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Worthy Reads of 2022

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Are these going to be the best books I read 2022? I don’t know, but these are the ones that have stuck with me, that I have cried through and that have touched my heart, that I have begged friends to read so we can discuss, that I have underlined in and highlighted and will keep on my bookshelf. So I will call them worthy, and in no particular order, I will recommend them to you:

+ Freedom of Simplicity. Long before the current minimalism trend hit, Richard Foster was writing about simplicity from a spiritual discipline perspective, which for Christ-followers, is far more compelling when faced with materialism, the accumulation of wealth, and worldly attachments. He writes with humility, not as one who has mastered the discipline, but who is also on the journey. His suggestions are subversive, convicting, and practical.

+ Sheltering Mercy. This is an artful and poetic devotional, written prayers inspired by the first 75 Psalms. Having spent countless hours in the Psalms through deep grief over the past year and a half, it was nourishing for my soul to pray alongside these treasured psalms. When my words have been few in prayer, Sheltering Mercy has served as a beautiful companion, leading me to the heart of God.

+ Little Pilgrim’s Progress. I collected this stunning version when we were in the States last Christmas, Helen Taylor’s original with piercingly beautiful illustrations by Joe Sutphin. The girls and I read through it as part of school in the first months of 2022, and we were all engrossed with the story. I have never loved Bunyan’s original, but this retelling captivated my heart, and the hearts of my daughters. The plentiful themes of journeying the Christian life were relatable for children, and poignant for me as an adult, and provided countless opportunities for discipleship. The tears streamed down my face in the last pages, picturing my nephew walking through the waters of death into the arms of Christ. We will likely reread soon, and it will become a family classic in our home.

+ A Whole in the World. I had been anxiously awaiting this book, having preread a chapter over a year ago, and waited until I could hold the physical pages in my hands before reading. Amanda Held Opelt has walked through the waters of deep grief, and her writing is authentic and vulnerable. Her own story is stunningly woven throughout this exploration of how generations before us journeyed through suffering. This exploration of grief rituals of the past provided a path through the pain for her, and as I read slowly, tearfully, thoughtfully, I felt as though I was joining arms with the masses of women before me who have lost, survived, and continued to live.

+ The God of the Garden. I devoured this beautiful memoir by Andrew Peterson. If you love trees, or even if you don’t, Peterson reflects on them to draw out rich theological truths of God’s work in the world and in our lives. As I journey into midlife, I find companionship in others who have wrestled with aging, time, and the brokenness of the world, and emerged glorifying God. Peterson does, and gives us a renewed sense of purpose and significance for the journey.

+ Everything Sad is Untrue. This book has been everywhere, and for good reason. Daniel Nayeri writes a young adult style memoir, but with such feeling and prose that I laughed and I cried and I laughed again. He weaves his story with the ancient stories of his homeland, and we are left all the better for it.

+ The Time Quintet. This is technically five books, but I wanted to highlight more than just Madeline L’Engle’s first and most famous, A Wrinkle in Time. I reread A Wrinkle in Time for a bookclub this year, and so loved it again that I kept going through the rest of the series. They were lovely night-reading companions, and I enjoyed so much. These are strange, science fiction and fantasy, middle grade novels but the themes of sacrificial love and bravery and growing into oneself are unmatched. We’ve read A Wrinkle in Time together, but I can’t wait for my girls to read the whole series soon.

+ Pilgrim’s Inn. I’ve been on an Elizabeth Goudge kick for a few years, and basically, anything she writes is golden. Pilgrim’s Inn is another stunning novel by this underrated author, a story that drew me in and held me tenderly, with lines so memorable I underlined them (yes, it’s a novel). Though I went through a phase while reading where I was ready to open a B+B, I came out grateful for the home we have and thoughtfully considering how to open our doors even wider to those around us (yes, it’s still a novel).

+ Different. I’m grateful for this book this year, as we have faced some new challenges in parenting. I’m grateful to know we are not alone. I’m grateful for Sally and Nathan Clarkson sharing honestly, the good and the ugly, the struggles of family life without the sugarcoating of some of Clarkson’s previous books. I can imagine the difficulty of running a family ministry while struggling so much at home, and appreciate that they have now taken the time to let us in, to share insights from the journey, to walk alongside the many of us who have out-of-the-box children, and struggle to know how to best love them.

+ Cry, the Beloved Country. What can I say? This is an important read, especially for me as we live in South Africa. I have had it on my bookshelf for six years, but never felt robust enough to delve deeply into it, until this year, when our bookclub selected it. It was hard, so hard. I cried, I hated a lot of what I saw. And yet, I feel I have a better grasp, a deeper understanding, more vocabulary in which to interact. It’s a classic, deeply important, and it will change you.

Bonus: Yet We Still Hope. I felt conflicted about including this book on the list, as I am a contributor, but it was most definitely a worthy read for me. These are recent stories of modern women on cross-cultural mission fields around the world. The stories are raw and honest, full of pain and loss and fear, much of what accompanies every woman living outside her home country, and each one points back to God’s sustaining love and unending faithfulness.

Here’s to happy reading in 2023!

Home as a Holy Space

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Recently, with winter approaching, I pitched the idea to Ben to open up the long, unused fireplace in our school room. At some point, many years ago, there was a working fireplace in that room, but it was sealed and stacked with shelves where we’ve kept the kids’ toys and puzzles for the past five years. Always the pragmatic one, Ben responded with a look and few words addressing the obstacles, largest of which is that we do not own this home. After countering back with my thoughts on these practical concerns, I asked, with emphasis, “But how would having a fireplace make you feel?” (To which, he laughed, I being the more feeling one of us).

But the thought of the heat a fire could bring, the crackling of wood, the smokey aroma, the overall vibe – he could feel that, as we talked. And the thoughts of the warmth and joy and comfort it would result in, beyond the aesthetic beauty and practical concerns, led us to begin working on it.

Homemaking – that is to say, the making of a house into a home for our family – has mostly been my responsibility over the years. And it’s one I have embraced. From my earliest days as a wife, I loved making our first apartment feel like home to us, back in the days when red was my accent color of choice. In all of the many spaces we have lived over the years, I have not grown tired of the joy and challenge of making our homes warm and pleasing spaces, where our family could dwell together and grow and invite others into our life.

Decorating spaces is not new to humans; as far back as biblical times, we read detailed descriptions of the elaborate tabernacle and temple decorations, and of the artists who were commissioned to work on it (Exodus 31; 1 Kings 6-7; 2 Chronicles 3-4). And we know that heaven will one day be a place of unimaginable beauty (Rev. 21), most of all because Christ will dwell with us there. Beauty and creativity are intricate features of God himself; creating is his work and cultivating is the work he gave to Adam and Eve and all of subsequent humanity.

In other words, when we create spaces of beauty and cultivate our homes as places where the people of God can dwell here on earth, we are imaging our Creator and honoring him.

This is vastly different from the purpose of creating a home that is “on trend,” not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with trendy spaces. The difference is in the purpose; if we are using our creativity only for the end result of how it will look and appeal to our followers on Instagram, we are missing out. But if we are using our creativity to construct beautiful spaces that will better enable us to live in joy and peace with one another, God is honored. If our beautiful spaces facilitate the kind of hospitality which truly welcomes the whole person, where they can feel at rest, at peace, at home, amidst the storms of this world, God is honored. If our beautiful spaces can be a refuge for ourselves and our families, a small kind of tabernacle where God is dwelling among us here on earth, he is honored.

The making of this kind of home takes time, and creativity, and consideration for all of the many purposes for which it may be used. Though a white rug may appeal to me, it will not foster peace when my children come inside with mud-caked feet from their latest adventure. Likewise, though turquoise may not be my wall color of choice, if it makes my daughter feel as though she has a space to call her own in this world, a place where she can retreat and rest and foster her own little sense of creativity, it would well be worth it.

Creating this kind of home can happen anywhere, in any kind of space. We do not need the newest, most spacious home; or the trendiest pieces of furniture or accents. In fact, I have found that creativity blossoms when resources are scarce; I have learned skills I would otherwise have not needed, like woodworking and using power tools. Creating this kind of home is also not only about the aesthetic; it is also about the attitudes and aromas we cultivate. We can create home wherever in the world God has us.

“Remember that He who created you to be creative gave you the things with which to make beauty and gave you the sensitivity to appreciate and respond to His creation. Creativity is His gift to you and the ‘raw materials’ to be put together in various ways are His gift to you as well.”

Edith Schaeffer

To this end, I am convinced that homemaking is a holy pursuit; as I create a whole space where my family can live together in peace and harmony, where we can grow in faithfulness to God and live in obedience and joy, where we can pursue peace and restore fellowship, where we can relish beauty and develop creativity, where we can welcome others with warmth and kindness, and from which we can go out with courage and bravery to love the world in which we live… this home is indeed a holy place.

On Perfectionism

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I’ve never been a perfectionist; or so I thought.

When I think of perfectionism, I think of my sweet mother, who made certain her quilt’s corners were flawlessly square and cringed as I eye-balled all of mine; or, my brother adjusting every setting on his camera until the exact balance is achieved while I snap away, happy with any of my kids in focus; or, that writer who agonizes over every word while I write furiously in the cracks of my life and send it out to the world without (likely enough) scrutiny.

See? I am not a perfectionist. I have not cared for the externals of my life to be perfect, and I have been happy about that.

Recently though, at the age of 34, I was confronted with a woman I idolized. I loved how she patiently and gently mothered her children, the way she always looked beautiful, how she thoughtfully cared for her husband, how she cheerfully set the tone in her home daily, how her home was tidy and her children obedient, how much she could accomplish, and how calmly she handled the many stresses of her life. I could not get her out of my mind; her perfect life tormented me, and I felt I could not measure up.

It was the perfect version of myself; the version I can never quite seem to be. It was the woman I wished I was, and the one I measure myself against. Her existence is in some supernatural realm I never could quite access.

In Rising Strong, Brené Brown wrote something that undid me: “One of the greatest challenges of becoming myself has been acknowledging that I’m not who I thought I was supposed to be or who I always pictured myself being.”

For me, marriage and motherhood have been the avenues that have revealed the depths of my heart; both my capacity for deepest love and my innumerable shortcomings. My heart has broken many times over my own failures; I have tearfully repented, and continued to sit in my own self-condemnation, agonizing over my lack of all the things. This, friends, is not of Christ.

Looking through the virtual window into the world of another, and measuring myself against what I see there rarely leads me to greater godliness or contentment. Rather, I come away with a greater sense of inadequacy, a deeper sense of my lack, a stronger temptation toward discontent. We know that comparison is the thief of joy, and yet we do little to curb the thief. This, friends, is not of Christ.

If the gospel is the good news of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection for the redemption of my soul and for the restoration of the world, then self-condemnation, comparison, and perfectionism have little place for the gospel-clinging Christian.

Rather, the gospel-clinging Christian looks within herself, and rather than seeing all of her many inadequacies, she sees the adequacy of Christ.

Rather than focusing on her repeated failures, she rests in the gentle and persistent mercy of Christ.

Rather than sitting in self-condemnation, she fixes her gaze on Jesus, who is the author and perfector of faith.

Rather than imaging a perfect self, she clings to Christ, who is perfect already.

Rather than bearing the weight of her sin, she lays it aside, and runs with perseverance.

That woman I spoke of earlier? Her fictional self does not torment me anymore, at least, not on a regular basis. I have come to acknowledge that my inward expectation of myself was one of perfection, clouded with pride, and self-love, and far from godliness. I am more gentle with myself, reminded of Christ’s gentle and lowly heart, and his deep, unending love for me. I am remembering that I am doing my best, with the help of Christ, and slowly, slowly, being transformed into a greater likeness of him.

So, see? I am still not a perfectionist. 😉

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2

What the Psalms Have Taught Me About Safety

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In the summer of 2008, I spent two months in Pakistan. My time was focused on discipleship, through training teachers at a local Christian girls’ school in English and leading Bible studies among nurses at a local hospital, primarily. When I first arrived on a muggy Sunday morning and was retrieved by the airport by a Pakistani driver via a sign that read “Bethany Simpson,” I watched in fascination out the window from the back seat of the car for the 2+ hour drive at the new world in which I found myself. A few hours after arriving at my new home, after a short nap and changing into a shalwar kameez, I accompanied my hosts to a local wedding reception. Upon arrival, we saw a group of men celebrating by shooting guns straight up into the air, and my hosts explained that this was a cultural celebratory tradition, regretfully sharing about the unfortunate deaths that occur from falling bullets.

I lay in bed that night, and listened to gunshots in the distance, and fear seized my heart. I could die here in this place, of all things, from celebratory falling bullets. Oh God, I prayed, I’m so afraid of falling bullets, of all things, in this place. I drifted into a fitful sleep, and awoke to the call to prayer at dawn, realizing God’s protection of me and his sovereignty over my life. In that first week, and the weeks following, the Lord worked in my heart to show me anew of his sovereignty over the events of my life. On June 21, 2008, I wrote in my journal, “I think fear hit its peak for me last week when I realized that it is possible that I won’t see Ben or my family again…this is a very real consideration, but not one to dwell upon. And then I felt a quiet confidence…that I will indeed see them again. If nothing else, most surely in your presence. But I pray that I will be able to return home.” And a couple of months later, by God’s grace and according to his perfect will, I did.

One of the most frequent questions we got about our plans to move to South Africa was regarding our safety, asked out of a place of love and concern for the wellbeing of our family. We typically answered it something like this: Yes, there are real dangers in South Africa. There is a high crime rate. There is HIV. There are many deaths each year from car accidents. But there are dangers in the United States too; different dangers, no doubt, but danger the same. Ultimately, we entrust our lives and the lives our daughters to the Lord, and believe that He is sovereign over our lives.

So, while many of you have likely heard that response, I wanted to take a few minutes to unpack that a bit further here, and share what the Psalms in particular have taught me about safety. Understanding God’s sovereignty over our lives and deaths is applicable not only to cross cultural workers, but after all, to anyone who belongs to Christ.

To begin, we first must recognize that God as our Creator has both given us life and determined the length of our days:

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb… my frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

Psalm 139:14a, 15-16

In his sovereignty, God has both given us this life and determined the number of days we would live on earth. He already knows the day of your death; it will not come as a surprise to him. If your life is rooted in the salvation of God through Christ, you have the great blessing of knowing that you are secure in Christ in both your life and your death! We are able to trust him with both. It is not for me to worry over my safety, or the safety of my husband, or my children, because his love for them is far superior to mine and he sovereignly cares for them.

Secondly, we can entrust our safety to God because he has promised to be our protector. Psalm 91 says:

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the destruction that wastes at noonday”

Ps. 91:1-6

Here we can understand several key points. God is the only one who can deliver us; all other illusions of safety are simply that, illusions. He has promised to be our shield, our refuge, our fortress; truly, only he can protect us against the many dangers of this world. One of my favorite passages is found in Psalm 3: “But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head… I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the Lord sustained me” (v. 3, 5). I literally cannot find peace from the danger of this world in any other secure place than in the Lord – who sustains me, day in and day out.

Not only can we learn about God’s promised protection, we can also see how the psalmist demonstrates the active placing of his life under the care of the Lord. He “dwells in the shelter of the Most High” and says to the Lord, “my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust” (v. 1,2). This psalm continues on, “you will not fear…because you have made the Lord your dwelling place” (v. 5, 9). There is action on the part of the psalmist, a cognitive step of choosing to put his trust for his life into God’s hands; of rejecting fear, because he is dwelling in the Lord. We can trust God with our safety, in the night, by day, in the darkness, in the noonday sun. At all times, through all our days, he is trustworthy.

Finally, we see that only in Christ is true safety found:

“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Ps. 91:14-16

Here the psalmist is expressing God’s words of salvation, which we now understand has been revealed in Christ, who is our ultimate deliverer and in whomGod will protect him who “knows my name,” here on earth, and in ultimate eternity. For those of us who have trusted in Christ for our salvation, our eternity is secure, and this is our ultimate safety. All kinds of dangers may fly around us, may threaten our earthly lives, but because of Christ’s redemptive work on the cross, we are forever secure in him. What glory! What peace!

And so, we can confidently and wisely entrust the safety of our family in South Africa to our loving Father. This does not mean that we will be unwise in the daily things; we will still buckle our children into car seats, we will still be cautious in going out at night, and we will still take extra precautions on the road. But this does mean that though we seek to be wise in these daily things, we realize they do not promise safety, but God promises his love to us and his best for us.

It is also important to understand that by entrusting the Lord with our safety, we are not guaranteed long lives; in fact, in his sovereignty, he may see fit to end my earthly life sooner. This is not a failure on his part to “keep me safe,” but rather a part of his good plan, according to his ultimate purpose, one we may not understand on this side of eternity.

But whether our years are twenty or ninety, there is wisdom in acknowledging the shortness of our lives:

“O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreaths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath!”

Psalm 39:4-5

In obedience to God, we can truly rest in his sovereignty over all the days of life and the day of our death. And then, we are able to pray in earnest with the psalmist, “so teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” and “let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!” (Psalm 90).

Yes, Lord, establish the work of our hands!

for a beautiful musical rendition of Psalm 4, listen here, by the Psalms Project

originally published on Feb. 24, 2017

When Home is not Homey

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After a long, 42-hour trip with my two youngest, after yet another delay Stateside (this time we can all blame the same thing, no?), after grappling with the grief of leaving yet again, I climbed out of the car, and stepped through the door into my home – to find it smelled, felt more cramped than I remember, and distinctly did not feel like my home. Wait, my mind stalled right there at the door, is this really my home?

This was definitely not the feeling I was anticipating; usually, after a long (or even short) trip anywhere, I love the satisfying feeling of returning to my space, to resettling with my people in our own nook in the world, to the peace and joy and content that comes from just being a place of our own, together.

I suppose, in that moment, there were a couple of possible reactions to my disappointed arrival home: I could conjure all the homey feelings I know deep inside somewhere, and “put on a happy face” until I make it. I could go crawl in a corner and sit in my mournful melancholy for awhile (my reaction of choice had I not four eager children). Or, and what I did, I could unpack all the bags I had brought in a mad rush and attempt to quell the mental storm with the restoring of some small sense of order. Control what I can control, anyone else? Cleaning and organizing always seem to help regulate whatever emotional rush I am currently battling. In the following days, I tackled the deeper cleaning, the washing of all the things, and the random decluttering, and within a week, this house began to feel again like the home I had been anticipating settling back into. I saw with fresh eyes the beauty throughout, the peace and goodness we seek to cultivate within its walls, the potential for love to reign here, in the midst of grief and evil and suffering.

While there are a lot of elements that played into the overall disappointment of that particular arrival home (namely, the use and abuse of our home by others while we were gone), the concept of home has always been a complicated one, particularly for those of us who live outside our passport countries. For Ben and I, we have lived in six homes, in three different countries, over the course of our marriage, and we now can say, after five and a half years, this is the home in which we have lived the longest. There is the struggle that none of these homes we have owned, unlike most of our peers at our age and stage of life.

Even in all of that moving and resettling and renting and non-owning, each of those homes, in their own seasons, have been havens of rest, shelters for us from the raging of the world, and spaces we could open and into which we could bring others. Each new home has called me into a deeper sense of how? can this work for us, for our family, how? can this be a space where love reigns, peace is pursued, and goodness and beauty abound, and how? can we use this to share the love and peace and goodness and beauty of God with others? That challenge – of bringing forth in a space its best utility, and natural beauty, and cultivated peace – has been one for which I have gratefully accepted the transitions.

And for those seasons where I feel rootless, when home does not feel homey, when I wonder when it will be our turn to own, truly own, our unique piece of land in this wide world, I am leaning into the age-old promise that our true home is not found on this earth. That all of this good work of creating homes this side of heaven is a reflection of the Creator who has a home waiting for us – one filled with beauty beyond measure, filled with perfect peace and unending goodness.

In the meantime, you may find me cleaning again, or organizing something. Making our little house a home all over again, thanks to the goodness of God, until someday, we will be truly, forever, home.

…So We Wait

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“I have prayed so many times that God would bring Ginger home. Why doesn’t he answer my prayers? It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Does he not hear me, Mom?” I walked beside my 8-year old daughter in the chilly moonlight, having checked the fence line where she thought she heard a meow for our beloved, and lost, cat. My eyes misted over, my breath producing clouds in the cold winter air. “I know, babe, I know,” is the only answer I could muster at that moment.

How hard is it for God to bring back a lost cat? I can’t deny I have asked that very question. This is a small thing, God, such a small thing, but so important still. You could show the girls your power! How you answer their prayers! But perhaps what I meant was… you could show me your power. How you answer my prayers. You know I need to see it.

It’s been a season of deep darkness for us, of deep loss. Our hearts are sore and fragile, from brokenness. I had traveled alone back to the States to be with my family at an unimaginable time, to help plan a service I never imagined would need to happen. I had explained to my children how someone they love dearly had to meet Jesus before us, and how yes, we can still be very sad. I had been asking God all kinds of questions, not out of anger (yet) but out of pain.

Within two of weeks of my return, Ginger went missing. He (yes, he… I know) had been an unexpected, unrequested gift from God over four years ago, during our family’s first year in South Africa. That first year was filled with transition, grief, and stress, and then, this cutie, tiny kitty showed up in our lives and stuck around, providing much needed joy and humor. We weren’t allowed to acquire pets, living on a communal college campus, but he had acquired us, and so he stayed. Our children formed deep attachments, and if you asked them who they missed the most while in the US two years ago for our first home assignment, they would answer without hesitation, “Ginger!” But even through that long transition, he loyally waited for us, for eight months, and settled back in joyfully with his family upon our return.

Salt on an open wound, my mom had said. Yes, a very open wound, the wound of loss. The loss of our pet does not compare to the loss of our loved one, and I found myself saying, really, God? Can’t you just bring back our cat? Haven’t we lost enough already?

As I pondered how to help my daughter’s sore heart, I thought of the Psalms, where I have been spending a lot of time lately (a good place for a broken heart) and of how the psalmists asked very similar questions, in the midst of pain and suffering:

“My soul is in deep anguish. How long, O LORD, how long?” (Psalm 6:3)

“Why, LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1)

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD. LORD, hear my voice!” (Psalm 130:1)

“Our heart has not turned back,
    nor have our steps departed from your way;
yet you have broken us in the place of jackals
    and covered us with the shadow of death.

Awake! Why are you sleeping, O Lord?
    Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever!
Why do you hide your face?” (Psalm 44:18-19, 23)

The following evening, at dinner, we talked about my daughter’s questions. I explained that I have these questions of God too – and that others throughout the Bible have asked God, why? And some times, many times, if we are honest, there are no real answers to the hard things happening to us. Even if there were answers, how much comfort would they truly provide? Our losses will still be immense, the pain still deeply real. We talked about how nearly every person in the Bible had difficult situations in their lives, and that following Jesus does not mean our lives will be easy. And we explained that it is okay to not understand – because we don’t either – and yet we can tell God all that’s on our hearts, because he truly wants us to.

We could give the pseudo-spiritual pat answers, but where does that leave us? Those answers have not been a help to me, in deep loss, and they won’t comfort our children either. Our pain is real, it’s raw. If God is truly our Father, he wants us to honestly come to him in whatever broken place we find ourselves. And sometimes, just curling up with him in the unanswered questions is all we can do. And we wait.

God, we need you, we need to see your power, your goodness. So we will wait, we will wait for you.

“I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope.” (Psalm 130:5)