“Whoa, that’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen!” My four-year-old exclaimed on our recent camping trip. And the truth is it was a big tree by Oklahoma standards. However, that same tree would look small if placed somewhere alongside true giants like sequoia redwood trees.

I am far from a tree expert (just reference the dead tree in my front yard for proof), but what I learned about sequoia redwood trees has stuck with me. These trees are truly massive, 275 ft tall and 25 feet in diameter, but their roots are relatively shallow, only 6-12 feet deep. However, their roots interlock with the other redwoods around them, providing strength, nutrients, and support.

So much of our Christian walk is like this. We need other believers to offer support and strength. When these discipleship relationships exist, we experience growth as a result.

I don’t know what your house is like, but if it’s anything like mine, the hours between 4:00-6:00 move in slow motion. Everyone is tired from school, work, playing, etc. and there are still what seems like a hundred tasks to accomplish. Dinner needs to be made, school things put away, work completed, etc.

And it’s during this hour that everyone seems to regularly lose their mind. The toddler gets hangry, the older boys fight, and my patience wears thin. Before long things like, “Stop doing ___ “ or “If you don’t do _____, I’m going to ____” start coming out of my mouth. And because I’m tired, I give directions that don’t need to be given simply because I’m worn out or annoyed. Or worse, I stop implementing what I say I’m going to do.

Do you ever feel a disconnect between your mind and your heart?

Recently, I found myself in a funk, frustrated that what I knew and what I wanted to do just didn’t seem to align. As a believer, I know the truth and desperately want to be guided by the Spirit, but I also don’t always “feel” like it. This is the battle of spirit and flesh.

Lately, “community” has been somewhat of a hot topic. We hear phrases like, “doing life with each other,” or the warning, “not to live life alone” thrown around frequently. Couple this with Instagram photos of groups sitting around discussing theology over perfectly brewed coffee, and it’s easy to look at our community and think it’s not quite measuring up.

But what does Biblical community truly look like?

Eagerly, my neighbor walked up to me and exclaimed, “Only 8 more days until school starts!” This wasn’t unexpected or new information, but something about the way she said it made my insides turn. It was as if hearing it from someone else made it real and immovable leaving me feeling anxious, desperate, and out of control.

How do you feel about seasons of change? Do you experience excitement, anticipation, fear, anxiety, resistance, relief?

Have you ever reached the end of the Easter season only to realize that even though you celebrated the resurrection and empty tomb of Jesus, you never took time to remember Jesus on the cross? In a sense, it’s as if you just skipped right over Good Friday.

It’s easy to get caught up in the joy and the celebration of the resurrection (and we should celebrate), but fail to remember the resurrection was only possible because of Jesus’ death on the cross.

After days of crazy Oklahoma weather that led to ever-changing plans, unmet expectations, and exhaustion, I was irritable. Everyone and everything seemed to get under my skin and I could sense frustration building.

At that moment, the words of 1 Corinthians 13 didn’t feel like the pretty picture that is so often read at weddings. It didn’t feel like a gentle reminder of how much God loves us (even though He does). Instead, it felt like conviction: a necessary call to a greater love than my flesh was currently displaying.

As I tucked my son into bed, he looked up at me and said, “I hope there will be snow when I wake up!” I could see the anticipation and excitement in his eyes and knew he would fall asleep thinking about throwing snowballs, building a snowman, and eating snow ice cream. However, what he didn’t know is the chance for snow was actually slim to nothing. Typical cold Oklahoma rain? Yes. But, a blanket covering of beautiful, white snow? Highly doubtful.

How many times a day do you hear the word “hope”?

The thunder boomed and my two-year-old niece’s whole demeanor changed. Instantly, she went from playing and acting silly with her cousins, to frantically looking around for her mom. As she desperately ran into my sister’s arms, I watched my sister lovingly pick her up and hold her. My sister assured her that the thunder wasn’t going to hurt her and that it was actually a display of God’s amazing power. Unsure, my niece remained in her mother’s arms as the fear seemed to diminish to trust. She contently sat in my sister’s lap while the storm passed, held by the one she trusted to keep her safe.

I don’t know about you, but for me, memorization isn’t the easiest spiritual discipline. It can feel laborious, tedious, and even unnecessary since I have almost instant access to the Bible (and Google) on my phone. However, recently the Lord reminded me of the value of “hiding His Word in my heart” (Psalm 119:11) as I heard the Spirit gently whisper the Word throughout my day. It looked a little like this:

“Can you thank Me for trusting you with this experience if I never tell you why?”

A friend recently read these words to me from Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth’s book “Choosing Gratitude” and they stopped me in my tracks. As a type-A planner, I often function on the “why”. If something is logical and practical and makes sense, it’s easy for me to accept the circumstance. I have even learned to accept situations that don’t necessarily make sense at the time but will eventually. But this question was different and led me to more questions of my own.

As I loaded my packed bag into the car, everything in me wanted to take the bag back in and address the responsibilities I had on my plate. Months ago I made plans to meet up with some college friends and spend the weekend in an Air B&B doing nothing but catching up, relaxing, and spending time by the lake. But now, as it was time to leave, this felt like the last thing I should be doing. Work projects with looming deadlines, endless housework, and needy children were all I could think about. However, I backed out of the driveway and went anyway.

With the baby on my hip, the toddler in tow, and a desperate glance at the clock, I walked down the worn pathway to the mailbox. My ever-inquisitive next-door neighbor casually asked how things were going. I responded like I normally did, “Oh, I’m good, busy...but good”. Her response is what stuck with me. She said, “I just don’t know how you do it all.”

What comes to mind when you hear the word “spiritual disciplines”? Do you instantly run in the opposite direction? Are you filled with shame or disappointment, feeling like you don’t quite measure up? Do you think of them as nice, but unattainable goals? Or, do you beam with pride thinking you’ve checked enough of them off your list for the day?

“Have you been in the Word today?” my friend gently and lovingly asked after listening to me talk (aka complain) about my day. I had been easily frustrated and annoyed by my children, anxious about a potential work client, jealous of my friend’s new house, and discontent with my current circumstances. I had spent time doing everything except seeking the Lord. As a result, her question resonated deeply in the hardened walls of my heart.

Intimidated, I slowly stepped over the threshold and walked into my friend’s house. I looked around and saw toys scattered about the living room, a full laundry basket in the corner, and remnants of lunch on the table. I don’t know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this. 

If you’ve ever watched toddlers pray, you may have seen the way they scrunch up their faces determined to keep their eyes closed. Or, the way they wiggle attempting to keep their hands in their laps and their head down. Or, the way they get so excited once the prayer’s over knowing they made it through.

Half-asleep I reluctantly rolled over as I heard the all-too-familiar, “pat, pat, pat, pat, swoooossshhh” sound coming into our bedroom. Even at four-years-old, my son still manages to wake in the night and quietly walk into our room dragging his lovey behind him.

After what felt like endless weeks of cold weather, the sun emerged, the temperature rose, and I excitedly loaded the family in the car to drive to the park. As we walked the trails everything looked brown and dead, but as we looked closer, we began to see tiny daffodil shoots peeking up from the dirt. The more we looked, the more growths we saw, and my mind began to envision beautiful, endless colored blooms filling the park in just a few weeks. The seemingly dead ground was the conduit for multitudes of life.

Exhausted but determined, I carefully placed one of the few remaining stones along the edge of our flower bed. I looked up at my husband and saw a sly but gentle “I told you so” look in his eyes. What I thought would be a simple afternoon DIY project was in reality a sunrise-to-sunset, hard labor, weekend project.