Corella Roberts – A Life Overseas |

Practical Soul Care for the Busy Christian

Not so long ago, I unintentionally exalted ministry, obedience, and motherhood above soul care. I held it together on the outside but was bone-weary on the inside.

I don’t think I’m the only Christian who tends toward pouring out more than filling up. We, as Jesus-loving kingdom workers, desperately need to take the idea of soul care to heart. In fact, let’s do more than that — let’s take it to action with practices that help us slow down, internalize His word, reflect deeply and prayerfully, and implement new habits.

That all sounds grand, but actually getting there is a stretch for most of us. So, in response to my own need for soul care and my desire to help others along the way, I’ve created My Undivided Life: A Soul Care Journal.

This twelve-week guided journal offers original content, inspiring scripture, prayer prompts, creative space, and reflection questions to both usher you into deep places with the Lord and inspire you to live outwardly in love. It’s an invitation to live an undivided life — a life that truly loves Jesus with all of your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Bonus material includes a weekly habit tracker, additional soul care ideas, and book recommendations to further your spiritual growth.

But what is soul care? Is it simply a spiritualized form of self-care?

It does share similarities with self care: both aim toward personal health and wellness. But the center—the soul, if you will—of that wellness is vastly different. Self-care’s impetus is, simply, the self; soul care’s impetus is 100% Jesus.

When we acknowledge that we are created beings, breathing because God first breathed life into us, moving because in Him we live and move and have our being, and loving only because He first loved us, then we realize that the only care for our souls is deep connection to our Creator.

The idea of soul has many delineations, and yours may vary from mine, but here is my working definition: The soul is the deepest, truest part of you that encompasses and integrates the whole of your person. It includes your spirit that communes with God, your heart or emotions, your mind, and your body through which all the above are expressed.

I’d like to suggest that an activity (any activity!) can be soul care if:

It connects you with the source of life — God.
It integrates your body, mind, and heart.
It encourages open-handed trust and a release of what you’re not meant to carry.
It allows you to savor beauty and the Giver of all good things.

As Dallas Willard writes in Renovation of the Heart, “Our soul is like an inner stream of water, which gives strength, direction, and harmony to every other element of our life. When that stream is as it should be, we are constantly refreshed and exuberant in all we do, because our soul itself is then profusely rooted in the vastness of God and his kingdom, including nature; and all else within us is enlivened and directed by that stream.”

Your soul is invaluable.

Pause to consider Matthew 16:24-26:

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?”

Remember, soul care is much more than self-care. The aim is not to “save your life,” rather it is for your life to be swallowed up in Life Himself. In a way, it could be summed up in the idea of abiding in Christ. It’s one part position—you are in Christ—and one part intention—you keep yourself in Christ.

The following are some questions and prompts from My Undivided Life journal that you may want to sit with. See what they stir in you, and let the Savior of your soul guide you into ever-deeper places of abiding in Him.

What are you already doing that can qualify as soul care? Are there certain activities you want to invest more time in this week?
What’s one soul-draining task you can eliminate today?
What needs to change for you to intentionally partner with God in caring for your soul?
Sit quietly with the Lord. Ask Him to give you a picture of the state of your soul. Describe your soul as He sees it, and ask Him to shelter and care for it.
Rest today in the goodness of God. Inhale and exhale slowly as you breathe this prayer, and carry it with you throughout the day.

This post has been adapted from the first week of My Undivided Life: A Soul Care Journal created by author, teacher, and missionary Corella Roberts. To order a copy, click here.

Good News for Worn Out Shepherds

In my years as a missionary teacher, I’ve come to resonate deeply with the idea of shepherding.

Me enthusiastically: Okay, everyone! It’s time to move!

My kids/students/humans in general: *eating slowly like sheep grazing*

Me: Uh, did I mention there’s more grass over here?

Humans: *ear flick, possible raised head and sideways glance*

Me: *picks up rod* We’re moving or else!

Humans: *slow shuffle toward direction I’m pointing*

I take it back. Shepherds of actual sheep are much better at their job than I apparently am. Getting small (and big!) humans to listen and obey is more akin to herding kittens than sheep.

And so I find myself wondering if I’m cut out for these leadership roles I’ve agreed to—the classroom, the mentorship, the spiritual life program. How in the world do I actually cast vision or offer direction or stir up motivation? How do I move these stubborn sheep anywhere when I barely know where I’m going?

If you in any way consider yourself to be a pastor, leader, or teacher, you’ve probably wrestled with the same questions. Leaders, we’ve been warned, are often frustrated and lonely. No wonder Moses beat that rock and was reprimanded by God. He’d spent years leading a “stiff-necked people.” I’d be pretty upset at their constant complaints, too.

But maybe I’ve misunderstood my job description.

We’re all familiar with the biblical metaphor of leaders as shepherds, but recently God has highlighted a few other verses that remind me of who I really am in this scenario.

Let’s start back in a classic psalm written by David, the shepherd king: “The Lord is my shepherd…” Ah yes, even if I were the king of Israel, I’d still be a sheep in need of God’s instruction and protection just like everyone else. Sometimes in my earnestness to serve others, I forget that. (Read my expanded story-version of Psalm 23 here).

And how about Jesus? Both Matthew and Mark record him as having compassion on the crowds of people because they were like sheep without a shepherd. In John 10, Jesus directly calls himself the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for His sheep, and both Peter and the writer of Hebrews refer to Him as the Great Shepherd.

The depiction of God guiding our souls like a wise shepherd is comforting, but I still feel as though I need to emulate Him and guide those under my care. I try to protect my children, instruct my students, and care for my coworkers.

Recently, my fear of losing control has been revealed in some anxious dreams where I alone was responsible to fix, protect, and hold everything together. Just a few nights ago, I had another dream where I was moving through an old-school computer lab, jumping from task to task, solving problem after problem as the only competent adult in the room.

Clearly, when I see myself as the primary shepherd, the burden becomes too heavy. I’m taking on a responsibility that belongs first and foremost to Jesus.

Okay, then. I’m a sheep.

But what of those leadership roles? Is there a more helpful picture than shepherd for someone like me who can take responsibility a bit too seriously?

In one of those instances when Jesus had compassion on the crowds and wanted to care for them as their shepherd, He did indeed involve the disciples. In Mark 6 they inform Him that the people are hungry. Jesus doesn’t agree to the disciples’ idea to send them away so they can eat. He doesn’t call down manna from heaven or dredge up a bunch of fish for them to cook. Nope. He says, “You give them something to eat.”

Interesting.

I think, too, of Jesus’ little chat with Peter on the beach after Jesus’ resurrection. After being asked if he loves Jesus, Peter is asked three times to “feed [His] sheep” (John 21:15-17).

I did the good Christian thing and looked up the two different Greek words used there for “feed,” and they do carry a distinct shepherd or herdsman connotation, but I find it noteworthy that Jesus didn’t ask his disciples or Peter to ever protect His sheep. He didn’t even specifically ask them to lead His sheep. That’s His job.

He did, however, ask them to feed His sheep. This feels more like a shepherd’s apprentice to me. Or maybe just like one sheep beckoning to the others as it moves toward the next fresh patch of grass.

There’s a tremendous amount of freedom in this renewed perspective. The Chief Shepherd leads His sheep, protects His sheep, keeps His sheep. I’m invited to walk with Him, feeding—not forcing. Maybe feeding looks like quiet faithfulness, attentive listening, or persistent prayer. Or maybe it looks like sharing a testimony of how God has guided me through difficult seasons, or simply showing up when a child or friend needs me.

Now that I can do.

Aching for the Promised Rest

After this hectic season of (fill in the blank), things should slow down.

Once I complete (name your project), I’ll be able to catch my breath.

Someday, (choose your goal) will be finished, and I’ll take a vacation.

Name your taskmaster, but you’re likely spinning the same story to your tired self that the rest of us are. This is just a season, we tell ourselves as we trudge on.

And maybe it is. After all, God has woven cyclical patterns into all of His creation, including the seasons of our souls. We’re designed to grow through the newness of Spring, the productivity of Summer, the release of Autumn, and the stillness of Winter. One season without the others equates to dormancy or death.

Or maybe it’s not merely a season, it’s habitual drivenness and overproduction. It’s the drumbeat of Western culture, much of Christianity included: Just a little more. Just a little more. Bigger. Better. Just a little more.

This is one of those Psalm 139:23 moments where we ask the Lord to search our hearts and expose our motives. Yet even if you discover that your exhaustion is of a self-inflicted kind, you still have the same human ache for rest as those who are keeping in step with Jesus.

“There remains, then, a sabbath-rest for the people of God” (Heb 4:9) We aren’t free of the burden of toil just yet, are we? Our true rest is yet to come.

This struggle reminds me of the iconic feeding of the five thousand portrayed in Mark 6:30-44. What comes to your mind when you think of that story?

Loaves and fish? Hungry crowds? Twelve basketfuls of leftovers? Yes, all those. But did you consider Jesus’ weary followers? The disciples had just been sent out on a preaching tour. They left with a buddy, a staff, and the clothes on their body. That was it. They returned, apparently, with all kinds of stories:

“The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, ‘Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.’ So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place” (v. 30-32).

I can easily imagine their joy and relief as they settle into the boat with Jesus, headed for a time of retreat. These fishermen and tax-collectors now turned traveling preachers had been stretched to the max on their journey. If there was one thing their bodies and spirits needed, it was a snack and a good nap! That, however, was not to be.

You already know what happens next:

“But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things” (v. 33-34).

Am I the only one who feels a twinge annoyed at Jesus for His response here? Sure, teach the crowds, Lord, but how about after that getaway You promised the disciples? What about compassion for them?

Obviously, I identify with the weary kingdom workers. But I also recognize that their season with Jesus was in full-on summer: the harvest was plentiful, and they, the few workers, had an invitation to partner with Him in it. In fact, while Jesus was the miracle worker, He used his disciples’ own hands to provide the abundance of bread.

And what an abundance it was! Five loaves and two fish fed over five thousand people, and how many basketfuls were leftover? Twelve. How many disciples were there? Twelve. They received back much more than they gave.

Yes, I mutter, but what about their promised quiet time and rest with Jesus? When will they get that?

Apparently the moment for retreat is gone, because according to Mark, Jesus “immediately” sent his disciples off in the boat again where they were buffeted by a storm before Jesus joined them by walking on the water. Nor do they rest when they reach Gennesaret on the other side, for people recognized Jesus and “ran throughout that whole region” to bring the sick to him.

It would seem that Jesus has forgotten His promised rest for his followers.

Here, I’m tempted to tie a nice little bow on this apparent point of tension and tell you that surely the disciples were nurtured and sustained in Jesus’ presence and through His words in ways that go far beyond a merely physical nap. After all, if He could miraculously multiply the bread and fish, surely He could suffuse his followers with supernatural energy.

And perhaps He did. But I also want to acknowledge the everyday struggle of living with willing spirits yet weak flesh. We’re holistic beings, created to love God with our heart, soul, mind and strength. From the very beginning, our Creator designed a day of physical rest for us through the sabbath. He doesn’t discredit our bodies and our weariness whatsoever.

How, then, do we balance both work and rest with Jesus?

I’m left with the conclusion I often land at when finding a lack of clear biblical prescription about a topic. The answer is in abiding.

I must align my life so tightly with His that I’m not shaken when our course changes–He’ll get us where He wants us to go, even if it seems to be a total shift from the original plan. I trust His compassion for both those I serve and for me–He will provide abundantly for my needs, as well. And I thank Him for His patience–that none should perish, that more souls will one day enter true Rest alongside me.

This life of hardship, hard work, and heaviness is a blink. Let’s cling to Jesus in it, and let Him lead us through.

Are You Ready to Welcome New Missionaries . . . Again?

Finally, on the last of four plane rides, after over thirty hours of sporadic naps during travel, our three-year-old slumped into a deep sleep. I would have rejoiced, except I knew we’d have to wake him up in less than an hour when we landed at our new home. Besides, who has time to rejoice when you’re holding a squirming six-month-old, praying that the pressure in her ears doesn’t bother her as much as last time?

Touch down. And my boy slept on. The plane stopped at our gate. And my boy slept on. We struggled to get our carry-ons out of the overhead compartments. And my boy slept on.

“I’ll just carry him off the plane,” my husband offered. But upon being scooped up, my boy woke up, and with him, a torrential outburst. Weeping and gnashing of teeth about describes it – the weeping on our part, the gnashing on the part of the other passengers.

My husband carried our out-of-his-mind-tired child all the way to baggage claim, and by that time, more than just tears had soaked his shirt. We found fresh clothing for both of them and eventually got our son calmed down.

I can’t imagine how long Dan and Cindy had been waiting for us, or the disheveled mess of a family that they saw, but their warm welcome suggested no hint of impatience or surprise. In fact, Cindy offered to take my infant daughter so I could comfort our son. We immediately felt seen and cared for by this couple, and a special friendship began.

We arrived at our rented house and found the kitchen pre-stocked with basic foods we recognized plus some tropical fruits we didn’t. Upstairs, a travel crib was set up for our baby, and beds with borrowed blankets were prepared for the rest of us. We slept that night in utter exhaustion but also deep gratitude for the warm hospitality we felt already from our new community.

Dan and Cindy told us about neighbors with young kids who wanted to take us out for lunch the next day, a fellow school-teacher who would bring us soup for dinner, and two other families who would have us over for a meal later in the week. We were given a car to borrow for a few days, helped with navigating the nearby market, and taken on several shopping trips.

We were undeniably welcomed, and it made all the difference in our transition into life in South East Asia as a young family. This welcome didn’t happen by accident, though. It was prearranged and thought-out. Our international school knew the importance of hospitality, especially when someone is new to the field, and they utilized co-workers, neighbors, and parents from the community to build an all-encompassing welcoming team.

Beyond the organizational structure, however, it was obvious that each person wanted to help us and get to know us. We weren’t a cog in a machine; we were family in Christ.

I know many of you did not have a welcoming committee. Maybe you were the first to your field or your team leader was on home assignment. Maybe your transition got lost in the ministry hustle and you had to hit the ground running, sink or swim. And if that was the case and you’re still working overseas, then all praise and glory to God.

For many people, though, whether or not they feel welcomed into a community is indicative of their longevity on the field. Humans were created to belong. So how can we, the stayers, prepare both physically and spiritually to offer hospitality to new missionaries?

Here are a few ideas you can use as a starting point, adapting them to your particular field and situation.

Gather a hospitality team. Acknowledge that this isn’t a one-person job. In fact, the new missionary might click better with someone else, so aside from lightening your load, giving them relational options is a win. They’ll be able to pick up different ways of navigating their new culture and surroundings from a variety of people who each do life uniquely.
Provide airport pickup. Sure, taxis are an option, but there’s something significant about being greeted at the airport by a teammate or neighbor who cares. Those first moments on the ground can be both exhilarating and daunting, but they should also be a place of connection.
Take them to get a phone plan. I don’t need to tell you how useful these pocket monsters are. Help them set up their phone right away, and they can instantly contact you, call home, order food, get a ride, navigate the city, and translate their host language. Prioritize this and help them get it done.
Provide food to eat right away. Whatever you can provide that will give them easy,, immediate food options will be a blessing. Contact them ahead of time to check on food sensitivities and have fun. Surprising someone with a stocked fridge is as good as filling your kid’s stocking for Christmas. The joy on their face is worth it!
Offer help and recommendations for shopping. Do you remember the first time you tried to figure out not only where the nearest store was but also what in the world was in those huge white bags? Now, of course, you know it’s MSG, not sugar, but your new friend doesn’t know that yet. Accompany them on shopping trips to the grocery store, the local market, and the home goods store. You can grab a few of your own needed items while you’re there (plus show off your language skills).
Welcome them into your home. Aside from the obvious piece of connecting at a deeper level than at a restaurant, allowing a new missionary into your home will provide inspiration for them on how to settle abroad. They’ll see that you’ve hung pictures on the wall and feel permission to do so themselves. They’ll ask where you got this, that, and the other thing, and they’ll leave feeling filled in more than just their belly.
Give them emergency numbers. Print out a list they can hang on their fridge with both emergency responder numbers and local friends who are happy to help if they have car trouble or house issues. Who can be a translator for them if they need someone? Who is a trusted teen that could babysit for them? And, of course, make sure they have your number, too.

These ideas are relatively simple, but I’m not going to pretend they are easy. The difficulty in welcoming someone lies not so much in the heart of hospitality (I’m sure you already value this from your own experiences), but in the reality that once you welcome someone and invest in them, you start a relationship. You grow attached. And eventually, you’ll say goodbye.

You’ll find yourself on the opposite side of this cyclical expat life and have to work on releasing them well (or saying farewell yourself). And that cycle hurts. We know the grief of it all too well, don’t we?

But is it worth it?

Is it worth it to invest in a new relationship when, in all probability, you’ll have to say goodbye in a couple of years as one or the other of you leaves the field? You could also ask if it’s worth it to invest in local relationships when many of them will fizzle out without any obvious kingdom fruit. Or if it’s worth it to learn a new language, or uproot your family, or sell your home, or start a new ministry, or leave it all behind to follow “the call.”

Is any of it worth it? I don’t know–who am I to try to measure those things? But I do know that He is worth it. Jesus is worth it all. And although every new investment and every act of obedience is a risk, He is worth it. He wastes no worship, no tears, no pain. The outcome is in my Savior’s hands, not my own. That’s why we can keep putting ourselves out there in hospitality, trusting that He who is both the beginning and the end holds us in this messy middle of hellos and goodbyes.

As many of you welcome a new influx of teammates over the next month, I pray that you will open not only your schedules, but also your hearts to them. Remember your early, awkward days full of questions, and, mostly, remember that both you and the newbies belong to the one who is Faithful and True. His open arms are wide enough for all of us.

Is Someone Holding Out on You?

I’ve discovered a strange kind of hypocrisy in my heart: I’m two-faced when it comes to money.

For one person, I’ll choose a quality gift that should last; for another, I’ll rummage through second-hand wares and call it good enough. For one person, I’ll take them out to eat at their favorite restaurant and insist they get a dessert, too; for another, I’ll take them somewhere cheap and stick to water. For one person, I’ll rejoice when they choose to celebrate a milestone; for another, I’ll cringe and question if such frivolity is worth it.

Why this discrepancy? And who is this “other person” that I’m so tight-fisted with?

As you may have guessed, the other person is me. I’m stingy with myself. I typically care for myself with far less generosity than I would any other person on the planet.

That first question is much harder to answer though. Where did this discrepancy come from? Sure, I was trained in frugality as a child, but that doesn’t account for the two-faced nature of my financial dealings. Or could it be that as someone who lives on the support of others, I’m hesitant to do anything for myself that might be perceived as indulgent or a mishandling of resources? That’s likely a piece of the puzzle too.

Money is a sensitive subject for most missionaries. We want to be shrewd with what we’ve been given, but what one supporter would call wise stewardship to care for family health, another might call unnecessary extravagance on a family vacation. Using finances wisely is complex to begin with, and even more so as a missionary.

But still, my hypocrisy isn’t fully accounted for.

I’ve spent more time during this season of Lent asking the Lord to “Search me and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24). And, apparently, our upcoming 20th wedding anniversary has provided just the mirror He needed to let me see this dichotomy in my heart.

My generosity has a limit, my love a fence. And where the buck stops is with me. As my husband and I considered taking a trip for our 20th, I couldn’t get myself to commit. In fact, when trying to make a decision, I got uncharacteristically emotional and, when I finally allowed myself to admit it, mad. Mad at God. Mad at being a missionary. Mad at the cost of obedience. Mad that somehow, in some way, God was withholding something.

I wrestled with these unwanted thoughts and feelings for several days, laying them bare before God, sharing them with friends, journaling them out, reminding myself of His truth to overcome the lies. And all these practices helped. For a few hours. Then I’d find myself back in the same frustrated, emotional turmoil all over again.

But God is patient, and when I finally quit trying to psycho-analyze and fix myself, I went for a walk. There, by the emerald green rice fields while the sun set behind the tree-canopied hills, He simply asked me, “Is it possible that I’m not the one who is holding out on you here?”

Finally I saw it: my stinginess to myself. I was preventing us from celebrating. I was looking down on a joyful commemoration of love and faithfulness – ours and God’s. I was withholding generosity from myself. I was treating myself as I would treat no one else (except my husband, apparently).

God’s kindness, His grace, His love, His compassion, His justice, His forgiveness is wider, longer, higher, and deeper than I could possibly imagine. The extravagance of His generosity toward me is unending. God is anything but stingy.

And while I am still a full proponent of careful financial stewardship, I also recognize that sometimes saving instead of celebrating is rooted in fear. It can indicate a lack of trust that my Good Father will give me manna again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Like a child who devours her favorite meal and jumps down from the table to play without the slightest concern if her next meal would come again later, I, too, can enjoy God’s good gifts and trust that His supply won’t run out. I don’t have to operate from a scarcity mindset. My Daddy owns the riches of the universe.

If you, too, have a tendency to be generous with others but not yourself, I’ll leave you with a scripture and some questions to contemplate. Bring it before the Lord and listen for your own answer in all of this:

While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.”

Aware of this, Jesus said to them, “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” (Matthew 26:6-13)

What is Jesus’ perspective on extravagant gifts given in love? Does it apply only to gifts for Him or also to others? Can it ever apply to me?

Photo by DNK.PHOTO on Unsplash

25 Years After the End of the World

Who remembers Y2K – that epic turn-of-the-millennium moment when all of the world’s computers crashed, power grids failed, and we had to live off of the five-gallon buckets of beans and rice stored in our closets?

Wait. . . disaster didn’t strike quite as everyone feared that year, did it?

The minor-scale disaster that I personally faced as a 16-year-old on New Year’s Eve 1999 when I accidentally drove away from the gas station with the nozzle still hanging out of my ‘51 Studebaker Bullet Nose sticks with me, though. Boy, was I embarrassed.

The old bullet nose made a 4th of July parade appearance last summer.

Somehow I survived Y2K and learned a few lessons along the way, as well.

For one, fuel nozzles are made to detach from their hoses in cases of inexperienced driver neglect (not inebriated, I promise!). It was horrifying, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Two, over-preparedness always has two sides to it. The dark side, of course, is the fear motive. When we hoard or hide or hurt others in a mindset of self-protection, we aren’t living out of the boundless, sacrificial love of Christ. The ugliest forms of this at a societal level cause racial divides and wide socio-economic gaps, but on a personal level this likely looks more like snapping at my children when they’re interrupting my time — my precious, never-have-enough-of-it time.

The brighter side of over-preparedness, however, is generosity. It’s the neighbor saying, “Hey, we bought a bit too much flour because it was on sale. Care for a bag?” Or it could be the family who safeguards their sabbath time by working together the day prior to cook and clean so they can rest well together. Over-preparedness might mean that you use your time diligently to prepare for that project ahead of time so you can be fully present to enjoy it when it comes to completion. Again, whatever the motive, over-preparedness isn’t the end of the world, either.

Third – and this is the piece that frames my mindset the most these days – is the understanding that life has seasons, cycles, and processes. Centuries and millennia roll over, ticking on into the next. The earth spins through days, months, and agricultural seasons. Day to night to day, spring to summer to fall to winter to spring (or rainy season to cool season to smoky season to blessed rain, if you’re in Southeast Asia like me), our world rolls on. I’ve come to understand this as not only part of the created order, but also part of the seasons of the human soul.

In the past few years, I’ve witnessed my family move through the grief cycle in various ways and speeds as we’ve welcomed a son through adoption. As any adoptive family will tell you, it’s both beautiful and messy, and the sacrifices and trauma of it all need to be processed and grieved. It wasn’t realistic to expect our family to be in an outgoing season of fruitful, productive ministry early on in the adoption transition. We needed to hunker down, prune back, and let ourselves grow new roots together.

Now, two years post-adoption, we’re able to do and experience more as a family again. Our season has shifted. But had we not embraced a quieter winter-type season of dormancy and underground healing and growth initially, we likely wouldn’t be able to function productively now.

This idea of recognizing and embracing my season has transformed how I make decisions and, as a natural outcome of those decisions, how I live life. I find myself not only asking, “What will produce the best results?” but also, “Is this the right time for production, or do I need to store up and wait for a while?”

It feels like there’s maturity and wisdom in that perspective, and I’m claiming it as I move through my 40s. Seasons of new growth are exciting, but seasons of quietly solidifying that growth are necessary. Likewise, seasons of pulling back, navigating change, and waiting are often painful, but guess what? They’re not the end of the world.

The end of the world is in fact coming, and these mortality-bound seasons will one day end, but not until death is swallowed up in life, and the Lion’s roar carries us home. Until then, our aim is to live out of tender-hearted love and courageous compassion, knowing that the world’s end is safely out of our control.

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”

-C.S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Walk with Me and Work with Me

The field lies fallow, great clods of earth in rich cocoa hues. Yet there’s a furrowed channel – a crease in the brown bosom ready to nurture her young. And in it, a man walks.

His skin is deeply tanned, his hair like the earth below his sandaled feet, and his clothes the simple attire of a farmer. When he looks up, the light and joy that emanate from his eyes, his smile, his countenance, leave no doubt to his identity – it’s Jesus. The sun with skin on. He surveys the land, almost as if waiting. Is he catching his breath or holding it?

A child calls from behind him, and Jesus’ breath escapes as laughter, ringing out in harmony with the young voice beckoning to him. He turns expectantly, and the boy takes off toward him full-tilt, stumbling over mounds of dirt and finally crashing into an awkward embrace of Jesus’ leg.

“Can I work with you?” he asks between heaving breaths. “I want to help!”

“Of course, my child!” laughs Jesus, giving his hair a playful ruff. “You’ve gotten so big. I’m sure you’ll be a great help to me.” Jesus looks as delighted as if twelve able men had stepped onto his field. He loosens the cord at his waist and slips off the satchel of seeds. “There, see if you can carry that while I show you how to sow the seed.”

The boy nods and stands up straighter. “I can do it!” He grins, grabs the satchel the size of his head, and reaches in to scoop a handful of seeds.

“Now just a moment,” cautions Jesus, still brimming with joy. “There’s a bit of technique to it so that the seeds spread out properly.” He dips his hand into the satchel, then sprinkles the seeds ahead of him in short, rocking bursts. “See? Now you try.”

The child jams his hand into the bag and brings it out with such force that dozens of seeds spill out at his feet. Ashamed, he looks up at Jesus with puckered brow. “Ah, it’s okay,” comforts Jesus, “my Father will cause the growth.”

Jesus nods encouragingly, and the boy tries to sprinkle the seeds as Jesus did, but he opens his hand too wide, and most fly out on his first shake. Jesus laughs and bends to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s wonderful! Keep trying!” Brightening, the child tries again, this time with a somewhat better result.

They carry on like this, sprinkling seeds, laughing, and bumping into each other playfully for some time, but when the child looks back over his shoulder, he sees birds descending on the field, gobbling up many of the seeds they’ve just sown. “Oh no! Look, Jesus!”

“Yes, sometimes we feed the birds, too, my child. But don’t worry. My Father will cause the growth.” Jesus notices the boy wiping his brow, still looking concerned. “I think it’s time for a rest.”

They walk to the shade of a large tree together and lean against its trunk. From somewhere, though the child hasn’t a clue where, Jesus produces a flask of water and some fruit. They lean back together, savoring the serenity of the moment while dreaming of the harvest.

“Are you ready?” Jesus eventually asks, that irresistible twinkle ever dancing in his eyes. “I think you might be the right size for this now.” He reaches behind the tree and grabs a hoe.

“I … I don’t know.” The boy looks skyward from his seated position at the long-handled tool. “Are you sure?”

“Why don’t you stand up and give it a try?”

The child rises and finds himself now at the height of Jesus’ shoulder. He begins to open his mouth to comment on the change, but Jesus leans in and whispers, “See? My Father is causing the growth.” With a wink and a chuckle, Jesus hands him the tool.

The young man tests its weight, swinging it easily in his hands. Jesus feigns being impressed, and they both laugh. Stepping back onto the field, the young man swings the hoe at a clump of dirt, and it cleaves beneath his blow.

“That’s it!” Jesus claps him on the back. “Now you can soften the soil before the seeds are sown.” The two take on a new rhythm, punctuated with heaves and thwacks between the easy flow of conversation and laughter.

Eventually they pause to rest again, this time at the young man’s request. Jesus seems pleased. The two have become steady companions, and much of their time in the shade is shared in silence.

Two figures move on the other side of the field. They’re small, possibly children, and their direction seems aimless. Jesus and the man rise to get a better look, and they’re nearly the same height now. “Should I …?” The man glances at Jesus.

Jesus beams. “Definitely.”

The man strides across the field, earthen clods now submitting beneath his weight. He approaches the two children, sees their confusion, and drops down to one knee. “Hey,” he begins, keeping his tone gentle as he often heard Jesus do, “are you lost?”

They nod and cling to each other.

“Well, good news. This is my friend’s field, and he said you’re welcome to join us here. In fact, he’d love it if you’d help him plant some seeds. Want to meet him?”

The children nod, giggling and pointing behind the man. He turns, curious, and lets out a belly laugh himself when he sees Jesus hanging from the tree branch like a monkey, waving at them.

“Come on, I’ll race you!” he says, and the three of them tear across the field toward Jesus, who drops down to crouch in the grass with his arms spread wide, ready to embrace his new children.

The man runs just behind them, playing as if he can’t keep up, lost in the joy of the chase. Their small feet barely make an impression in the soil, but each place his foot lands is enfolded by the earth, and as he lifts his heel, a tender shoot unfurls her head. One sprout after another races to grow skyward in each footprint like an emerald sea-wave rippling after him.

The children tumble into Jesus’ arms as the tree rustles in applause and the field waves her green plumage. Taken in wonder, the man drops to his knees, enveloped in the impenetrable light of Jesus’ laughter.

And the field is fallow no more.

Inspired by Matthew 11:28-30, The Message
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

Hungry for the Restoration of God

A while back, my dad passed on an old steamer trunk to me. It was coated in layers of dust, the lock had been broken out, and any leather had long since crumbled away. That old trunk probably crossed the ocean with some great-great-grand relative, carrying only bare necessities plus a bundle of hope for a new life. It’s battered and worn, bearing the scars of its journeys and years, but when I look at it, I see stories and potential. I see it restored and repurposed. As much as I’d like to, I won’t get to that project on this furlough, though . . . maybe next time.

The idea of restoring a thing – a house, a car, old furniture – is fascinating. We’ll even sit and watch others do it (as long as the process is in time-lapse). We love to see old made new, broken made beautiful, original glory restored. I wonder if God’s not so different when He looks at us. He can see beneath the layers of grime, the callouses and scars, and the cracks in our souls; He sees instead our original purpose and our future glory. God is in the business of restoration, and I’m so glad He’s not restrained by time like I am.

The word “restore” comes from the same Latin root as the word “restaurant.” Apparently, the first eatery known as a restaurant was in Paris where Monsieur Boulanger sold restorative broths nearly 300 years ago. And now, millions of humans go to restaurants of all kinds around the world to sit, eat, and be restored.

If you’ll continue to indulge me in a few more moments of word-nerdery, I would also like to consider two possible ways to split up our little friend, restore. Try the obvious syllabic break of re/store, for example. Re, meaning to do an action again, and store, meaning to gather or accumulate. We store up God’s goodness, grace, and love on repeat. Over and over again we forget, yet over and over again we can notice, give thanks, remember, and restore our souls in Him.

Or, we could look at it like rest/ore. I must rest, or else my body and soul might just quit on me. Burnout, as we call it, is right behind us if we don’t learn to find regular and healing rhythms of rest.

Living in this broken world is damaging to our souls. First of all, we’ve got our own sin nature to battle, not to mention constantly rubbing shoulders with others’ sin and sharp brokenness. We face relational conflict, taxing decisions, health concerns, compassion fatigue, awkward team dynamics, and constant culture stress every day. We abide in that already-not-yet space of redemption and sanctification, and you don’t need me to tell you that the not-yet is painful. In addition to that, we’re attacked regularly by the enemy of our souls. We have an adversary who prowls about like a roaring lion, and being hunted is not fun.

While much of our pain and soul-damage is external, there are also the very real and deep cuts of costly obedience. These are the sacrifices we make for Christ, for the gospel. These are the 19,831 goodbyes. The embarrassment of fumbling around in a language not your own. The inadequate health care or educational system you choose to raise your family in. The sweat and ants or the darkness and ice. The visa runs. The foregone comforts you see your peers enjoying in your home country. The “no’s” to your children because you just can’t have that pet with your mobile lifestyle. The painfully long sermons in another language or the ones doubled due to translation. The foods you miss. The nieces and nephews you don’t meet until they’re two. The tears of your parents as you take their grandchildren to the other side of the planet. Again.

I feel the tenderness from the shards of it all. Are these self-inflicted wounds for an extreme cause? Or are they opportunities for true worship? Can we say, as David said to Araunah when buying his threshing floor to build an altar to the Lord, “I will not offer to the Lord my God that which cost me nothing” (2 Samuel 24:24)? Obedience is costly. We know that full well. And so, because of our sacrifice, our battles, and our brokenness, we are ever in need of restoration.

But remember the God who quite possibly loves a good home makeover show, too? He’s in the business of restoration, and He’s got His eye on you. In fact, He’s got a whole restaurant in His word, and He’s pulling out the chair, beckoning you in. Sampling a few verses of His promise to restore Israel in Jeremiah 31:1-4,9 is a good appetizer. Have a seat, friend. You look hungry.

I want to invite you to take your time to chew on and really savor these verses:

“At that time,” declares the Lord, “I will be the God of all the families of Israel, and they will be my people.”

This is what the Lord says:

“The people who survive the sword
will find favor in the wilderness;
I will come to give rest to Israel.”

The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

I will build you up again…

They will come with weeping;
they will pray as I bring them back.

I will lead them beside streams of water
on a level path where they will not stumble,
because I am Israel’s father,
and Ephraim is my firstborn son.”

What words stood out to you? What phrases caught your attention? Is there a significant piece you want to talk to God about more or carry with you throughout the coming days? Jot it down and keep it close, because until these broken bodies and all of creation are renewed, we need all the restoration we can get.

12 Ways to Connect with God When Your Schedule Changes

If you’re anything like me, keeping a consistent quiet time during a transition (like the non-schedule of summer with kids at home or, worse, home assignment travels!) is incredibly hard. I struggle with this every time, but I have wrestled with it enough to discover ways to maintain God-time no matter what’s going sideways in the world around me. Here are a few suggestions that I hope both give you encouragement and freedom in how you can meet with Jesus this summer.

1. Enjoy God in nature.
In times of transition and changing seasons, nothing helps reorient our perspective quite like a walk. Leave your phone behind, head to a park or mountain trail, and let every scene of beauty turn your heart toward your Creator.

2. Try a devotional app and rearrange your phone screen.
Your phone will likely be with you or near you most of the time, so how can you turn it into a tool that helps you draw closer to God rather than be distracted from Him? One way is to try an app designed to do just that, then rearrange your home screen so that the most distracting apps are a swipe or two away and the most encouraging ones are what you’ll see first. The next time you’re waiting somewhere with a few minutes to spare, instead of opening a game or social media, try one of these:

3. Establish a Bible reading plan before the change of schedule.
If you know a schedule change is coming, make a goal and start a sustainable Bible reading plan before it hits. For example, you might want to hunker down in the book of Philippians for a month. Plan to read it in its entirety every week, or pick a slow reading schedule, chewing on just a few verses each day. Whatever you choose, start it well ahead of the transition so you will have a clear goal and be in an established habit when change comes.

4. Involve the kids.
Kids might feel like the great enemy of a good quiet time, but finding ways to involve them can be enriching for both of you. Obviously, you can do structured family devotions, but we’ve found that spontaneous times of worship and prayer tend to be more enjoyable for all. Put some worship music with lyrics on the TV and initiate popcorn prayers in the car. Choose a family memory verse and have the kids help create hand motions to go with it. Read inspirational stories together and have heartfelt conversations about the struggles and joys of following Jesus. It might not be “quiet,” but it can still connect you (and them!) with God.

5. Go on coffee dates with Jesus.
And then there are those times when you just really need some quiet space out of the house, away from family. That’s real! So, find a library or coffee shop, bring your Bible and journal, and just have a good chat with your friend, Jesus, away from all the distractions of home.

6. Read a book with a friend.
Sometimes a little accountability can go a long way. If your Bible study or prayer group stops for a season or your new work schedule won’t allow you to attend, find a friend who will read through a book with you. I’d suggest setting regular meeting times for discussion and making a reading plan that you can both stick to. This can foster both your relationship with God (if it’s a book with solid spiritual content) and your relationship with a friend.

A few I’d recommend are The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer, Placemaker by Christina Purifoy, Soul Keeping by John Ortberg, the Sensible Shoes series by Sharon Brown, Journey of the Soul by Bill and Kristi Gaultier, The Furious Longing of God by Brennan Manning, Becoming Elisabeth Elliot by Ellen Vaughn, Relentless by Michele Cushatt, and Spiritual Rhythm by Mark Buchanan (or anything else by him). You could also check out Catch the Rain or Colliding with the Call by yours truly.

7. Set aside one morning a month for reflection.
Reflection is critical to growth. Take the time to answer a few key questions as you close out one month and start another, and you’ll be far more able to identify what is helping you grow the most spiritually. A few of my monthly questions are: What expectations were met/not met last month? What spiritual practices did I do the most? Is there anything I need to repent of? What is God inviting me into next? What am I most thankful for?

8. Join a service project or summer church program.
Sometimes we need to simply get our hands dirty or be stretched out of our comfort zone to find a fresh connection with God. It’s also one of the best ways to deepen relationships with others. What can you physically do to be part of serving even in the midst of a new season?

9. Write out a morning and evening prayer.
These can be as simple as short breath prayers (here’s a printable guide) or as long as you want. If you long to anchor your heart in a scriptural truth during this season, pick a verse and personalize it into a prayer. Lately, I’ve been taking the concept of abiding from John 15 and simply praying, “Make your home in me as I make my home in you.” Opening and closing your day with a rote prayer can be like having two solid bookends to keep you from toppling over.

10. Make use of travel time.
Plan for soul-enriching activities during travel, like encouraging audiobooks, podcasts, and music. Let the content that fills your mind be “true, noble, right, pure, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy” (see Phil. 4:8).

11. Set up a new quiet-time space.
Do you gravitate toward the back porch in the summer? Set your Bible by the door. Is your house noisy with kids and company? Create a quiet nook in your bedroom. If having a consistent physical space is important for you as you meet with God, do whatever you need to do to set that up for this season.

12. Embrace the change and prepare for the reset.
When life gets stirred and tilted, we tend to more readily recognize what really matters. Use this season of change to help you sift out the old routines that have become lifeless and bravely try some new methods of connecting with God. If you can look ahead, like to the end of summer break, and see your schedule return to normal, start to anticipate now what you want your time with God to look like then. It might be different from what it was, and that’s okay. Often a reset can do us good.

I think we put the idea of an hour-long, morning quiet time on a pedestal. Sure, it can be helpful to carve out an extended time to read the Bible, pray, and journal, but checking “quiet time” off your daily to-do list (even mentally) isn’t the goal. Abiding with Jesus is. In every moment, every breath, tethering your heart to His, turning your ear toward Him, resting on His strength – this is the goal. And there is certainly more than one way to get there. Maybe this shaking up of your devotional routine is just the beginning.

Article originally published at corellaroberts.com and reprinted with permission.

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Corella Roberts is the author of Colliding with the Call: When Following God Takes You to the Wilderness. She serves at an international school in Thailand with her husband and three kids—two biological, one adopted. She loves music, mountains, and walking with people toward soul restoration. Find out more at corellaroberts.com.

Jesus Died to Save My Body

Today I am annoyingly aware of my body. Just to get to these words I have moved to the dining room table (the tall desk in my room just felt too, well, tall today), brought a pillow from the couch to go behind my back (these wooden chairs have no contour), settled in to write only to pop back up again to find some socks (who can write with cold toes?), munched on a bowl of tortilla chips while rereading the last chapter I wrote (salt cravings are real, my friend), and found about a dozen other environmental adjustments to make before finding the words of this incredibly long sentence.

I am clearly more than a mind doling out thoughts to entertain you. I am dependent on my fingers to type, my eyes to see what I’ve written, my achy back to support my frame, and my heart to keep the blood flowing through it all. This is me: the living, breathing Corella Roberts.

I consist of a regenerated spirit that will live for eternity with Christ, but also an earthly body that will someday become a resurrected, heavenly body. The two are intricately interwoven.

In fact, Jesus values our flesh and bones so much that he was publicly humiliated and physically tortured that we might also have resurrected bodies. This can’t be understated, though the implications of it aren’t always preached at Easter (or any time, for that matter).

Jesus died to save my body.

Ever heard that one? Souls, yes, but bodies? Paul seems to suggest so in his letter to the church in Rome—a church comprised of people who freshly understood the transition from a life of bodily sin to a life of bodily worship. He writes, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:22–23).

How do we live out an embodied faith while we wait, groaning inwardly (sometimes outwardly, too), for the redemption of our bodies? And what does that look like in this healing journey we’re on?

First of all, it’s easier than we dare to think. Simple, physical acts such as bowing your head in reverence or gazing skyward in joy, moving to music or kneeling in silence, hugging a sad friend or crying our own tears in God’s presence are all ways to integrate our faith with our bodies.

Sometimes, too, the mind is weak, or the heart is broken, and these expressions are all we have.

“In the midst of this, though words failed me, prayer without words—prayer in and through my body—became a lifeline. I couldn’t find words, but I could kneel. I could submit to God through my knees, and I’d lift my hands to hold up an ache: a fleshy, unnamable longing that I carried around my ribs. I’d offer up an aching body with my hands, my knees, my tears, my lifted eyes. My body led in prayer and led me—all of me, eventually even my words—into prayer,” shares author Tish Harrison Warren.[1]

Several years ago, a friend gripped my arm and said that God was asking her to do something scary. Would I please pray for her? Concerned, I agreed. And then, to the astonishment of the nearly one-hundred other women in the room, my friend stood up and began to dance.

Through her beautiful Portuguese accent and a well of tears, she told us how she was born to dance. She loved it with every fiber of her being, but when she came to Christ, she was told it was sinful, so she stopped. She hid and shamed this gift of hers until that night, when she set it free in worship to the song “Agnus Dei.”

“Alleluia, Alleluia,
For the Lord God Almighty reigns…
Holy, holy,
Are you Lord God, Almighty.
Worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb,
You are holy…”

Those of us present knew we were witnessing the healing of a soul. A foretaste to the redemption of a body. It was beyond beautiful. We all wept, and then, something equally miraculous happened: several other women began dancing, too. Their motions, graceful or otherwise, swept around the room with the purity of a daughter twirling in her daddy’s arms.

Embodied worship. The healing of a soul. The delight of the Father.

If you find yourself dry, discouraged, defeated, or even burned out, I want to remind you of this: Jesus died to save all of you, including your body. As Dallas Willard said, our physical bodies are the “power pack” for our spirits.[2] We live out this life with Christ through our bodies; therefore, soul restoration must be holistic.

So what can you do? Where can you begin this healing in your own, real-life body? Here are a few of the basics.

Worship. Lift your voice, raise your hands, lay face down, clap, dance, play an instrument—however you like to praise God, engage your whole self in it. If this is awkward or uncomfortable for you in your church setting, do it alone. You’ll know, like my friend did, if God is urging you to bring freedom to others by doing it in public. But for now, get your own heart, mind, and body fully engaged in praising God. After all, it is what you were created to do; worship is coming home for the human soul.

Rest. A life filled with stress, demands, frustrations, and heavy responsibility is often a body flooded with cortisol, aka the stress hormone. And you may not want to hear this, but the number one way to lower those cortisol levels is to get enough sleep. Getting out in nature and moving your body gently by hiking, walking, or biking are helpful, too. Meditating on scripture, especially when paired with slow, deep breathing, is an excellent, integrated way to reduce stress. Try this one: Breathe in slowly while thinking, “Peace of Christ,” then breathe out slowly while thinking, “Guard my heart.” Also high on the list are laughter, a whole-foods diet (think lots of fruits and veggies and limited sugar and processed snacks), and quality time with loved ones.[3]

Exercise. Slow, moderate exercise is wonderful for lowering cortisol levels, but a more rigorous exercise routine can help you sleep better, boost your mood, improve your heart health, and strengthen your muscles. Remember, we’re not doing these activities out of vanity; rather, we’re desiring to honor God with our bodies and trust that He cares for our whole selves.

Create. We are crafted in the image of a creative God. He has hard-wired that creativity into our DNA, and exercising your creative gifts is a sure path toward healing. Maybe you create meaning with words, paint, melody, or clay. Maybe you create beauty through gardening, photography, woodworking, or sewing. Maybe you create order through organized drawers, spreadsheets, or lesson plans. Or maybe you create sustenance through cooking and baking. Our endless God has given us endless modes to reflect His creativity. Which one has He given to you?

Now, two days after beginning this chapter while restless at home, I end it at a quiet café tucked in the hills of Northern Thailand. A fan cools my back, a Thai milk tea soothes my throat, and out the window I watch leaf-sized birds dance from one flowered tree branch to another. Beyond them, a breeze stirs the verdant hillside, and heavy clouds spill over the mountains on the horizon. I feel refreshed from my earlier workout and shower, and here, in this space, the words flow freely. The simple contentment of this moment for my mind, heart, and body is tangible.

As it should be.

This article is an adapted excerpt from Corella’s new book, Catch the Rain: Soul Restoration for the Dry and Weary Christian.

References:

[1] Warren, T. H. (2016). Liturgy of the Ordinary. InterVarsity Press.

[2] Willard, D. What is Our Body? Retrieved January 28, 2024 from https://www.facebook.com/dallas.willard.0717/videos/587141839057176/?mibextid=rS40aB7S9Ucbxw6v

[3] 11 Natural Ways to Lower Your Cortisol Levels. Retrieved August 31, 2022 from, https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/ways-to-lower-cortisol

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Is God Really With Me?

“Can you help with this project?” Who else is on the team?

“Do you want to go see that movie with me?” Well, I don’t know. Who’s asking?

“Let’s take a road trip!” Hmm, who did you say would be driving?

The who in my story usually influences my decisions more than the what. In fact, the who can make the what and the where a superfluous backdrop. I can go anywhere on a rare night out with my husband and be perfectly happy just to be with him; and with the right friends, even the worst movie can be an occasion for laughter and fun.

So, when Jesus said, “Go into all the world and make disciples … I am with you always,” I eagerly set off to follow Him into missions (Matthew 28:19-20). And God’s reassurance to Joshua kept me there when I desperately wanted to quit during our second year in Alaska: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

Here I am, thirteen years later, and I still find myself crossing my arms with Moses, telling God, “If you don’t go, I’m not going. Either we’re in this together, or I’m out. Are you with me, God? Really with me?” (My super rough paraphrase of Exodus 33.)

Because, honestly, I can’t tell right now. God swept through my soul like a hurricane two years ago, reviving my dry bones and rekindling my passion for Him with an almost visceral fire. But that fire seems to have sputtered out. I’m tired. I’m distracted. I’m overwhelmed by the pandemic-frustrated state of the world right now, and I’m just not sure if God is still with me the way He was a couple of years ago.

Separation Anxiety
My 6-year old daughter has decided she no longer wants to fall asleep by herself. She’s been in her own bedroom since she was one-year old, mind you, and never, before this last month, has she battled with an extreme fear of being alone in the dark.

A new house, a burst of brain development, and spiritual battles could all be to blame, but one thing I know–the way we respond to this as parents will set the stage for how we help her navigate other fears in life. As badly as I want to coddle my little princess and just lay with her until she falls asleep every night, I don’t want her to become so dependent on me that we can never leave her with a babysitter at bedtime. So I pray for her, reassure her that Jesus is with her, and promise to come back to check on her in ten minutes.

Sometimes, however, even that’s not enough. She doesn’t care that I’m sitting at the table just outside her bedroom door; she wants me right there with her. But I am with you, I try to comfort her. I’m right outside your door. You can trust me. I’m here and I won’t leave this house. You’re safe, and I’m still with you.

I want her to trust my nearness and care even when she can’t see me, can’t feel me.

Perhaps, Father God does the same.

I am with you
I’m practicing listening this year. Listening to the birds, to the harmonies in music, to my own physical and emotional needs, to friends without trying to fix anything, and to the Spirit of the Living God. But here’s the funny thing, in my scattered moments of listening recently, I keep hearing one repeated phrase.

“I am with you.”

And while my head knows this to be true of God, my heart apparently isn’t grasping it well. As I mentioned, when I’m real with myself in this COVID-crazed, stretched-thin-while-substitute-teaching, unable-to-find-the-rhythms-of-rest life, I discover my own separation anxiety. God, I can’t see you. I don’t feel you. Are you really still with me?

Yesterday, He whispered it again during a moment of worship. I ceased swaying to the music and almost held my breath. I didn’t want to leave that holy moment. I didn’t want to forget that yes, the God of the Universe is with me. The scene surrounding me faded away, and the only thing that mattered was my who.

Whether I can see Him, feel Him, or hear Him is irrelevant. He promised His presence, and I never have to doubt His nearness. The overwhelming awareness of His presence is a gift, but the lack of it is not a punishment. It could be that I’m just not paying enough attention, but it also could be a gentle nudge toward maturation and trust.

He is with me. Always.

He is with you. Always.

We can trust and we can rest like a child in His arms … even when His embrace feels more like a bottomless freefall. We always land safely on His promises. So, one more time, settle your heart in Jesus’ promise to His disciples (that’s you):

“Jesus, undeterred, went right ahead and gave his charge: ‘God authorized and commanded me to commission you: Go out and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism in the threefold name: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then instruct them in the practice of all I have commanded you. I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age.’” (Matthew 28:18-20 MSG)

He is the only who that truly matters in your story.

For a free devotional to help you remember your who in the driest desert, check out A 14-Day Wilderness Excursion Through the Bible. The download link is at the bottom of the page–no email required.

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Corella Roberts makes her home in Northern Thailand where she and her husband partner with an international school to “Serve the Servants.” Their first missionary teaching assignment landed them in the remote bush of Alaska, which you can read about in her book, Colliding with the Call. From tundra to tropics, her life of following Jesus has been nothing less than story-worthy, and she loves using her experiences to encourage others to connect deeply with God at corellaroberts.com. You can also find her cleaning up legos or meandering their local market in search of mangosteen and lychee fruit.

What Are You Even Doing Here?

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I was a fresh, excited, bi-vocational missionary-teacher in Alaska. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to partner with God. I wanted to use my gifts and my training and my time to spread the gospel. I wanted to shine His glory to the uttermost parts of the earth.

And then … it was really, really, REALLY hard. I barely made it two months into village life before finding myself gasping for air.

“During this overwhelming, unpredictable season, we were invited to go to a church service in a nearby village; and we welcomed the opportunity to see a new place and worship with other believers. A travelling, Native pastor picked us up in his four-seater airplane, and we hopped down the river to an even smaller village for church. Before the service began, this well-intentioned pastor asked us if we’d met the only other Christian couple in our village. They were in their forties, had been following Christ for about four years, and had been praying for Christian teachers to fellowship with.

They didn’t have any kids in the school, where our lives had been consumed with the task of adjusting to teaching; so no, we hadn’t met them yet.

‘Then what are you even doing here?’ this short, fiery man retorted.

Somehow, I held it together in the moment, but I was absolutely pierced, soul deep. . . .

I tried to sit through the worship, but the pain inside was too strong. I got up, closed myself in the small bathroom, and tried to stifle my sobs. Is THIS your plan, God? This mess of a job I’m calling teaching? . . . This crushing expectation to support the other Christian couple? Seriously, God. I don’t like it. I can’t do it. Why am I even here? I knew I needed to pull it together, but I had no answer. No peace. Only pain. Some missionary I was.” (I recounted that story in my new book, Colliding with the Call.)

I didn’t stay in that place of despair or those feelings of failure forever. In fact, I didn’t even give up on our bush teaching assignment. My husband and I hacked out another seven years in rural Alaska before moving to teach in Thailand, but I can tell you, I still hear that question buzzing in my ear now and then. What are you even doing here? It’s like a dengue-carrying mosquito, and I know if I let it land and bite, my faith will be in critical condition for a while. (If you don’t know what Dengue Fever is, feel free to substitute the imagery for the cough of a COVID-19 carrier who forgot to wear a mask.)

I think that question is so particularly hurtful because if there’s one thing a missionary wants to be, it’s useful. So when we start doubting our purpose, our calling, it’s often a direct attack on ourselves and our identity. But that right there–the feeling of a loss of identity when we feel like we’re failing at our tasks–is the real danger.

It’s easy to say, “My identity is in Christ,” but a whole other thing to live it. I won’t expand on that because Amy Young already wrote about it here. And you can find a huge list of scriptures about it here. But what I do want to touch on is that right now, during this global pandemic and the frustration of social distancing, what we can do is most likely being affected. Which means we’re all swatting at that question, What are you even doing here?

So, let’s answer it once and for all.

WHAT are you even doing here?
Are you sheltering your family by practicing social distancing? Do it in love. Are you preparing online lessons or teaching your stir-crazy kiddos from home? Do it in love. Did you make the painful decision to go? To stay? To be near those who need you most at this time? Be there in love. Are you distributing food? Sharing words of encouragement? Worshiping and praying? Learning to be still and listen? Do it in love.

There is no small task in the kingdom of God. What you see as menial, He sees as faithful service. I am convinced that nothing poured out in worship is ever wasted. Keep doing what you’re doing in love, as worship, and know that it is enough, because He is enough.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed . . .” Matthew 13:31-32

What are YOU even doing here?
You are you on purpose–created and designed to fill that very special niche in God’s plan. He has not put anyone else in your particular position, he has put you there. Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing (or feel like you’re not doing), you’re there, doing it, on divine purpose. No one else can speak to that one hurting heart in your home, next door, or through the screen, the way you can. And no one else can represent that very special facet of His heart to the world the way you can. Just keep being you–He’s never asked you to be anyone else.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works . . .” Ephesians 2:10

What are you even doing HERE?
I have a friend right now who has been stuck in Australia, trying to return to her family and her graduating senior in Thailand, since this whole global shut-down began. Others have been able to repatriate but now are unsure how they’ll get visas again when it’s time to return to their host countries. And many of us (myself included) are separated from vulnerable family members and questioning if we made the right choice not to be with them when this all started going down. It’s incredibly frustrating to feel trapped or blocked from being where we want to be, but I’m holding onto this:

“. . . your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” Colossians 3:2-4

God has my feet on this chunk of the planet, in this moment in time, for a reason. But more than that, I belong to Him. He is my true home, and my heart is safely cupped in His hands.

No matter where you are, what you’re doing, or how you’re feeling productive and useful or not, you are sheltered and dearly loved in Christ for all eternity.

I think if someone were to furrow their brows at me today and pointedly ask, “What are you even doing here?” I’d be miffed, certainly, but then I hope I’d say, “You know, I’m not always sure. But I am sure that God is pursuing my heart. And I hope I can love some other people into His kingdom along the way.”

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Corella Roberts makes her home in Northern Thailand where she and her husband partner with an international school to “Serve the Servants.” Their first missionary teaching assignment landed them in the remote bush of Alaska, which you can read about in her newly released book, Colliding with the Call. From tundra to tropics, she seeks to follow Jesus, and she encourages others to connect deeply with God at corellaroberts.com. You can also find her cleaning up legos or meandering their local market in search of mangosteen and lychee fruit.