As Christ’s followers, we are his handiwork, his masterpiece, his workmanship. Our beautifully transformed lives are a demonstration of his work. We are proof that he is a masterful artist! He created us in Christ Jesus—which is to say he saved us to follow him–for the purpose of doing the good works he’s prepared for us to do.

Jesus saved Peter because he wanted to, but also because he’d prepared good work for the man and prepared the man for the work.

“Feed my sheep. Take care of my sheep. Tend my lambs.”

It must have sounded hard and weighty. Peter knew himself too well, and as Jesus was telling Peter about the work he’d planned for him to do, Peter turned around and saw John.

John hadn’t denied knowing Jesus. Sure, he may have scattered like the rest of them on the night Jesus was crucified, but at least he’d scrounged up the courage to be standing at the foot of the cross while Jesus died. In fact, while Jesus was dying, he spoke from the cross and entrusted his own mother to John!

In Peter’s estimation, surely John would have been a better shepherd for this little flock of followers, so Peter said, “What about him?”

Haven’t we all asked that question in our own way?

Jesus has called us to follow him in a million different ways through daily works that he’s prepared, and I protest and say, “Eeeks, what about her? Isn’t there someone else better suited for this? Surely, so-and-so would be a better choice?”

The first time I was asked to speak at a retreat I told the director, “Well, I could do it, but there are women who are far better suited for it than I am. Do you want me to get you their information?”

I had a gal’s name rolling around in my head—a woman with tons of speaking and life experience who has adored and followed Jesus faithfully. She can even sing and play the piano at the same time! I can barely walk and chew gum, so What about her?

Have you been presented with a need or an opportunity to follow Jesus in the good works he’s prepared and heard yourself saying, “Wouldn’t she be a better choice?”

Jesus answers our objections, the same way he answered Peter, and I’ll paraphrase verse 22: “If I want her to do something entirely different or even unthinkable, what’s it to ya? You follow me. Get your eyes off someone else and look to me. I will lead you.”

And my friend, who would have been a more experienced teacher, well, she’s in Missouri doing the work God has prepared for her.

John couldn’t do Peter’s Kingdom job because he was going to be doing what God had prepared for him. John’s job was to bear witness to all that Jesus had done and would do. Right here in John 21:24, 60-some years after he’d stood behind Peter and Jesus on that beach, John wrote, “[I am] the disciple who testifies to these things and who wrote them down.” In other words, ‘The guy Peter was hoping would take his place, that was me. But my job was to testify to these things and write them down so that you–dear reader–may believe that Jesus is the Christ and that by believing in him, you’ll have life in his name.’

Jesus had prepared good works for Peter and John. And after Jesus ascended to the Father and sent his Holy Spirit, Peter and John got to work.

On the same day that they received the Holy Spirit, they preached, in various languages, And the flock Peter was commissioned to care for grew by 3,000.

Days later, when Peter and John went to the Temple to pray, they healed a crippled man, which drew a crowd, and they preached again.

Sometimes the good works God has prepared for us are extremely rewarding, and we get to see the God-glorifying results.

But, the longer you follow Jesus in the good works he’s prepared, you will discover there is also a kind of burden that comes with it.

Because every kingdom job has a kingdom burden.

Every Kingdom Job Comes With a Kingdom Burden

Earlier in their ministry, Jesus told them (Luke 12:12-13), “you will be handed over to be tried in synagogues and be put in prison; you will be brought before kings and rulers for my sake.” 

And in John 21, Jesus gives a shocking—even if somewhat veiled–revelation that Peter would eventually be crucified for following Jesus. He would eventually do what he had promised: “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death” (Luke 22:33). Eventually, he would.

Within ten years, the apostles would begin to be picked off by whichever ruler they’d offended. James, as in John’s big brother and Peter’s good friend, was first—Herod Agrippa had him beheaded.

Peter must have heard Jesus’s prophecy rattling in his mind, “…when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go” (John 21:18). He must’ve wondered if he’d be next. When will it be me?

Peter’s Kingdom burden was jail and beatings and a prophecy of martyrdom.

John’s burden was to bear witness for 90 years as each of his friends and brothers were killed–one by one–for following Jesus.

Remember: Jesus saved Peter because he wanted to, but also because he’d prepared good work for the man and prepared the man for the work.  If you are following Jesus, then you have good work to do and you are being prepared to do that work.  

How has God used a failure to prepare you to do the work he’s prepared for you to do?

* A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson, page 17.

Previous Posts in this Series

• Where to Find the Courage to Continue Following
• How Does Jesus Prepare us to Continue Following
• Why Does Jesus Want Followers Who Fail?
• What Does Jesus Do for Followers Who Fail?
• What Does Jesus Do for Disappointed Followers?
• What Does it Mean to Follow Jesus?

The post How God Prepares People to do the Work He’s Prepared appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Jesus did not promise that following him would be a walk in the park, but he did say that he would always be with us and would show himself to us along the way.

Now, I’ll be honest. On some days, that sounds like a consolation prize. 

Like maybe we thought following Jesus would make things easy and fun, but it turns out we only get the promise that he will be with us and “show himself to us.” 

Jesus Shows Himself to Followers

In John 14, Jesus repeatedly says (with various wording), “If you love me, you will obey me, and I will show myself to you.”

How does Christ show himself to us? Do you have to climb a mountain or go to a retreat? You can. But you don’t have to. I have benefited from and enjoyed retreats, conferences, and groups such as Bible Study Fellowship. Through each of those events, I’ve learned about God and connected with his people.

But most often he “shows himself to me” when I’ve brought him a desperate need from my regular life. 

Like the time he gave me a glimpse of himself through a Cathedral Window cookie. 

Remembering these things stirs affection and worship. That sincere affection makes me want to follow and obey him again.

Jesus explains this phenomenon when he says in John 14:15, “if you love me, you will obey me, and you will know the Spirit of God….”

Again in 14:21, Jesus says, “whoever obeys is the one who loves me…and I will show myself to him.” 

And again in 14:23, “If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching and…God and I will make our home with him.“

I see a glorious cycle here:

God’s lovingkindness for us produces love for God inside us.

Love for God produces obedience in the good works he’s prepared.

Obedience–whether it means you stop disobeying or start obeying him–produces an opportunity to see him. As he “shows himself to us,” we witness his lovingkindness.

Seeing God’s lovingkindness produces love for him. And love for God produces obedience. Obedience produces an opportunity to see and know him.

It’s the life-cycle of your Christian walk where God receives glory, and we receive the blessing of seeing him. 

Jesus Rewards Followers

Knowing Jesus as an intimate friend is the primary and lasting reward of doing the good works he’s prepared! And it propels us toward him.

There may be other rewards—admiration, satisfaction in knowing you helped someone, or even a note of thanks or appreciation. But you can’t count on any of that.

Sometimes our good work seems useless.

Sometimes people don’t admire the good work you do in obedience to Jesus.

You may pour your heart into a job, a project, a ministry, or a child because Christ invited you to do it. You may never receive a whisper of human appreciation.

You may try to help someone by giving them money and find out later they invested it in a “very valuable collector’s edition Beanie Baby” or that they lost it at the casino.

You may feel like those good works are useless or wasted, but when we view these opportunities as a way to follow Jesus into the good works he’s prepared so that we will know him, then none of it is wasted! We ARE following Christ.

Colossians 3:23-24 in the Amplified Versions says, “Whatever you do [whatever your task may be], work from the soul [that is, put in your very best effort], as [something done] for the Lord and not for men, knowing [with all certainty] that it is from the Lord [not from men] that you will receive the inheritance which is your [greatest] reward. It is the Lord Christ whom you [actually] serve.”

You can’t count on your good work to transform people’s hearts or behavior. Only Jesus can do that.

But you can count on this: When you do the good work God prepared in advance for you to do, you will know Christ! And you will love him more. He is your great reward.

The World Does Not Know Her Name

He called you to follow him, and he has prepared you for a Kingdom job.

To be clear, I’m not describing one single gigantic task. It’s a million little things throughout the course of your regular life.

Maybe you’re not tied to an office or a schedule anymore and you’re available to make a weekly phone call to a friend, schedule coffee, or spend that time praying for someone who’s asked for prayer. Do you know how rare it is to discover a person who is able and willing to give their time? People inside and outside of the church spend millions trying to buy time. Your availability could be one aspect of the good works God has prepared for you to do.

Maybe you’ve raised four kids, and a young single mom moves into the house next door. Do you suppose God might have a good work prepared for you that you can walk in?

Perhaps you’ve struggled with anxiety, depression, or an eating disorder, and a woman in your Bible study or your office hints at a similar struggle. Can you share how Jesus has ministered to you in your struggle?

In 2 Corinthians 1:4 NLT, we read, “God comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”

In sharing Christ’s work in our own lives, we influence people for Christ.

Years ago, on a radio broadcast, an interviewer asked a well-known Christian woman, “Who is the most influential Christian woman in America?”  She answered, “The world does not know her name.”

I think of her answer every time I visit a small church and see the same women there year, after year, after year.

I marvel at the women who have served, accomplishing tasks that few people notice. Women who meet a need and desperately hope no one embarrasses them by noticing. Women who are doing the good work God prepared to benefit the people they bump into every week.

For example, I think of a widow I know who, despite being injured, raised someone else’s children. One of her greatest joys is taking a meal to anyone sick, injured, grieving, or just plain busy. She doesn’t do it because she’s afraid of what you’ll think if she doesn’t. She gives and gives because a long time ago, she was grieving, she was injured, she was busy.

And the world does not know her name.

I think of a woman who rocks a fussy baby in the church nursery. It’s not her baby, nor her grandbaby. She’s just loving a young mom by loving her child. She wipes congealed breast milk off her shoulder with a paper towel and goes right on patting and consoling so a young mom can have 20 minutes to worship. She will be back next week and next month, and next year because when she was a young single mom, she needed a small window of undistracted time to worship the God who sustained her.

And the world does not know her name.

I think of a woman who married a jerk. A “Christian” jerk. He’s not an abuser, but he’s a jerk who makes physical loneliness seem like paradise. This woman has overlooked a thousand wrongs, turned the other cheek, and turned her eyes upon Jesus. And for her young married friends, who find themselves gasping in the thin air of unmet expectations, spiraling down into disappointment, she’s like a triage nurse. She drags her from the wreckage and urges her on toward Christ—who makes beautiful things out of wreckage and disciples out of jerks.

And the world does not know her name.

These women are broken vessels whose fractured lives allow the light of Christ to shine through. These are women whose good works are “for the Lord” (see Colossians 3:23). None of it is wasted.

Followers Point Out the Holy

Occasionally, we do get to see Christ revealing himself to the people we’ve tried to love. We see him restoring after tragedy or over-filling nets with fish. In our astonishment, we can point to that miracle of transformation and say, “That is his work! That is exactly the kind of thing he does! I recognize it because I’ve seen him do it before!”

Followers of Jesus get to enjoy and point out the holy scenery on our pilgrimage. Ours is not a random path to nowhere. We are following Jesus to a destination.

Because of Jesus, you belong in his kingdom, and that’s where you are headed.

He has invited you to follow. He keeps you as his follower, even after you’ve failed. And he supplies the courage to keep following him toward his holy kingdom by showing himself to you along the way. 

He’s done it repeatedly throughout the centuries. John wrote, “If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written” (John 21:25). 

Your kingdom job is to enjoy the privilege of telling how Jesus showed himself to you as you followed him, and maybe someone who hears your story will want to follow Jesus too.

Previous Posts in this Series

• How Does Jesus Prepare us to Continue Following
• Why Does Jesus Want Followers Who Fail?
• What Does Jesus Do for Followers Who Fail?
• What Does Jesus Do for Disappointed Followers?
• What Does it Mean to Follow Jesus?

The post Where to Find Courage to Continue Following Jesus appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

On June 9, 2009, we experienced the fishing trip that would ruin all future family fishing trips.

Our boys were getting interested in fishing, but I didn’t particularly care for worms, hooks, or the stench in the laundry after we’d manhandled all manner of smelly creatures. But on this June evening, Kurt was there to handle the slimy things, and he’d received a top-secret fishing tip about where the fish were biting.

It was a good tip. Kurt rigged up poles for the boys, and from the moment the first lure smacked the surface, we had constant bites. A few family friends happened to be there too, thank goodness, because every sixty seconds, one of the boys needed help reeling in the fish or taking it off the hook.

After Levi’s first catch, the friend helping him asked, “Do you want to hold it?”

Levi smiled and nodded tentatively. Then he reached for the fish.

My sister-in-law was quick with the camera and captured the reality. Levi appeared to (possibly) be holding the fish. Maybe he truly thought he was, but the photo tells the truth.

Someone else was holding the fish.

We caught 53 fish that evening! Future fishing excursions from shore never quite measured up.

When I ran across that photo, it reminded me of another fisherman named Peter. In a boat full of fish that was sinking his boat, Peter got his first glimpse of Christ’s power. Jesus could do what Peter could not, so Peter left everything on the shore and followed him (see Luke 5:1-11).

Three years later, after Peter had denied Jesus and Jesus had been crucified and then raised to life, Peter found himself on the same lake with his nets full of fish…again (see John 21:1-6).

It turns out that while Peter was bewildered and trying to catch fish, Jesus was doing the work. In a way, Jesus was holding the fish.

Are you trying to hold yourself together? Are you straining to hold your family together? Are you working long hours to hold a job you can’t afford to lose?

Who is doing the work of holding you?

In a book titled Gentle and Lowly, (Affiliate Link) author and pastor Dane Ortland provides this illustration:

“When my two-year-old Benjamin begins to wade into the gentle slope of the zero-entry swimming pool near our home, he instinctively grabs hold of my hand. He holds on tight as the water gradually gets deeper. But a two-year-old’s grip is not very strong. Before long, it is not he holding on to me but me holding on to him…So [it is] with Christ. We cling to him, to be sure. But our grip is that of a two-year-old amid the storm waves of life. [Christ’s] sure grasp never falters” (Gentle and Lowly, page 65).

Most children instinctively cling to their parents at the door of the nursery, the daycare, or the dentist. A mother might even bear the faint scars of little fingernails dragged across her neck as her little boy was unwillingly peeled away.

But when that same boy wants to sprint into the Walmart parking lot, the strong mother clings to the child to hold him fast.

When you feel like you’re losing your grip, who is holding you?

We get a few clues from the writers of the Psalms.

[The Lord] reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
 He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me .

Psalm 18:16, NIV

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast .

Psalm 139:9-10, NIV

• When my health is tenuous, He will hold me fast.
• When my family fractures, He will hold me fast.
• When people pronounce judgment without knowing the facts, He will hold me fast.
• When exhaustion cuts me down, He will hold me fast.

Then, in Isaiah, we hear it from God himself:

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10, NIV

How he holds us and by what means he provides strength is completely up to him. We can trust him because we are upheld by his good and righteous hand.

When certainty slipping from your grasp, when people you have loved start squirming from your hand, remember, Someone Else is holding on to you.

He will hold you fast.

If you need a musical reminder to drill this stabilizing truth deep into your heart and mind, do yourself and favor and listen to Keith & Kristin Getty remind you who is holding you.

The post Who is Holding on to You? appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Sometimes I round that curve, and the breeze blowing up the shore carries the most unappealing smells. Often, I smell a rotting carcass, and as the smell gets stronger, I inevitably see a dead carp bloating in the sun. There’s a garbage can close to the dock, and a nauseating cocktail of odors seep from under its fitted metal lid. When the lake is low, a quarter-mile of soggy shale emits a stale and muddy stench.

But on this particular day, I rounded the corner and walked into an invisible wall of fragrance.

What is that smell? I wondered.

I took a big deliberate whiff just to savor it. The fragrance completely overwhelmed the normal odors—no hint of stagnant water or decaying plants—just a sweet, invisible scent.

Nature’s perfume swirled in the air, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Tiny leaves had just started to uncurl themselves on branches, so it took me a minute to realize I was smelling the brand-new baby buds of the shrub-like plumb trees lining the road.

The old country song, “If I could bottle this up, I could make a million…” ran through my head.

I stepped into the ditch, pulled a little branch to my nose, and inhaled. And here, words fail me. It smelled so good. I was walking alone that day, and I thought, “I wish someone were here to smell this with me!”

I thought about breaking off a twig and taking it back to the house, but I knew my boys would be less than impressed since we have a whole row of plums on our fence line. They’re a distance from the house, so maybe that’s why I never smell them.

I stepped back onto the road without a show-n-tell branch and thought, “Too bad you can’t send a smell over social media.” Then I immediately wondered how long it would be before Apple devises a way to add a scent library alongside their GIF and emoji libraries. It turns out it’s already been attempted.

Fragrances and odors coexist, but isn’t it interesting that pleasing scents can mask, mitigate, and even overwhelm the stink?

I suppose that’s why Paul refers to the gospel as a fragrance.

“God uses us to make the knowledge about Christ spread everywhere like a sweet fragrance”

2 Corinthians 2:14, (GNT)

Fragrance is a hidden alert and invitation to investigate, and Paul says that believers are the fragrance dispensers. We are like shrubs in various stages of blooming with buds of the fruit of the spirit. Whether the buds are just popping or the flower has opened, Christ’s work in us inevitably emits the fragrance of the gospel that invites folks to investigate.

I suppose that’s also why we’re encouraged to, “Be ready at all times to answer anyone who asks you to explain the hope you have in you” (1 Peter 3:15, GNT).

When people smell the hope of the gospel, they are compelled to ask questions. Our job is to graciously, gently, and respectfully explain what Jesus has done for us and in us. 

The good news of Jesus is a sweet aroma powerful enough to overwhelm the stench of despair, pride, loneliness, and fear. In a world full of odors, gospel fragrance dispensed by believers is an unexpected relief.

As we simply point to the source of the fragrance, we are sharing Jesus. It doesn’t feel like an engineered evangelistic program akin to Apple’s scent-sharing library. It’s a natural delight that honors God, magnifies Jesus, and offers peace to anyone brave enough to ask, “What’s that smell?”

When did you first “smell” the fragrance of “the knowledge of Christ?” 

What did you experience that made you want to investigate the source?

The post What’s that smell? appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

You’ll love her right away.

She and her team have written a book that would make a fabulous gift for yourself or a mom in your life for Mother’s Day, and she’s graciously shared an adapted excerpt with us today.

“I show up at the sink to an insurmountable pile of dishes. Nothing is scraped. Nothing is sorted. My limited counter space is overrun with remnants of our previous two meals—room-temp food, wadded up napkins between plates, stray silverware, and pans that need to be soaked. I pause and take a deep breath, aware that the only way to get out of this mess is to travel through it, bit by bit, plate by plate.

To my left, worship music plays softly through the Bluetooth speaker inside the cupboard of drinking glasses. I swing the cabinet door open so melodies can surround my weary soul as I swipe plates with a sponge and place them into the dishwasher. I’m hoping the cares I’ve brought to the kitchen will wash down the drain along with the bits of food I scrape into the disposal.

I’ve never been great at staying ahead of the mayhem, and as we’ve added kids to our family, it has become increasingly difficult to keep a tidy kitchen (let alone a tidy house). Most of the time I hobble along, performing whatever damage control is necessary to get through the day. Despite my best efforts, I constantly feel like our home is in disarray.

Like my kitchen, I am a mess inside—anxious, easily irritated by the squabbles of seven spirited children, weighed down by worries common to mothers everywhere.

Not a single thing I do in the course of a day leads to a satisfying end. I always have more toys to pick up, more laundry loads to flip, and more dishes to wash.

I turn up the volume loud enough to drown out the normal sounds of the kids, but not so loud I won’t be able to hear if an emerging situation requires my attention. Words of hope fill my ears, and the music draws me into another world. I replace noise with noise, but the worshipful words are a solace and an invitation to quiet my heart before God while my hands do the work they know. I am transported to a place where I am both physically present in an ordinary kitchen task and attentive to a deeper exchange between His spirit and mine.

When I show up at my kitchen sink, God shows up, too.”

~Excerpt adapted from “Worship at the Kitchen Sink” by Emily Sue Allen; this is an essay from Strong, Brave & Beautiful: Stories of Hope for Moms in the Weeds by writers from KindredMom.com

Maybe it’s the fact we have nine people living in our house, but it seems to me like there are always piles of dishes in my sink––even if I just finished doing all the dishes. The constant nature of the food cycle––prepare, serve, store, cleanup––is just one of many duties of caregiving that has required more energy than I typically have in reserve…not to mention I’d rather be reading, walking, or doing something creative with my time.

Still, I have come to believe it is a grace from God to draw me back to that humble place at the kitchen sink to repeat the same simple steps every day––a living liturgy to remind me that strength is cultivated by faithfulness. This simple, ordinary cycle is more than a hum-drum task meant to wear me out.

This basic household routine is part of a greater reality: faithfulness is required for flourishing.

For me, it’s less about the dishes and more about the truth of servanthood. Serving my family is not always gratifying. Sometimes it is mundane. Sometimes it is annoying. But when I set aside my boredom and annoyance to do what is needed, I can see the purpose in my service. I am nourishing my children’s hearts and bodies.

I am modeling a good work ethic and what it looks like to care about basic needs with love. I am expanding my children’s understanding of the effort involved in serving them, and I’m teaching them––meal after meal––how to be grateful.

I am empowering my older children to join me in the process of scraping, rinsing, and putting away dishes, demonstrating how we all should be moving toward age-appropriate responsibility for the stewardship of our lives.

I will still let out a sigh when I see the next obnoxious pile of dishes taunting me from my kitchen sink, but that won’t stop me from getting my hands wet to repeat the cleaning process yet again. This is about more than dishes. This is how God grows my character.

In the humble and repetitive chores of caregiving, I am reminded that God continually cares for me. He strengthens me to do what is necessary. He equips me as challenges arise, and He stays with me even after the clean dishes are put away.

When I faithfully serve my family, God nourishes me for the tasks and produces a flourishing life in my family and in me.

The post How to Flourish with a Sink Full of Dishes appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

It’s the phone greeting no one wants. For a parent, those five words have the power to rev up the circulatory system and unleash a maximum dose of adrenaline.

It was a gorgeous day, and since everything in our entire schedule had been canceled, my son went fishing. He drove our four-wheeler less than a quarter of a mile to the nearest shoreline to see if anything was biting.

He’d been gone a couple hours when he called.

“Mom, I have a problem.”

Before he had a chance to elaborate, I felt the blood drain from my face and dump into my heart (Hey, I’m no Doctor. I’m just describing the feeling ). I froze.

Like the credits at the end of a movie, a litany of horrible possibilities rolled through my mind.

 Did he have a fishhook lodged in his lip?

 Had he broken his leg?

 Did someone drown?

I waited for him to deliver the worst possible news.

“I lost the four-wheeler key.”

“Oh.”

All bodily systems began to return to normal, and I was left with an extreme case of emotional whiplash.

Terror morphed into a nanosecond of relief, which immediately gave way to irritation.

1. Why did you start the conversation with those five potentially devastating words?!
2. Why didn’t you put the key in a zipper pocket or something?!

By some miracle, I didn’t ask those questions out loud.

“How long have you been looking for it?” I asked

“About 45 minutes.”

That’s a pretty good effort for a teenage boy, and I could hear his worry and discouragement.

I drove two minutes to where he was slumped on the parked four-wheeler and began my investigation.

• What path did you take down to the water? (not sure)
•  Where did you go from there? (all over the place)
•  Did you fish anywhere else? (all along the shore)
•  What pocket was it in? (right jacket pocket)
•  Did you fall or bend over? (multiple times)

We retraced his steps (or so we thought) through tall, dry grass laid down by snowdrifts that had recently melted. We tromped through mud—the kind that stinks and makes a sucking noise every time you take a step.

We weren’t two minutes into our key-finding mission when I realized our efforts were futile. The area was too vast, and every square inch was the perfect place for a tiny key to hide or be buried.

If we didn’t find the key, though, he alone would bear the responsibility, the shame, and perhaps the expense of installing a new ignition or making a new key (I’m no mechanic either, but I suppose one or both are involved).

So, I did what I do when I have no idea what to do. I told the Lord about it.

“Lord, this is impossible. If we are going to find that key, you will have to show us where it is.”

I imagined a scene from a movie where sunlight flashes off a shiny misplaced item. I would run to the glimmer in the grass, fall on my knees, retrieve that beautiful key from its hiding place, and hold it up to the sunlight. (I’m no doctor or mechanic, but I do have a knack for the dramatic!)

My son half-walked, half-moped, two steps behind me. I wondered if he had been praying for help, but I hesitated to ask him.

I mean, what if I suggested we ask God to help us find the key, and then we didn’t find it? I’d feel some ridiculous need to explain God’s ways, and I might even feel a little embarrassed that God “didn’t come through” for us.

But what if we did find it?

That would be nothing short of a miracle. If we asked God for help from the start, we would KNOW God had heard and answered.

This mental wrestling match went on for several minutes when a third option came to mind.

What if we asked God, and didn’t find the key, but we got to have a conversation about God’s goodness even when things don’t turn out like we hoped.

When the boys were young, I hung a huge framed poster of James 1:5 in their room. It looked like a “WANTED” poster from an old Western movie, and it was a left-over VBS decoration.

“If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without criticizing, and it will be given to him” (James 1:5, HCSB)

It was my stealthy plan to help them hide God’s word in their hearts. I hung it where they could see it when they fell asleep and woke up, and over time, I knew it would be imprinted in their minds. But God did something stealthy himself. He used that poster to cement those words in my heart.

When James wrote those words to believers scattered throughout the middle east, he wasn’t offering a providential formula for obtaining what they wanted from God.

He qualified his statement by saying that when we ask, we must believe and not doubt.

For many years that sounded to me a lot like “wishing really hard on a star.” If I just believed “really hard”—whatever that means—then I’d get my wish from God.

But James is talking about asking God for wisdom. When we ask God for wisdom we must “believe and not doubt” that the wisdom He generously gives is good and trustworthy. When God grants wisdom through his word, his spirit, or his people, I demonstrate my belief by actively trusting his wisdom and heeding it.

Sometimes when I ask God for wisdom and he shows me what to do, I wait around kicking the gravel because I can’t decide if he’s trustworthy or not. That’s asking with doubt.

I’m not merely doubting that he’ll “grant my wish.”

I’m doubting his goodness. And that says more about me than it does about God.

Is God good when your plans are wrecked?

Is God good when you’re in the ER having a fishhook removed from your face?

Is God good when you have to empty your piggy bank to pay for a new key?

Is he good when your kids don’t “turn out?”

Is he good when you’re standing graveside by a mound of fresh dirt?

Is God really good all the time?

He is.

And, I might add, he is good in the most surprising ways.

He doesn’t promise to grant my wish. He promises to grant wisdom that will guide me through the weeds of life.

So, I finally asked my son, “Have you asked the Lord to help?”

“Yes,” he replied.

We hiked up bluffs and back down onto muddy shoreline until the lake lapped against a shale cliff, and we could go no farther.  

“Did you go anywhere else?” I asked him.

“I climbed up this cliff, but I fell down.” He pointed. “If I dropped it here, it’s probably buried under all this crumbled rock.”

We clawed our way up the cliff, and with every step, we created an avalanche of shale. If the key had been up there, it was surely at the bottom by now. I began to rake through the loose shale with my fingers taking a swath as wide as my arms could reach. I told my son to do the same.

Ten seconds later, I was holding the key.

View from the parked four-wheeler. The X marks the spot of the buried key.

Sometimes I wonder if God is listening. And sometimes I want to fall on my face and bawl because I had the audacity to wonder.

God who created us, loves us and listens to us.

Years ago, I heard Francis Chan tell about meeting two members of a cult who visited with him while he worked in his yard. They told him that God doesn’t listen to just anyone, and Chan conceded their point based on scriptures like James 1:6 and 2 Chronicles 7:14.

He said, “You’re right. God doesn’t listen to every prayer, but he listens to mine.”

Believers in Jesus own that same confidence. When we ask for wisdom, he listens. He grants wisdom that is worthy of our obedience.

Our current events make lost four-wheeler keys seem worthy of an eye-roll, not a prayer. And do I really need “wisdom” to know whether or not I should ask my son to pray about it? It seems inconsequential.

People are suffering, and it feels strange to trouble God—as if that were possible–with my “first world problems.” But I do it anyway.

“Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live.” (Psalm 116:1)

In more serious matters, I have asked the Lord for help and found myself still raking through shale, with nothing more than a handful of dirt to show for my asking.

I can’t explain his timing or his purpose, but I can trust his goodness.

We may not understand his plan in our suffocating struggle.

But God is not confused or blind to it.

If he sees when a hair falls from a head, when a sparrow falls to the ground, and when a four-wheeler key falls into the shale, then we can trust his goodness in all things, all the time.

The post What to Do When You Don’t Know What to Do appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

By the time we met on that May evening in 2014, I was exhausted. I had driven eight hours, located registration, lodging, dining and classrooms, and attended a pre-conference session. When the first key-note speaker that evening was finished, I unpacked my rickety Honda and hauled my stuff up the stairs to our room. Since spring in the Rockies can be unpredictable, I had packed for every temperature and was advised to dress in layers. I waddled into the room looking like a coat-tree with bags, backpack, and purse dangling from my arms and a fist full of conference papers.

Deb Moerke was the quintessential professional. She was real estate agent. At age 63 she was fit as a fiddle since she worked out with her personal trainer–her daughter—every Thursday. I was 23 years her junior and huffing and puffing on the sidewalks of Estes Park like I’d been sitting on a couch for the last decade. Colorado’s elevation is always a smack in the face to this flat-lander.

We were both tired but excited to be attending our first writers conference. While we visited, we unpacked, swapped travel stories, and scrolled through family photos on our camera rolls. Eventually we were in pajamas having a grown-up slumber party when Deb politely asked the question you expect when you attend a writer’s conference.

“What are you writing?”

You’re supposed to have a canned answer prepared before you arrive. It should be clever and interesting. If you do it correctly, somebody important will snatch up your book idea like parade candy and make it into a book with your name on it. It’s called an elevator pitch, because you ought to be able to communicate it in the time it takes to ride from the first to the third floor.
But I had not perfected mine. I didn’t really know if I was a writer or if I was just a busy mom with a brain full of silly ideas who saw an opportunity for a kid-free vacation in Colorado. So, I babbled about a series of Bible stories retold based on unlikely examples of faith in the gospels.

“I’d like to title it Remarkable Faith,” I said. We had crawled into our respective beds, continuing our conversation by the light of the lamp between us when I returned the favor and asked, “How about you? What are you writing?”

“Well,” she said, “My husband and I used to be foster parents. We fostered about 140 children over the years.”

And without a fancy elevator pitch she had my full attention. I’m not going to sleep until I hear the end of this, I thought. We talked into the early morning hours. We were both former foster parents. Hers was a story of radical obedience, unfathomable heartbreak, and unbelievable, real-life plot twists. I could hardly sleep. Finally, I drifted off thinking, “Only God could write that story, but it sure needs to be told.”

Five and a half years have passed. Today, it is my absolute pleasure to tell you about Deb’s book, “Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace: A True Story.”

Her story reminded me of a parable Jesus told. He said, “Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock” (Matthew 7:24-25).

Deb and her husband Al built their house and life on the rock of Jesus Christ. They fostered children, hosted students from a local school for the deaf, and helped struggling friends by temporarily caring for their kids.

If I had known the Moerkes at the time, I would have expected God to spare them the steady rain, threatening floods, and repeated battering by the winds of tragedy.

They were not spared. While they were grieving and reeling, God made a mind-bending request, and Al and Deb said yes.

Their story rocked and inspired me. Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace is a testament to the undeniable, unexplainable, palpable presence of God. He empowers radical obedience and provides miraculous heart change even when the tragedy remains.

In places, the book is difficult to read. As the title implies, a brutal, and unnoticed, murder occurred. But long after the journalists had printed stories and the judges had hung up their robes, God wove redemption into tragedy, and we are witnesses to His glory.

News feeds are littered with devastating catastrophes, but Deb’s story is proof that God deploys his obedient, ordinary people to tend to the carnage so he can bring redemption from rubble.

I invite you to get your copy here.

Deb’s Interview by Janet Parshall

Deb in her own words:

Debra Moerke and her husband, Al, were foster parents for eighteen years, taking in more than 140 children. Debra has served as the director of women’s and children’s ministries of the Central Wyoming Rescue Mission; the executive director of a Christian crisis pregnancy and counseling center; a jail guard; and a jail chaplain. In 2017 she graduated from Gateway Seminary in California with a certificate in Christian ministries. She is currently an associate real estate broker and owner of Stratton Real Estate. Debra and Al live in Casper, Wyoming and have six children and seven grandchildren.

The post How I Learned about “Murder, Motherhood & Miraculous Grace” appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

When “Let Go and Let God” is Bad Advice

Sometimes “let go and let God” is bad advice. Let’s all take a deep breath and not let that sentence scare us.

I understand why “letting go” becomes our default phrase when we want to live surrendered to Jesus. “Letting go” definitely sounds more Jesus-approved than “hanging on.”

But there will be times when you simply can’t let go. You’ve got to hang on tight, as if your life depends upon it. It will feel like you’ve hitched a ride on the back side of a hurricane. Your hands will get calloused and cramped. This isn’t the kind of surrender we usually hear about, is it? This kind of sweat-on-the-brow surrender is fiery and wild. It will ask so much of you that it will hurt.

Perhaps you will be able to let go later. But not yet.

Don’t let go when it gets difficult. Let go only when it’s time.

Until then, hang on.

Scott and I had to hang on tight a few years ago when uncertainty hit our farm like a punch to the gut. Scott’s father, Paul, died of leukemia. Scott would not only grieve the loss of his father and business partner, he would also care for the land alone.

Paul died in the cold of winter. That spring, we were so grateful for the mercy of God when our crops grew tall, thickening over the rows so everything green was touching. There was something so beautiful and hopeful about that. It felt like everything was going to be okay, even though Paul’s old John Deere cap drooped, sad, on a nail by the back door.

We had hope.

But then October came. Not a single plant had been harvested when we awoke to find a thick blanket of snow covering the crops. The snow stole the hopefulness we’d felt earlier that year.

Late that afternoon, a farmer who lived a few miles away tapped his knuckles on the back door. I opened it and found him standing on the doormat with his fists shoved into a thick quilted jacket with a corduroy collar. He showed up at our house on a really hard day, during a really hard year.

“Scott home yet?” he asked. “No,” I told him. “Still doing chores.” “Well,” the farmer continued, “you just tell him that I stopped by because I want him to know something for certain. I want him to know that the harvest always comes. You’ll let him know?”

I nodded my head, feeling a catch in my throat.

The farmer had come to remind us, in his own way, what the Bible says about hanging on in hard times. “At the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9, emphasis added).

Friend, I don’t know exactly what you’re going through. Maybe it feels like the harvest will never come. Maybe if feels like all hope is lost. Perhaps you want to “let go” or give up. But what if you need to hang on a little longer?

Today I’m the friend at your back door, tapping my knuckles to see if you’re home. I’m standing on your doormat to tell you the same thing the old farmer told me: “The harvest always comes.”

And I’m here to tell you that the farmer was right. Weeks after he stood on our stoop, the harvest did come. The snow melted, and Scott drove the old green combine back and forth across a gently sloping hill and harvested the crops.

Don’t give up, friend. Hang on when God tells you to hang on. He is still in this.

Hang on. Yes, it’s hard, but it might not be time to let go.

Hang on. This might be only a season, with relief around the corner.

Hang on. When you hang on with bravery, you emotionally strengthen others who are struggling to hang on themselves. You’re showing them that it’s possible to do hard things.

Hang on. For your marriage. For your kids. For your church. For the people that your ministry bravely serves. For the hurting. For your friends who don’t know if they can hang on anymore.

Hang on. Because Jesus will meet you in the middle of your hardest battles.

Hang on.

Jennifer Dukes Lee is the wife of an Iowa farmer, mom to two girls, and an author. She loves queso and singing too loudly to songs with great harmony. Once upon a time, she didn’t believe in Jesus. Now, He’s her CEO. Jennifer’s newest book, It’s All Under Control, and a companion Bible study, are releasing today! This is a book for every woman who is hanging on tight and trying to get each day right―yet finding that life often feels out of control and chaotic.

Adapted from It’s All under Control: A Journey of Letting Go, Hanging On, and Finding a Peace You Almost Forgot Was Possible by Jennifer Dukes Lee, from Tyndale House Publishers.

The post When “Let Go and Let God” is Bad Advice appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

My grandpa, the same one I wrote about last summer, who’s systematic prayer life explains a lot about my own life, was a storyteller extraordinaire. Besides that, he had learned his mother’s tried and true play-it-by-ear piano techniques—major and minor chords, the trilling of an octave, and a jolly be-bopping melody–and when he combined the two, it was a grand performance.

But his performances were limited to family rooms where wide-eyed grandchildren stood by listening to him spin a yarn where we were the heroes of the adventure. In his stories we made wise decisions. We attempted courageous endeavors, and in every episode we saved someone or rescued something.

I’m not sure my grandpa could have taught a class on the elements of a narrative with words like, “inciting incident,” “forward action,” “conflict,” or “resolution.” But the great thing about storytelling is that you don’t have to know what the parts are called, you just have to know how to use them. My grandpa was a master.

Imaginary Adventures
On our walk we’d come upon what writing instructors would call the “problem,” but Grandpa usually called it an injured animal.

He’d play the bouncing tune on the piano where you could feel yourself skipping to the beat when suddenly, he’d bang out three ominous chords. Dun-dun-duuun!

We’d jump, and the three strolling heroes would hear or see something alarming. Often it was an injured rabbit, which we would carry home to mom and beg her to help us nurse it back to health. Sometimes it was a nest of eggs fallen from a pine, or a mallard with a broken wing.

Occasionally, we’d accidentally stump him with questions, “But Grandpa, if I touch the nest the mamma bird won’t come back to her babies!” He’d quickly help us imagine that we’d brought gloves or that we could certainly maneuver a nest back onto a branch with sticks. We believed him.

He always included an element of urgency, too. It was almost evening. We were supposed to be home for supper. Rain clouds were rolling in. Even with the impending doom of darkness, storms or a suffering critter, he’d tap out a music-box melody as he convinced us that our fictional selves knew exactly how to splint the foot of a cottontail or hand-feed a robin.

In the end, the animal always healed, and I always found myself with a little lump in my throat as he described us releasing the restored animal into the wild.

Actual Adventures
When I walk in the mornings, I am regularly startled (see also, scared half to death!) by unseen animals crouched over nests or hidden in brush, until, unbeknownst to me, I get too close and they dash through the weeds or flutter from a branch. Pheasants make quite a racket when they take off, and in the stillness of a morning, it always sends my heart into my throat.

Yesterday, on my walk down to the lake, I heard the characteristic thumping of pheasant wings. Over and over the wings beat, but no bird emerged from the ditch. As I approached the roadside commotion, I saw a hen, scared by my closeness, but unable to take flight. I thought maybe she was trying to scare me away from chicks. But as I came closer I could see she was pinned down.

Our road had recently been resurfaced and rolls of straw stuffed into a plastic netting had been laid along the roadside to prevent washout. She had become tangled inside the straw-stuffed net. Her head and neck stuck through a tear in the netting, and with great effort she could flap her wings, but they were trapped inside the net.

I had the strangest sense of deja-vu. I have been here before. At age seven, I had walked an imaginary road with my siblings. At age 43, I was getting exercise along a road recently resurfaced by the state. When I came upon a problem, I knew what to do.

The plastic netting was sturdier than the bags that hold citrus fruit, and I had no knife. I thought I may need to bite through the netting, which involved some risk to my health. Bird Flu and Histoplasmosis for starters. Certainly I wanted to rescue the bird, but when it comes to wildlife in real life, I have my limits.  I resolved not to put my lips on her feathers. I don’t think grandpa would have advised it, and I wonder how he’d have solved the conundrum.  Most likely my brother would have remembered his pocket knife.

Unfortunately, my brother and his pocket knife were in Nebraska.

Eventually I ripped the net with my fingers and pulled it away, but she just sat there. Her wings worked, but too many furious efforts at flying away had left her despondent, and I’m sure I terrified her with my humanity. I lifted her a bit, and the instant she felt free, she flew.

The netting and the straw. Admittedly, its not a great photo.

She squawked in her distinctive pheasant language. I marveled that the story ended just as grandpa had always said. The rabbit turned around and wiggled his ears or the bird flew away and dipped one wing as if waving. And somehow, we animal-whisperers could translate their gestures.

The Power of Story
There was a time when I poo-pooed storytelling. It was just made up, after all. Untrue. The fabrications of wistful writers. A dear friend reminded me that “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was “just a story,” that changed a nation. It’s been reported that when Abraham Lincoln met Harriett Beecher Stowe, he greeted her by saying, “So you’re the little woman who started this great war.” The veracity of his greeting is debated, but the point is stated. Stories are powerful.

In his book The Jesus I Never Knew, Philip Yancey writes, “It is one thing to talk in abstract terms about the infinite boundless love of God. It is quite another to tell of a man who lays down his life for his friends…” The One who laid down his life for his friends told powerful fiction stories which pointed to the truth he lived. We call them parables.

To his original listeners, steeped in tradition and pride, his stories were preposterous. Ethnic and religious divisions and hostility were no less volatile in Jesus’ day than they are in ours. To his own people group, Jesus once told a story of two upstanding leaders who turned a blind eye to a badly injured neighbor.  As the victim lay there bleeding, naked, and dying, a final character arrived on the scene. A despised enemy–a villain who would have elicited a collective groan from Jesus’ audience. But the villain didn’t finish-off the victim with a kick to the head as they expected. The character everyone expected to hate knelt beside the victim, bandaged his wounds, transported him via donkey to a shelter where the man could recover. The “villain” paid for the future expenses and promised to check in again. (See Luke 10:25-37)

Since we are so removed from that time and culture, we may miss the shocking indictment Jesus made to his own people: Your enemies demonstrate love for needy neighbors while you debate about who you’re obligated to care for. Jesus’ story taught his listeners, and us, what to do when we come upon a person in need–even if we don’t like that person. Even if, under normal circumstances we’d be considered enemies.

Our distance from the original setting also allows us to see Jesus weaving himself and his mission into the tale. He came from another place–a kingdom that’s not of this world. Though individuals loved him, a nation despised him. He came to rescue people who acknowledged their desperate need for his saving ministrations–forgiveness, undeserved favor, and permanent placement in his family. He has paid with his life for their recovery and their future spiritual well-being. He deposited his Holy Spirit inside believers to provide for our ongoing needs.

Jesus tucked his real-life mission into a fiction story, but it was no fairy tale. It was and is true. Though there are days when it seems a distant and intangible dream, it is a reality. And as you walk with him, you’ll come to realize that not only does his parable help us know what to do, it has already come true.

The post When the Story Comes True appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Maybe you don’t remember, but a record album (pronounced reh-kerd al-buh-m) was in popular use shortly after the invention of the wheel and hieroglyphics–or so it seems.

A rare sighting of the turntable and stereo. Enormous speakers, not pictured.

In the late 70s my parents bought an advanced piece of music technology. A stereo. This miracle of musical machinery was ensconced behind glass doors to reiterate the fact that all the blinking knobs and dancing decibel lights were off limits to three wide-eyed children.

Half the fun of the stereo was the delicate show on the turn table. The shiny vinyl balanced on the spindle, spun, wobbled, and finally dropped onto the record player. But perhaps the most impressive feature was the set of speakers. They were protected by a distinctively smelling squishy foam, and at four feet high they were taller than me.

My sister and I would lay on the floor in front of those gigantic speakers with one ear pressed into the foam and wait for our favorite Easter song on our favorite record album. As the needle crackled, we prepared to be transported by the voice of Don Francisco to a first century scene. And there, in our mind’s eye, we saw the grieving apostle Peter.

Perhaps that sounds a bit strange. Your favorite song was about the grieving apostle? Well, not exactly. It’s just that we knew the story didn’t end there. The crescendo of the finale was coming, but it always started with a sorrowful Peter.

After contributing to the horrors of the crucifixion, Peter was terrified of arrest and crippled with shame. Don Fransisco sings Peter’s story:

The gates and doors were barred and all the windows fastened down,
I spent the night in sleeplessness and rose at every sound,
Half in hopeless sorrow half in fear the day,
Would find the soldiers crashing through to drag us all away.
Then just before the sunrise I heard something at the wall,
The gate began to rattle and a voice began to call,
I hurried to the window and looked down to the street,
Expecting swords and torches and the sound of soldiers feet,

He’s Alive by Don Fransisco

(Lyrics are here if you’d like to read instead.)

The song ends with the Peter’s encounter with the resurrected Christ. All year long, Don Francisco, my sister, and I would belt it out together: “He’s Alive!!! He’s alive, and I’m forgiven!”

Interestingly, this song was the longest-running chart single in the history of Christian radio.

What makes it so good?

Why was it our favorite?

Why do I always cry?

I think the answer lies, at least in part, in the lyric, “Everything I’d promised Him just added to my shame.”

What had Peter promised? When Jesus warned His twelve friends that they would all bail on Him, they each, including Peter, said, “Surely you don’t mean me?” Then, as if to shore up his devotion, Peter pumped his fist into the air declaring, “Lord, even if all fall away on account of you, I will not! Even if I have to die with you I will never disown you!”

I’m sure Peter meant it. He wasn’t lying to Jesus. Amidst the solemnity of the Passover meal he was earnest. He was ready for heroics! But he wasn’t ready for the humiliation of grace. He was not yet willing to let Jesus die for him.

I think this is why I love the story of Peter and perhaps why so many have loved Don Francisco’s ballad. It is a portrait of God’s grace given even to those who’ve tried to “do it right” and heroically.

I have promised Jesus big and small acts of faith in earnest: Lenten sacrifice, Christmas generosity, and everyday devotion. But everything I’ve promised points to the fact that I can’t even keep my own promises. I fudge on the sacrifice. I’m cautious in generosity. I fall short of commitments I was certain I could accomplish. How much more have I fallen short of a Christ-like generosity and sacrifice?

When we recognize our ineptitude to perfectly carry out our tiny acts of goodness,  we are finally able to receive what Christ offers: His death instead of yours. His perfect life credited to you. In the words of Martin Luther, “The Great Exchange” where Jesus is the hero.

To “celebrate” Christ’s death on Good Friday may seem cryptic or harsh.  But we know what Peter didn’t. Saturday is the grand crescendo and Sunday morning is the celebratory finale.

Happy Easter, Friends.

He’s still alive, and we can be forgiven.

Remembering Holy Week: Five Remarkable Stories of Unremarkable People
is my 5-day e-devotional. It is available for one more day. Click here to find our more, and sign up to receive your FREE copy via email.

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