Caring for Hurting Women in the Church

I first wrote about the church as a place of hope and healing in 2013. I remember reflecting on how my friendships in the church had met me in a dark season and what it meant to me that they walked with me through it. A few years later, I wrote Closer Than a Sister: How Union with Christ Helps Friendships to Flourish. My hope in writing that book was to encourage deeper, richer friendships among women in the church. Friendships that would reflect the “one-anothering” admonitions we find throughout the New Testament. Friendships that go deeper than shared interests or hobbies, that are honest and vulnerable about the real things of life. Friendships that are rooted in our union with Christ. This has since become my most popular retreat topic and for good reason—retreats are a sweet time of fellowship and are ideal places to develop richer friendships with others. I’ve loved meeting sisters in Christ across the country and encouraging them to grow in their relationships with one another.

The past year or so, I’ve been busy on a new book, an editorial project, about how the church can help hurting women. CDM, the publishing arm of the PCA, reached out to me to see if I would be interested in being the editor of a project called, Alongside Care: A Vision for Churches to Care for Women in Crisis. This book includes the voices of multiple authors, myself included. It explores the Bible’s call for the church to care for the Body—to encourage one another, bear one another’s burdens, exhort one another, speak the truth in love to one another, and more. It also shares how different churches have developed ministries to do just that, specifically ministries meeting the needs of hurting women in the church. It explores creating a team of women equipped and trained to come alongside women in the church who are in crisis, what that looks like and ways to develop such a team.

I’m excited about this project. I’ve enjoyed working with each of the writers. I love that it reflects how churches are diverse in terms of their resources, size, and membership and how it encourages readers to take the content and contextualize it to their particular congregation. It is my prayer that it will encourage churches to consider ways in which they can care for the hurting women in their pews.

To learn more about this project, click here.

He Gives Us All We Need

“His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire” (2 Peter 1:3-4).

Have you ever faced a circumstance in life in which you simply didn’t feel prepared or equipped? Perhaps you lacked wisdom to make an important decision. Or maybe you faced a new role—like marriage or motherhood—and didn’t know what to expect. Maybe you encountered a season of intense suffering and simply didn’t have the strength to endure it. In this passage, Peter tells us that God has given us all that we need to live for the glory of God. Whatever the circumstance, believers have “all things that pertain to life and godliness.” Calvin describes this as “God has copiously unfolded the immense resources of his power.”

Do we live as though that is true?

Does “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness” only refer to things like learning and studying the Bible? Or maybe serving in a ministry at the church? Or to the work of missions? Is it limited to certain areas of life?

What about when we’ve been without a job for a year? Does his divine power grant us what we need then too? Or when we’ve been betrayed by one we’ve loved and trusted? Or when we learn our child has a disability? Or when we receive hard news from the doctor about recent blood work?

Does God’s divine power provide what we need for life and godliness in the face of hard things?

Matthew Henry notes that “all things” includes: “All things that have any relation to, and influence upon, the true spiritual life, the life and power of godliness, are from Jesus Christ; in him all fulness dwells, and it is from him that we receive, and grace for grace (Jn. 1:16), even all that is necessary for the preserving, improving, and perfecting of grace and peace.”

Life in this fallen world is filled with hardship. None of us escape the effects of sin, whether our own sin, other’s sin against us, or the effects of sin on the created world around us. As Jesus pointed out, he didn’t come to save those who are healthy, but those who are sick (Mk. 2:17). This means, God doesn’t call to himself those who are capable, prepared, and equipped. He doesn’t call those who already have it all together. He calls the desperate, the weak, the needy. He calls messy sinners to himself by his grace, through faith in the Son, and saves us from sin. He then gives us everything we need to live for him in this world. He gives us the spiritual wisdom we need to navigate difficult decisions. He gives us strength to do the things he’s called us to. He gives us grace upon grace. And he does so through “knowledge of him.” Faith in Christ is the conduit through which we receive “all things.”

In Christ, we have all that we need to live for the glory of God.

Peter then tells us that we becomes “partakers of the divine nature” through “his precious and very great promises.” God’s word—his promises to us—changes and transforms us through the work of the Spirit who sanctifies us by the word of truth (Jn. 17:17). We are being remade into the image bearers we were created to be. And the Westminster Confession points out that our ability to live a life of godliness comes from the Spirit (16.3) who works in us to put sin to death and put on righteousness. The Spirit convicts, encourages, teaches, and transforms us to live as children of the Father.

God calls us to himself and then supplies what we need to live for him. In whatever circumstances we face, we can turn to him, cry out in prayer, and ask him to supply the wisdom, strength, endurance, and help we need to live for him.

Photo by Amy Tran on Unsplash

When the Holidays are Hard

It’s that time of year again. A season filled with parties and twinkling lights and gift giving. A time of concerts and plays and cookie exchanges. A time of fa-la-la-la-la and good cheer. Over these next few weeks, people who would ordinarily not make eye contact with strangers, will wish every passing person a “Merry Christmas.” We’ll mail out dozens of annual photo cards with smiling faces and belt out our favorite version of All I Want for Christmas.

In the midst of all this merriment are those for whom the Christmas season is not filled with cheer. For some, the holidays are downright hard and a month long season of festivity feels like an eternity. This is true for the lonely—those whose family live far away or who don’t have a place to go for Christmas. It’s true for those who’ve just endured a painful loss and can’t imagine Christmas dinner without their loved one seated at the table. The holidays are also hard for those who can’t make ends meet and can’t bear to show up at the annual office party empty-handed.

On the outside it may seem like everyone is holly and jolly, but the truth is, the holidays are hard for many.

Might the gospel have something to say to those who are hurting this holiday season? After all, isn’t that what Christmas is about? Isn’t it a celebration of the Light of the World cutting into the darkness of fallen humanity? Isn’t it about peace consuming the chaos? Isn’t it about hope for the hopeless?

While we tend to soften the harsh edges of the Christmas story, the incarnation is filled with hard circumstances. A poor teen girl learns she is to bear the Messiah by a miraculous conception and her fiancé nearly breaks things off, until an angel intervenes. The young couple travel to Bethlehem for a mandatory census just as she is about to give birth and can’t find a place to stay. With no other option, she delivers her baby among the animals in a stable. God incarnate leaves the glorious throne room of heaven, takes on human flesh, and enters a place filled with the smells of hay and the sounds of donkeys and sheep. Before long, they have to flee to Egypt because a mad-man wants the promised child dead. The sounds of sorrow echo throughout Israel as every child two and under is killed in the hopes of finding and ending the life of the One who would deliver his people.

The prophet Isaiah describes the life of this God-man, one filled with sorrow and suffering:

“For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Is. 53: 2-5).

This means we have a Savior who knows and understands all our sorrows for he is the Man of Sorrows. He doesn’t just know about it; he came to bear all that we carry—all the loneliness, grief, and painful memories. The fears of not having enough. The shame of what we’ve done and what’s been done to us. And above all, he came to take away the guilt of all our sin. Jesus Christ lived the life we could not live and died the death we deserved. He was pierced, crushed, chastised, and wounded for us.

The gospel tells us that our Savior came for all those reasons that make the holiday season so hard for us. He came to bring peace and healing, redemption and hope. This means that in the midst of all that is hard, we have joy in Jesus Christ. He is our comfort in a world filled with sorrow. “…his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Is. 9:6).

When everyone around us is filled with good cheer and it’s all we can do to keep the tears at bay, the very One whom we celebrate knows each of those tears. He knows what it is to grieve, to endure temptation, to face poverty, to experience rejection. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15). Jesus Christ is Immanuel, God with us, which means he is present with us in all our trials and troubles. He is present with us during this holiday season. We can cry out to him and voice all those things we can’t voice anywhere else. He hears and knows and will surround us with his help and grace.

When the holidays are hard this season, let us turn our hearts to the story of the incarnation. Let us remember the story of our Savior who, “though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:6-8). No one understands the depths of our sorrows as the Man of Sorrows himself. And only he has done something about it.

While the Christmas season may be hard, it is not without joy. May our tears mingle with songs of joy as we celebrate the birth of our Savior.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

What the Gospel Says to Those Who Suffer

He’s forgotten how to walk.

This thought hit me as I gripped by father’s arm and urged him forward across the living room. I found myself instructing him: Push down on your cane. Lift your foot. Put it down. Push down on your cane again. As we approached the chair he wanted to sit in, I again coached him through the steps required for him to turn around and sit back into the chair safely.

Later, he turned to me and asked, “What is your name?”

“Christina,” I responded. “What your name?” I asked in return.

He paused and with a bit of hesitation, told me his name. I smiled and nodded.

I handed him the photo book I gave him for Christmas last year. The one that had pictures of my family with our names and facts about us. It includes photos of my boys, one in his football uniform, the other in his cross country uniform. He keeps the album next to his chair to flip through when he wants to remember something.

It wasn’t an hour later that he shared with me a memory of visiting me where we used to live in Florida. He described the neighborhood and details about our house. But then another hour later, he was staring off into space, lost in world of his own.

My husband and I made this trip after learning that my father’s Alzheimer’s had worsened and my mother needed help. It made matters worse that hurricane Ian had just whipped through Florida and the power was out everywhere. On our drive down the interstate, we past one power truck after another, pickups pulling large generators, and disaster response teams. They were all headed to meet the needs of people after a horrific storm.

We were headed to see how we could help in my parent’s personal storm.

Alzheimer’s is everything you hear about and more. It’s as heartbreaking as you can imagine. It is debilitating. It causes confusion and fear. Most of all, it’s a thief, first of treasured memories, then of basic life skills. It’s like taking apart a puzzle, one piece at a time. But not in any kind of order; rather, in a random sort of way. The picture retains its outer shape, but the inside has holes scattered throughout. Those holes only get bigger and bigger.

Until there’s no picture left at all.

I have to believe that the gospel has something to say to those suffering the wretched horror of Alzheimer’s or every other disease we experience in life. It has to say something to those who find themselves at death’s waiting room, not knowing when their name will be called. It has to say something to those who care for the suffering, who pour themselves out day and night to meet the needs of a loved one who can’t do for themselves anymore.

The gospel has to speak to those who suffer.

And it does. In fact the entire Bible is the story of a God who cared about his people’s suffering so much, he entered into time and history in order to do something about it. Whenever I experience personal suffering and I need to preach the gospel to my heart, to remind myself of who God is and what he has done and why that matters in the dark moments of life, I always return to the beginning of the story. In returning to the beginning, we are reminded that diseases such as Alzheimer’s find their origins in the fall of man, for when God created the world, there was no illness. There was no decay. Our first parent’s bodies worked as they were created to. They had no aches or pains—no disease that ravaged and destroyed the bodies God had made. Their lives were complete and whole. It wasn’t until that moment in the garden where Adam and Eve broke God’s law and ate from the Tree that sin then entered the world, and along with it, sickness and death.

All disease traces its roots back to that day. That’s why we are right to grieve the physical illnesses and pains of life, because they do not belong; they are not part of God’s original creation.

But God showed his grace to our parents that day when he found them attempting to hide from him, ashamed of what they had done. God not only covered their sin and shame, but he also made a promise, what theologians call the proto-evangelium—the first gospel. In Genesis 3:15, God promised a rescuer, one who would go up against Satan and defeat him—one who would rescue us from the wretched curse of sin and death.

Jesus came to fulfill that promise. He came to conquer sin and death. He came to break the curse of sin that separates us from the One who made us. And he did so through his perfect life and sacrificial death on our behalf. The gospel assures those who suffer that our Savior suffered for us so that we will not suffer for all eternity. He made us right with God so that now, through faith in Christ, we have the assurance of eternity forever in a place where there is no more sin, sickness, or sorrow. We are cleansed from sin, forgiven, and made new creations. Because Jesus rose from the grave, he ensured our own resurrection at the last day. On that day, we will have bodies that are whole and complete, free from sin, and free from the ravages of illness and disease. What a glorious thing to imagine!

The gospel not only gives us hope for the future, but it also gives us hope right now in the present. It tells us that our Savior knows our pain; he knows our suffering. The Bible calls him the “Man of Sorrows.” “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Is. 53:4-5). The author to the Hebrews says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (4:15-16). We have a compassionate Savior who knows what life is like in a fallen world. He calls us to come to the throne and bear our lay our burdens before him. And he promises grace and help in our time of need.

Even more, when he left to return to the Father, Jesus sent his Spirit who now lives within his people. The Spirit fills us with hope as he reminds us of God’s word, as he counsels and comforts our weary hearts, as he equips and enables us to do the work we are called to, and as he transforms us into the image of Christ. We have the very Spirit of Christ living within us. The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead is at work in our hearts. It is this Spirit who even now prays for us when we are too weary to pray for ourselves. “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (Rom. 8:26-27).

Over the past year, my parents’ days were reduced to the square feet of their house, where the routine was consistent, making life predictable and safe for my dad. One routine was their evening Bible study where my mom read aloud to my dad. I don’t know how much it impacted him in recent weeks as his disease worsened, but I pray that the words of life and the promises of God’s grace for him in Christ—words he’s heard his whole life—brings comfort and peace as he enters into another stage of his disease.

It was hard to see my father so debilitated. I felt helpless. It grieved my heart. It’s not right for a child to instruct a parent in how to do the basic things of life. It reverses the natural order of things. In those moments of helplessness, I just kept praying, “Father, please provide.” He did and I know he will continue to do so. My father is now in a long term care facility where he will receive the care he needs—until the day when he meets his Savior face to face.

Life in this fallen world is hard. It’s painful. It’s filled with sorrow. But for those who trust in Christ, we do not grieve as those who have no hope. For our hope is found in a person, our Savior, who suffered on our behalf, and who will one day return to take away our suffering once and for all.

Father in heaven, I pray for all those who are wounded by the effects of life in this fallen world, whose bodies betray them by sickness and disease. The sorrow and fear they feel is great and at times just as debilitating as the disease. And just as great for those who provide care. I pray that you would comfort the hurting with your perfect love. I pray you would shower your grace upon them, that they would know the depths of your love for them. That you would be with them. That you would sustain them and carry them. Until that day when Jesus returns to make all things new. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Photo by Dominik Scythe on Unsplash

Trust in the Face of Change

One thing I’ve learned about life is that once you get used to a particular season or role, life changes. I’ve found this to be true in parenting, marriage, work, and ministry. I remember well how hard it was when my boys dropped their afternoon naps. That was a change I didn’t like at all!

I used to resist change. Or at least try to manage it so that I could know what to expect and prepare for it. I guess it’s because there’s a certain degree of comfort when you think you know what lies ahead. When you feel equipped to face the day because it’s the same as the one before it. When you’ve finally reached a level of confidence in how to do a certain job or task. Yet change inevitably cuts into our life with a harsh reminder that we don’t have control over our lives. For we all too quickly forget that we are dependent upon God and need his rescuing grace.

I’m in the middle season of life, a season filled with constant change. Certainly, there are many physical changes (that’s a whole other blog post!). There are changes in motherhood as I increasingly let go of my duties and watch my children learn to fly on their own. There are changes in marriage as my husband and I find more time and opportunity to focus on our relationship in ways we haven’t for far too long. Some changes are good and bring great joy; others are hard and bring only grief and sorrow.

This year is my oldest son’s senior year. It’s a year of lasts: the last cross country race, last birthday at home, last school events, last holidays. It’s also our last year to pour into his heart all the things we want him to know before he’s unleashed into the world to make his own way. It’s an emotional year for me, a year filled with both grief and joy. Grief at the finality of this season of parenting, the ending of all these years of homeschooling, the ending of all the daily interactions and family life I’ve grown so used to these last seventeen plus years. But there’s joy too as I celebrate with him the fruition of all he’s worked so hard for. It’s a joy to engage with him as a young adult and talk together about his future. I’ve enjoyed watching him think through decisions and develop goals for his life.

Meanwhile, this past fall my father was diagnosed with dementia. Like most diagnoses, this one took us by surprise and flipped my parents’ life upside down. Dementia is a disease that is often referred to as the “Long Goodbye.” I now know why that is. The diagnosis has brought with it grief and sorrow, worry and fear. I’ve found myself in a new role, helping my family navigate it and serving them in whatever way I can. As anyone in this middle stage of life can attest, it’s challenging to care for the needs of your family at home, while also wanting to help your parents who live far away.

In the midst of these changes in my life, I continue to work in discipleship ministry for women—writing, speaking, discipling, and coordinating women’s ministry. I’ve also been developing a lay- counseling/discipleship/one-another-care ministry for women at my church and am excited to see the many months of labor finally come together. While I’m excited to serve the Lord in this way, I feel a profound sense of my weakness. I worry about getting it wrong. I fear letting people down. I feel uncertainty and a weight of responsibility. This change too is another one where I feel my desperate need for God’s grace to equip and sustain me.

While much changes in our lives, from season to season, in our roles and in our labors, one thing remains the same: God never changes. He is the constant in all the unknown. He is the steady horizon when the storms of life swell over us. When everything is chaos, when we are filled with fear or sorrow, our God is with us. When we fill ill equipped to a new task or overwhelmed by uncertainty and lack of knowledge, we can turn to Christ, in whom are found all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Col. 2:3). We can take comfort in our Lord’s providential care for us and his sovereign rule over all things. While we don’t know what the future holds, we can trust that God not only knows what will take place, he has already determined all that will happen. Though we are weak, we can rest in his strength. As we face the changes and transitions of life, we can be confident that the Lord is at work. He will be our refuge.

I often find comfort in the words of the psalmist, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Ps. 46:1-3). Some events in life feel like our whole world is shifting. It feels like it’s the end of life as we know it. The psalmist reminds me that even if the earth were to give way, even if the mountains were to fall into the sea, God remains our refuge and strength. He is our help and hope.

Dear friends, if you find that your own life is in the midst of transition and change, trust God to meet you where you are with his rescuing love and grace. He is our certain hope in all the uncertainty of life.

Talking About 9/11 With Our Children

Have you ever been asked, “Where were you when . . . ?”

As a child, I heard countless stories of my grandfather’s days in the U.S. Army, marching across Europe in World War II, and how the Lord protected him on D-Day.

My mother often shared her memories of hiding under a school desk during Cold War bomb drills, or of watching TV coverage of the moon landing in 1969. And every one of my parents’ generation can tell me where they were the day President Kennedy was assassinated.

I’m now old enough to have stories and memories of where I was when something significant or tragic happened in the world.

On September 11, 2001, I was leading a group counseling session with students at an alternative school when a coworker knocked on the door, pulled me aside, and told me planes had flown into the Twin Towers in New York. It’s a date I’ll never forget.

With the 20-year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks approaching, many of us will spend time recalling that day. We’ll remember where we were, what we felt and thought, what we saw and experienced. We’ll remember the lives lost and the heroes who sacrificed their lives for the sake of others. We’ll remember our national grief and our righteous anger in response to the horrors of that day.

As we do, though, there will be children around us who don’t remember. My children were not yet born on 9/11. To them, it’s a national tragedy, one they read about in the final pages of their history books in school. It’s like the stories I heard as a child of those world wars or of JFK’s assassination—one they don’t have an emotional connection to because they weren’t there.

How can we talk to our children about that day?… to read the rest of this post, visit The Gospel Coalition where I am writing today.