The song lyrics rang through my earbuds as I ran, repeating the Scriptures that I'm fearfully and wonderfully made. I nearly threw the earbuds across the sidewalk. I felt anything but wonderfully made. I felt like a mess, and I felt like crying. That morning as I dressed for my run, I saw stretch marks across my hips. Wrinkles around my eyes. Gray hair littering the brown. The mirror showed me the reality of my body, and the reality was hard to take. I saw a mother past her physical prime, one who keeps drifting steadily away from what the world says is beautiful. As the song played in my ears, I felt the elastic of my shorts cutting into my thickened waist, and I felt my body protesting the workout I was determined to master. The words I heard didn't match the emotions I felt, and I scoffed at what the Scriptures said was true. Nothing about me was wonderful, and everything about me was fading. I huffed around the track, trying to improve the physical me, and I struggled greatly to believe that even as I am, I am loved. The Creator of all I see formed me in the womb. He saw me in the hidden place. My...

  It's time we stop lying to God, and it's time we quit withholding the truth of how we're doing from the One who already knows. We've learned to keep our real emotions stuffed inside, haven't we? When people ask how we are, we've learned they don't really want to know. They want us to answer with the socially acceptable "Fine," and we know if we dared to unload what's really on our hearts, they'd run in terror and never ask us again. You know what my "fine" was hiding this week? I feel like there's an anvil on my shoulders pushing me into the dirt. I can't shake the feeling that every decision I make as a mother is ruining my children. This nearly 37 year old body has seen its better days, and I need to just get rid of every mirror in my house. It's hard to believe God could ever look at me and see anything worth loving when others who were supposed to love me forever didn't.   And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I'm keeping back the really good ones. No, we don't need to unload our deepest struggles on unsuspecting acquaintances, but we do need to take them somewhere...

  There is a risk God has asked you to take, and there's an excuse you're giving for why you won't move ahead. What is that risk? Will you give it a name and acknowledge its existence? Less than a year ago, God told me to quit my job. He didn't speak in a booming voice, and there was no literal writing on the wall, but through a series of gut feelings and confirmations from others - including people I didn't even know - I had no doubt about what he was saying. He was saying it was time for something new. And I was scared to death.   The risk he was asking me to take was to quit my job and trust him, and the excuses I gave were varied and justifiable. What about money? What about the house we just bought? What about the fact that I know absolutely nothing about the path you're pushing me down? What will people think? What about my lack of qualifications? Oh, I had a million excuses for not moving ahead, and even looking back now, they were legitimate and very pressing. But they were also rooted in fear. I knew what I was supposed to do. The wheels had been in motion for...

  My cell phone rang, and when I glanced at the caller, immediately my heart began to pound. The illuminated screen showed the caller was the school district I had just interviewed with, so the news would be either very good or very bad. Either they wanted me or they didn't. This call would tell the tale. I needed a job, and I needed it badly. Years before, I had taught 7th grade English full-time, but when my children were born, I left work to mother them full-time. I loved every minute of being home with them, but my impending divorce and new status as a single mother demanded a paying job. And it demanded it now. I picked up the phone and squeaked out a "Hello" through my quivering voice. The principal I had just spent time with spoke, thanking me for my interest in their teaching position. Then he spoke the word "But," and I knew I wasn't their choice. He kindly explained they had chosen a candidate with more experience, and he wished me luck in the future. I managed to disconnect the call before I burst into tears. Then I wept uncontrollably. The previous eight weeks had been the most excruciating of my...

  Maybe I'm the only one who has days where I feel ugly, fat, and stupid. But I'm guessing if you arrived at this post, you probably feel that way too. Some days, for no particular reason at all, I wake up in the morning and just feel blah. Inferior. Incapable. Unable to move past the voices lying to my heart. Ugly. Fat. Stupid. I try not to compare myself to other women, and I avoid the 'keeping up with the Joneses' game as much as I can. But my enemy knows where I'm most vulnerable, and my Achilles heel is not feeling good enough. My weakness is wondering whether I'm doing enough and whether I myself am enough. So that's where he attacks. His plan to defeat me often involves degrading my appearance, and he's done it since I was 12. I know this about him, but knowing doesn't always prevent believing. Where does Satan attack you? Maybe he doesn't tell you you're ugly, fat, or stupid, but maybe he tells you you're a terrible wife. A distant mother. A sub-par business owner. Maybe he whispers that your personality is boring, or your giftedness is a joke. Maybe he reminds you of a decision you made...