about.”
I know that death is real, and I trust that rebirth is real, too.
Sometimes a change in season around us is just what we need to prod us out of our own internal winters, to shake off the dust and darkness we‘ve become accustomed to. I‘ve been wintery for a long time—sick, discouraged, a little isolated. I‘m turning from fear to prayer, trusting that God can create new life and beauty from anything.
When you offer peace instead of division, faith instead of fear, when you offer someone a place at your table instead of keeping them out because they‘re different or wrong somehow, you represent the heart of Christ.
If there‘s one thing I think I know for sure about 2025, it‘s that if anything good comes out of it, those are going to have been some hard fought hallelujahs!
It‘s sloppy theology to think that all suffering is good for us, or that it‘s a result of sin. All suffering can be used for good, over time, after mourning and healing, by Gods graciousness. But sometimes it‘s just plain loss, not because you needed to grow or learn any kind of lesson. The trick is knowing the difference between the two.
Pain is sometimes a call for growth—and sometimes a companion of mourning.
Friendship doesn‘t always mean being partners in crime; sometimes, at it‘s best, it requires exactly the opposite—an honest word, a push, a loving correction.
One of the best things great friendship does is tell us the truth about ourselves when we need it most.
Let‘s set a new example for a generation of young women who are watching us closely. Let‘s teach them by our example to be women who work hard, who pay attention to their dreams, who give themselves to making the world a better place, women who believe that there are a whole lot of things more important than being the prettiest princess in the room.
We need both halves of the story: the suffering and the redemption. Either part by itself is incomplete.
so-soA different type of devotional...Achingly honest, uplifting, The "devos" often focusing on the comfort of gathering around food. I would actually disagree with calling this a devotional book, it's more a collection of mini essays, journal like. This is not my favorite Shauna Niequist book but I did enjoy many of the stories and I finished early so that I can pass along to someone else to start on the first of the year.
But that‘s magic of Lent, that you sign yourself up for something, hoping that God will slide something new into your life, and when He does, it‘s never what you thought, and never what would‘ve been easy, and always just the right thing.
We need both halves of the story: the suffering and the redemption. Either part by itself is incomplete.
The heart of hospitality is creating space for these moments, protecting that fragile bubble of vulnerability,truth and love. It‘s all too rare that we tell people we love exactly why our lives are richer because they‘re in it.
I don‘t know where you are these days, what‘s broken down and what‘s beautiful in your life this season. I don‘t know if this is a season of sweetness or one of sadness. But I‘m learning that neither lasts forever. There will be something that invades the current loveliness. It won‘t be sweet forever. But it won‘t be bitter forever either.
In what ways are you telling your story?
They cannot tell my story.
Only I can tell my story.
And only you can tell your story.
Your value is not riding on a cultural obsession with romance and tulle and diamonds. You are significant with or without a significant other. You are significant, you have value, you are loved by God—no matter your marital status.
I want to be present and whole and have nothing to hide,no excuses to be made, because I did my best, and that‘s enough.
Part of our purpose here on earth is to use everything God has given us-our days, our talents, our finances, our dreams, our homes, our very selves—with great wisdom and passion, to heal and help.
We don‘t arrive. But we can become. And that‘s the most hopeful thing I can think of.
What I‘m learning is that it‘s okay to ask for help and ask for grace, even if it‘s embarrassing, even if you disappoint people, even if in the process people find out (gasp!) that you‘re not a super-person, but just a regular person, a person who gets sick and tired and emptied out sometimes.
There really is nothing like good friends, like the sounds of their laughter and the tones of their voices and the things they teach us in the quietest, smallest moments.
All you can ask for, in the middle, are sweet moments of reprieve in the company of people you love. For a few hours, you‘ll feel protected by the goodness of friendship and life around the table, and that‘s the best thing I can imagine.
You don‘t know what the story is about when you‘re in the middle of it. All you can do is keep walking.
And when we tell the truth about our lives — the broken parts, the secret parts, the beautiful parts — then the gospel comes to life, an actual story about redemption, instead of abstraction and theory and things you learn in Sunday school.
It could be the thing that allows everything else to turn, the lock of our lives to finally spring open and allow our pent-up selves to blossom. Or it can be the reason we use to justify our anger and the sharp tones in our voices for the rest of our lives. We become who we are in these moments.
There are things that happen to us that give us two options. Either way, we will never be the same, and we shouldn‘t. These things can either strip us down to the bone and allow us to become strong and honest, or they can be the reasons we use to behave poorly indefinitely, the justification for all manner of broken relationships and broken ideals.
For me, everything becomes a lifestyle. Everything is an addiction. Deciding what I want my life to be about isn‘t that hard. But deciding what I‘m willing to give up for those things is like yoga for the superego, stretching and pushing and ultimately healing that nasty little person inside who exists only for what people think.
One of my core fears is that someone would think I can‘t handle as much as the next person. It‘s fundamental to my understanding of myself for me to be the strong one, the capable one, the busy one, the one who can bail you out, not make a fuss, bring a meal, add a few more things to the list.
Everything is just a killer. Everything is the heart of the conversation for me, my drug of choice. Sure, I can host that party. Of course, I can bring that meal. Yes, I‘d love to write that article. Yes, to everything.
Remember that God carries us as we sleep, that it‘s not all up to us, that his protection and power are real.
I believe that there is nothing more sacred and profound than this day. There may be a thousand big moments imbedded in this day, waiting to be discovered like tiny flecks of gold. The big moments are the tiny moments of courage and forgiveness and hope that we grab on to and extend to one another. The big moments are in every conversation, every meal, every meeting.
Should is a warning sign, frankly. When you‘re using the word should more and more often, it‘s a sign that you‘re living further and further from your truest, best self, that you‘re living for some other set of parameters or affirmations that you think will bring you happiness.
Should never brings happiness.
Change is good, the way that childbirth is good, and heartbreak is good, and failure is good. By that I mean that it‘s incredibly painful, exponentially more so if you fight it, and also that it has the potential to open you up, to open life up, to deliver you right into the palm of God‘s hand, which is where you wanted to be all along, except that you were too busy pushing and pulling your life into exactly what you thought it should be.
Change can push us, pull us, rebuke us and remake us. It can show us who we‘ve become, in the worst ways, and also in the best ways. It‘s not something to run away from, as though we could, and in many cases, change is not a function of life‘s cruelty but instead a function of God‘s graciousness.
I know better than to believe that the changes are over, or that the next ones will be easier, but I‘ve learned the hard way that change is one of God‘s greatest gifts and one of his most useful tools.
What might have been...
I have been grieving exactly this for months now....
Damn this hits home. 😢😔😭
New devotional has me excited about quiet time.
