Here we are friends, walking the final few steps of our Relentless journey together- looking for the presence of God in the midst of our suffering, and what a road it has been! But we have just one more thing to wrestle with… How do we, as a chosen people, a holy priesthood, a royal nation, which has been called out of darkness and into marvelous light (1 Peter 2:4-5, 9), walk this out? How do we not keep such joy and healing and the experience of God’s presence amidst our pain to ourselves? “When we establish our altar of God’s presence in our life, this memorial marking the reality of God’s presence with us, we then become living stones that testify to the God who has seen us through our Jordan rivers to this moment and will see us the rest of the way home.” The answer? Compassion. Henri Nouwen says this: “…The word compassion… means to suffer with. Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter in to places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those who are in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human. True compassion is full immersion- to recognize pain and to refuse to walk past it, to sit down, get uncomfortable with another’s writhing and do what we can to bear it with them. It sounds like covenant- like the pilar of cloud and fire, the incarnation, the cross. Doing this, doing what Jesus did by entering in will wreck us, and it will save us.” But what does compassion look like? How do we show compassion to both ourselves and to others? There are three things I’ve found to be true… 3 Requirements of Compassion: 1. Push into our own pain. We cannot ignore or numb what has wounded us. We must take it to Jesus. 2. Trust and then experience God’s presence within our pain. If we refuse to deal with it, we forfeit experiencing the sweetness of his presence in it. 3. Enter into the pain of others. We cannot help anybody with their pain until we, with Jesus, have dealt with our own. We then have the capacity to minister to others. This is how we, as followers of Jesus, want to be known by the world around us. Unfortunately, compassion is not often our first response. Philip Yancey &amp; Dr. Paul Brand say this: “Tragically, those who are struggling with divorce, alcoholism, gender or sexual identity, introversion, rebelliousness, unemployment, or marginalization often report that the church is the last group to show them compassion. Like a person who takes Aspirin at the first sign of a headache, we want to silence them without addressing the underlying causes. Someone once asked John Wesley’s mother, ‘Which of your eleven children do you love the most?’ She gave a wise answer to match the folly of the question. ‘I love the one who’s sick until she’s well, and the one who’s away until he comes home.’ That, I believe, is God’s attitude towards our suffering planet. Jesus always stood on the side of the suffering. He came for the sick and not the well. The sinners and not the righteous.” It is when we, in humility, remind ourselves that we are among the sick whom Jesus came, was crucified, resurrected, and now intercedes for that we can meet the brokenness of others with compassion and love. My friends I am honored to be counted among the sick and the sinners that Jesus has come for. I am not well or righteous, not even on my best days. I am merely a sick woman that Jesus chose to come alongside and to heal. That’s it; no more, no less, and it’s enough.  THANK YOU for journeying with me these past fifteen episodes.

Here we are friends, walking the final few steps of our Relentless journey together- looking for the presence of God in the midst of our suffering, and what a road it has been! But we have just one more thing to wrestle with… How do we, as a chosen people, a holy priesthood, a royal nation, which has been called out of darkness and into marvelous light (1 Peter 2:4-5, 9), walk this out? How do we not keep such joy and healing and the experience of God’s presence amidst our pain to ourselves? “When we establish our altar of God’s presence in our life, this memorial marking the reality of God’s presence with us, we then become living stones that testify to the God who has seen us through our Jordan rivers to this moment and will see us the rest of the way home.” The answer? Compassion. Henri Nouwen says this: “…The word compassion… means to suffer with. Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter in to places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those who are in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human. True compassion is full immersion- to recognize pain and to refuse to walk past it, to sit down, get uncomfortable with another’s writhing and do what we can to bear it with them. It sounds like covenant- like the pilar of cloud and fire, the incarnation, the cross. Doing this, doing what Jesus did by entering in will wreck us, and it will save us.” But what does compassion look like? How do we show compassion to both ourselves and to others? There are three things I’ve found to be true… 3 Requirements of Compassion: 1. Push into our own pain. We cannot ignore or numb what has wounded us. We must take it to Jesus. 2. Trust and then experience God’s presence within our pain. If we refuse to deal with it, we forfeit experiencing the sweetness of his presence in it. 3. Enter into the pain of others. We cannot help anybody with their pain until we, with Jesus, have dealt with our own. We then have the capacity to minister to others. This is how we, as followers of Jesus, want to be known by the world around us. Unfortunately, compassion is not often our first response. Philip Yancey &amp; Dr. Paul Brand say this: “Tragically, those who are struggling with divorce, alcoholism, gender or sexual identity, introversion, rebelliousness, unemployment, or marginalization often report that the church is the last group to show them compassion. Like a person who takes Aspirin at the first sign of a headache, we want to silence them without addressing the underlying causes. Someone once asked John Wesley’s mother, ‘Which of your eleven children do you love the most?’ She gave a wise answer to match the folly of the question. ‘I love the one who’s sick until she’s well, and the one who’s away until he comes home.’ That, I believe, is God’s attitude towards our suffering planet. Jesus always stood on the side of the suffering. He came for the sick and not the well. The sinners and not the righteous.” It is when we, in humility, remind ourselves that we are among the sick whom Jesus came, was crucified, resurrected, and now intercedes for that we can meet the brokenness of others with compassion and love. My friends I am honored to be counted among the sick and the sinners that Jesus has come for. I am not well or righteous, not even on my best days. I am merely a sick woman that Jesus chose to come alongside and to heal. That’s it; no more, no less, and it’s enough.  THANK YOU for journeying with me these past fifteen episodes.

Podcast Episode 15: A God Who We Can Experience With Each Other

Have you ever had a friend message you exactly what you needed to hear at the perfect moment? A few years ago, I received word that a friend I’d journeyed through Cancer simultaneously with had just been admitted into hospice care. It took my breath away. I was mourning in the mountains, when a friend messaged me this: “To inspire someone is way more than making them happy or amazed or even more than making them feel good. It is to lend them spirit when they are short, and of course because of the incorporeal nature of air and spirit, the act of inhaling becomes known as inspiration. In that sense, too, it is like mechanical ventilation for a soul that’s lost its resolve for a moment.” There comes a time in all of our lives where we need the encouragement and inspiration of another. The flip side of that coin is that sometimes when people need us, our first response is hesitation; because if we’re being really honest, which we are, helping hurting people is really, really hard. Many times, when the people around us need inspiration from us- they need mechanical ventilation from us, we don’t want to offer it because, let’s be honest, hurting people are difficult to be around. My husband and I were in the throes of raising three adolescent children, which can be a difficult feat in and of itself, but add in their history of childhood trauma, and effectively find us at the end of our rope. It was during a video consult with a child trauma specialist that I heard the analogy that transformed my perspective entirely. “Do you know the secret to getting out of a dog bite?” “What?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Let’s say you see a dog &amp; reach out your hand to pet it, but rather than welcome your affection, the dog sees you as a threat and attacks. Now your entire fist is trapped between the canine’s teeth.” Now that sounded familiar. Living with someone recovering from trauma feels a lot like being caught in a dog’s bite- unpredictable &amp; painful. “How do you get your hand out with the least amount of damage? Human instinct will make you want to jerk back, yank your hand out of the dog’s mouth, but that’s when the damage happens. The secret? Push in.” I’ll admit that enduring hostility, even from a preteen, is painful. Everything within me wants to pull away, to retreat, to put as much space between us as I can manage. Yet in that very moment, everything the specialist had just said, my children’s trauma-informed behaviors, it all clicked into place for me. The secret to healing is to push in, to stay close. Then, what was once wounded in relationship can be healed in relationship. In order to be prepared to press in when the going gets tough, however, we need to regularly attend to our spiritual oxygen levels. So, I have for you today- 3 strategies for getting more spiritual oxygen in your life: 1. Retreat. Shut down, slow down, and invest in solitude and silence. Push in with Jesus. 2. Rest. Body, mind, and spirit. 3. Relationship. Expiration and inspiration in tandem. Both inhalation of the Spirit of God and exhalation in the relationship with others. Reciprocity- the secret to our healing. The best part? We have a heavenly Father who constantly and consistently models this response to our ill-informed reactions. This brings us to Altar Stone #12: Look for God’s presence within you. This week, I invite you to retreat from the crazy chaos of life, and in solitude and silence, push into Jesus. Leave the externals behind you for a moment, and turn inward. 

Have you ever had a friend message you exactly what you needed to hear at the perfect moment? A few years ago, I received word that a friend I’d journeyed through Cancer simultaneously with had just been admitted into hospice care. It took my breath away. I was mourning in the mountains, when a friend messaged me this: “To inspire someone is way more than making them happy or amazed or even more than making them feel good. It is to lend them spirit when they are short, and of course because of the incorporeal nature of air and spirit, the act of inhaling becomes known as inspiration. In that sense, too, it is like mechanical ventilation for a soul that’s lost its resolve for a moment.” There comes a time in all of our lives where we need the encouragement and inspiration of another. The flip side of that coin is that sometimes when people need us, our first response is hesitation; because if we’re being really honest, which we are, helping hurting people is really, really hard. Many times, when the people around us need inspiration from us- they need mechanical ventilation from us, we don’t want to offer it because, let’s be honest, hurting people are difficult to be around. My husband and I were in the throes of raising three adolescent children, which can be a difficult feat in and of itself, but add in their history of childhood trauma, and effectively find us at the end of our rope. It was during a video consult with a child trauma specialist that I heard the analogy that transformed my perspective entirely. “Do you know the secret to getting out of a dog bite?” “What?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Let’s say you see a dog &amp; reach out your hand to pet it, but rather than welcome your affection, the dog sees you as a threat and attacks. Now your entire fist is trapped between the canine’s teeth.” Now that sounded familiar. Living with someone recovering from trauma feels a lot like being caught in a dog’s bite- unpredictable &amp; painful. “How do you get your hand out with the least amount of damage? Human instinct will make you want to jerk back, yank your hand out of the dog’s mouth, but that’s when the damage happens. The secret? Push in.” I’ll admit that enduring hostility, even from a preteen, is painful. Everything within me wants to pull away, to retreat, to put as much space between us as I can manage. Yet in that very moment, everything the specialist had just said, my children’s trauma-informed behaviors, it all clicked into place for me. The secret to healing is to push in, to stay close. Then, what was once wounded in relationship can be healed in relationship. In order to be prepared to press in when the going gets tough, however, we need to regularly attend to our spiritual oxygen levels. So, I have for you today- 3 strategies for getting more spiritual oxygen in your life: 1. Retreat. Shut down, slow down, and invest in solitude and silence. Push in with Jesus. 2. Rest. Body, mind, and spirit. 3. Relationship. Expiration and inspiration in tandem. Both inhalation of the Spirit of God and exhalation in the relationship with others. Reciprocity- the secret to our healing. The best part? We have a heavenly Father who constantly and consistently models this response to our ill-informed reactions. This brings us to Altar Stone #12: Look for God’s presence within you. This week, I invite you to retreat from the crazy chaos of life, and in solitude and silence, push into Jesus. Leave the externals behind you for a moment, and turn inward.

Podcast Episode 14: A God Whose Presence Lives in You

“Suffering is a great unifier, because all of us experience it and it puts all of us on the same ground. It’s also the great divider because it forces us to choose. We cannot stay neutral when dealing with suffering. We either have to believe in God even more or we have to reject him completely. There’s no middle ground.” When asked why they don’t believe in God, a vast majority of people would reference the problem of pain. There is just too much suffering in the world for there to be a God, or at the very least for him to be good. Our ability to endure suffering as long as it results in a beneficial outcome is evidenced in various areas of our lives. Runners subject their bodies to pain because they know the benefit of that pain is greater strength &amp; endurance. Women endure months of pregnancy discomfort to meet a grand finale of intense physical pain for the benefit of having a child to hold and rock and raise. Students willingly endure prolonged stress and studying, beyond the years required, in order to reap the benefits provided by a degree in higher education. These temporarily painful experiences that require additional time, sacrifice, finances, and resources are deemed worthwhile because they result in additional knowledge, perspective, and opportunities in the long run. But what do we do when the other side of our suffering isn’t quite so clear? “Part of our challenge with pain, suffering, and death is because I don’t think we fully believe in the benefits of the other side… of this experience, but also the other side of this life.” I’m certainly not saying that I’m going to start throwing a party every time I feel the chronic, residual pain from undergoing countless chemo and radiation treatments. Yet, there is a truth present within the Christian life that, although painful, hidden amidst the discomfort of our suffering is the surprising reality that our pain is also a gift. Through my own experiences with suffering, I have begun to learn why pain is necessary for survival, what I can value from my experience with pain, &amp; how I have even grown to be thankful for it. I have found remembering these 6 Gifts of Pain to be a helpful practice in perspective-building when it comes to suffering: 1. Awareness- Pain is a smoke detector alerting us to danger; it forces us to pay attention to what’s important both personally and communally. We develop empathy through taking care of ourselves &amp; others. 2. Health- Because pain demands that we pay attention, it leads us into greater health- emotionally, physically, and spiritually. 3. Humility- Suffering heightens our awareness of our mortality, and forces us to face the finite nature of our lives. We must reconcile that as independent, self-confident, and determined as we may be, so much of life is still out of our control. 4. Wonder- Pain’s ability to stop us dead in our tracks often renders us speechless. Ultimately, it reminds us to appreciate the gift, fragility, and miracle of life. 5. Dependance- Discomfort forces us to face our obsession with self-sufficiency and prideful refusal to accept help. It brings to light the necessity of our interdependence on one another and complete dependence on God. 6. Gratitude- Pain makes us aware-of and grateful-for what we previously enjoyed, prior to the losses we endured at the hand of suffering. It provides a new light in which to see and appreciate all we still have presently, and may have even gained through our experience with suffering. This leads us to Altar Stone #11: Look for evidence of God’s presence in your pain.

“Suffering is a great unifier, because all of us experience it and it puts all of us on the same ground. It’s also the great divider because it forces us to choose. We cannot stay neutral when dealing with suffering. We either have to believe in God even more or we have to reject him completely. There’s no middle ground.” When asked why they don’t believe in God, a vast majority of people would reference the problem of pain. There is just too much suffering in the world for there to be a God, or at the very least for him to be good. Our ability to endure suffering as long as it results in a beneficial outcome is evidenced in various areas of our lives. Runners subject their bodies to pain because they know the benefit of that pain is greater strength &amp; endurance. Women endure months of pregnancy discomfort to meet a grand finale of intense physical pain for the benefit of having a child to hold and rock and raise. Students willingly endure prolonged stress and studying, beyond the years required, in order to reap the benefits provided by a degree in higher education. These temporarily painful experiences that require additional time, sacrifice, finances, and resources are deemed worthwhile because they result in additional knowledge, perspective, and opportunities in the long run. But what do we do when the other side of our suffering isn’t quite so clear? “Part of our challenge with pain, suffering, and death is because I don’t think we fully believe in the benefits of the other side… of this experience, but also the other side of this life.” I’m certainly not saying that I’m going to start throwing a party every time I feel the chronic, residual pain from undergoing countless chemo and radiation treatments. Yet, there is a truth present within the Christian life that, although painful, hidden amidst the discomfort of our suffering is the surprising reality that our pain is also a gift. Through my own experiences with suffering, I have begun to learn why pain is necessary for survival, what I can value from my experience with pain, &amp; how I have even grown to be thankful for it. I have found remembering these 6 Gifts of Pain to be a helpful practice in perspective-building when it comes to suffering: 1. Awareness- Pain is a smoke detector alerting us to danger; it forces us to pay attention to what’s important both personally and communally. We develop empathy through taking care of ourselves &amp; others. 2. Health- Because pain demands that we pay attention, it leads us into greater health- emotionally, physically, and spiritually. 3. Humility- Suffering heightens our awareness of our mortality, and forces us to face the finite nature of our lives. We must reconcile that as independent, self-confident, and determined as we may be, so much of life is still out of our control. 4. Wonder- Pain’s ability to stop us dead in our tracks often renders us speechless. Ultimately, it reminds us to appreciate the gift, fragility, and miracle of life. 5. Dependance- Discomfort forces us to face our obsession with self-sufficiency and prideful refusal to accept help. It brings to light the necessity of our interdependence on one another and complete dependence on God. 6. Gratitude- Pain makes us aware-of and grateful-for what we previously enjoyed, prior to the losses we endured at the hand of suffering. It provides a new light in which to see and appreciate all we still have presently, and may have even gained through our experience with suffering. This leads us to Altar Stone #11: Look for evidence of God’s presence in your pain.

Relentless Podcast, Episode 13: A God Who Is With You in Pain, Suffering, and Death

“I’m staaaaaarving.” Anyone else’s kiddos claim this on a regular basis? In July of 2011, we received a phone call that would change our lives forever. Three little kids, whose mama couldn’t care for them anymore, needed a home. Twenty-four hours later we picked them up and brought them home as our own. For their first meal in their new home I had brilliantly planned Kraft mac &amp; cheese and watermelon, because this was not my first rodeo. Listen, I had raised three boys before; I have wondered at the marvel of teenage boys descending on a kitchen like a cloud of moths, leaving no trace of a previously packed pantry. Even so, I had never seen anything like what I witnessed that day. In seconds, the three littles had inhaled all evidence of lunch; it was as if the food had instantly evaporated, the moment I placed it in front of them. I have felt hunger in the pit of my stomach before, the ache for sustenance, but my new children didn’t just eat with an insatiable hunger; they devoured their food out of desperation. It was something that even a full belly couldn’t fill. I experienced a version of this when a Cancer removal surgery extracted two-thirds of my tongue. For two weeks I could take nothing by mouth- not even water, and for weeks after that eating was excruciating. My mouth and throat seared with pain and my stomach howled to be satiated. It was a physical hunger I could not satisfy, but one that led me to recognize, it’s not only stomachs that long to be fed, but souls. “The irony is that our physical hunger is only the barest representation of our soul hunger. Ever since the Garden of Eden we have carried around this soul hunger that is starving for, is desperate for, intimacy. We are desperate to be connected and filled with a love that comes from relationship.” You don’t have to look much farther than our addiction-enslaved culture for evidence of this soul hunger. As people we are always looking for ways to dull, numb, or obliterate the pain that dwells within what feels like a cavern loosely held in place by our ribcage. Anxiety, restlessness, depression, and loneliness threaten to swallow us whole from the inside out; so, we medicate with drugs, alcohol, sex, disordered eating, extreme exercise, workaholism, another Netflix binge… We justify all of this manic behavior by tricking ourselves into believing that busyness will heal us from the ache within. Or that if we just lie still enough for long enough, perhaps this couch really will swallow us up and we won’t be able to feel anything anymore. While so often the room to breathe is found within the balance. In order to be awake, we must allow ourselves to feel, but it is far more rewarding than we picture the scene playing out in our heads. Soul hunger is fed through honest connection. Our souls crave intimacy like our stomachs crave sandwiches, and the scary feelings look a lot less like monsters when held up to the candlelight at a meal between friends. There are, at least, 3 means of significance of a shared meal:  It reminds us of our shared humanity &amp; need for relationship. Our shared knowledge of mortality makes way for humility in connection. It requires us to set aside our differing agendas, &amp; come together for one shared purpose. A unifying experience in a world of differences. It provides an opportunity for reciprocity. We are led to yield to one another as we take turns eating and conversing.  This week take some time to look for evidence of God’s presence amidst your hunger. Both our physical and spiritual hunger indicates needs we were created to have. Allow your hunger this week to point you in the direction of the only one who can truly fill the void.

“I’m staaaaaarving.” Anyone else’s kiddos claim this on a regular basis? In July of 2011, we received a phone call that would change our lives forever. Three little kids, whose mama couldn’t care for them anymore, needed a home. Twenty-four hours later we picked them up and brought them home as our own. For their first meal in their new home I had brilliantly planned Kraft mac &amp; cheese and watermelon, because this was not my first rodeo. Listen, I had raised three boys before; I have wondered at the marvel of teenage boys descending on a kitchen like a cloud of moths, leaving no trace of a previously packed pantry. Even so, I had never seen anything like what I witnessed that day. In seconds, the three littles had inhaled all evidence of lunch; it was as if the food had instantly evaporated, the moment I placed it in front of them. I have felt hunger in the pit of my stomach before, the ache for sustenance, but my new children didn’t just eat with an insatiable hunger; they devoured their food out of desperation. It was something that even a full belly couldn’t fill. I experienced a version of this when a Cancer removal surgery extracted two-thirds of my tongue. For two weeks I could take nothing by mouth- not even water, and for weeks after that eating was excruciating. My mouth and throat seared with pain and my stomach howled to be satiated. It was a physical hunger I could not satisfy, but one that led me to recognize, it’s not only stomachs that long to be fed, but souls. “The irony is that our physical hunger is only the barest representation of our soul hunger. Ever since the Garden of Eden we have carried around this soul hunger that is starving for, is desperate for, intimacy. We are desperate to be connected and filled with a love that comes from relationship.” You don’t have to look much farther than our addiction-enslaved culture for evidence of this soul hunger. As people we are always looking for ways to dull, numb, or obliterate the pain that dwells within what feels like a cavern loosely held in place by our ribcage. Anxiety, restlessness, depression, and loneliness threaten to swallow us whole from the inside out; so, we medicate with drugs, alcohol, sex, disordered eating, extreme exercise, workaholism, another Netflix binge… We justify all of this manic behavior by tricking ourselves into believing that busyness will heal us from the ache within. Or that if we just lie still enough for long enough, perhaps this couch really will swallow us up and we won’t be able to feel anything anymore. While so often the room to breathe is found within the balance. In order to be awake, we must allow ourselves to feel, but it is far more rewarding than we picture the scene playing out in our heads. Soul hunger is fed through honest connection. Our souls crave intimacy like our stomachs crave sandwiches, and the scary feelings look a lot less like monsters when held up to the candlelight at a meal between friends. There are, at least, 3 means of significance of a shared meal: <ol> <li>It reminds us of our shared humanity &amp; need for relationship. Our shared knowledge of mortality makes way for humility in connection.</li> <li>It requires us to set aside our differing agendas, &amp; come together for one shared purpose. A unifying experience in a world of differences.</li> <li>It provides an opportunity for reciprocity. We are led to yield to one another as we take turns eating and conversing.</li> </ol> This week take some time to look for evidence of God’s presence amidst your hunger. Both our physical and spiritual hunger indicates needs we were created to have. Allow your hunger this week to point you in the direction of the only one who can truly fill the void.

Relentless Podcast Episode 12: A God Who is With You in Your Hunger

Have you ever walked into a room and felt completely out of place? Like somehow there was something inherently flawed about you? That for some reason you just did not belong? Perhaps it’s happened to you from within a room you were even invited into. This room could’ve been real- a home, an office, a church, but it also could’ve been figurative- Facebook, Instagram, social media. A few years ago, my family and I went ice skating, and I gotta tell ya', I was pretty excited to unveil my hidden talent to my family. As I glided around the rink, twirling and leaping, my kids grew more and more impressed with me, and my ego soared like the applause after Michelle Kwan’s triple axel. Cue the fall… Except this time, it was an emotional wipe out. My talents had also caught the attention of a sweet, 5-year-old onlooker. She approached me earnestly, I assumed to marvel at my talent, but when she reached me her question knocked the elation right out of me. “Why do you have a hole in your neck?” She hadn’t noticed my spins; the little girl had noticed the 1 inch scar left behind from my tracheostomy. As I explained to her how I had earned this scar, she noticed something else that was different about me from other people she had come to know… “Stick out your tongue.” Well, she got me with that one. You see, I don’t have a tongue to stick out. After multiple surgeries, I have a reconstructed tongue that allows me to speak and eat and swallow, although not without difficulty. My tongue is tethered and is no longer something I could stick out even if I wanted to. This is not new information to me. I have been learning to grow into and accept my differences for years now, but I have to say, “Even though I’ve grown accustomed to it, it’s not always easy for me when people point out how I’m different.” Sometimes I think it takes us longer to embrace who we are, because it’s so painful to let go of who we used to be. Often, these changes come to us as the result of some uncontrollable circumstance. I’m grateful to still be alive, but what is also true is Cancer stole my once smooth speech and neck. Admittedly, it took me four years to change the message on my voicemailbox, because I had recorded it before surgeries slurred my speech. “Honestly, I didn’t want to let the girl go. The girl with the perfect speech. The me that I used to be. I didn’t want to say goodbye to her.” The innocent girl’s inquiries that day made me realize something. “We’ve come to believe that our value comes with our ability to blend in.” We work so hard to mask our own differences, and we are awkward about others’. But really, “Behind our discomfort with difference is a deep need for significance.” In relationship, differences often feel like conflict, and the difficulty with conflict is that we become convinced we have to pick a side. Does this person’s difference deserve grace or truth? In chapter 9 of Relentless, I retell the transfiguration story where Peter, James, and John went up the mountain and witnessed Jesus’ appearance transfigured into God before their very eyes. It wasn’t that he changed people completely; essentially, the veil was lifted momentarily to reveal who he had been all along- God. This brings us to Altar Stone #9: Look for God’s presence in the place of your transformation. We are all in process. This week, I want you to revisit the middle of your hard story and look for evidence of God’s presence in the disfigured parts.

Have you ever walked into a room and felt completely out of place? Like somehow there was something inherently flawed about you? That for some reason you just did not belong? Perhaps it’s happened to you from within a room you were even invited into. This room could’ve been real- a home, an office, a church, but it also could’ve been figurative- Facebook, Instagram, social media. A few years ago, my family and I went ice skating, and I gotta tell ya', I was pretty excited to unveil my hidden talent to my family. As I glided around the rink, twirling and leaping, my kids grew more and more impressed with me, and my ego soared like the applause after Michelle Kwan’s triple axel. Cue the fall… Except this time, it was an emotional wipe out. My talents had also caught the attention of a sweet, 5-year-old onlooker. She approached me earnestly, I assumed to marvel at my talent, but when she reached me her question knocked the elation right out of me. “Why do you have a hole in your neck?” She hadn’t noticed my spins; the little girl had noticed the 1 inch scar left behind from my tracheostomy. As I explained to her how I had earned this scar, she noticed something else that was different about me from other people she had come to know… “Stick out your tongue.” Well, she got me with that one. You see, I don’t have a tongue to stick out. After multiple surgeries, I have a reconstructed tongue that allows me to speak and eat and swallow, although not without difficulty. My tongue is tethered and is no longer something I could stick out even if I wanted to. This is not new information to me. I have been learning to grow into and accept my differences for years now, but I have to say, “Even though I’ve grown accustomed to it, it’s not always easy for me when people point out how I’m different.” Sometimes I think it takes us longer to embrace who we are, because it’s so painful to let go of who we used to be. Often, these changes come to us as the result of some uncontrollable circumstance. I’m grateful to still be alive, but what is also true is Cancer stole my once smooth speech and neck. Admittedly, it took me four years to change the message on my voicemailbox, because I had recorded it before surgeries slurred my speech. “Honestly, I didn’t want to let the girl go. The girl with the perfect speech. The me that I used to be. I didn’t want to say goodbye to her.” The innocent girl’s inquiries that day made me realize something. “We’ve come to believe that our value comes with our ability to blend in.” We work so hard to mask our own differences, and we are awkward about others’. But really, “Behind our discomfort with difference is a deep need for significance.” In relationship, differences often feel like conflict, and the difficulty with conflict is that we become convinced we have to pick a side. Does this person’s difference deserve grace or truth? In chapter 9 of Relentless, I retell the transfiguration story where Peter, James, and John went up the mountain and witnessed Jesus’ appearance transfigured into God before their very eyes. It wasn’t that he changed people completely; essentially, the veil was lifted momentarily to reveal who he had been all along- God. This brings us to Altar Stone #9: Look for God’s presence in the place of your transformation. We are all in process. This week, I want you to revisit the middle of your hard story and look for evidence of God’s presence in the disfigured parts.

Relentless Podcast Eps 11: A God Who is With You in the Process

I love math. Always have. Just today, I felt a small thrill when my kids returned from school (AKA their computers in the kitchen, thankyouCovid) with a math problem they needed my assistance with. The reason? An equation is straightforward, solvable, with a clear conclusion. I wish faith were more like algebra. Instead, faith sometimes reminds me of the tedious, makemewannapullmyhairout, task of untangling my headphones. It is the actual worst. I would honest-to-goodness rather buy a new pair than have to tackle this nearly impossible task. Just me, here? Okay, admittedly this is a very minuscule example of a much larger issue. For instance, John the Baptist was a person of exceptional faith on all accounts. He was set apart from birth to be the forerunner to the Messiah. He was an obedient, faithful, honorable, humble, and hardworking man who spent his life in service to Yahweh. Yet, he met an ending more terrible than most. Eventually, John the Baptist was beheaded- his head delivered to King Herod’s wife on a silver platter. What? In chapter 8 of Relentless, I mention reading a book some time ago. Miracles, by Eric Metaxas is a fantastic book filled with accounts of exceptional miracles believers have experienced. I devoured it. Hidden beneath my fevered page-turning was a buried belief that if I filled an internal storehouse of miraculous stories, I could avoid any discomfort of confusion in my faith. “If I could collect all these stories of big, firework kind of miracles of God doing extraordinary things, then I could believe &amp; not doubt; then I could have the kind of faith that was super strong.” With my super strong faith, I could successfully avoid the unwanted measure of guilt and shame that accumulated alongside any creeping doubts. Why do some people get the big, life-changing, or even life-saving miracles, while others collide with tragedy, loss, or even death? As it turns out, my trying to get God to prove himself through my mathematic equation didn’t render the results I had hoped for. Moreover, I realized that, “Miracles don’t always make faith.” “In fact, in many cases it’s the lack of a miracle that forces a person to really wrestle with what they believe.” In our suffering, we become increasingly desperate for answers, believing they will finally rescue us from our pain. The truth is, answers may bring relief in the short term, but even the clearest of reasoning can’t make sufficient sense of some heartbreaks. The real art is learning to trust amidst the unknown, to rest amidst turmoil, and to trust the trail our questions lead us further along. Doubt feels scary and destructive and unfaithful. “However, over the last couple of years of wrestling through my own faith journey, I have actually come to see doubt as a gift.” So, how do we deal with the reality of doubt?   Acknowledge it. Doubt is a normal part of an active, stretching, growing faith.  Keep asking questions. To not ask questions is to not think.  Keep moving. Don’t get too comfortable in your doubt; it should be productive. There’s nothing noble about staying lost in the forest.  Accept that not all questions will be answered. If we could solve the equation of God, he would be far too small.  Choose trust. We are either going to trust in our own capacity and ability or God’s magnificence and mystery.  “Doubt is not the enemy of your faith, it’s the means to deepening it; So, take it to him.”

I love math. Always have. Just today, I felt a small thrill when my kids returned from school (AKA their computers in the kitchen, thankyouCovid) with a math problem they needed my assistance with. The reason? An equation is straightforward, solvable, with a clear conclusion. I wish faith were more like algebra. Instead, faith sometimes reminds me of the tedious, makemewannapullmyhairout, task of untangling my headphones. It is the actual worst. I would honest-to-goodness rather buy a new pair than have to tackle this nearly impossible task. Just me, here? Okay, admittedly this is a very minuscule example of a much larger issue. For instance, John the Baptist was a person of exceptional faith on all accounts. He was set apart from birth to be the forerunner to the Messiah. He was an obedient, faithful, honorable, humble, and hardworking man who spent his life in service to Yahweh. Yet, he met an ending more terrible than most. Eventually, John the Baptist was beheaded- his head delivered to King Herod’s wife on a silver platter. What? In chapter 8 of Relentless, I mention reading a book some time ago. Miracles, by Eric Metaxas is a fantastic book filled with accounts of exceptional miracles believers have experienced. I devoured it. Hidden beneath my fevered page-turning was a buried belief that if I filled an internal storehouse of miraculous stories, I could avoid any discomfort of confusion in my faith. “If I could collect all these stories of big, firework kind of miracles of God doing extraordinary things, then I could believe &amp; not doubt; then I could have the kind of faith that was super strong.” With my super strong faith, I could successfully avoid the unwanted measure of guilt and shame that accumulated alongside any creeping doubts. Why do some people get the big, life-changing, or even life-saving miracles, while others collide with tragedy, loss, or even death? As it turns out, my trying to get God to prove himself through my mathematic equation didn’t render the results I had hoped for. Moreover, I realized that, “Miracles don’t always make faith.” “In fact, in many cases it’s the lack of a miracle that forces a person to really wrestle with what they believe.” In our suffering, we become increasingly desperate for answers, believing they will finally rescue us from our pain. The truth is, answers may bring relief in the short term, but even the clearest of reasoning can’t make sufficient sense of some heartbreaks. The real art is learning to trust amidst the unknown, to rest amidst turmoil, and to trust the trail our questions lead us further along. Doubt feels scary and destructive and unfaithful. “However, over the last couple of years of wrestling through my own faith journey, I have actually come to see doubt as a gift.” So, how do we deal with the reality of doubt? <ol> <li> Acknowledge it. Doubt is a normal part of an active, stretching, growing faith.</li> <li> Keep asking questions. To not ask questions is to not think.</li> <li> Keep moving. Don’t get too comfortable in your doubt; it should be productive. There’s nothing noble about staying lost in the forest.</li> <li> Accept that not all questions will be answered. If we could solve the equation of God, he would be far too small.</li> <li> Choose trust. We are either going to trust in our own capacity and ability or God’s magnificence and mystery.</li> </ol> “Doubt is not the enemy of your faith, it’s the means to deepening it; So, take it to him.”

Podcast Episode 10: A God Who is With You In Your Doubt

Chemo and radiation were complete, and I was hopeful I could finally enjoy a long-overdue meeting with my counselor, a little too hopeful… It was approximately ten minutes into the session when it happened. I puked. First on her office carpet; next, into her very cute, very permeable wicker wastebasket. I apologized profusely while she graciously reassured me, moving about to help clean and comfort. What a mess. I mean if there were ever a place to spill your guts, I would say it’s in your therapist’s office, but come on… Yet, I began to learn something after baring the contents of my soul, and stomach, that day in counseling with my humanity on full display… “This awareness of my humanity creates a deep need for me to be understood.” Have you ever felt as though the painful parts of your unique story, the messy, the complicated, the uncontrollable, rendered you as totally “other” to those around you? So much of life is outside of our control, and yet we experience the effects of others’ decisions, of illness, and of tragedy as if we’d consciously decided to stand directly under our own anvil. Like the coyote constantly stumbling into the traps he set for the roadrunner, we are frequently rendered dumbfounded as to how our own lives have become almost unrecognizable in comparison to who we thought we’d be by now. This painful humanity leaves us longing to be seen, known, understood. How is it that suffering, something so universal, can leave us feeling so isolated and alone? What’s interesting is that it is in this space where our deep need pushes right up against our limited capacity to meet others in their brokenness. “I have a limited ability to hold space with them in their pain. There are some days that their woundedness is overwhelming to me, and I can’t hang there as long as they need me to hang there. I bump against my limits to offer reciprocity &amp; attunement all the time.” Do you have a memory like that?  Staring at the longing face of a loved one, knowing they are desperately seeking connection, and quietly dying inside because you know it’s just not in you today. It can feel shameful to even admit out loud while knowing how badly we’ve needed the very same thing for ourselves. While it’s important for us to seek to love and care for one another in our suffering, it’s equally true that as humans, we will never do this perfectly. In chapter 7 of Relentless, we discuss the life-changing truth that there is one who can, and does, care for us perfectly, abundantly, and comprehensively. “This is the beauty of the incarnation… we need somebody that can attune with us. That can push into our humanity… respond to us, hold space with us in the place of our greatest pain.” God himself attunes to us in all of our messy humanity. He enters into our broken reality, and in the process he brings safety. “Out of desire to bring us wholeness, God chose to enter into our human experience and hold space with us. God knew that what we needed to heal ourselves, more than anything else, was the presence of himself.” This picture of God’s sacrificial attunement for our wholeness leads us to Altar Stone #7: I want you to look for evidence of God’s presence in your places of humanity. Our valleys contain equal amounts of glory as our mountain tops… Where do you see him at work in your valley?

Chemo and radiation were complete, and I was hopeful I could finally enjoy a long-overdue meeting with my counselor, a little too hopeful… It was approximately ten minutes into the session when it happened. I puked. First on her office carpet; next, into her very cute, very permeable wicker wastebasket. I apologized profusely while she graciously reassured me, moving about to help clean and comfort. What a mess. I mean if there were ever a place to spill your guts, I would say it’s in your therapist’s office, but come on… Yet, I began to learn something after baring the contents of my soul, and stomach, that day in counseling with my humanity on full display… “This awareness of my humanity creates a deep need for me to be understood.” Have you ever felt as though the painful parts of your unique story, the messy, the complicated, the uncontrollable, rendered you as totally “other” to those around you? So much of life is outside of our control, and yet we experience the effects of others’ decisions, of illness, and of tragedy as if we’d consciously decided to stand directly under our own anvil. Like the coyote constantly stumbling into the traps he set for the roadrunner, we are frequently rendered dumbfounded as to how our own lives have become almost unrecognizable in comparison to who we thought we’d be by now. This painful humanity leaves us longing to be seen, known, understood. How is it that suffering, something so universal, can leave us feeling so isolated and alone? What’s interesting is that it is in this space where our deep need pushes right up against our limited capacity to meet others in their brokenness. “I have a limited ability to hold space with them in their pain. There are some days that their woundedness is overwhelming to me, and I can’t hang there as long as they need me to hang there. I bump against my limits to offer reciprocity &amp; attunement all the time.” Do you have a memory like that?  Staring at the longing face of a loved one, knowing they are desperately seeking connection, and quietly dying inside because you know it’s just not in you today. It can feel shameful to even admit out loud while knowing how badly we’ve needed the very same thing for ourselves. While it’s important for us to seek to love and care for one another in our suffering, it’s equally true that as humans, we will never do this perfectly. In chapter 7 of Relentless, we discuss the life-changing truth that there is one who can, and does, care for us perfectly, abundantly, and comprehensively. “This is the beauty of the incarnation… we need somebody that can attune with us. That can push into our humanity… respond to us, hold space with us in the place of our greatest pain.” God himself attunes to us in all of our messy humanity. He enters into our broken reality, and in the process he brings safety. “Out of desire to bring us wholeness, God chose to enter into our human experience and hold space with us. God knew that what we needed to heal ourselves, more than anything else, was the presence of himself.” This picture of God’s sacrificial attunement for our wholeness leads us to Altar Stone #7: I want you to look for evidence of God’s presence in your places of humanity. Our valleys contain equal amounts of glory as our mountain tops… Where do you see him at work in your valley?

Relentless Podcast Episode 9: A God Who is with You in Your Humanity

“Is there more than just shame at the end of this rope?” It had been an exceptionally hard day, and coming from someone battling Cancer for the third time, that was really saying something. Treatment had been especially brutal, and I was in desperate need of support. I logged onto Facebook, and posted a simple request for prayer from my community, something I rarely resort to. After just a few minutes, one short comment succeeded only in adding insult to injury… Come on now, Michele, it’s not that bad. You can still walk. You’re not in a wheelchair. Toughen up. You’ll be fine. Now, I understand this woman’s approach, because I too have attempted to buoy another’s faith by urging them to dig-deeper, try harder. However, I’ve since begun to recognize that the last thing a person needs amidst pain and hardship is to be instructed to simply have more faith. In fact, instructing the sufferer to attempt a forced-lightness, typically results in simply adding to the weight of their already too-heavy burden. “In my attempt to try to get them to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and find new strength, I load them down with shame.” In chapter six of Relentless, you will read about a God who is with the one at the end of her rope. But wait… “Is it okay for Christians to reach the end of themselves?”  Is that even allowed? We find examples of faithful, wise, obedient Christian believers throughout scripture who wept and mourned deeply (Jeremiah), despaired of life itself (Paul), and sweat blood out of sheer agony (Jesus). Yet, as Christians, we often find ourselves on one of two sides of the same coin. We conceal the cracks in our foundations with fancy rugs and flowery phrases, or we run out of patience for people who refuse to wrap up their grief in a tidy package with a pretty bow. “One of the most dangerous Christian practices &amp; expectations is the compulsion to present a put-together, unflappable faith. On the whole, we haven’t done a very good job of making space for a struggle that lasts longer than we think it should. We may give the struggler grace for a day, a week, a month, a year, but sooner than later we decide it’s high-time she pulled it together. This pressure, whether spoken or unspoken, only pushes the sufferer to hide &amp; neglect the long, hard process of healing.” That one, simple, likely well-intentioned, Facebook comment not only failed to bolster my strength, but actually left me feeling more alone, more pain, more guilt for not being strong enough to handle this suffering on my own. After reading a sister’s words, I was both buried in shame and determined to never ask for help again. I hate to say it out loud, but the truth is as followers of Jesus we will likely find the end of our ropes more than once in a lifetime. Thankfully, God’s response to Elijah’s despair provides the perfect example for us to follow, when a loved one is smack-dab in the middle of a season (or moment) of suffering. After Elijah’s life was threatened, after he ran, collapsed, and prayed to God that he would rather die… God’s response to his prophet was a speech about personal holiness, a recollection of shortcomings, rebuking sin, and quoting scripture.  No, rather than reprimand, God nourished the prophet’s body and soul. He touches, feeds, and hydrates the prophet, twice. God recognizes our need for his presence and provision, “because the journey is too much for you.” I want you to look for God’s presence at the end of your rope. Where shame, guilt, embarrassment, doubt, and heartbreak scream, listen for the whisper of God’s gracious response to your weariness.

“Is there more than just shame at the end of this rope?” It had been an exceptionally hard day, and coming from someone battling Cancer for the third time, that was really saying something. Treatment had been especially brutal, and I was in desperate need of support. I logged onto Facebook, and posted a simple request for prayer from my community, something I rarely resort to. After just a few minutes, one short comment succeeded only in adding insult to injury… Come on now, Michele, it’s not that bad. You can still walk. You’re not in a wheelchair. Toughen up. You’ll be fine. Now, I understand this woman’s approach, because I too have attempted to buoy another’s faith by urging them to dig-deeper, try harder. However, I’ve since begun to recognize that the last thing a person needs amidst pain and hardship is to be instructed to simply have more faith. In fact, instructing the sufferer to attempt a forced-lightness, typically results in simply adding to the weight of their already too-heavy burden. “In my attempt to try to get them to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and find new strength, I load them down with shame.” In chapter six of Relentless, you will read about a God who is with the one at the end of her rope. But wait… “Is it okay for Christians to reach the end of themselves?”  Is that even allowed? We find examples of faithful, wise, obedient Christian believers throughout scripture who wept and mourned deeply (Jeremiah), despaired of life itself (Paul), and sweat blood out of sheer agony (Jesus). Yet, as Christians, we often find ourselves on one of two sides of the same coin. We conceal the cracks in our foundations with fancy rugs and flowery phrases, or we run out of patience for people who refuse to wrap up their grief in a tidy package with a pretty bow. “One of the most dangerous Christian practices &amp; expectations is the compulsion to present a put-together, unflappable faith. On the whole, we haven’t done a very good job of making space for a struggle that lasts longer than we think it should. We may give the struggler grace for a day, a week, a month, a year, but sooner than later we decide it’s high-time she pulled it together. This pressure, whether spoken or unspoken, only pushes the sufferer to hide &amp; neglect the long, hard process of healing.” That one, simple, likely well-intentioned, Facebook comment not only failed to bolster my strength, but actually left me feeling more alone, more pain, more guilt for not being strong enough to handle this suffering on my own. After reading a sister’s words, I was both buried in shame and determined to never ask for help again. I hate to say it out loud, but the truth is as followers of Jesus we will likely find the end of our ropes more than once in a lifetime. Thankfully, God’s response to Elijah’s despair provides the perfect example for us to follow, when a loved one is smack-dab in the middle of a season (or moment) of suffering. After Elijah’s life was threatened, after he ran, collapsed, and prayed to God that he would rather die… God’s response to his prophet was a speech about personal holiness, a recollection of shortcomings, rebuking sin, and quoting scripture.  No, rather than reprimand, God nourished the prophet’s body and soul. He touches, feeds, and hydrates the prophet, twice. God recognizes our need for his presence and provision, “because the journey is too much for you.” I want you to look for God’s presence at the end of your rope. Where shame, guilt, embarrassment, doubt, and heartbreak scream, listen for the whisper of God’s gracious response to your weariness.

Relentless Podcast Episode 8: A God Who is With You When You Reach the End of Yourself

I thought they’d come to offer compassion and support. Instead, they’d come to criticize and correct. I was desperate for comfort, maybe some wisdom or guidance. What I received was something quite different. When I look back on that day, the memories still feel painful. I am no longer the young girl I once was. And yet these church leaders whom I’d loved and respected for most of my life left me heaped in accusation and shame. They “neglected connection for the sake of harsh correction.” And I can still feel the sting. It’s been decades since that day, and I’ve spent many years in ministry since. I’ve come to realize that, as leaders of the church, “We are capable of great good, but we are also capable of significant harm,” in spite of our best intentions. And although I know what it’s like to be recipient of such harm, I also must admit that at times I’ve been the one to cause it. As Christians, we have a history of distorting a relationship with God into a transaction of rigid codes and regulations. As a result, we often treat each other the same. That night in my parents’ living room so long again convinced me that my value was equal to my obedience; neither my pain nor my perspective held any weight. I was only as loved as I was good. As a result, something in my heart broke. ”In a religious world of black and white rules there is no space for growth, grace, or complex teenage emotions. The priority? Good behavior, obedience, doing what is expected of you every time without fail.” That moment ended up shaping my ability to connect with God and others for decades to come. In chapter 5 of Relentless, I discuss Ark of the Covenant, the visible evidence of God’s presence with the Israelites. Here, God’s presence dwelled upon the “Mercy Seat.” “Our disobedience required death, but... God’s presence sat in mercy, not in judgment. He could have demanded payment from us, but instead he offered it.” So, I’ve developed 4 key-truths for us to consider as we seek to hold in tension the beauty of obedience and mercy. 4 KEY TRUTHS: 1. Even well-intentioned, God-loving Christian leaders get it wrong from time to time. That includes you &amp; me. The mercy seat exists for a very good reason. Let’s humbly embrace it. 2. Securing someone’s compliance doesn’t mean we’ve captured their heart. There’s a simple question I ask myself in situations of delayed-compliance, “Do I want robots or do I want relationship?” 3. When we emphasize obedience before connection, we will always end up with a fractured relationship. Connect before you correct. 4. God is the only one who connects &amp; corrects in perfect proportion. He has every right to demand our compliance while offering nothing in return; yet, God’s primary aim was always to be with us. This brings us to Altar Stone #5: I want you to look for God’s presence in places of mercy. Try this exercise: sit in a chair &amp; give it a new name—The Mercy Seat. In this new seat, take time to read your Bible. Consider Jesus’ arrest, death, crucifixion, and resurrection. Remember: God sits in mercy, not judgment.

I thought they’d come to offer compassion and support. Instead, they’d come to criticize and correct. I was desperate for comfort, maybe some wisdom or guidance. What I received was something quite different. When I look back on that day, the memories still feel painful. I am no longer the young girl I once was. And yet these church leaders whom I’d loved and respected for most of my life left me heaped in accusation and shame. They “neglected connection for the sake of harsh correction.” And I can still feel the sting. It’s been decades since that day, and I’ve spent many years in ministry since. I’ve come to realize that, as leaders of the church, “We are capable of great good, but we are also capable of significant harm,” in spite of our best intentions. And although I know what it’s like to be recipient of such harm, I also must admit that at times I’ve been the one to cause it. As Christians, we have a history of distorting a relationship with God into a transaction of rigid codes and regulations. As a result, we often treat each other the same. That night in my parents’ living room so long again convinced me that my value was equal to my obedience; neither my pain nor my perspective held any weight. I was only as loved as I was good. As a result, something in my heart broke. ”In a religious world of black and white rules there is no space for growth, grace, or complex teenage emotions. The priority? Good behavior, obedience, doing what is expected of you every time without fail.” That moment ended up shaping my ability to connect with God and others for decades to come. In chapter 5 of Relentless, I discuss Ark of the Covenant, the visible evidence of God’s presence with the Israelites. Here, God’s presence dwelled upon the “Mercy Seat.” “Our disobedience required death, but... God’s presence sat in mercy, not in judgment. He could have demanded payment from us, but instead he offered it.” So, I’ve developed 4 key-truths for us to consider as we seek to hold in tension the beauty of obedience and mercy. 4 KEY TRUTHS: 1. Even well-intentioned, God-loving Christian leaders get it wrong from time to time. That includes you &amp; me. The mercy seat exists for a very good reason. Let’s humbly embrace it. 2. Securing someone’s compliance doesn’t mean we’ve captured their heart. There’s a simple question I ask myself in situations of delayed-compliance, “Do I want robots or do I want relationship?” 3. When we emphasize obedience before connection, we will always end up with a fractured relationship. Connect before you correct. 4. God is the only one who connects &amp; corrects in perfect proportion. He has every right to demand our compliance while offering nothing in return; yet, God’s primary aim was always to be with us. This brings us to Altar Stone #5: I want you to look for God’s presence in places of mercy. Try this exercise: sit in a chair &amp; give it a new name—The Mercy Seat. In this new seat, take time to read your Bible. Consider Jesus’ arrest, death, crucifixion, and resurrection. Remember: God sits in mercy, not judgment.

Relentless Podcast, Episode 7: When Church Leaders Fail

I remember it like it was yesterday… Certain memories seem to play in technicolor. These are the ones you can see, smell, feel for years. Where the terror hangs heavy and every hair on your body stands at attention. Physical trauma has a way of marking our memories in this way, and surprisingly enough, emotional trauma sure can hold its own, too. This memory is one of the vivid ones. I was finally cancer free, again, and sitting on the back porch. Years of rapid and consecutive trauma had left me weak, devastated, and weary. I remember the way the sunlight lit up the leaves, the smell of the crisp Colorado air, and exactly where my husband was sitting when the words fell like lead from my lips… “I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t know if I believe God is real.” They landed with a thud. There it was. The Truth. “Saying those words out loud… terrified me even more than the prospect of dying.” Hebrews 6:19 tells us, “We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.” Take away the hope, take away the anchor, and we’re adrift at sea. Or, to put it another way, lost in the wilderness without a canteen. The Israelites could tell us a thing or two about the wilderness. Recently freed from Egyptian slavery, the exiles saw nothing but the long, hard road up ahead. Yet, despite all their questions and years in the wilderness, there was one truth that changed the nature of the waiting: They were never alone. In chapter four of Relentless, we consider a God who refused to leave, even when we wander. To the Israelite exiles, He came as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, leading his people through the wilderness, every step of the way. He provided for their needs, he endured their grumbling, and he answered all of their woes &amp; whys with his unshakeable presence. “He was with them every step of the way, even in their questions.” Dear friend, it’s okay to doubt. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to cry. But please hear me when I say: We mustn’t stay there. “There’s a very powerful correlation between our lack of understanding and belief in God’s presence and affection, and the depth and capacity of our own presence and affection with others.” We must wrestle, we must question. Sometimes our faith needs to be rebuilt. And that rebuilding will often come with a fight for Truth. But setting up camp in a place of doubt is dangerous. Not only do you risk becoming petrified there, a sort of living death, you may also become either unavailable or abrasive in our relationships.  “We are only able to love and be present with people to the extent that we are able to receive and believe God’s love and presence with us.” So, what do we do when we find ourselves in that wilderness place? Join me in this episode for the "5 Ropes" that can lead you from “lost” to “home”. The good news is, you only need one.  “I want you to look for a light that is only visible in the dark. That is evidence of God’s presence with you in the middle of the wilderness, not waiting for you on the other side of it.”

I remember it like it was yesterday… Certain memories seem to play in technicolor. These are the ones you can see, smell, feel for years. Where the terror hangs heavy and every hair on your body stands at attention. Physical trauma has a way of marking our memories in this way, and surprisingly enough, emotional trauma sure can hold its own, too. This memory is one of the vivid ones. I was finally cancer free, again, and sitting on the back porch. Years of rapid and consecutive trauma had left me weak, devastated, and weary. I remember the way the sunlight lit up the leaves, the smell of the crisp Colorado air, and exactly where my husband was sitting when the words fell like lead from my lips… “I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t know if I believe God is real.” They landed with a thud. There it was. The Truth. “Saying those words out loud… terrified me even more than the prospect of dying.” Hebrews 6:19 tells us, “We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.” Take away the hope, take away the anchor, and we’re adrift at sea. Or, to put it another way, lost in the wilderness without a canteen. The Israelites could tell us a thing or two about the wilderness. Recently freed from Egyptian slavery, the exiles saw nothing but the long, hard road up ahead. Yet, despite all their questions and years in the wilderness, there was one truth that changed the nature of the waiting: They were never alone. In chapter four of <a href="http://www.michelecushatt.com/Relentless" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Relentless</a>, we consider a God who refused to leave, even when we wander. To the Israelite exiles, He came as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, leading his people through the wilderness, every step of the way. He provided for their needs, he endured their grumbling, and he answered all of their woes &amp; whys with his unshakeable presence. “He was with them every step of the way, even in their questions.” Dear friend, it’s okay to doubt. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to cry. But please hear me when I say: We mustn’t stay there. “There’s a very powerful correlation between our lack of understanding and belief in God’s presence and affection, and the depth and capacity of our own presence and affection with others.” We must wrestle, we must question. Sometimes our faith needs to be rebuilt. And that rebuilding will often come with a fight for Truth. But setting up camp in a place of doubt is dangerous. Not only do you risk becoming petrified there, a sort of living death, you may also become either unavailable or abrasive in our relationships.  “We are only able to love and be present with people to the extent that we are able to receive and believe God’s love and presence with us.” So, what do we do when we find ourselves in that wilderness place? Join me in this episode for the "5 Ropes" that can lead you from “lost” to “home”. The good news is, you only need one.  “I want you to look for a light that is only visible in the dark. That is evidence of God’s presence with you in the middle of the wilderness, not waiting for you on the other side of it.”

Relentless Podcast, Episode 6: “Lost in the wilderness without a canteen…”

There are a lot of strong voices and heated opinions being thrown around on the Internet. Opinions about politics. Suffering. Injustices. Current events. And, of course, FAITH. Faith seems to always be at the center of any debate.But in the midst of all the noise and vitriol, what we don’t have enough of is connection. Tight and unflinching relationship. The kind of relationship that loves a good conversation and isn’t the least bit afraid of differences. The kind where we can circle up and ask the questions we’re too afraid to ask anywhere else.The kind of relationships where judgement do

Confession: I am far crueler to myself in my own head than I would ever dare be to a friend. Anyone else? Who are you to lead anyone else when you can barely lead your own family? Who are you to speak up when someone else could say it better? Who are you to preach God’s grace when you struggle to simply love your own people? Do the questions accusations sound familiar? In chapter 3 of Relentless, I tell the story from Genesis 32, of a wrestling match between Jacob and God. Jacob, refusing to let go until he’s blessed, wrestles with God through the night. Come morning, God does indeed bless Jacob, but he also leaves him with something else A limp. While several details of this story still elude me, one thing is certain: despite securing the firstborn blessing, riches, and multiple wives, it’s clear that Jacob is desperate for God. “He has, for all intents and purposes, the good life. But he’s still missing something.” The thing about those pesky limps is that every single one of us walks with one. The struggles vary in nature and degree—neediness, detachment, defensiveness—but no one is exempt. *hint: thinking we are exempt from a limp is a limp. While we all ache for our weaknesses to be met with grace and patience, it can be equally as challenging to meet the ahem somewhat annoying ahem dysfunction of others with the same empathy and compassion we crave to receive. If we dig deep enough, however, the flip side of annoyance is often empathy; our approach determines the results. Where annoyance leads to dissonance, empathy fosters connection. Where impatience breeds conflict, forbearance births solidarity. “…there’s beauty in the hanging on to God, and beauty in the wresting. And, I’m learning, there’s even beauty in the limp.” After Jacob lives to tell of an all-night wrestling duel with the Divine, he does not detail the pain, the sweat, the struggle. He doesn’t even mention it. What Jacob recalls is God’s face. “After that long night of wrestling with God, what Jacob remembered wasn’t the wrestling or the limp. He remembered the face of God.” It was the limp that led to the blessing. When we choose to be honest, humble, and vulnerable about the reality of our imperfections, we make room to recognize our desperation for the perfect presence of God. The limp serves as a reminder that we cannot do this life on our own. Not only do we experience intimacy with God through acknowledging our shortcomings, but we welcome more meaningful connection with one another. “The fact that I live with this broken body, &amp; broken spirit at times, is constantly reminding me of my absolute, utter dependence on God. But it also reminds me of my dependence on others. We need each other.” The wrestling match with God marked Jacob for the rest of his life. In addition to the limp, God also gave him a new name—Israel. The name memorialized that Jacob had struggled with God and with man and had overcome. He walked away with a limp, and God still named him an OVERCOMER. God didn’t define him by the flaw, but by his blessed identity as a child of God. “… your limp isn’t the beginning of your disqualification. It’s your first step toward healing.” Then Jacob followed suit. He named the place where he struggled with God “Peniel,” meaning I saw God face to face and yet lived. He named the night of his greatest struggle after the God who saw him through it. Now, it’s your turn.

Confession: I am far crueler to myself in my own head than I would ever dare be to a friend. Anyone else? Who are you to lead anyone else when you can barely lead your own family? Who are you to speak up when someone else could say it better? Who are you to preach God’s grace when you struggle to simply love your own people? Do the questions accusations sound familiar? In chapter 3 of <a href="http://www.michelecushatt.com/Relentless" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Relentless</a>, I tell the story from Genesis 32, of a wrestling match between Jacob and God. Jacob, refusing to let go until he’s blessed, wrestles with God through the night. Come morning, God does indeed bless Jacob, but he also leaves him with something else A limp. While several details of this story still elude me, one thing is certain: despite securing the firstborn blessing, riches, and multiple wives, it’s clear that Jacob is desperate for God. “He has, for all intents and purposes, the good life. But he’s still missing something.” The thing about those pesky limps is that every single one of us walks with one. The struggles vary in nature and degree—neediness, detachment, defensiveness—but no one is exempt. *hint: thinking we are exempt from a limp is a limp. While we all ache for our weaknesses to be met with grace and patience, it can be equally as challenging to meet the ahem somewhat annoying ahem dysfunction of others with the same empathy and compassion we crave to receive. If we dig deep enough, however, the flip side of annoyance is often empathy; our approach determines the results. Where annoyance leads to dissonance, empathy fosters connection. Where impatience breeds conflict, forbearance births solidarity. “…there’s beauty in the hanging on to God, and beauty in the wresting. And, I’m learning, there’s even beauty in the limp.” After Jacob lives to tell of an all-night wrestling duel with the Divine, he does not detail the pain, the sweat, the struggle. He doesn’t even mention it. What Jacob recalls is God’s face. “After that long night of wrestling with God, what Jacob remembered wasn’t the wrestling or the limp. He remembered the face of God.” It was the limp that led to the blessing. When we choose to be honest, humble, and vulnerable about the reality of our imperfections, we make room to recognize our desperation for the perfect presence of God. The limp serves as a reminder that we cannot do this life on our own. Not only do we experience intimacy with God through acknowledging our shortcomings, but we welcome more meaningful connection with one another. “The fact that I live with this broken body, &amp; broken spirit at times, is constantly reminding me of my absolute, utter dependence on God. But it also reminds me of my dependence on others. We need each other.” The wrestling match with God marked Jacob for the rest of his life. In addition to the limp, God also gave him a new name—Israel. The name memorialized that Jacob had struggled with God and with man and had overcome. He walked away with a limp, and God still named him an OVERCOMER. God didn’t define him by the flaw, but by his blessed identity as a child of God. “… your limp isn’t the beginning of your disqualification. It’s your first step toward healing.” Then Jacob followed suit. He named the place where he struggled with God “Peniel,” meaning I saw God face to face and yet lived. He named the night of his greatest struggle after the God who saw him through it. Now, it’s your turn.

Relentless Podcast, Episode 5: “For the one who can’t see past the pain…”

Wouldn’t it be nice if all of our shared experiences were about how much we all love Ice cream? Aisle 7… Or Pop-Tarts? Aisle 3… Or puppies? Wrong store…  If the only things to relate over included the words sunshine or sandy beaches or mountain getaway? Instead, I’m willing to bet that if you’re old enough to read this, you’ve been around long enough to know the sting of betrayal, the paralysis of bad news, the pain of a broken heart. It was like being ripped in two. In chapter 2 of Relentless, I discuss how in biblical times, contracts weren’t drawn up by legal teams and finalized in courts of law.  The people of God made covenants.  And these covenants were far more implicating than the shake-on-it’s we make today over wastepaper basketball for who’s buying lunch.  This truth leads us to ALTAR STONE #2: I want you to go back through your story and look for places where God has kept his promises to you. Perhaps you weren’t delivered from all harm, but where was he present with you in your suffering? In what ways has he been faithful to you, even when it was undeserved? When God made covenant with Abraham, he addressed the immediate, natural issue of Abraham’s fear. He reminded Abraham that God was his protector and his reward. Essentially saying, “Even if you lose everything else, you have me, and I’m the best thing that could ever happen to you.” How much do we need this good news today? Abraham’s response? To take God at his word. He believed God without even receiving any form of tangible evidence.  Join me today as dig into this truth, that God will never walk away and break this bond, because he has made a promise bound in his own blood.

Wouldn’t it be nice if all of our shared experiences were about how much we all love Ice cream? Aisle 7… Or Pop-Tarts? Aisle 3… Or puppies? Wrong store… If the only things to relate over included the words sunshine or sandy beaches or mountain getaway? Instead, I’m willing to bet that if you’re old enough to read this, you’ve been around long enough to know the sting of betrayal, the paralysis of bad news, the pain of a broken heart. It was like being ripped in two. In chapter 2 of Relentless, I discuss how in biblical times, contracts weren’t drawn up by legal teams and finalized in courts of law.  The people of God made covenants.  And these covenants were far more implicating than the shake-on-it’s we make today over wastepaper basketball for who’s buying lunch.  This truth leads us to ALTAR STONE #2: I want you to go back through your story and look for places where God has kept his promises to you. Perhaps you weren’t delivered from all harm, but where was he present with you in your suffering? In what ways has he been faithful to you, even when it was undeserved? When God made covenant with Abraham, he addressed the immediate, natural issue of Abraham’s fear. He reminded Abraham that God was his protector and his reward. Essentially saying, “Even if you lose everything else, you have me, and I’m the best thing that could ever happen to you.” How much do we need this good news today? Abraham’s response? To take God at his word. He believed God without even receiving any form of tangible evidence. Join me today as dig into this truth, that God will never walk away and break this bond, because he has made a promise bound in his own blood.

Relentless Podcast, Episode 4: A God Who Promises To Be With You

There it was again. That phrase. The one intended to bring comfort in a time of chaos. “Everything happens for a reason.” They mean well, I tell myself again.  Sometimes our pain proves too heavy for loved ones to hold; so they shift under the weight, reaching for the nearest phrase that seems to tie the bloody up with a bow. But what if there aren’t any cute clichés that can clean up the mess of our brokenness? What if we don’t receive a clear answer to the question, “Why?” that rings in the audible silence of the aftermath? What if we never hear a resounding reason for the destruction tragedy left in its wake? “The truth is, I don’t think I’d be satisfied with easy answers anyway… it would actually dishonor the extent of my suffering. It’s strange, but allowing there to be some mystery is actually a way to honor the significance of my suffering.” “The truth is, we need more than answers; we need a person. We need more than answers we need Presence. And in the absence of answers, God gives us Himself.” In chapter one of Relentless, you will read of my faith as a young girl. I recount the hours spent beneath the branches of my favorite Weeping Willow tree, getting to know the God who loved me. Fast-forward, and it would be easy to see only the pain of my story. There are plenty of questions to be asked of a childhood devoid of an available, affectionate father, the recurrence of Cancer, the mothering of three Littles marred by trauma before they were even old enough to resist its attacks. But rewind the story, even before the girl and the Willow, and I’ll introduce you to Dave, the man who led my father to Jesus. When I go back to the beginning, before all of the suffering and resulting questions, I see God’s hand working through Dave’s invitation to my father. I was able to know Jesus as a young child, because my father’s buddy invited him to church. And this brings us to Altar Stone #1. I want you to look for evidence of God’s presence in the beginning of your story, and mark it. “You’re going to need to remember not just the bad things that happened &amp; the pain that happened, but how God’s presence was with you even there.” As we get real about our suffering in order to discover God’s presence within it, here are two truths for you to cling to when, “Everything happens for a reason,” is no longer reason enough. 2 Truths to Anchor the Shipwrecked Soul: 1. “You &amp; I will never have all the answers we think we need. Ever.” In the case of missing information, our brains seek to fill in the gaps, but surrendering to our lack of control brings a new perspective into sharp focus. The “why” is far less important than the way we walk through suffering, and can even be an enemy to recognizing God’s relentless presence amidst brokenness. 2. Secondly, “A lack of intervention from God doesn’t mean a lack of love or protection or provision from God.” We may never understand his lack of intervention in the hard parts of our stories. And yet, as we learn to accept pain as a reality of the human experience, we are more readily available to recognize God’s provision, protection, and presence amidst even the darkest of days. “Sometimes the way God delivers those things looks differently than we expected him to, but it’s no less miraculous.”

There it was again. That phrase. The one intended to bring comfort in a time of chaos. “Everything happens for a reason.” They mean well, I tell myself again.  Sometimes our pain proves too heavy for loved ones to hold; so they shift under the weight, reaching for the nearest phrase that seems to tie the bloody up with a bow. But what if there aren’t any cute clichés that can clean up the mess of our brokenness? What if we don’t receive a clear answer to the question, “Why?” that rings in the audible silence of the aftermath? What if we never hear a resounding reason for the destruction tragedy left in its wake? “The truth is, I don’t think I’d be satisfied with easy answers anyway… it would actually dishonor the extent of my suffering. It’s strange, but allowing there to be some mystery is actually a way to honor the significance of my suffering.” “The truth is, we need more than answers; we need a person. We need more than answers we need Presence. And in the absence of answers, God gives us Himself.” In chapter one of Relentless, you will read of my faith as a young girl. I recount the hours spent beneath the branches of my favorite Weeping Willow tree, getting to know the God who loved me. Fast-forward, and it would be easy to see only the pain of my story. There are plenty of questions to be asked of a childhood devoid of an available, affectionate father, the recurrence of Cancer, the mothering of three Littles marred by trauma before they were even old enough to resist its attacks. But rewind the story, even before the girl and the Willow, and I’ll introduce you to Dave, the man who led my father to Jesus. When I go back to the beginning, before all of the suffering and resulting questions, I see God’s hand working through Dave’s invitation to my father. I was able to know Jesus as a young child, because my father’s buddy invited him to church. And this brings us to Altar Stone #1. I want you to look for evidence of God’s presence in the beginning of your story, and mark it. “You’re going to need to remember not just the bad things that happened &amp; the pain that happened, but how God’s presence was with you even there.” As we get real about our suffering in order to discover God’s presence within it, here are two truths for you to cling to when, “Everything happens for a reason,” is no longer reason enough. 2 Truths to Anchor the Shipwrecked Soul: 1. “You &amp; I will never have all the answers we think we need. Ever.” In the case of missing information, our brains seek to fill in the gaps, but surrendering to our lack of control brings a new perspective into sharp focus. The “why” is far less important than the way we walk through suffering, and can even be an enemy to recognizing God’s relentless presence amidst brokenness. 2. Secondly, “A lack of intervention from God doesn’t mean a lack of love or protection or provision from God.” We may never understand his lack of intervention in the hard parts of our stories. And yet, as we learn to accept pain as a reality of the human experience, we are more readily available to recognize God’s provision, protection, and presence amidst even the darkest of days. “Sometimes the way God delivers those things looks differently than we expected him to, but it’s no less miraculous.”

Relentless Podcast, Episode 3: What to believe when, “Everything happens for a reason” is no longer reason enough.

How many times have you heard the words fall from your mouth? “…I’m fine.” Even just today? As the crack splinters a little further through the chambers of your breaking heart, threatening its very foundation. As the next breath threatens not to come. As the husband walks out, the roommate makes yet another passive aggressive remark, the child slams the door, the unpaid bills pile up on the counter, the elderly parent grows weaker… “I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re fine.” It was a typical Tuesday morning.  I woke up, ran a quick 4 miles, and spent time reading my Bible, praying, and journaling.  As the day progressed, I ate mostly veggies, drank lots of water, avoided sugar and limited my red meat intake.  I was “killing it,” no pun intended, in all regards. The session with my Christian counselor seemed especially productive, and even though I had gifted my body with an afternoon nap earlier in the day, I now laid my head on the pillow in time to get a casual 8-10 hours of sleep for the night. By all observable accounts, it had been a successful day… but the truth was I was crumbling from the inside out. Here I was, doing everything within my power to keep my head above water, the picture of health; while simultaneously, I was at my absolute lowest moment. “I was doing all the right things, and even then, even there, in spite of all that effort, I was continuing to sink.” Worse yet, despite my family and friends’ attempts to comfort and support me, I felt completely alone in my suffering. Years of consecutive trauma and loss had now accumulated as this searing pain in my chest, an invisible phantom that tormented my insides, plaguing me with heartache and a resulting isolation. “This is what almost took me under. It wasn’t cancer, it wasn’t even the pain, but the fear that I was completely alone in it.” Now, this is important: It’s easy to look at someone in pain and wonder what they did to deserve exactly what they got. We love to suspect the victim as secretly complicit-to and therefore guilty-of whatever perceived failure we blame for their plight. It’s embarrassingly easy to unknowingly attack our own wounded. “Sometimes we like to blame people for their pain. Sometimes we want to point a finger at something that somebody is doing to cause their own situation. Because if we can point a finger and we can find a reason or a cause-effect relationship between their suffering &amp; what they’re doing or not doing, then we think we can avoid it ourselves.” In a world where many of us are already living with the shame and disappointment of dashed dreams and it-wasn’t-supposed-to-be-this-ways, we have a choice to make. We can rush to judgment and blame, sighing about how that one friend should just get over it already, effectively leaving her even more alone. Or, we can move toward one another in humility, recognizing that to add to someone’s isolation is to consequently add to their suffering. “There is a suffering that happens at times that is beyond a person’s ability to bootstrap themselves through it.” So I’ve compiled a list of my own, personal strategies for moving through those days that hang heavy with the weight of it all. Listed below you will discover tangible ways to respond to your own personal suffering, or to support a loved one. My prayer is that these strategies help fight the fissures that form between us as we journey down this long, sometimes grueling, road together. Sweet friend, you are not alone. There is a way of life that is better than ‘fine,’ but we cannot do it on our own.  Eventually, if we pull on them hard enough and for long enough, even the strongest of bootstraps break.

How many times have you heard the words fall from your mouth? “…I’m fine.” Even just today? As the crack splinters a little further through the chambers of your breaking heart, threatening its very foundation. As the next breath threatens not to come. As the husband walks out, the roommate makes yet another passive aggressive remark, the child slams the door, the unpaid bills pile up on the counter, the elderly parent grows weaker… “I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re fine.” It was a typical Tuesday morning.  I woke up, ran a quick 4 miles, and spent time reading my Bible, praying, and journaling.  As the day progressed, I ate mostly veggies, drank lots of water, avoided sugar and limited my red meat intake.  I was “killing it,” no pun intended, in all regards. The session with my Christian counselor seemed especially productive, and even though I had gifted my body with an afternoon nap earlier in the day, I now laid my head on the pillow in time to get a casual 8-10 hours of sleep for the night. By all observable accounts, it had been a successful day… but the truth was I was crumbling from the inside out. Here I was, doing everything within my power to keep my head above water, the picture of health; while simultaneously, I was at my absolute lowest moment. “I was doing all the right things, and even then, even there, in spite of all that effort, I was continuing to sink.” Worse yet, despite my family and friends’ attempts to comfort and support me, I felt completely alone in my suffering. Years of consecutive trauma and loss had now accumulated as this searing pain in my chest, an invisible phantom that tormented my insides, plaguing me with heartache and a resulting isolation. “This is what almost took me under. It wasn’t cancer, it wasn’t even the pain, but the fear that I was completely alone in it.” Now, this is important: It’s easy to look at someone in pain and wonder what they did to deserve exactly what they got. We love to suspect the victim as secretly complicit-to and therefore guilty-of whatever perceived failure we blame for their plight. It’s embarrassingly easy to unknowingly attack our own wounded. “Sometimes we like to blame people for their pain. Sometimes we want to point a finger at something that somebody is doing to cause their own situation. Because if we can point a finger and we can find a reason or a cause-effect relationship between their suffering &amp; what they’re doing or not doing, then we think we can avoid it ourselves.” In a world where many of us are already living with the shame and disappointment of dashed dreams and it-wasn’t-supposed-to-be-this-ways, we have a choice to make. We can rush to judgment and blame, sighing about how that one friend should just get over it already, effectively leaving her even more alone. Or, we can move toward one another in humility, recognizing that to add to someone’s isolation is to consequently add to their suffering. “There is a suffering that happens at times that is beyond a person’s ability to bootstrap themselves through it.” So I’ve compiled a list of my own, personal strategies for moving through those days that hang heavy with the weight of it all. Listed below you will discover tangible ways to respond to your own personal suffering, or to support a loved one. My prayer is that these strategies help fight the fissures that form between us as we journey down this long, sometimes grueling, road together. Sweet friend, you are not alone. There is a way of life that is better than ‘fine,’ but we cannot do it on our own.  Eventually, if we pull on them hard enough and for long enough, even the strongest of bootstraps break.

Relentless Podcast, Episode 2: I’m not okay right now.

Have you ever found yourself buried by darkness? Sitting on the floor weighted down by a darkness you can feel, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, wondering how much longer you have before all the oxygen is siphoned from the room? Do you know the place?  The one where the pain in your chest meets the ache of your weary soul and you wonder deep down if you will actually drown under all that weight. I'm too tired. I can't swim anymore. Do you know the feeling?  The one where you suspect nobody will ever be able to reach down and pull you up out of the abyss. Perhaps God overestimated the amount of time you’re capable of holding your breath. Do you know the thought?  The one that sends startled shivers down your spine, shaming you for even thinking it, but enticing you all the same.  The one that whispers, Maybe it’s high-time I just give in. Stop swimming. Go under. Sweet friend, you are not alone. Suffering is real, painstakingly so. We can do one of two things when the weight of life threatens to pull us under: We can sink, and watch our faith, relationships, joy, and peace get tossed to the shore and ransacked by the waves. Or we can swim. Now hear me: Sinking is hard, but swimming when you’re already spent is hard, too. We have to choose our hard.  The good news is that God himself remains closer than the water against our skin. While we flail, float, sputter, and eventually learn to take those first few strokes, He is with.  When we choose the difficult task of swimming, we also choose to build the muscles of faith, and He both saves us while teaching us to swim. “Are you aching for a love that will never leave? A presence that will push back the dark? If so, I have Good News for you. God’s love is relentless, even when your faith isn’t. And the circumstances you fear might drown your faith, could become the stones giving testimony to it. Join me, and let’s find evidence of him together.” Today marks the official release of The Relentless Podcast, a 15-episode podcast and video experience designed to take your Relentless journey further and give you practical tools to tackle the difficult challenges and questions encountered on this journey of faith. As we journey over the next eleven months together, I have three goals in mind. First, that we would all encounter hope, feel less alone, and strengthen our faith through the brave engagement of owning our hard stories within community. Secondly, it is my aim to provide tangible proof of the reality of God- his goodness, unending affection, and relentless presence that cannot be suffocated by the pain, doubt, and suffering of this life. Finally, I look forward with anticipation to revealing behind the scenes information about the personal stories told in Relentless, in order to remind you that the God of light and life never leaves your side. Here’s how to join us on the Relentless Podcast journey: 1. Buy the book. https://michelecushatt.com/relentless/ 2. Read it at your own pace. 3. Subscribe to the podcast https://michelecushatt.com/this-undone-life-podcast/and YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/user/mcushatt/featured 4. Invite a friend!

Have you ever found yourself buried by darkness? Sitting on the floor weighted down by a darkness you can feel, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, wondering how much longer you have before all the oxygen is siphoned from the room? Do you know the place?  The one where the pain in your chest meets the ache of your weary soul and you wonder deep down if you will actually drown under all that weight. I'm too tired. I can't swim anymore. Do you know the feeling?  The one where you suspect nobody will ever be able to reach down and pull you up out of the abyss. Perhaps God overestimated the amount of time you’re capable of holding your breath. Do you know the thought?  The one that sends startled shivers down your spine, shaming you for even thinking it, but enticing you all the same.  The one that whispers, Maybe it’s high-time I just give in. Stop swimming. Go under. Sweet friend, you are not alone. Suffering is real, painstakingly so. We can do one of two things when the weight of life threatens to pull us under: We can sink, and watch our faith, relationships, joy, and peace get tossed to the shore and ransacked by the waves. Or we can swim. Now hear me: Sinking is hard, but swimming when you’re already spent is hard, too. We have to choose our hard.  The good news is that God himself remains closer than the water against our skin. While we flail, float, sputter, and eventually learn to take those first few strokes, He is with.  When we choose the difficult task of swimming, we also choose to build the muscles of faith, and He both saves us while teaching us to swim. “Are you aching for a love that will never leave? A presence that will push back the dark? If so, I have Good News for you. God’s love is relentless, even when your faith isn’t. And the circumstances you fear might drown your faith, could become the stones giving testimony to it. Join me, and let’s find evidence of him together.” Today marks the official release of The Relentless Podcast, a 15-episode podcast and video experience designed to take your Relentless journey further and give you practical tools to tackle the difficult challenges and questions encountered on this journey of faith. As we journey over the next eleven months together, I have three goals in mind. First, that we would all encounter hope, feel less alone, and strengthen our faith through the brave engagement of owning our hard stories within community. Secondly, it is my aim to provide tangible proof of the reality of God- his goodness, unending affection, and relentless presence that cannot be suffocated by the pain, doubt, and suffering of this life. Finally, I look forward with anticipation to revealing behind the scenes information about the personal stories told in Relentless, in order to remind you that the God of light and life never leaves your side. Here’s how to join us on the Relentless Podcast journey: 1. Buy the book. <a href="https://michelecushatt.com/relentless/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://michelecushatt.com/relentless/</a> 2. Read it at your own pace. 3. Subscribe to the podcast <a href="https://michelecushatt.com/this-undone-life-podcast/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://michelecushatt.com/this-undone-life-podcast/</a>and YouTube channel <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/mcushatt/featured" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/user/mcushatt/featured</a> 4. Invite a friend!

Season 2: Relentless | Episode 01: Welcome

 We all have those moments. We get the text, the email, the Facebook message with someone who shares their unsolicited advice, criticism and opinions.  It hurts. It exposes. It doesn't feel good.  But then we have a choice. We can choose WHAT we do with that message. Here are the four steps you can use to tackle criticism. 

We all have those moments. We get the text, the email, the Facebook message with someone who shares their unsolicited advice, criticism and opinions. It hurts. It exposes. It doesn't feel good. But then we have a choice. We can choose WHAT we do with that message. Here are the four steps you can use to tackle criticism.

Eps 8: 4 Steps to Tackle Criticism

We all need to learn how to listen better. I've never met someone who has perfected the art of listening to everyone in their life. Usually we do well with some people and fail with others. Learn with me today as I share the five  necessary skills needed to learn how to listen.

We all need to learn how to listen better. I've never met someone who has perfected the art of listening to everyone in their life. Usually we do well with some people and fail with others. Learn with me today as I share the five  necessary skills needed to learn how to listen.

Episode 7: 5 Necessary Skills to Learn How to Listen

From all my experiences and research, today I share the single most important strategy to help you diffuse a charged situation (which you will probably be able to use today). 

From all my experiences and research, today I share the single most important strategy to help you diffuse a charged situation (which you will probably be able to use today).

Episode 06: The Single Most Important Strategy to Diffuse a Charged Situation

 Today I talk about a newer tradition and perspective for me involving Ash Wednesday, Lent and savoring the divine. 

Today I talk about a newer tradition and perspective for me involving Ash Wednesday, Lent and savoring the divine.

Episode 05: Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Savoring the Divine

Listen in as I discuss how to deal with fear and the five steps to get you through. Friend, whatever led you to land here, I need you to know something before you go:  ONE, you’re not alone. Not even close. You don’t need to clean up, buck up, or pull yourself together. We’re a bunch of in-progress people doing our best to find meaning, growth and deeper faith exactly where we are. That means you belong.   And TWO, you matter. Your story. Your work. Your struggle. You aren’t a random accident, a problem to be solved or an invisible face in a sea of a billion others. You are the intentional creation of a God who loves you more than you can possibly know.  I’m glad we’re in this together.   Michele   P.S. Let's Stick Together! You can also subscribe to get my occasional blog posts and newsletters in your email. Subscribers get exclusive access to her free premium resources. Sign up here: https://michelecushatt.com/subscribe/ 

Listen in as I discuss how to deal with fear and the five steps to get you through. Friend, whatever led you to land here, I need you to know something before you go:  ONE, you’re not alone. Not even close. You don’t need to clean up, buck up, or pull yourself together. We’re a bunch of in-progress people doing our best to find meaning, growth and deeper faith exactly where we are. That means you belong.   And TWO, you matter. Your story. Your work. Your struggle. You aren’t a random accident, a problem to be solved or an invisible face in a sea of a billion others. You are the intentional creation of a God who loves you more than you can possibly know.  I’m glad we’re in this together.   Michele   P.S. Let's Stick Together! You can also subscribe to get my occasional blog posts and newsletters in your email. Subscribers get exclusive access to her free premium resources. Sign up here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/redirect?q=https%3A%2F%2Fmichelecushatt.com%2Fsubscribe%2F&amp;redir_token=CEzKXslR4zO6cEwVOcj9q3AMiZB8MTU1ODgwMjQ2NkAxNTU4NzE2MDY2&amp;event=video_description&amp;v=86zTfVLn7-o" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://michelecushatt.com/subscribe/</a>

Episode 04: When Fear Has You By The Throat: 5 Steps To Get You Through

There are a lot of strong voices and heated opinions being thrown around on the Internet. Opinions about politics. Suffering. Injustices. Current events. And, of course, FAITH. Faith seems to always be at the center of any debate. But in the midst of all the noise and vitriol, what we don’t have enough of is connection. Tight and unflinching relationship. The kind of relationship that loves a good conversation and isn’t the least bit afraid of differences. The kind where we can circle up and ask the questions we’re too afraid to ask anywhere else. The kind of relationships where judgement do

This Undone Life Together with Michele Cushatt

Whatever led you to land here, I need you to know something before you go:  ONE, you’re not alone. Not even close. You don’t need to clean up, buck up, or pull yourself together. We’re a bunch of in-progress people doing our best to find meaning, growth and deeper faith exactly where we are. That means you belong.  And TWO, you matter. Your story. Your work. Your struggle. You aren’t a random accident, a problem to be solved or an invisible face in a sea of a billion others. You are the intentional creation of a God who loves you more than you can possibly know.  I’m glad we’re in this together.  Listen in as we learn how two tiny words hold the power to reframe our failure. Michele   P.S. Let's Stick Together! You can also subscribe to get my occasional blog posts and newsletters in your email. Subscribers get exclusive access to her free premium resources. Sign up here: https://michelecushatt.com/subscribe/ 

Whatever led you to land here, I need you to know something before you go:  ONE, you’re not alone. Not even close. You don’t need to clean up, buck up, or pull yourself together. We’re a bunch of in-progress people doing our best to find meaning, growth and deeper faith exactly where we are. That means you belong.  And TWO, you matter. Your story. Your work. Your struggle. You aren’t a random accident, a problem to be solved or an invisible face in a sea of a billion others. You are the intentional creation of a God who loves you more than you can possibly know.  I’m glad we’re in this together.  Listen in as we learn how two tiny words hold the power to reframe our failure. Michele   P.S. Let's Stick Together! You can also subscribe to get my occasional blog posts and newsletters in your email. Subscribers get exclusive access to her free premium resources. Sign up here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/redirect?event=video_description&amp;v=_Pw-EAppsOA&amp;q=https%3A%2F%2Fmichelecushatt.com%2Fsubscribe%2F&amp;redir_token=cFf7-xJqHgGRzUiS9TliVNVQPiZ8MTU1ODgwMjI4MUAxNTU4NzE1ODgx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://michelecushatt.com/subscribe/</a>

Two Tiny Words That Hold the Power To Reframe Failure

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