Labor Day. For many Americans, it is summer’s last hurrah. There are cookouts and campouts, pool parties and beach retreats, baseball games and backyard corn hole. Labor Day is a chance to bask in the sun and be free from the worries of work for a bit–that is, of course, if you have the day off. But Labor Day didn’t begin as a paid vacation day. In fact, it started because there were no paid vacation days…or…for that matter…vacation days in general.

As the Industrial Revolution exploded across the country, more and more was demanded from the workers who kept the great machine of industry and profit thrumming. Most factory workers were paid a scant wage for their work, which was often grueling and dangerous. Conditions in factories were abysmal–poor lighting, little ventilation, lots of dirt and soot, overcrowded–and most workers put in at least 12 hours each day, seven days a week, with no breaks or time off. By the late 1800s, conditions for workers had become untenable, especially when faced with the fact that corporate bosses were making huge profits and wanting for nothing while the workers themselves barely eked out a living. Things came to a head on September 5, 1882. On that day, about 10,000 workers from across New York City walked off the job and staged a demonstration demanding fewer hours and better pay.

Eleven years later, Congress honored this act by declaring the first Monday in September to be a national holiday–Labor Day. Of course, this was not the end of the fight for workers’ rights. Where there is money to be made, there will always be inequity, and many American laborers still struggle with long hours, low pay, and inadequate benefits.

Like most things in society, our practices of work and the treatment of workers is not really what God had in mind for his people. While hard work is a major tenant of Scripture, both in the New and Old Testaments, so is rest. From the very beginning, God modeled how we are to approach the work-life balance–God created, then celebrated his creation. God created, then celebrated his creation. God created, then celebrated his creation. This happened three more times. And then, he took an entire day (whatever that equaled) to fully rest from the work of creating new things.

As the people of Israel become a nation, God instructed them to follow his example. But his instructions went beyond a Sabbath each week. He also mandated times of rest during major festivals, like in this passage from Leviticus.

The people of Israel were to take off work in order to celebrate and worship. And the beautiful part of this call is that God extended it to everyone living with the Israelites–regardless of where they had come from or what their social status was. Everyone was to rest. Everyone was to celebrate. Everyone was to worship.

As Christians, we need to do a better job of modeling God’s desire for a true balance between work and rest. I can’t tell you what that looks like in your life, but for me, it’s allowing myself time to just be and breathe and practice holy stillness. It’s taking that extra 15 minutes or so in the morning to sit and converse with God before diving into the work of the day. It’s remembering to stop and give thanks as the day winds down for all of the blessings God has extended to me this day. It’s making time to pause from the tasks on the list to be fully present and really interact with the people I love. Work. Rest. Celebrate. Worship. These are the rhythms around which I want to order my days.

What rhythms of work and rest do you need in your life? And how might we advocate so that others can find those rhythms, too?

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Several years ago, I threw a huge temper tantrum at an airport. I’m talking a massive, dig my heels in, I’m getting on that plane with however many bags I want and just go ahead and call security temper tantrum. In my defense, the TSA agent was being a bit of a bully, insisting my bag was too big to carry on when another woman dragging what looked like a steamer trunk behind her had just boarded. Fortunately, my husband stepped in and saved me from going to airport jail (and perhaps being added to the No Fly list), and as my temper cooled, I cringed. Shame overtook my indignation, and I spent the rest of the flight cowering under its fierce gaze, apologizing to my husband over and over for being such an embarrassment.

Shame–what a horrible word–and what a terrible feeling. But if I’m honest, it’s one that I let consume me more than I care to admit. I don’t know why I’ve always struggled with shame. There was no one defining moment, no discernible tear in my soul that let the insidious, slithering, specter in. It’s just always been there…perhaps the consequence of being an American woman…but you can unpack that however you wish.

Unfortunately, the Church has too often been a harbinger of shame throughout its storied history. If you do X, then a fiery end awaits, and I get the logic. It was the best leaders could do to keep people on the right path, although I don’t think it was ever really effective. Perhaps that’s why Jesus chose a different route when spreading his message of salvation. While he didn’t shy away from clarifying the consequences of one’s actions, especially as they apply to hypocrisy, injustice, and denial of God’s love, he also didn’t promote a gospel of shame. Rather, Jesus wanted people to know that they were accepted, just as they were. They didn’t have to be worthy, because he was going to take care of that for them. In opening their hearts to him, Jesus made them worthy.

I love this passage of Scripture, because I certainly understand weary. As a people pleaser, I spend so much time and energy twisting myself round and round to become whatever I think people want me to be. And when I inevitably fall apart, shame takes over so that I find myself apologizing over and over for the dumbest things–things that shouldn’t require an apology.

I apologize for dinner being late, for my kids not having clean pants, for my giant puppy acting like a puppy, for someone bumping into me at the store, for my son accidentally running into a pole at the drive-thru, for expressing an opinion, for not expressing an opinion, for my hair being unbrushed in an online meeting…honestly, the list could go on, but just these few examples are enough to make me cringe and feel the itchiness of anxiety begin.

This is what shame does–it takes away our joy so that all we feel is anxiety, which, for me, compounds in a whirlwind of unhelpful thoughts. Shame eggs on my anxiety, pushing her to spin in chaos and leaving me feeling like I’m perpetually failing–as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a parent, a writer, a child of God.

Thankfully, we have a God who has a pretty good track record when it comes to breaking chains, both physical and psychological. I think Jesus’s encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well is a beautiful example of this. There she is, alone in the heat of the day, intentionally gathering water at a time when no one will be there so she doesn’t have to deal with the knowing looks, condescending glances, and snide asides of the other women in her community. Instead, she can simply breathe.

But then she sees someone approaching from a distance–a man–who seems to be making a beeline for the well. Perhaps she tried to hurry her task along to avoid a potentially negative encounter, but suddenly Jesus was there and she was stuck, awkwardly trying to keep her eyes on the bottom of the well. How long do you think they stayed there in that uncomfortable silence–Jesus assessing her heart while she longed to be home away from his prying eyes? But Jesus wasn’t content to let her carry her shame any farther, and so he spoke, asking her for a drink. The woman must have been a bit startled by Jesus’s request, because her response was not polite. Was she afraid? Did she think this was some kind of trick? Was she fearful of this odd man who showed up at a well in the middle of the day with no cup or jar?

Whatever she felt, Jesus wasn’t going to let it go. He saw the way that shame had captured her spirit, and so, he set it free. Jesus named her shame, refusing to let it linger in the dark recesses of her heart, and then he used his living water to wash it away.

What happens next is truly remarkable. God replaced the woman’s shame with joy, and it overflowed from the wellspring of her soul to others. This woman, whom shame had isolated, became a vessel of God’s grace and love. Now unbound, she ran to tell others about Jesus–going straight to those same people shame had taught her to avoid–and declaring God’s salvation.

As I think about the woman at the well, I wonder: Why do I let shame keep me bound? Why do I worry so much about what others think? Jesus promises streams of living water full of his life-sustaining love. Joy and abundance are there for the taking, so why would I let shame keep me from it?

Here’s the truth of my shame: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I don’t like everyone, but I want everyone to like me. I sometimes choose wrong things. And I am not always kind–in fact, I can be quite judgmental. I often trust in my own knowledge above all else, and I think TikTok and other social media outlets are making us dumber. I’m impatient and self-centered, and often prefer easy things to hard. But…God knows all of this about me. And he doesn’t ask me to hide myself away because of it. Instead, he wants to sweep it away in the flood of his love, just as he did for the woman at the well. Why would he do that?

Because God wants me (and you) to be a vessel that carries his good news of great joy that shall be for all people to others. So this week (month, year, decade), I’m going to try and stop apologizing so much. I’m going to try to push past the shame that will inevitably arise when I undoubtedly fail at something and to start living with joy. Would you like to join me?

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Last night, I saw a pumpkin moon. Well, I’m sure it wasn’t technically called a pumpkin moon, and it wasn’t actually last night because we were in the wee hours of the morning–but in my itchy-eyed newly yanked from dreams state, leading a giant horse of a puppy with an upset tummy around the yard in my bathrobe, the moon looked like a giant pumpkin in the sky. And it was cool. Though I was tired and annoyed and hot because it’s summer in Missouri, I paused for a moment to give God thanks for letting me see that remarkable moon (no joke–it was pumpkin orange!).

However, the next two times the pup woke me up I was not as grateful to be roaming the yard and gazing at the sky. Honestly, at one point, I thought about just opening the side door and letting her fend for herself. Raising this puppy has been exhausting–much more like caring for my children when they were toddlers than any other dog I remember having. We have moments of pure bliss, when she is cuddly and sweet and a marvelous companion. Then there are the other moments, when she’s jumping and nipping, or when you come home and see that she’s thrown a massive party in your absence, complete with special piles of mess you then get to clean up. In my worst moments I think: We should never have gotten another dog!

But then God sends me a message, like the quarterly email I got from our dog training place, where someone much more experienced with puppies than I am had the foresight to say: Enjoy the dog you have, even if it’s not the dog you envisioned it would be.

Well…that’ll preach. As I think about my life, I realize that this little nugget of truth applies on so many different levels. How many times have I thought that if only things were different, then I would be content. If my kids were more driven, or if I were more organized, or if we had a different house, or if we took more trips, or if I was more generous, or if we lived closer to family, or if I could just get one non-interrupted night of sleep.

I think many of us live on the “if only” side of life. We look around at the images others choose to share of their existence and think–that’s what I need to do in order to be fulfilled! We keep looking ahead to the next season and ignore the beauty God wants to show us through the season we’re in. We miss the pumpkin moons because we’re waiting for the sun to rise on a new day, rather than reveling in the miracle that the present day we’re living in is.

As I journey farther into middle age (another “if only”…), I’m realizing the importance of embracing the season I’m in, rather than wishing it away so I can get to something better. Because the reality is, there isn’t a better out there. We will never crest that hill or round that bend into our #livingmybestlife season because it doesn’t really exist. Life is a series of seasons, each with its highs and lows. And as God’s created ones, I think we need to embrace all of it as it comes, rather than seeking the “if onlys” of our imaginations.

The apostle Paul wrote a lot about contentment. By the time he was sharing his wisdom in the epistles, he’d learned to cultivate a life of peace (or, at least that’s what he said!). But Paul’s contentment was hard-won. He sacrificed the life he had built for himself in order to follow Christ. Paul gave up his hopes and dreams–his actual home–to travel the Mideast seeking to share the good news with others. He walked and walked, slept outdoors, encountered angry mobs, had his name slandered, was unjustly imprisoned, and wasn’t ever really accepted by the elite disciples. Paul likely had a long litany of if onlys going through his mind…but he chose to push them aside and find the wonder of what God was working through each season of his journey. Paul told the early church:

This week, I’m going to make a concentrated effort to follow Paul’s example. I’m going to shove away the “if onlys” that will invariably come to mind and, instead, look for something in this season for which I can be grateful. Today is all we are ever promised, so let’s not waste it wishing it would be something different. Instead, let’s choose to see the pumpkin moon and give thanks that we were awake to witness it.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

It was a quick cut—a passing comment, really, that served as a glancing blow among preteen girls around a sticky Formica table in a crowded middle school cafeteria. Faces are now fuzzy, a kaleidoscope of teased hair and blue eyeshadow and jean jackets and Swatches. But the words are as searing today as they were more than 30 years ago when I was 12 and uncool and uncertain and unconfident. It’s funny how that shy awkward girl peeks out from time to time, a questioning presence from the past that asks me if despite the growth, despite the experiences, despite the successes, we might still be lacking. We sit together, hanging on a moment long ago, alone now at that long-gone cafeteria table, feeling…everything.

Moments—they are the focal points on which we paint our life portraits. Some make us cringe—those shameful moments that make us feel inadequate or undeserving or just plain dumb. Other moments are kinder, memories of love and joy and happiness that we cling to like a security blanket, filling us with warmth and gratitude. And then there are those moments that fundamentally alter the course of our lives—a great continental shelf that gives way, plunging us into a new world where life’s boundary lines are irrevocably redrawn.

I don’t know about you, but I often find that I get defined by my life’s moments. One negative encounter, one harsh comment, one piece of criticism, and I am cycling through every time in my life where I felt inadequate, or embarrassed, or just plain wrong. One amazing success and I’m suddenly content to stay in this space, to be confined to the safety of a present accomplishment, and never risk anything again. And yet, both of those tendencies are false narratives of who I am and who I was created to be.

The Bible is chock-full of people who could have been defined by moments. Moses killed an Egyptian and fled the country. David brought down his entire household when he coveted someone else’s wife. Saul stood by and encouraged a crowd to murder the apostle, Stephen. Jacob…well…let’s just say this patriarch of the faith had a LOT of moments that could have defined him. And yet, in the lives of each of these men, God was writing a different story. God didn’t let these moments define Moses, David, Saul, or Jacob. Instead, he used them along with a thousand other moments to tell his story of salvation and restoration.

The truth is, while our lives might be compiled of moments, we are not defined by them. Or rather, we should not be defined by them. It’s like pointing to one image on the Sistine Chapel and labeling it Michelangelo’s penultimate work. While beautiful, it was a paid commission, and not necessarily indicative of who Michealangelo was as a human being. Honestly, other than the chapel, David, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I couldn’t tell you anything about Michealangelo. In the same way, I couldn’t tell you anything about the speaker in the middle school cafeteria years ago, other than the fact that she happened to say something snarky that hurt my feelings when I was in SIXTH GRADE!

So, why do we hold onto moments like they’re the be all, end all of our existence? Why do we continue to cling to them as if they’re a lifeline, rather than the single strand of experience that they are?  Like the saints who came before us, God is writing a bigger story in our lives. It is a story made up of countless moments. There are moments that sparkle, and others that burn. There are moments filled with laughter, and others punctuated by tears. There are moments we are proud of, and others we’d just as soon forget. God wants each of these moments, the hard, the shocking, the beautiful, the mundane because they are part of the masterpiece he is creating in our souls. If we elevate one moment above all others, we distort the story he is seeking to tell—that we are a people redeemed and loved and created to do good things.

I don’t know what moments you’re holding onto, but I do know that God is ready for you to let them go—to move past the past and embrace the whole beautiful, messy sum of who God is creating you to be. Let God tell his story in you, and marvel at the wonder of his work.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

One of my favorite activities is taking a long walk outside, and I especially love it when my husband or a good friend tags along. These walk and talks are restorative to my soul in so many ways. A weight lifts, relationships deepen, I feel energized, and I can’t wait to jump back into the fray of life renewed and refocused.

This is what spending time with God should be–a chance to cast of whatever burdens we carry within and find strength, comfort, purpose, and hope by communing with our creator. In 2 Corinthians, Paul exhorts his readers to be a letter for Christ, having God’s word written on their hearts so that they live it out in the world. Yet unfortunately for many of us, time is fleeting, and often, writing God’s word on our hearts gets relegated to the bottom of the list.

A few months ago, I had the chance through Thomas Nelson publishing to review some Bibles. One of the ones I chose was the Charles F. Stanley Life Principles Daily Bible.

For those of you who haven’t heard of him, Stanley was a well-known pastor and the founder of inTouch ministries. His mission was:

In his 60+ years of ministry, Stanley did just that. What I love about the Life Principles Daily Bible is that reading it is like having a walk and talk with God. The Scripture is broken down into daily readings that cover a chapter or two of text, so you can easily get through the entire Bible in one year. Moreover, Stanley offers Biblical insights and daily tips for daily living that make reading the Bible feel like you’re having a conversation with a good friend. Stanley’s insights are practical, down-to-earth, and make God’s Word relevant to readers in today’s culture. Here’s an example:

In the Life Principles Daily Bible, Stanley makes God approachable to readers, bringing them in and allowing them to write God’s Word on their hearts in ways that are both meaningful and relatable. If you’re looking for a new routine, or know someone seeking to grow in their relationship with God but struggling to find the right path, the Charles F. Stanley Life Principles Bible is a great way to start.

God has a Word to share, and there are many tools at our disposal. The important thing is to start writing God’s message on our hearts!

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Sometimes, my boys can be clingy. When they were younger, they used to follow me everywhere…and I mean EVERYWHERE. There were no shut doors in our house because they were entirely ineffective. If I went to the bathroom, little feet followed. If I had to take something to the basement, they trailed behind. Sometimes I played a game with myself to see just how long they would follow–walking circles around and around the house until one of them would finally say, “What are you doing?”

Now that they’re teenagers, the clinging is different. They still follow me around, but it’s mostly so they can talk at me about topics they’re interested in. Case in point: The other day, I needed to get somewhere by a certain time, but my fifteen-year-old didn’t get the message. As I went through the motions of trying to get out the door (brushing my hair, grabbing my keys, opening the garage door) he was there every step of the way talking, talking, talking. Every time I tried to interject with, “I really need to go,” he nodded as if he understood, but then just kept talking. Don’t get me wrong, I love it that my kids still want to be around me, even if it’s just to talk at me ad nauseam about random topics I’m not particularly interested in. But sometimes, I need them to let go so I can get things done.

This past Sunday, we read the resurrection account from the Gospel of John–where Mary meets the risen Jesus in the garden, thinks he’s a gardener, but realizes her mistake when Jesus calls her name. And then, this strange conversation takes place:

Theologians will tell you that there is some supernatural alchemy taking place in Jesus at this moment that’s not quite finished. And while I get that, I think there’s another lesson Jesus is teaching, too. Simply put, Jesus is saying: Don’t be clingy.

Sometimes, we can linger a little too long at the spiritual mountaintop party and forget that Jesus gave us work to do–go spread the good news! Jesus tells Mary that she has an important jog. She must go let the disciples know that he’s alive. Later, after Jesus appears to the disciples, he gives them a job to do, too. He tells them to go out and make disciples of others.

If I’m being honest, it’s much easier for me to sit and read my Bible or listen to a feel-good sermon than it is to go out into the mission field. The world is messy. Being in new situations makes me uncomfortable. And sometimes, loving others seems impossible. I prefer the warm fuzzies of security blanket Jesus. You know, the constant reminder that God loves me. God chose me. God fights for me. You see where I’m going with this, right? When I cling too long to the idea of my Jesus, I make faith all about me. But as Jesus shows Mary, it’s really not.

Author Brian Heasley wrote that “Christianity is not a self-help group.” While we do grow through our faith and through our encounters with Jesus, we also have a calling. Time and again, throughout Scripture, God calls his people to act. Do justice, he says through the prophet Micah. Do good. Do what’s right. DO…

This is the same message the disciples receive after Jesus ascends to heaven. They are full of awe and wonder, looking skyward and examining clouds. Some of them might have even sat down, waiting and watching for Jesus to return. How long they would have stayed there is anyone’s guess. They might have built a house and just hung out for the rest of their lives, discussing philosophy and theology and trying to prognosticate Christ’s return–safe, comfortable, warm. But fortunately, God intervened. He sent two angels to ask a rhetorical question:

In that moment, the disciples remembered–they had work to do!

Like Mary and the disciples, we can’t stay at the empty tomb or keep looking to the skies. We can’t keep holding onto Jesus just to make ourselves feel good. Instead, we need to let go…just a bit…and do the things he has called us to. But in the letting go there is trust–trust that Jesus has equipped us, trust that he has gone before us, trust that he will not abandon us. And above all, there is the gift of the Holy Spirit.

In John, Jesus tells the disciples that he will not leave them as orphans; rather, he will send a helper and comforter to be with them always. So, when we take those first tentative steps away from the garden or down from the mountaintop, we can rest assured that we do not do so alone. God clings to us. That leaves our hands wide open to spread his love. Now that’s news worth sharing!

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

I wrote this post several (okay, almost 20!) years ago, but as I was reflecting, the words God spoke to me then still ring true today. May you have a blessed Holy Week, remembering that you are loved and called to something beautiful.

This week has been so hectic for me, I have to confess that I completely forgot it was holy week until this morning. The sun hadn’t quite come up yet and I was already on my way to work. In lieu of morning radio (too perky dj’s rambling on about I don’t know what) I decided to listen to the silence for a while and spend some time in prayer. As I was praying through the day to come, I suddenly realized that it was Maundy Thursday.

In the past, this has not meant very much to me. I grew up in the Baptist church and we only celebrated Good Friday and Easter. Maundy Thursday was something the Presbyterians did down at the other end of the block. It never made much sense to me, mostly because I couldn’t see going to church Thursday night when you knew you would have to go back Friday and Sunday anyway. There was also the issue of the name, Maundy Thursday. What’s a Maundy? No one seems to know. I have actually heard the definition a couple of times now, and have read it once, but it’s nothing so significant that I actually ever remember it. So, what’s the point? I asked myself that question this morning, and here’s what I came up with.

Maundy Thursday is the calm before the storm. It is the last day of preparation before we walk down the road to the cross. It is the day where we commit ourselves to taking that journey with Jesus once more, even though we know it will be a painful process. More than that, it is an opportunity to come together as people of God to strengthen and sustain each other for the journey. Look at how John 13 begins:

Jesus knew hard things were coming, and he loved his disciples so much that he wanted to prepare them for the journey. More than that, he wanted some time alone with them to prepare himself, too, with those who had walked so far with him already.

The image came to mind as I was driving of someone who has been diagnosed with a major illness. Before physical treatments begin, there is a time of mental preparation. Most people meet with those closest to them to discuss the upcoming journey, and to commit themselves to seeing it all the way through, regardless of the end result. This, I believe, is what Jesus was trying to do for his disciples. He was preparing them spiritually, not only for the journey to the cross, but for a life lived in service to the resurrected Lord. In John 14, Jesus says:

This is a reminder to his disciples of who he is, and who he has called them to be. They are a people not abandoned, but empowered–fueled by the Holy Spirit to continue the work for which Jesus called them.

“Do this in remembrance of me,” Jesus said, as he passed around the bread and the wine. For me, on Maundy Thursday, the message is not to just eat and drink in remembrance of Jesus, but in everything I do to try and remember the love Jesus so willingly gave, and to pass that along to those I meet along the way.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara