In a storm of struggles, I have tried to control the elements, clasp the fist tight so as to protect self and happiness. But stress can be an addiction, and worry can be our lunge for control, and we forget the answer to this moment is always yes because of Christ.
Measuring sticks try to rank some people as big and some people as small – but we aren’t sizes. We are souls. There are no better people or worse people – there are only God-made souls.
The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring fullest Light to all the world.
Really good writing, from my perspective, runs a lot like a visual on the screen. You need to create that kind of detail and have credibility with the reader, so the reader knows that you were really there, that you really experienced it, that you know the details. That comes out of seeing.
I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on summer humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives.
I came into this world the way every person on the planet does – with clenched fists.
Giving thanks is that: making the canyon of pain into a megaphone to proclaim the ultimate goodness of God when Satan and all the world would sneer at us to recant.
Counting one thousand gifts, I discovered I could count on God.
Pick up a yardstick to measure your life against anyone else’s, and you’ve just picked up a stick and beaten up your own soul.
Scales always lie. They don’t make a scale that ever told the truth about value, about worth, about significance.
I’m not a fast writer at all. I come empty and wait upon the Lord. So it really is all a waiting process, a patient process.
Adults are tempted to produce and perform Christmas for their kids and their families, and they arrive at Christmas Day weary and disillusioned.
Whatever I’m writing comes organically out of my life.
A simplified Christmas isn’t about circumstances as much as it is about focus.
My husband is Dutch, and his family, when you sat down to eat food at the table, you never left the table until you ate living bread and drank living water. They never left the table until they’d read Scripture together. So morning, lunch, suppertime, Scripture was always read at the table, and then there was prayer to close.
Romance isn’t measured by how viral your proposal goes. The Internet age may try to sell you something different, but don’t ever forget that viral is closely associated with sickness – so don’t ever make being viral your goal.
The real romantics imagine greying and sagging and wrinkling as the deepening of something sacred.
Get this, kids – how a man proposes isn’t what makes him romantic. It’s how a man purposes to lay down his life that makes him romantic.
The real romantics are the boring ones – they let another heart bore a hole deep into theirs.
Comparison is a thug that robs your joy. But it’s even more than that – Comparison makes you a thug who beats down somebody – or your soul.
When grief is deepest, words are fewest.
Sometimes God answers our questions with questions.
When we can’t bottle our tears up anymore, God catches every one in His bottle. God’s catching every falling tear because He won’t let us fall apart.
I think the fall in Eden was ultimately a failure to give thanks.
Gratitude’s not a natural posture. The prince of darkness is ultimately a spoiled ingrate, and I’ve spent most of my life as kin to the fist-shaker.
I write a chapter, then edit it and edit it and edit it and edit it. I don’t think we mine creativity from within. It’s bestowed from on high, from God.
If I don’t have words, it’s a sign I’m not reading enough.
By default, most of us have taken the dare to simply survive. Exist. Get through. For the most part, we live numb to life – we’ve grown weary and apathetic and jaded… and wounded.