Dressing Up and Living Different

This past weekend Bruce and I did something a little out of the ordinary—we went to a Renaissance Fair. It wasn’t just a last-minute idea either. It took me months to prepare, because we wanted to do more than just attend. We wanted to dress up and really be part of the experience.

At first, we planned to go as pirates. I hunted through second-hand stores, yard sales, and clearance racks and managed to piece together almost everything we needed. We weren’t about to spend hundreds of dollars for something that only happens once a year! Eventually, though, our pirate idea shifted into something a little different. On Saturday, we went as pirate invaders, and on Sunday, I pulled out my Lady costume. It ended up being the best of both worlds.

The entire weekend was so much fun. We met new people, discovered shows we’d never seen before, and got to step into a different time period for a couple of days. But as I thought more about it later, something struck me. Dressing up as a pirate or a Lady was fun for the day, but in reality, I wasn’t either of those things. I was pretending. I was slipping into a role that didn’t actually belong to me.

That got me thinking. Isn’t it interesting how easy it is to put on a “costume” in real life? Sometimes, without even realizing it, we adjust our words, our attitudes, or even our values to fit in with the people around us. Just like costumes at a fair, we can end up playing roles that don’t reflect who we really are—or worse, roles that are contrary to who God has called us to be.

The apostle Paul addresses this very idea in Romans 12:2:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

The world is constantly pressuring us to conform, to wear its “costumes,” and to blend in with its values. But God calls us to something different—true transformation. That doesn’t happen by pretending, but by allowing God to reshape us from the inside out.

This sometimes requires us to make hard choices. We may need to step away from relationships that drag us down or pull us toward compromise. Even with family, where we can’t (and shouldn’t) sever ties, we may need to set boundaries so their influence doesn’t outweigh God’s.

Paul reminds us again in Colossians 3:1, 5, and 12–13:

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God… Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry… Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”

Notice how Paul uses clothing language: “put on.” Not as a costume, but as part of our true identity in Christ. What we wear spiritually should not be something we take off at the end of the day—it should reflect who we really are.

Thankfully, God has not left us unequipped in a world full of pressure and temptation. He has given us tools to live differently:

1. Scripture – God’s Word renews our minds and resets our priorities to align with His.
2. Service to others – Serving keeps us grounded, helps us imitate Christ, and shifts our focus outward.
3. Worship through music – Singing praises lifts our hearts and reminds us of God’s greatness.
4. Fellowship with believers – We need community. Other believers encourage us, strengthen us, and help keep us accountable.

When we lean into these tools, we find that we don’t need to pretend. We don’t need to “dress up” as good Christians or put on a mask to fit into the world. Instead, God’s Spirit transforms us, His love overcomes our impulses, His family of believers strengthens us, and His presence gives us courage.

Our weekend at the Renaissance Fair was playful and fun. It was good to step into a costume for a couple of days. But when the costumes came off, I was reminded of something much more important: in everyday life, we are called not to play a role, but to live out our true identity in Christ.

So let’s be careful what we “put on.” Let’s not settle for pretending when God has called us to be transformed.

Tending My Garden: Creating Spiritually Healthy Routines for the Soul, Body, and Mind

There’s a little patch of earth I call mine.

It’s not perfect, not even fancy, but it’s my garden planted with care, visited by bees and birds, brushed by the breeze, and rooted in a quiet place of reflection.

I often go there to pull weeds, water plants, or just sit still. But more than that, I go there to meet with God.

And I’ve realized something, my garden is more than soil and seeds.

It’s a reflection of my soul.

As I walk among the flowers, herbs, and vegetables, I’m reminded of how spiritual growth happens. Just like my garden, my soul needs tending. Weeds of worry, thorns of bitterness, dry patches of neglect, they creep in quickly when I’m not intentional.

But when I consistently water, pull weeds, and let the sun in, life returns. Growth begins again.

 “And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.” —Isaiah 58:11, ESV

I’m learning that spiritually healthy routines are not about perfection or performance. They’re about partnership with the Gardener of my soul. God doesn’t demand a manicured lawn—He desires a surrendered heart.

A healthy garden starts with good soil.

And our spiritual lives start with the Word of God.

Just as seeds must be planted, God’s truth must be sown in our hearts.

“The seed is the word of God.” —Luke 8:11, ESV

 “I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.” —Psalm 119:11, ESV

My routine looks like this:

 I read a passage in the morning, even if it’s short.

 I write a verse in a journal or on a sticky note for the day.

 I take time to be silent. In my garden or by my window. No agenda—just stillness with the Lord.

 I pray honest prayers. Not polished. Just real.

These habits water my roots. Even if I don’t see instant blooms, I trust the underground work of God.

Working in the garden reminds me how much our **bodies matter to God.

Pulling weeds, carrying watering cans, digging in the dirt—it’s movement. It’s effort. And some days I feel the strain. But it’s good strain—life-giving strain.

 “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God?” —1 Corinthians 6:19, ESV

Simple ways I care for my body like a garden:

I move with purpose—gardening, walking, stretching in the morning.

I hydrate as I would water a plant.

I eat foods that give energy, not just satisfy cravings.

I rest—deep rest—knowing even gardens need Sabbath.

 You don’t have to look like the world’s idea of “fit” to be well. You just need to steward what God gave you with grace and consistency.

In gardening, pruning is painful but necessary. It helps the plant grow healthier and stronger. The same is true of our thoughts.

 “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.” —2 Corinthians 10:5, ESV

My mind can wander into places of fear, comparison, or distraction. But I’ve learned to prune those thoughts by:

Memorizing Scripture that speaks truth into my anxious places.

Taking walks in silence, letting my thoughts settle like dust.

Speaking gratitude aloud for even the smallest blessings.

Sharing openly with a trusted friend or mentor.

Mental health matters because your thoughts shape your steps. A garden with overgrowth becomes tangled and fruitless. But one that is trimmed and trained becomes fruitful and focused.

Every gardener knows there are things they can control—and many they can’t.

Rain doesn’t always come. Pests invade. Some seeds never sprout.

But still—we plant. We trust. We wait.

 “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.” —1 Corinthians 3:6, ESV

God is the Master Gardener of our lives. He sees where we need sun, where we need pruning, and where we need patience.

And He never abandons the work of His hands.

So I invite you today:

Start your own routine of spiritual tending.  Maybe not with soil and seeds—but with stillness, scripture, movement, prayer, and grace.

Let your soul breathe.

Let your thoughts be pruned.

Let your body rest and move in balance.

Let God walk with you in your garden, as He once did with Adam and Eve in Eden.

Because this garden—your soul—was made to flourish.

 “And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…” —Genesis 3:8, ESV

Even after the Fall, God still came looking for His people in the garden.

He still comes.

He still walks.

Will you meet Him there?

I Blew It. Now What? When You Lose Your Cool—and Your Husband Pushes Your Buttons

I blew it.

My anger and rage came crashing down like a sudden summer storm—loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. The kind that stirs up dust, bends the trees, and leaves everything in disarray.

Our poor dog even tucked his tail and ran for cover. But it was my husband who received the full force of my mother-bear rage. You know the one: “You’re not cooperating with our goals! When was the last time you set time aside for God? Why aren’t you leading this family spiritually? It’s not my job to carry all the weight!”

I let the storm inside of me speak louder than the Spirit within me. And after the winds settled, what remained wasn’t peace—it was regret.

The words poured out fast. And just as quickly, I regretted them.
Here we are, in the older season of our marriage, and still… I lose my cool.

We’ve walked through so much together. We’ve faced trials, prayed over big decisions, and now we’re trying to live in such a way that reflects Jesus more and more—especially to our children and grandchildren.

But sometimes, if I’m honest, it feels like I’m the only one fighting for that vision.
And that’s where the problem begins: what I feel, what I perceive, what I think he should be doing.

There’s a difference between observing and judging. Between godly concern and emotional pressure. I’ve had to face this hard truth:

Just because I don’t see God working in him the way I expect,
doesn’t mean God isn’t working.

Just because I carry things differently doesn’t mean my husband is failing.
And just because I feel burdened doesn’t mean he’s ignoring God.
I’m not the Holy Spirit.
It’s not my job to evaluate his spiritual temperature or hold him accountable for everything I think he’s not doing.

That’s God’s role. Not mine.

In our older years, we want to leave behind something meaningful. We want our legacy to echo Christ. We want our marriage to preach the gospel—without words. But I can’t accomplish that by controlling, criticizing, or constantly correcting.

Instead, I’m learning (again) to let go of my expectations and cling tighter to the promises of God.

“The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
—Exodus 14:14 (ESV)

There is peace when I surrender the role of judge and return to the role of wife.
There is grace when I trust the pace of the Holy Spirit—not my own timetable.
There is joy when I stop replaying what he isn’t doing and start remembering what God is already doing—in both of us.

Here are some Scriptures I return to when I need help refocusing my heart and working on memorizing:

When I feel like the spiritual burden is all on me:

“For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name…”
—Isaiah 54:5

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
—Psalm 73:26

When I’m tempted to speak too much:

“A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”
—Proverbs 15:1

“Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”
—James 1:19–20

When I need to step back and let God work:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”
—Proverbs 3:5

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him…”
—Psalm 37:7

What do I want to leave behind for my children and grandchildren?

Not a perfect image.
Not a list of spiritual accomplishments.
Not stories about how I got everything right.

I want them to see a woman who surrendered often, repented freely, and trusted God deeply.
I want them to know that faith isn’t about appearances—it’s about abiding.
And I want them to see that a wife can walk in strength and dignity, even when her husband walks a different pace.

To the woman in her later years—who’s walked decades of marriage, who has learned the rhythm of compromise and the ache of unmet expectations, who’s longing to reflect Jesus well in this quieter season of life:

You are not invisible.
You are not foolish for still hoping.
You are not called to be your husband’s Holy Spirit.

You are called to live faithfully, love quietly, speak wisely, and trust deeply.

Let your life whisper the gospel to your husband, your children, and your grandchildren. Your legacy is not in how perfect your marriage looked—it’s in how surrendered your heart was, how forgiving your words became, how gentle your strength grew.

And to the woman in her early years of marriage—tired from sleepless nights and toddler tantrums, trying to raise your children to know Jesus, while feeling like you’re carrying the spiritual weight alone:

I see you.

I was you.

I know the sting of praying alone. I know the heartbreak of longing for your husband to take the lead, to initiate prayer at bedtime, to be the one who says, “Let’s open God’s Word.” I know the frustration of feeling like you’re building the house of faith with bricks made of exhaustion.

And here’s what I want to tell you:

Keep building.

Even when it feels one-sided.
Even when you blow it.
Even when your words come out sharp instead of soft.
Even when you wonder if your husband will ever step into his role.

God sees you. God hears every whispered prayer over your babies. And God is far more patient and faithful with your family than you can imagine.

You don’t have to carry everything. You just have to carry it to Jesus.

And one day—when your house is quieter, when your kids are grown—you’ll look back and see that your faithfulness wasn’t wasted. It was planted.

You’ll see little seeds becoming trees of righteousness.
You’ll see God at work in places your eyes missed but your prayers never left.

So wherever you are in your journey—early years or later years—
Whether you feel like you’ve got it together or like you just blew it again—
God’s grace is still yours.
His mercy is still new.
His plan is still unfolding.

“The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
—Exodus 14:14

Let’s finish this race well, dear sister.
Not by striving harder—but by surrendering deeper.
Not by demanding more—but by trusting more.

Your home is His.
Your husband is His.
Your children and grandchildren are His.
And so are you.

Held.
Loved.
Known.
Growing in grace.

Always.

Does God Have Ears?

It was an innocent question from a child who was quietly listening, asked with deep sincerity after overhearing the weight of adult conversation. We had been talking about the devastating flooding in Texas, the heartbreak of a shooting during a 4th of July gathering, and the sudden car accident that took the life of a friend. As the grief hung in the air, he quietly asked: Does God have ears?

We all paused.

The question pierced deeper than any news report or social media post could. In a world flooded with tragedy, where is God? Does He hear? Does He care? And if so, why is there so much evil?

The Bible is clear: God is not a detached force, far removed from our pain. He hears, and He hears with the compassion of a loving Father.

“The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry.”
— Psalm 34:15, ESV

“O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice for you and watch.”
— Psalm 5:3, ESV

While God is spirit (John 4:24) and not bound by human form, Scripture uses human language—ears, eyes, hands—so we can grasp the nearness of His presence. His “ears” are not symbolic of distance but a declaration of intimacy. He hears the unspoken cries, the questions whispered in the night, and the tears that fall without words.

The Word of God itself is alive and powerful, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit:

“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”
— Hebrews 4:12, ESV

God’s Word reveals Him fully to us—He knows our hearts and hears our deepest cries.

The question of evil isn’t new. It’s as old as Eden. The Bible tells us that God created everything good:

“And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.”
— Genesis 1:31, ESV

But when sin entered through Adam and Eve, so did death, suffering, and separation from God.

“Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned.”
— Romans 5:12, ESV

From that moment, everything changed. Creation itself became tainted. It groans with the weight of sin:

“For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.”
— Romans 8:22, ESV

Floods, violence, accidents—they are not just natural events or freak tragedies. They are reminders that we live in a fallen world, groaning for redemption.

But God’s desire is not that we remain unchanged by this brokenness. Instead, He calls us to be transformed:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
— Romans 12:2, ESV

Recently, I painted our ship a deep black. I’d seen the white sail before—many times, in fact—but I had never noticed how striking it was until it was framed against the darkness of the hull. The contrast was so vivid, it demanded my attention.

Sometimes, that’s what evil does. It gets our attention. Not because God causes it all—but because He allows us to see light more clearly against the dark.

“When your judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world learn righteousness.”
— Isaiah 26:9b, ESV

God doesn’t waste pain. While He doesn’t always shield us from suffering, He uses it to stir our hearts, to awaken our souls, to call us back to what matters most. He allows us to feel the full weight of a broken world so we will long for the hope of restoration.

“For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.”
— Hebrews 12:6, ESV

It’s not punishment—it’s invitation. The sound of pain can become the trumpet call to return to God.

In the midst of suffering, we have a great High Priest who understands our weaknesses perfectly:

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
— Hebrews 4:15–16, ESV

When evil and suffering threaten to overwhelm, God’s comfort is real and tangible. The apostle Paul reminds us that God

“comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”
— 2 Corinthians 1:4, ESV

This is a comfort that passes understanding because it flows from the heart of God himself.

Our vision is limited. We see through the keyhole of time, but God sees the full narrative. We see snapshots of loss, but He sees the arc of redemption. He sees the eternal. We see what’s in front of us; He sees what’s ahead of us.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.”
— Isaiah 55:8, ESV

We ask “Why?” but God is always working on the deeper “Who.” Who will you turn to? Who will you trust? Who will redeem what feels lost?

In the moments when we don’t understand, we can rest in the character of the One who does. He is not absent. He is not silent. He is Emmanuel—God with us.

That question—“Does God have ears?”—still echoes in my heart. It’s a question of pain. But it’s also a question of hope. It’s a belief, hidden within the ache, that if God does hear… then maybe He will act.

And He has.
He came.
Jesus entered our pain, bore our sin, and suffered evil’s worst blow so we could be made whole.

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows… He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities.”
— Isaiah 53:4–5, ESV

So yes, dear child—God has ears. He hears more than we can speak. He sees more than we can understand. And in the middle of a dark and broken world, He is still pointing us to the white sail—the hope of Christ—shining bright against the black canvas of a fallen creation.