Stasi's Blog
Hear Him?
Stop for a moment. Stop reading even and listen. Just give it 30 seconds. I did and heard the low sounds of the television. The World Cup was on and my husband was catching up on highlights. I heard the occasional call of a nearby bird and the song of one a little further off. I also heard the drumming in my ears as the blood flows through. It’s a gentle hum, the underlying purr of the motor of my life. What do you hear? It’s good to be quiet. It’s good to train our ears to listen. Remember Elijah? God told him in 1Kings 19:11 to go out and stand on the mountain for “the presence of the LORD is about to pass by”. Elijah did as he was told attentive both to the LORD’s command and His soon coming. First came a great and powerful wind that tore the mountain apart and shattered rocks. The presence of God was not in the wind. Then came an earthquake but God was not in the earthquake. Then came a fire but God was not in the fire. The presence of God was not in these loud; grab your attention mighty acts. It was in what came next: Then came a gentle whisper. It was the LORD. God whispers still today. Very rarely does He shout at us. His Word may strike us like a lightening bolt but His invitations for us to come closer to His heart come to us when we stop our running, disengage from the frenetic pace of the world, turn down the volume of our lives and quiet ourselves to listen for His voice. It is there. He is there. He is here. And He is constantly, quietly inviting us to come closer. “Come to Me all you who are weary and I will give you rest.” (Matt 11:28) He speaks His love. We do not need to fear rejection. He will not and does not reject us. He accepts us. He wants us. He pursues. He invites. He calls. Be beckons. He says, “You are welcome here.” Today He is coming for me through John Chapter One and the intermittent call of songbirds. I love you, He says. He says it in the stillness and the quiet inside. He says it in a gentle whisper. Hear Him?
Stasi Eldredge
Giraffes
I love our zoo. The Cheyenne Mountain Zoo at its elevation claims to be the highest in the States and it certainly is one the best. Yes, I’m probably biased. We were members when our children were young and now they are members themselves. Recently the 200thgiraffe was born there to its mother “Mizuki”. The precious little (5 feet 8 inches) baby was born without incident but after birth was not standing up in the normal time frame it should have. Concerned, the zoo staff lured the mother into another cage and then went to the new baby to help it to stand. The staff gathered around her and held her up until she became steady on her legs. Once she was steady, they left her pen. After a bit, she fell down again. In came the staff once more. They picked her up, surrounded her and held her until they could feel her wobbling stop and her legs come into their own. They left her again and she began to walk exploring her new world. And isn’t that what the body of Christ does for each other? Or is meant to? I become weak. I forget the truth. Doubt of the goodness of God begins to creep into my heart and I’m no longer standing strong on the firm ground of the Rock. A friend either notices or I tell them and they come to my aid to speak the truth to me. To remind me Who God Is. To tell me who I am to Him. To ground me once again on a solid foundation. And my wobbly legs, my wobbly faith is strengthened once more and I stand. We need each other. It’s how it’s meant to be and it’s a good thing. Being wobbly sometimes isn’t a sign of failure, it’s a sign of our humanity. To need sometimes is not to be weak. It is to be real. We are blessed when someone notices or we have someone to ask for help. Oh dear ones, if no one notices, ask. And let us be ones to grow in seeing and come to the aid of others who need to borrow our strength. https://www.facebook.com/CMZoo/videos/10156635443861019/
Stasi Eldredge
Holding Hands
I always warned my sons not to hold a young woman’s hand until they were very serious about her and their relationship. It may seem a simple thing, I would tell them, but it’s an intimate act that conveys a sense of being a couple. A togetherness if you will. A belonging. I remember the first time a young man, a boy really, held my hand. I was young and teetering on the edge of falling in love for the first time when he took my hand. Shivers ran from his fingers to mine and up my arm to my whole body. What was this feeling, I marveled? That handholding toppled me over to a free fall. I love holding my husband’s hand. There’s a way that we’ve done it for 38 years. My right in his left. When we switch it up it feels unnatural and I quickly dash to the other side. We fit together. His hand in mine. Mine in his. It’s a holding on that conveys much more than the lacing of fingers. I read this morning in John, chapter Ten, verses 28 and 29 where Jesus was trying to explain to his unbelieving listeners that He and the Father are one. One. In complete union. He says that those the Father has chosen He holds in His hand and nothing can take them out of His hand. Jesus too says that they are in His hand and nothing can take them out. He is holding on with an unbreakable love. He is not merely holding hands with us; He is holding all of us. We are together. Intertwined. Intimately held. We belong to Him and with Him. His promise that we are held forever and that nothing can take us out of His hand conveys His faithful, unchangeable heart of love. He’s very serious about us. He’s very serious about you. He’s committed. And he’s never letting go. https://youtu.be/WdOv0_T7BKY
Stasi Eldredge
Mislabeled
On a recent trip where I was going to be away for nine days, I arrived safe and sound but my luggage did not. It was, however, one of the rare occasions that I'd actually kept the sticky part of my baggage claim, along with my ticket, so the baggage man could look it up. He came to me shortly and said, “Your bag is here." “It is?!?” I replied in relieved wonder. “Yes. It’s right here.” He was standing next to a bag that was definitely not mine. This one was hard-shelled. Mine is soft. This one had no distinguishing ribbons on the handle. Mine does. Additionally, this one was pink, while mine is black. Let’s just say I recognized it as not mine right away. "That is definitely not my bag," I told him. He refused to believe me. He took my portion of the claim ticket, held it up to the one on the bag, and lo and behold, they both said, S ELDREDGE. He was adamant that it was indeed my bag, and it took a few minutes for him to understand that the bag had been mistagged. The only identification on the pink imposter was a name. No address. No phone number. Oh, dear. The mystery search began without much hope. Still, somewhere in the world a person was going to be experiencing the same thing but with my bag. My hope was in the folks at the other end. My bag was mislabeled. It was mine but had another name on it. It should have read “Stasi Eldredge.” I have no idea what it did say. All I learned later was that my bag had traveled on to Korea. A few days later, it was returned to me intact. Have you ever been mislabeled? I have. I am Stasi, but I have been labeled many other things. Things that are contrary to the truth. I bet you have too. We get labeled all kinds of cruel things. Unwanted. Too much trouble. Disposable. And many, many worse things. All of which can be difficult to combat when in the face of someone—or some spirit—assigning it to us with such surety. God names us Beloved. Child. Chosen. Seen. Wanted. Sought after. Holy. Dearly loved. And many, many other glorious things that are true. Who are we going to believe? We need to believe our Father. We need to be so rooted in our true names that a mislabeling is spotted as a farce as easily as the pink bag was. Our histories and those who populate it may scream a false identity over us, but only our Father God has the right to tell us who we are—and to whom we belong. We belong to Him. We are His. We are often mismarked, but the Holy Spirit has marked you in the permanent red ink of our Jesus' blood. He has set His seal upon you. Claim it. https://youtu.be/OjxwryxSrIY
Stasi Eldredge
Snorkeling
When our sons were between the ages of 8 and 12, we had the opportunity to introduce them to snorkeling. I had only been recently introduced to it myself and I had just loved it. Loved it like Scrooge loved money before that auspicious Christmas Eve. Just give me more! Loved it like bighorn sheep love mountains. I felt so at home there. It was a physical representation of a spiritual reality. Non-swimmers on shore had no idea of the very real world that remained unseen to them. Venture in and the reality of an underwater realm was as true as the existence of a spiritual one if you would but choose to see. I was beyond excited to introduce my sons to the wonders of a world they had never been exposed to before and one that I came so alive in! The colors of the water. The feel of the swell as it raised and lowered your body on the surface. The beauty displayed in the mysterious fish. The delicate differences in their shapes. The splendor of God’s creative handiwork there to discover with awe and joy. AMAZING. After the boys had their snorkeling gear on we entered the water and I warned them to stay clear of the coral. The coral and rocks were sharp. They needed to be certain to swim over them and not let the waves push them into them and thereby shred their tender skin. On I went. Coral cuts are really painful. It would hurt. Make sure there is enough water between you and it to swim over without danger. Oh – I continued – sometimes you will see holes in the underwater rocks and you might want to explore them by sticking your hand into them. Don’t do it!!!!! An eel may live in that hole! It could bite your finger off! Eels? They asked with horrified eyes. Don’t worry, I lamely assured them. You don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. Eels? They asked again with undiminished worry. What do they look like? I calmed them down. They look like snakes only fatter. Now, let’s go enjoy this!!!! In their watchful posture swimming with fear over coral and scanning every stone for a hole and making sure that every piece of waving seaweed wasn’t actually a snake coming to bite their finger off, I don’t think they saw a fish. They didn’t like snorkeling very much. In fact, it was years before they did. And you’re welcome. And whoops. My emphasis on what to be alert for regarding danger overshadowed my emphasis on what to be on the alert for regarding beauty and goodness. I had assumed they would be overwhelmed by the wonder. The warnings were, to my mind, simply an important side note. But my way of presenting it to them shifted their gaze from the beauty to discover to the threat to be avoided. It is a mistake I have made in many areas stemming from my mother’s heart that wants to shield others from pain. Spiritual warfare is as real as that underwater wonderland. We are instructed to be on the alert, not unaware of the devil’s schemes. We are to live prepared for battle wearing the full armor of God because we are living in the midst of the most important battle ever waged. It is vital that we stay girded up, putting on love, vigilant against the enemy’s incessant lies and accusation. He is a divider who comes to steal, kill and destroy and he isn’t very nice about it. AND. The beauty of God is vastly more breathtaking than the ugliness of Satan. The power of the Almighty is immeasurably more so than the attempts of the enemy to usurp Him. God is a warrior. He is our Victor. He is matchless. He is supreme. He is unrivaled. He has won. Love trumps hate. Goodness smothers wickedness. Mercy triumphs over judgment. We are to live alert to the moves of the Holy Spirit, following and obeying Him wherever He leads. Our gaze is fixed upon His beauty with breathless anticipation while at the same time we remain alert to snakes in all their many guises. The joy of the Lord is our strength. Love overcomes fear. Stay clear of the coral but with eyes open to truth and wonder, enjoy the swim.
Stasi Eldredge
Stolen Things
It’s been quite the week. The crisis’ that have come this week have come as crises do – out of the blue. The week began with me finding pools of blood on my carpet, which led me to my 10-year-old golden retriever. He had somehow sliced his back paw open in such a deep way that he required surgery. And wow was that an expensive fix. (Though he needs a couple weeks of tender care, he will fully recover.) The next day the brakes went out in the car. The following day brought more unexpected bummers. I need this week to be over! Then this morning I got the call that my newlywed son’s motorcycle had been stolen in the night; his wife sobbing out the request for prayer. I drove to their apartment as soon as I could and once inside, my now very calm daughter told me that she was praying for the person who stole their bike. Their insurance is limited. They were actually selling the motorcycle relying on their one car to get them to work because they need the money in this tight economy. And here she was, not even an hour later, praying for the one who had violated their sense of safety and robbed them of much needed income. “I have compassion for him. When you steal something, you are feeling pretty desperate”, she said. I have an amazing daughter in law. We have an amazing God. He is the Healer. He is the Restorer. He heals hearts and wounds. He restores lives, relationships and stolen things; including stories, innocence, joy and years. We have a mean thief who loves to steal, kill and destroy. And he has lost. He has already lost. He lost again today.
Stasi Eldredge
I Can!
I was supposed to be strong again, the massage therapist told me with a bit of accusation in her voice. Yeah, I know, I thought. My children had pulled together and given me a massage for my birthday. It was luxurious and wonderful. The masseuse was amazing and skilled. But when she tried to move my leg and hip a certain way, she turned corrective. My hip replacement surgery was a year ago. My recovery was to take 3 – 6 months the doctors said. At six months, I was nowhere near my pre-surgery condition. I was so relieved when the doctor confessed that with a unique and long lasting injury like I had, recovery would take more like 18 months. I was relieved because it freed me from the accusations of failure that were haunting me. Accusations reinforced by a well-meaning masseuse. In the meantime, my focus had turned from what I was unable to do. Lift my leg very high. Be bendy. Get up off the floor with grace. Straighten up from bending over without pain. Walk long distances. Jog. Etcetera. I’ve been looking down. I’ve been focusing on my clay feet and my weak hip. God grabbed my attention the other day and asked me to shift my gaze from what I couldn’t do to what I can do. I can walk without pain. I can bend over. I can grocery shop. I can do short hikes. I can swim. I can garden for short periods. I can water plants. I can arrange flowers. I can cook. I can set tables and create beauty. I can dream. I can invite people over for a time of encouragement and good food. I can enjoy life. I can laugh. I can clean my closet and other crazy things that I don’t actually want to do. I can do so much more than I can’t. And when I look to Jesus and his life in me, there is so much more that I can do together with him. I can forgive hurts. I can worship Jesus. I can grow. I can pray. I have access to all the resources of Heaven! I can know peace. I don’t have to live with fear taunting me as if it holds the future rather than my good Father. I can love people. The list is long. It is a good and life-giving list. So I am shifting my gaze from my weakness to Jesus' strength, from my failures to his victory, and from my clay feet to his glorious face. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Phil 4:13
Stasi Eldredge
Weak Girl
Two years ago I had T-shirts made that I love. “Strong Girl” and “Strong Woman.” Maybe you got one. I got four. Passionate about us becoming strong in the Lord, I wrote this in September of ‘15: “We need to know that it’s being strong in Christ that is BEAUTIFUL. It’s from Jesus, that we can receive a deep sense of value, worth, and dignity. We can be strong in spirit and in integrity. We can be “Every Day Strong” because we are leaning into Jesus. He is our life and breath and being. We need to increasingly learn that our lives are no longer our own – that we have died with Christ and it is now His Spirit that lives in and through us – partnering with us, strengthening us, guiding us, comforting us, cheering us on – loving us as we have longed to be loved and need to be loved and ARE LOVED by the King of Love. Knowing that and growing in that makes for one Strong Girl. One mightily Strong Woman. And I want to be one. I want Jesus to be my strong even in my most weak, broken and doubt filled seasons. He is my life.” It still encourages me today. I still believe it. But. You knew there was a “but” coming, didn’t you? But, these days the blog I would write is the one titled above. Weak Girl. I’ve been in a long season of weakness. The injury, degenerative disease, and subsequent surgery on my hip was a year ago and I have about six more months to go for a full recovery. I thought I would bounce right back. Nope. It feels like a failure on my part. Like I didn’t do something right. And the truth is, of course there are some things I didn’t do right. Many things, actually. How do you spell discouragement? Hope deferred. Loss. Things stolen. Self-blame. Failure. Yup. Physically is just one of the ways I’ve felt weak. Discouragement multiplies. It grows like yeast. It bleeds over. Unchecked, it can affect every area of our lives. Feeling discouraged can take a person to the mat with God. Questions rise: “Why didn’t you….?” I am reminded yet again that God is the God of all HOPE. He is not discouraged, and he doesn’t want us to be either. There is mercy for all of us in our weakness. There are times when we can’t pull ourselves up from a chair or pull ourselves up from doubt or hopelessness. But God can. The other day I was feeling VERY discouraged and crying out to the God I love whom I was currently mad at. I was driving in my car and it had just begun to gently rain. Suddenly a song came on via my phone. It wasn’t on the playlist I was listening to. It was, in fact, one I didn’t know I had. "Mercy is Falling" by David Ruis. “Mercy is falling, is falling, is falling. Mercy is falling like a sweet spring rain.” Say what? WHAT? God cued up a song for me. It was a direct intervention, and He spoke to my heart that even in my lowest place – crying out to Him – asking for understanding – begging for His help which seems so slow to come sometimes – not feeling very strong in my faith in the moment – my Father sang that there is mercy for me. There is mercy for all of us. We can be weak. He alone is strong all the time. And there is mercy. Lead us, Lord, to the rock that is higher than we are. Be our strength in our weakness. Speak Your life into our weary places. We break agreement with discouragement and agree with the truth that You are the God of all HOPE. We too have hope; I too have hope, because of You.
Stasi Eldredge
I Remember
I woke this morning to my dogs calling me from their crates. Correction: I woke to Maisie, our two-year-old Golden calling to me from her crate. The occasional cross between a yip and a whine told me that I had fallen back asleep and had slept too long for her taste. I’d been up for some hours in the night woken by an anxiety that threatened. This past night though, I had recognized it for the temptation it was to take up a mantle of dark fear that was not mine to wear. I was too tired to wrestle with the spiritual assault. (That is what is was, friends. Even laden with some truth as to the circumstances of my life, it was a spiritual attack to entice me into the land of worry.) Too sleepy to corral my thoughts to the deeper truth of the faithfulness of God, I did not want to wake fully. I did not feel called to do so. This night, unlike too many other nights, I simply rolled over and said, “No,” and tucked my heart into God and continued to rest. I redirected my thoughts first to sweet memories, then to memories I wanted to make, and suddenly Maisie was calling to me. Surely it is well after 6:00 a.m. Sweet and poor girl, I looked at the clock and it was 8:00! I quickly got up to let both dogs out to run outside and take care of business. When I opened the door to release them to bound outside, a cold blast hit my face. It was a crisp cold. A winter cold. A cold that spoke of past snow and past stories. I recognized a smell that I hadn’t for years. Though the winter here is full of crisp, cold mornings, something in the wind or perhaps something in the night had awakened a stirring in my soul. I remembered that evocative smell, that feeling, that invitation to play. Suddenly I was eight years old and wearing my favorite blue and white jacket with fur around the hood. I was a little girl again, getting ready to go outside and discover the joy awaiting me. I hadn’t remembered that feeling or that jacket since I don’t know when. Sense memory is something else, isn’t it, showing up at the oddest of times whenever the whim hits it? The sense of smell accesses and evokes memories more than any other. This morning I was still in my jammies when I opened the front door and the longing to be eight years old again with a front door open before me to a world filled with wonder and unending discovery swept over me. Back then I had different choices. Maybe I’d go sledding with the neighbors. Maybe we’d build a snowman. Maybe I would simply enjoy walking solitarily through the snow, relishing the crisp sound of crunching whiteness beneath my feet. I’ve always liked times alone even as a child. My soul was filled with expectancy that morning so long ago. I did not know what the day held, but I reached out to it boldly with both mittened hands. I dashed out into the day not certain of what I would find but certain that it was worth finding. This morning, I remembered that feeling. I remembered the eager anticipation that defined my heart. I remembered answering the invitation to live expectantly with an affirmative. To live without fear. I chose that then and this very morning, I had the opportunity to choose it again. I had the opportunity to choose it in the middle of this past night, and I am going to have a hundred of opportunities to choose it today. I pray to choose it. I pray that I will allow the memory to have its way with my heart. I pray to become that hope-filled, expectant-of-good child again and for God to use it to cleanse me of cynicism, doubt, and fear—all thieves of the joy that is mine to know. I do not know what today will hold, but the fresh fragrance that enveloped me at the front door reminded me that I can be a woman of faith who welcomes it.
Stasi Eldredge
Jury Duty
I wasn’t picked in the final selection for the jury, and I was so relieved. When I filled out the form provided at the court asking if there were any types of cases I might find it difficult to be a fair and impartial juror on, I had answered, “Yes.” I thought I might possibly have trouble in a sexual assault case. I understand and value our justice system—being tried by a juror of your peers, being innocent until proven guilty—as invaluable mainstays of our democracy. But I thought it possible that I could be personally triggered in a case like that and that it could impair my judgment. Give me a civil case! Please. Instead, I was given an additional questionnaire. It told me in the introduction that the case I was being considered as a juror for was a sexual assault case. My heart sank. I inadvertently gasped. Personal questions followed, which I answered as honestly and briefly as I could. Then came the call to the court. I was seated in the front row of the jury box and felt a little bit like I was in a movie—an exciting, very important, life-changing-for-somebody movie. The court room was filled with judge, district attorney, defense attorney, defendant, court reporter, mystery people at other desks, policemen, many other potential jury members, and somber air. The judge wore a bow tie. I liked that. The defendant wore a suit and seemed uncomfortable. That was good, too. I sat still and listened and corralled my thoughts to the truth that I could be an impartial juror. Jurors are important. I want to be a juror. I want to serve. I like being a citizen of the United States. I hope they pick me. I hope they don’t pick me. After a long morning came a break for lunch and then, based on the answers we provided on our questionnaire, some potential jurors were called back for individual interviews. I was one of them. After walking into the courtroom, filled—did I mention filled?—with the judge, the prosecutor, the defense attorney, the defendant, the court reporter, the mystery other people, and the policemen, I was politely instructed to sit in the jury box and then asked personal questions by a kind judge. Very personal questions. Jeez friggin’ louise, that was hard. “Can you tell us more about that?” How much more? My mind raced. What is the bare minimum? Which experience to I tell? How do I generalize? How can I tell you more and not tell you all? How can I tell you more and protect my heart, my heart that feels completely unsafe and unprotected right now? I did my best. Then I left and shook for the next hour. I shook inside and had tremors outside. I wanted to run but didn’t know where and couldn’t anyway. Court would reconvene in an hour. “Jesus, come.” I prayed. “Jesus, catch me. Jesus, I didn’t expect to go back to these experiences today, and I certainly didn’t expect going back to them to trigger such an emotional and physical response. We have dealt with so much together. I thought I was done. Suddenly, I’m not done. Wait. I’m not done? Okay, then, God. I take this as Your invitation for more healing. I don’t want my past to color my present and affect my perception of others.” One woman during jury selection had said that since the defendant was arrested, she assumed he was guilty and they now needed to prove to her that he was not. That’s backwards. And in her words, I unwillingly recognized myself. I knew I could wrestle my thoughts and perceptions into being a fair juror. I knew the defendant deserved a fair trial. But I was sad to recognize that controlling my thoughts and perceptions was something I was going to have to work very hard to will myself to do. It wouldn’t be an easy and natural outflow. (Give me a civil case!) Though I could have done it, I think it was a very good thing for everyone that I got excused. So a scab that I didn’t know was a scab was ripped off, and the work—the healing, the repentance, the honoring (did I mention the healing?)—continues. Yes, God. The thing is, we just never know what God is going to use in our lives to invite us to pursue deeper healing. In His fierce resolve for our restoration and wholeness, He will use anything and everything. For me, He just snuck up on me through jury duty. So I pray. Jesus, please bless and reign in that trial. Reign with truth in our justice system. Reign in our Nation. Oh, Father, who reigns above all, reign here. Reign in me.
Stasi Eldredge
You LIKE Reading the Bible?
I was recently at a Q&A gathering where a dear woman asked for help. She had one question, really, but as all questions do, it came in a context. Her question was, “I try to read my Bible, but I just don’t get anything out of it. What should I be reading? What should I do?” Now the context. She—let’s name her Alice—came from a religious home. Hers was a churchgoing family. But then Alice came to know Jesus in an intimate and personal way. She experienced his presence and his love pouring into her heart, and she came alive. She wanted that for her family as well. So with much joy and excitement, passion and conviction, she shared her new faith in Jesus with them with unguarded zeal. Their response was anger, disdain, and judgment. Who did she think she was to belittle their faith? How dare she think she knew something of God that they didn’t? How rude! It’s not that strange of an event. As a new believer, Alice was full of joy, innocent as a dove but not wise as a serpent, and worse—completely naïve. She was as naïve as I was when, as a new Christian, I did the same thing with some members in my family and damaged our relationship in ways that took years and much prayer to repair. Alice didn’t know, nor did I know, that we were not sharing our faith with our family members in a neutral environment. We were in a battlefield then, and we are in one now. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (Ephesians 6:12) The battle is raging. Truth versus lies. Good versus evil. Love versus hatred. Life versus death. This woman’s family rejected her faith and rejected her. They judged her and belittled her and cursed her. She felt the outcast because she was the outcast. She felt the failure, because she failed to usher them into a relationship with Jesus. She was confused by their response and felt she must have "done it wrong." And then something happened to her connection with God. The Word no longer felt alive to her. She didn’t sense his presence or feel his love. Still, she knew it was all true, and she clung to her faith. She pressed into pursuing God through Bible study and being faithful in church. But the passion, the zeal, and the joy…those were gone. They had been gone for 57 years. Pause. Let that sink in. Fifty-seven long years. “Sorrow may last for a night but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) Her night was 57 years. Oh, mercy. I wanted to weep. And then I wanted to bow before her and kiss her feet. To cling to Jesus in a dry and weary land—where the cold water everyone keeps talking about never quenches your own thirst—is miraculous. She may not have experienced the outcome of her faith yet, but the gold that had been forged in her refusal to “curse God and die” has brought and is bringing untold glory to her God. Her faith had been tested, tried, and proved true. And she had suffered for it. I’m certain there were a lot of factors going on in her life. Her story is like ours, rife with good and bad, successes and failures, gains and losses, beauty and sorrow, sin and repentance. But let me speak to this one thing… Her faith was assaulted at the starting gate in the same way that many marriages are assaulted on their honeymoon. Her family rejected and shamed her. They spoke words of condemnation and mockery and judgment to her, about her, over her. Those are curses, friends, and curses are powerful. The Bible takes the power of our words very seriously. “The tongue has the power of life and death.” (Proverbs 18:21) Curses have a power to them that affect our lives. This is no “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” nonsense. Jesus took all the curses against us into his body when he suffered and died on the cross. “But Christ has rescued us from the curse pronounced by the law. When he was hung on the cross, he took upon himself the curse for our wrongdoing. For it is written in the Scriptures, 'Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.'" (Galatians 3:13) A simple but powerful prayer to cut off all curses and judgments from us and to send them into the body of Jesus Christ—cursed for us—is powerful. (See more at https://wildatheart.org/prayer/prayer-breaking-curses.) Look. Curses against Alice’s faith battered her faith, but they didn’t take it away. Curses and judgments against her faith couldn’t touch her salvation or her place in the heart of God. Her name is written in the book of Life. She is seated in the heavenlies with Christ Jesus. Done and done. But curses can and did affect her experience of her faith. They can keep her (and us) from all the joy that she and we are meant to know. Curses at their least damaging are like heavy weights on our souls that separate us from the truth of who we are in Christ. At their worst damaging…well, too much to say there. But curses are a tool in the enemy’s hand and serve his purpose to steal, kill, and destroy. Satan cannot steal us out of God’s hand. He cannot steal our salvation. But his lies and accusations can pin our hearts so down that we do not walk in the fullness of God’s love, know him as deeply as we can, or embrace and walk in the destiny that he has for us. Or enjoy reading his Word and have it come alive in our spirits. That’s how it was for me for many years. I believed. I knew Jesus was the Son of God. My life didn’t bear much fruit and I didn’t experience joy, but dang, where else was I going to go? There is more for us, beloved. We have to take our lives seriously and realize that we are living in a war zone. Your life matters. Your heart matters. His Spirit that lives mightily in you means for you to KNOW Jesus and experience his power and his presence. This life is a battle and it requires that we Armor Up. The turning point for me after way too many years came in just a few hours by praying through Neil Anderson’s 7 Steps to Freedom in Christ. Okay. I’m not a big seven steps to anything kind of gal, but these are a powerful and essential starting point for every Christian. I mean it. EVERY CHRISTIAN. Every Christian is under regular sustained spiritual attack. It comes with the territory of being a Christian. Become a Christian, and a target it painted on your back. Shield up, friends. Back to Alice. So here is this lovely and beleaguered woman wondering what she has done wrong and which version of the Bible she needs to be reading, when she has been the recipient of a long and sustained assault upon her heart. Alice may need a new version of the Bible, but she definitely needed prayer. She needed the power of the curses and judgments and generational sins broken off. (Just like we all do.) But I've gotta say, what the devil meant for evil, GOD MEANT FOR GOOD. And the devil’s assaults on this woman FAILED. He meant to keep her from Jesus. He meant to keep her from knowing God deeply and operating fully in his gifting, experiencing the fruit of the Spirit, and sharing the Gospel with power and joy. He may have kept her down, but she was not out. NOPE. In the decades of wondering, she never wandered. In the years of lack, she never listed. She held on to her faith. She continued to look to God. She persevered. And her faith—her testimony—has been through the fire. Tested. Purified. Glorifying to God. Oh, the crowns she is going to receive! Oh, the joy she has brought him. We tend to judge other people very quickly. We are urged NOT to do it. We look at other people’s lives or walk with God and compare ourselves. We may think they aren’t living very joyously or victoriously. Or we may think they are soaring in the heavenlies on some untouchable plane. BUT WE DON’T KNOW. We don’t know what portion God has given them. We don’t know the deposit of faith entrusted to them. We don’t know how many gifts. We don’t know their internal battles. We cannot measure the value of the widow’s mite. In the company of the Q&Aers, Alice may have looked like the least of these. But believe me, friends, she was not. Oh, Jesus. Continue to come for her and for all of us. Let your Word be as bread to our hearts. Let nothing keep us from knowing you as you long for us to. Let us be vigilant and take the battle seriously. Help us to “Armor Up” and press on and through and fight for our freedom that we might fight for others. Yes and amen.
Stasi Eldredge
A New Season
I have a hard time moving on to the next. Not regarding spiritual, physical or emotional growth, but to what feels like loss. I’m talking about…CHANGE. I don't like change. All change feels like loss. (Except when the scale goes down or I get my hair done or happy changes like that.) Okay, what I really don't like are ENDINGS. I don't like GOODBYES. I cringe at the end of summer—which is my favorite season. It's my favorite because that's when I have rest and an influx of beauty and time with my family. Connection. Shared laughter around a fire. Lingering evenings that last until the stars have revealed themselves in all their glory. I like green. Warm rivers. Warm evenings. Warm breezes. And those long days are coming to a close. The other morning it was 24 degrees. Oy. Though most of the trees in town still hold their deep emerald leaves, a shift is in the air that I cannot ignore, and yellows are starting to be sprinkled in to the boughs. Higher up the hills, the golden aspens are beginning to outnumber the green ones. It's happening. Time marches on. I hate goodbyes to seasons, and I really hate goodbyes to people. Partings are painful, whether they occur at the end of a visit or the end of a season. People move. People move on. People even move on to heaven. Letting them go, releasing them to God, is essential and I do trust Him, but even though trusting God is getting easier after experiencing so many decades of His faithful goodness, goodbyes remain etched with my tears. And in the midst of change and the middle of goodbyes, God is calling me to live with an expectant heart. Expectant of goodness. Expectant that the best is yet to be. Certain that though I don't know what is coming, He does and He promises to be there with me. His promise that He will never leave or abandon us—ever—is one that, when pondered, fuels our joy and our strength to press on. He'll never leave? Never?!?!? Never. Never ever. I can't see what is around the corner, but He can. And regardless of what comes, be it trees ablaze with color or barren in winter's chill, His beauty and Presence can fill it all if I will but turn my gaze to Him and cultivate a heart that has eyes to see. Yes, time marches on. Time here is our fleeting gift. I don't know how many days I have been given, and neither do you. But I do know that spending them in regret, my fist clenched to hold on to the goodness I do know, prevents me from receiving the good gifts that God has in store for me. Time spent in reflection is necessary and good. It buoys my heart to remember. We've come far, God and I. He's given golden nuggets in the midst of the bleakest of times. He's been lavish. And He doesn't change. If He's been generous and kind and good in the past, won't He remain so in the future? Yes. Yes, He will. Time spent remembering who God is, what He's like and what He's done, breathes life into my soul whether my soul feels green or frozen. Time letting His living Word wash over me infuses me with life and hope. It is the water and food that we all crave. So in obedience and with hope, I am saying "Yes" to the next season. I am speaking it out loud. Yes to the "New." Yes to believing that God is good and has good in store. Yes to letting my sorrow at goodbyes deepen my soul's dependence on Him. Yes to Jesus. I want to be able to say "Goodbye" with an open hand and welcome every new season. Jesus, help me to do that. Help us all. Please. We trust You. Help us trust You, the only One who never changes, more.
Stasi Eldredge
Arising
St. Patrick’s Breastplate – a powerful prayer – begins in this way: I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness of the Creator of creation. I arise today through a mighty strength…Oh, wouldn’t that be nice? I want that to be true of me but what is true of me, on most mornings, is I arise today through a fog of despair. I have to claw my way out of cloying depths back into the dawning light of truth and breath. This morning, I arise today through a veil of guilt and accusation. Different mornings provide alternative options of shame. Frequent thoughts that take my heart hostage are: You are a terrible friend. You are a failure as a mother. You are not invested in people’s lives. You do not love well. You are alone. You are on the outside. You are a selfish person. And repeat. Today’s litany is a shorter version. The accuser is battering my heart with “Terrible friend. Terrible friend. Terrible friend. Not even a friend.” The crushing weight of the burden of shame is reinforced by memories (and cruel, twisted, but seemingly real interpretations) of my not being a good friend parading across my mind. Why get out of bed? The prayer continues. I arise today Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom. Wow. Well, okay then. I don’t arise today through my strength to figure it out or to pull it off or to change or to become an amazing woman who loves everyone at all times perfectly. I certainly don’t arise today by arguing with myself and the oppressor of my soul out of accusation. I arise today by turning my gaze onto Jesus and what He has accomplished for me – because I needed Him to accomplish it. I don’t arise today by my strength but by His. I simply don’t have the capacity to get out of bed this morning buried under the landslide of accusation and shame that has a list of proof ready to convict me and send me into a prison of self-loathing. NO. Still feeling the weight of failure, I turn my gaze onto my Jesus and His finished work on my behalf. I need a Savior. I have one. I begin to ask Jesus for the truth and tell it to myself. I am not a perfect friend but I am a good one. I fail as a mother but I am not a failure. But best yet – I take my gaze off of me and my performance and turn it onto the King and His character: His faithfulness. His goodness. His mercy. His strength. His might. I arise today, through God's strength to pilot me, God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me, God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me, God's shield to protect me, God's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptation of vices, From everyone who shall wish me ill, afar and near. And I hide myself in Him. And in Him I find my strength to rise. For He does not accuse me. He blesses me. He invites me further up and further in to be changed into His likeness and to not gaze at myself – but to gaze at Him. Perfection. Might. My Victor. My Savior. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me. So good morning. Honestly. Because of Jesus, it is a GOOD morning! I am arising.
Stasi Eldredge
Defiant Joy
Our home had been overtaken by fairy lights. Christmas twinkle lights, boughs of evergreens, ribbons of red and the fragrance of pine filled the living room. It was the night of our annual Christmas Party and I was ready. I’d been decorating for weeks. Even the bathroom had a sleigh in it. Once a year our team gathers in our home to celebrate all that God has done through our little ministry. We reflect. We give thanks. We feast. We laugh. And we get all dressed up to do it. Also, it’s catered, so there’s that. Anyway, this particular party is planned two months in advance and as it draws near the expectation of joy rises exponentially. I had a pause on the afternoon of the party between setting out glasses and needing to get dressed so as often is the case, I went online and checked out what was happening in the world. Take a look at emails. Update my Facebook status. When I did, I learned what had transpired that day and I wept with shock and despair – my soul was filled with anger and deep sorrow. It was the day of the Sandy Hook Elementary shootings. A lone gunman had opened fire on elementary school aged children killing twenty-six and seven year olds in a terrifying and horrific spree. Six adult staff were also shot and killed. It was the deadliest shooting in any school in the United States. After brutally taking these precious lives, the gunman committed suicide. I found my husband when I could contain myself and told him of the tragedy. After weeping and praying together, we wondered if we should cancel the party. How could we celebrate life in the face of such wickedness and loss? And that’s when the phrase, “Defiant Joy” was born. We would not cancel the party. We would gather. We would not pretend that the shooting did not take place nor that a whole community was grieving the children lost but we would proclaim that even so, even so, there is a reason to celebrate. There is a reason to celebrate particularly at Christmastime when we gather to honor and remember the invasion of the Kingdom of God. That’s what Christmas is, you know. It’s an invasion. The battle between good and evil could not have been made starker on that day and this looked like a victory for the kingdom of darkness. Jesus, the light of the world, had entered the darkness and brought the light. His unending life signaled the end to the rule of evil and proclaimed the ultimate victory of the Kingdom of God. Yes, a battle is raging but Jesus has won it and we are invited to proclaim it and enforce it. When everyone had gathered in our home that night, we paused and prayed and in silence honored the children lost and the families forever changed. And then we turned our hearts to the One who is our Hope in the face of loss and untold grief. Because of Jesus, his death, his resurrection, and his ascension – because of his victory we chose to honor him and celebrate all the goodness that he has won and is winning still. We feasted. We talked long into the night by candlelight and Christmas music. We lingered in one another’s presence drawing closer to the fire of each other’s hearts than we might otherwise have done because of the pain. We were defiantly joyful. Defiant joy is very different than mere defiance. And it is completely other than denial. Ignoring reality does not breed joy. Pretending that what is true does not exist is not holy defiance. The seeds of joy are firmly planted in the pungent soil of the here and now. Joy embraces all the senses and is fully awake to the sorrow, the angst, the fear, as well as the laughter, the wonder and the beauty that is most presenting itself in the moment and says, “I have a reason to celebrate.” Crazy right? Sounds like God. A God who laughs at the sneers of the enemy and stares suffering in the face and proclaims with fierce love, “You do not have the final word.” And as he does, he captures our deep heart with a hope that defies death.
Stasi Eldredge
In Defense of the Thank-You Note
This isn’t a vulnerable blog. It’s an encouragement. Okay, maybe it’s an exhortation. Still… I just received the most lovely thank-you note in the mail. It made my heart so happy. I gave a gift, but they gave an even better one back to me. Thank-you notes do that. After our wedding, 33 years ago (!), it took us three months to write all our thank-you notes. It seemed like they took F O R E V E R. My hand began to cramp. How amazing that we had so many to write! How incredible to be so blessed. When we got married, we had nothing, and today, we are still using hand towels, table cloths, serving dishes, vases, plates, the waffle iron, the ironing board (yes, my mom gave us an ironing board), and other bounty we were given to help establish our home. Writing thank-you notes has not been my strong suit, however. I’m trying to write them promptly so I don’t forget, but I confess, sometimes they are written pretty late. But hopefully, they’re written. Better late than never, right? I write them because I was taught to and because I want to be polite. And also because (thank you, Jesus!) I am growing in gratitude. Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts really struck a chord with many people. The posture of being thankful is a soul-opening one. To see your life with a grateful heart opens up the possibility of a deeper connection with our good God and, dare I say it, the possibility to receive even more goodness from his generous hand! Being thankful takes our gaze off of what is wrong with us, our circumstances, and our world and places it on what is right. Ultimately, it turns our gaze to the Giver of all good gifts, who tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 to give thanks in all things! “God loves a cheerful giver!” 2 Corinthians 9:10 He also loves a thankful receiver. Colossians 3:15 So what’s the deal with thank-you notes? They seem to have gone the way of rotary phones, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s not progress. It’s a regression that we really need to stop. There is something beautiful about receiving a hand-written note in the mail with a real life stamp on it, isn’t there? But even a phone call or an email (the last choice) expressing your appreciation for a thoughtful (or even a strange) gift is important. You were thought of. You were planned on. You were given a gift. It cost them something. For heaven’s sake, say thank you. Manners matter. Their hearts matter. Okay, I’m an exhorter and I’m hoping to exhort here. Get out your pens. Get out your note cards or pick some up at the grocery store. Take the time. Express your gratitude. You’ll be glad you did, and the person on the other side will be truly blessed. Sing with a grateful heart. Write with one too. Exhorting done.
Stasi Eldredge
Status - I'm Tired
When I hop on Facebook, which I confess, I haven’t been doing as faithfully as I want to be, it always asks me my “Status” and 90% of the time, I want to write “I’m tired.” But that isn’t very cheery or encouraging so I let that pass and dig down into what is more deeply true. “I’m loved.” I am loved. But I’m tired. Physically. Emotionally. And yes that bleeds into spiritually. How ‘bout you? I was just with a woman who experiences her life as the strongest and smartest person in her world. She can outthink anyone. She can mentally outmaneuver and brilliantly dance with her words. She holds things together in her demanding position at work and in her relationships. And she’s exhausted. Keeping all those balls in the air with no permission to be weak, to let down or to lean into someone else’s strength takes a toll on a gal. Her story isn’t mine. I’m neither the strongest nor the brightest in my world. In fact, I currently feel like the weakest. This never ending leg and glut injury has my heart discouraged. Deeply. Additionally, I have been having a number of tests over the past 4 months for a health issue that had my imagination running amuck. Yesterday, I got a clean bill of health. I didn’t even know how much I had been carrying. My times with God haven’t involved long times in the Word or even much worship but instead an adult coloring book. I color away while meditating on one scripture. Very soothing. I recommend it if you can make the space to sit still for more than a moment. Sitting still for more than a moment is also something I recommend. At the beginning of each year, John and I pray and ask Jesus what his “word” or scripture is over our lives for the whole year. In that past, it’s been “Intimacy” (yay!) or “Follow” (yes!). Sometimes it takes me more than a month to hear anything. Last night he answered. The word is “Fresh”. Fresh. Oh my. I need fresh. It feels like the opposite of tired. Just hearing his word and intention over my life breathes new hope into the places that have become weary. I am so grateful. So, wherever you are at, and I mean WHEREVER you are at…I want to encourage you to ask your Father for his intention, his word over this next season over your life. And then wait. Keep asking until you hear. And when you do hear (and you will), WRITE IT DOWN. Put it on your mirror. Write it at the beginning of your journal. Dive into the word and explore it in scripture. Camp in it. I’m sure going to. Because “tired” is not what Jesus has for me. I’m not running from it or pretending I’m not feeling it but I am saying YES to God. I desire the fresh wind of life that God has for me. And I want it for you too.
Stasi Eldredge