“God is in control.” These four words flew out of my mouth as an automatic response. Yet I realized I found no comfort in them. There is so much war and intense suffering all over the world. How is this God’s plan?

Eb, Bb, Cm, Ab. These four chords, when combined in a certain way, transport me back to the bittersweet longing for my ‘first love’. The head-over-heels infatuation was intoxicating. But the friendship crumbled under the weight of hoping it would turn into something more. Eventually, I let go, but even now, I sometimes struggle with guilt that I gave part of my heart away to someone who could have never been my spouse. At times, my heart feels so confused and damaged. Is this really God’s plan for me?

I prayed for exactly zero people at Revoice22. As a prayer ministry volunteer, I stood and waited by the stage, but nobody approached me for prayer. My heart sank. I’d started dreaming about working for a ministry like Revoice, but maybe I wasn’t spiritual or mature enough. 

“Do you think it’s a sign?” I asked my friend Anna Li. “Maybe this ministry isn’t for me.” She reassured me and said, "No, don’t take it as a sign." 

A few months later, on a phone call with Revoice’s Conference Director, I tentatively shared some feedback about the conference. I suggested that prayer ministry should be more visible, and that there should be a moment when we pause to invite people to come up for prayer. He agreed with my suggestions and asked me to lead prayer ministry at Revoice23 (Acts 6, anyone?). I hesitantly agreed. 

In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. John 1:4-5 (NIV)

Friends! We are currently in the season of Lent. For some of us, the practice of observing Lent comes with some baggage. Perhaps it fed and nourished a personal narrative of self-shame, being incapable, or fear of judgment. You may have fallen into the belief that refraining from something during the Lent season was an act of spiritual martyrdom — another reminder of what you weren’t doing well enough. In contrast, you may land in the camp of participating in Lent as an act of preparation for the resurrection life that God has promised us through the completed work of Jesus’s ministry here on earth.

As a single person, I used to struggle with terrible, chronic loneliness…

At the time, no one would have guessed this to be the case. I’ve done an excellent job over the years at expanding my network, investing in relationships, and building community. If anyone were to be lonely, most people probably wouldn’t say it would be me. But alas, I was indeed desperately lonely.

I would occasionally have a weekend or even one night with nothing planned. If I couldn’t find someone available for a last-minute hangout, my heart would ache. In fact, even going home (where I was to sleep alone) after a social outing would cause me pain most evenings. I often complained about this situation to my inner circle.

This morning, a verse from Isaiah caught and held my attention; it’s 53:2b, which is:

“He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

I launched into a meditation on it, contemplating how Jesus in his original human manifestation would not appeal to our (my) vanity.  It’s saying that Jesus was (or would be, as it is prophetic) no Joseph, David, or Absalom, men noted in the scriptures for their pleasant physical appearances. Jesus was no “matinee idol,” able to melt our hearts and attract us to follow him by his looks alone. For me and probably a host of others, this is a refreshing observation.

Grace is a huge New Testament concept, and at root it’s about us being God’s favorites. St. John said he was the disciple Jesus loved. But I’ll bet Peter thought he was. And Mary Magdalene thought she was. And Mary of Bethany. And Jairus’s little girl.

My logical mind jumps in, though: we can’t all be Jesus’s favorite. 

It’s not logical, but it makes perfect heart-sense. Which of my kids is my favorite? That’s like asking which I like better: fresh-squeezed lemonade, homemade penuche frosting, or fresh salmon grilled on a cedar plank over an open fire. They’re each sui generis, unique, in a class of their own. And each one is my absolute favorite. 

Jesus has explored you and knows you–the secret hope, the lurking anxiety, your childhood, your DNA–because he’s crazy about you.

New beginnings are often framed as exciting, fresh starts, clean slates, optimism. January invites us to believe that hope should come easily, that forward motion should feel energizing. But when I think about new beginnings, I don’t always think about excitement. I also think about loss.

For me, January is less about rushing forward and more about looking back. It’s a time of holding what has been, the beauty alongside the pain, love alongside sorrow, and gratitude alongside grief. That holding involves tension, and at times, it can feel overwhelming.

Somewhere, in a transcendent reality, we are presently seated in the heavenly places at Christ’s side in proximity of the Father.   This is a profound mystery, but I believe I must take it somehow literally as well as allegorically. Close your eyes and consider the glorious reality of being seated, perfected in holiness, in brilliant glory next to Jesus,  essentially your twin in this context. (1 John 3:2) Then believe this is true, right now. How does that impact our self-perception? Would only I could more consistently live up to that quintessential reality—that I am somehow, somewhere, already perfected in Christ!