We Have This Hope

Hi friend! I’m Emily. I’m so glad you’re here!I’m a former therapist turned writer and theology student. In the early mornings and middle minutes while kids are at school, you can find me in my home office writing about hope, grief, spiritual practices, and Biblical literacy—all things that have changed my life and light me up inside. Today’s email is part of a monthly series I’ve been writing for over 2 years called So I Won’t Forget. It’s the overflow of a life full of the goodness of God and the simple way I practice remembering as a spiritual discipline, something I talk about a lot. It’s my most read and most personal writing.I hope you’ll stick around!Prefer to listen? Let me join you on a walk via the audio narration of this post. You can find it right here in the app or wherever you listen to the We Have This Hope podcast. 🤎🎧🎙️#1…on gerbils & bracing my coreI own two gerbils.This is noteworthy only because I grew up in a home where animals were essentially not welcome. I know that sounds harsh, but I come from a long line of women who don’t like to touch animals. Dare I say, myself included. Inviting them to live in your home has generationally been a bit of a foreign concept—save the time my sister and I bought a miniature dachshund while my parents were out of town and they kept it long after we moved out. My grandmother once saved a cat who had gotten stuck in a car window and the real miracle wasn’t that the cat had been saved, but that my grandmother had been the one to do it. This story became family lore: The Time Meme Touched a Cat.Many moons have passed and I now find myself in a home with four pets: a fish, a big, hairy golden retriever, and two gerbils—Nutmeg and Snowball, to be exact.On the eve of our twins’ eighth birthday, we succumbed to what can only be described as relentless begging from our youngest daughter who clearly did not inherit the “it’s gross to touch animals” gene. As is often the case with mothers, I walked into PetCo that day propelled only by selfless love because, let me be clear in conveying, I had (and continue to have) zero interest in owning gerbils. Alas, we marched back to our car with two poorly assembled cardboard containers holding essentially mice that we paid money to bring into our home. I thought people paid to have mice removed from their home? Why does this feel backward?Once home we rearranged her room to fit a cage much larger than I expected and filled it with the essentials including toilet paper rolls. Did you know they eat the cardboard from paper towels and toilet paper because their teeth never stop growing? Like beavers, people, tiny beavers who live in the upstairs of my house. File this under things I never thought would be true about me: Gerbil owner. Mother of twins. Later that night I made the twins take a picture with me—one I’ve been taking since the day they were born. With a fifty pound kid on each hip, I had to bend my knees and brace my core just to hold them. I certainly couldn’t have walked up and down the stairs with them in tow like I used to. I went to bed looking at old pictures of them on the day they entered the world, both at just four pounds each, the tiniest babies I had ever seen. Eight years ago, this same core was effectively ripped wide open so that those two babies could enter the world and change the course of history forever. I’ll never get over the miracle—their lives, the fact that my core went back together, all of it. I marvel at their lives in the same way I marvel at those two little gerbils upstairs—things I never thought would be true of me and yet things that have settled into the reality of my life. I think my takeaway this year is that sometimes we learn to steady ourselves, to brace our core and hold rightly the things we’ve been given to steward, but often this wisdom comes on the heels of tremendous surprise, delight, and a healthy dose of motherly surrender. This month I found all of that at the strange intersection of kids birthdays and pet ownership. Here’s to Nutmeg and Snowball, may their surprises be contained to their cage and may they continue to bring us delight—but like a normal gerbil-amount of it. Let’s not get too crazy. #2…singing in public There are only a few times in my life that I have sung in public with a microphone. One of them was my senior year of high school when I played Sandy in Grease. You read that correctly—yours truly was Sandra Dee, circa 2004. To be honest, I had almost no business being cast in that role, but at the time I was the only blonde girl in the theater production class and I suppose that qualified me more than my actual singing abilities. These days I keep my singing to strictly low stakes environments and if you lived in my home or rode in my car, you would know that to be true. The older I get, the more I marvel at people who have the ability to perform or share an art form publicly. I suppose that’s what writing is although with writing I can hide behind my computer and I can edit. In my mind, there is really nothing more vulnerable than singing in front of an audience.And that is exactly what my son did this past week.He is the bravest kid I know, full of a confidence tempered by a humility I hope he never loses. For the last six months, he’s been taking ukulele lessons. It’s a totally delightful instrument and perfect for an eight-year-old trying to make his mom swoon over his future guitar-playing skills. For the recital this year, he decided he would both pluck and strum his song. But in order to strum, he would have to use his voice to sing the melody—something he, without hesitation, decided was a perfectly suitable thing to do. This boy sings all over our house, particularly in the bathroom because…well…acoustics and time. He spent the week leading up to the recital bellowing out the words to “Everybody Loves Saturday Night,” a simple song that will forever be embedded in the brains of the other four Curzons who live here and use the same bathrooms.On the night of the recital, he was the only performer to play an instrument while singing along and I was so proud of him. Sure, there were a couple of notes that maybe fell a bit sharp, but overall that kid marched up to the front, did his thing, and bowed ever so quickly as he ran over to sit back down. One of my favorite things about being a parent is knowing intimately the subtleties of your own child’s facial expressions. His little grin was the perfect blend of relief, pride, and the twinkle of a new neuropathway forming to say I can do hard things.It left me wondering today about whether my face ever tells the story of the hard things I have done or continue to do: parenting, seminary, generally trying to be a kind and healthy human. I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, that it’s hard work out there being a adult, let alone one who is hoping to mature in the ways of Jesus and embrace hardship as discipline. I suppose that’s why sabbath has been at the forefront of my mind lately. I need to rest in order to do hard things.And so the queue I’m taking from my kid this weekend is not necessarily singing in public, but rather embracing a little bit of rest so that come Monday I can do hard things again. Maybe this is why…🎵 Everybody Loves Saturday Night 🎵…#3…Lectio Divina I am writing this to remember a spiritual practice that is forming me right now—and to remind “Future Emily” that she has a repertoire of things to draw from depending on the season. Lectio Divina is an ancient, contemplative Benedictine practice used for centuries as a form of spiritual reading. For most of my life, I’ve approached Scripture through study—digging into context, language, translations—and this is far and away my favorite way to engage my imagination and intellect spiritually. I love to understand how the pieces fit into the whole and God has used this deep work to form me in ways still rippling effect in my daily life. But my life also includes groceries and laundry and school drop-offs and friendships that need nurturing and bodies that need moving and floors that need mopping and you get the idea because you live one too. Sometimes in-depth study can’t squeeze its way onto the plate like it used to when my only responsibility was maybe going to class on time. As I’ve leaned further into the Anglican tradition and into my seminary work thus far, I’ve discovered some contemplative practices that have opened a “side door” into spiritual formation—the most recent of which is Lectio Divina. In a recent class cohort, we walked through the process in small groups and it essentially looked like this:Someone read a passage of Scripture 4 times. Each time followed by 2 eternally long minutes of silence. Resist the urge to interpret or analyze. Invite the Spirit to draw out a word or phrase. Listen and reflect and receive. Here’s an article with significantly more detail. The app Lectio 365 is another good place to start. Or read through Eugene Peterson’s Eat This Book (an OG favorite of mine) for a more thorough overview on this general posture toward reading the Bible. For those of us who grew up in the Bible Belt in the late 90s and early 2000s, the word “meditation” might carry some long-buried negative connotation not too dissimilar from that one time you tried yoga and weren’t sure if your mother would approve. I’m only slightly kidding. In general, there was a time in our Western evangelical traditions when mediation or the idea of listening, rather than studying inductively, sounded a bit too “woo-woo” for comfort. The reality is that the practice of mediation has been embedded in global Christian traditions for centuries and I can’t help but wonder if some of us have been missing out. Perhaps in this season, contemplative prayer and meditation is exactly what I need. In ways almost too innumerable to count, the way of contemplation is wildly counterintuitive to the inertia of my inner and outer life. I know someone reading this can relate. In these slower postures, I still find the Scriptures to be ripe with wisdom. I can spend an entire day dwelling on two words from a verse in Colossians and feel connected to the work of God even while I walk through a seemingly relentless to-do list. This may be a totally foreign concept to you, or you may be among the wealth of writers and readers who have been practicing this for a decade. Wherever you land, I hope you might consider trying on something contemplative like Lectio Divina and seeing how it feels—especially if you find yourself in an overflowing season of life. The Spirit is there, moving and speaking—this is our reminder to slow down and listen. So many of you responded kindly to my most recent essay The Year of Whole Numbers. I can’t tell you have meaningful it is to hear back from readers. Some of you told me over coffee and some of you commented from another part of the country. However you responded, I wanted to express my gratitude and my heart’s desire that this work would play some small part in turning your thoughts and affections toward the God who speaks through writing.That being said, I owe you something: the last half of our Stack Study on Proverbs and I’ve decided to release all of that via email on May 14th. There, I said it, so now I have a deadline. I will be releasing each lesson via Substack only as those get through final edits so if you’re eager to do something with them, you can watch for those to roll out in-app. Otherwise, subscribers will get the full thing in their inbox on May 14th. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

March rushed in like the wind sweeping down the plains here in Oklahoma. We braced ourselves, and our flower beds, for the whiplash that often comes with fake Spring and premature Summer. Shakespeare says to beware. I say remember. This is (the ides of) March and here are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…when you don’t have a brotherI did not grow up with brothers. In fact, the closest thing I had to a brother was the boy across the street who I now call my husband. My father is a gentle man and one who lived well with a house full of rowdy women. I still remember one Sunday morning as a teenager, in what can only be described as my glitter-as-eye-shadow era, I came bouncing down the hallway with purple lipstick freshly lathered on my lips only to walk straight into my Dad who had just donned a crisp white oxford shirt. My purple lipstick left a precise imprint on the pocket and it was immediately clear that there would be no salvaging things. I take a bit of delight in the fact that my son is living a similar experience. He has a mother who is by most measures into girlie things—although I have toned down the glitter—and God blessed him with not one, but two sisters. I tell him often that it takes a special kind of man to have multiple sisters, not many are cut out for it. He smiles knowingly and I’m reminded that he is much like his grandfather in both kindness and patience. But there are times I wonder what it would be like for him to have a brother.Over spring break, we traveled with some dear friends who have an opposite family makeup—mostly boys and one sister. We love this family so much and time with them is a breeze. Much of the weekend I spent smiling to myself over the fact that for once in his life, my son was not outnumbered. And oh the ways he embraced it wholeheartedly! Roller coasters, bare chests, basketball, mini-golf, stinky laundry all over the floor, and nearly constant eating. He shared a room with his buddy and one evening as I was helping tidy things up, I noticed they had hung their wide-brimmed golf hats on the lamps of their respective night stands in a sort of synchronous way—a subtle, but adorable gesture. It’s a funny thing to watch your kids grow and wonder about how your family dynamic is shaping them. What aspects of who they are were born when they came squealing out of the womb and what aspects are being formed as they sit in the middle seat to keep their sisters from fighting on the way to the grocery store? So much of my son’s temperament is perfectly matched for having sisters and I like to think God had this in mind as He formed him. There may be a time he resents his lot in this family of mostly girls, but I do hope he’ll come to wear it as a badge of honor. One that my husband is currently training for on the precipice of raising teenage girls and one my father wears like a medal of honor from his years in the trenches.If nothing else, he could not be among a more esteemed bunch in my eyes. #2…a helluva Costco run I have a love/hate relationship with Costco. Sometimes it’s sort of exciting to come home with a van load as if I am some kind of pioneer mother coming back to the fort with a big loot. I holler to my kids to come out and help me unload the wagon like I’ve been gone for days trading goods the next town over. But sadly it’s usually more of a modern day ordeal that takes no less than 2 hours, plus 30 minutes of driving and 58 trips back and forth between my kitchen and the trunk of my car. Because I bemoan going, I like to drag out time in between trips as long as possible so as to make subsequent Costco trips that much more logistically complicated. I have never spent less than $500 and if that gives you sticker shock, let me remind you that I have 3 elementary aged kids who insist on eating every day.Monday mornings at Costco are about as good as it gets. I don’t want to brag, but I am an executive member. It turns out if you spend enough money, it cues the cashier to ask you about an executive membership and I was asked every single time for a year until the lady behind me in line at Christmas said “oh honey, just do it…” So I did and every time I walk in an hour before it opens to shop in peace I think about that woman with great affection. On my most recent pilgrimage, the man posted at the exit took my receipt and started the performative counting they do to ensure you aren’t sneaking by with an extra bag of 500 tortillas. He was less rushed this day because it was a unicorn Monday and midway through his counting, he shook his head, smiled and said “You did a number….no, you did a helluva number.” Then he chuckled so loudly it echoed against the warehouse walls. I suppose I could have taken offense at his reaction to my cart, but instead he had me giggling the whole way through the parking lot. That’s right sir, I did do a helluva number today at Costco and frankly, I needed someone to name it. Sometimes the drudgery of Mondays is enough to ruin a whole week, then we layer on the heavy loads we’re all pushing around hoping to gain momentum, and it can sour a whole season. Most of the time we can’t shirk our responsibilities (the kids have to eat, remember?) so I wonder if what we actually need is some counterweight, something to balance the heaviness in the form of laughter and being seen by a stranger. The Costco employee wasn’t mocking me, he was validating me with a shaking head that came from what I can only imagine to be a place of knowing. I bet he’s pushed a cart or two in his day. So if nothing else, let people acknowledge your load, try to name theirs, laugh a little, and for goodness sakes, get yourself an executive membership. #3…a letter to the editor One of the gifts of growing older, or perhaps realities, is the ability to see things through adult eyes that you once only saw with a childlike sort of wonder. Turning 40 is but a breath around the corner for me and I’ve lately been thinking about my grandparents, wondering about their lives as real people rather than the heroic figures of my childhood. Most prominent among them is my Grandad who died when I was coming of age in the early years of college and who looms largely (and ever so fondly) in my imagination as a little girl. I recently drove back to the town where he lived his entire life and where as little girls my sister and I would trek into pastures unknown with our cousins—a bunch of city kids getting a taste of country life and relishing the freedom that came with galavanting around without parental supervision. Among the hallowed section line roads of Creek County, my Grandad served his community as teacher, principal, superintendent, farmer, realtor, and eventually for a brief stint, as State Representative. I remember campaigning wearing a red t-shirt that said “Vote for RC Lester, my Grandad” and passing out RC Cola to the locals. I suppose it tracks that the thing I remember most is the soda and the t-shirt rather than the fact that my grandfather was respected and beloved by his community such that he beat out the incumbent on his first bid for office. Recently, I stumbled upon a local newspaper article from 2005 among a pile of other nostalgic things being organized at my parent’s house. It caught my eye because it had obviously been laid out to read and the opening line to this Letter to the Editor said “Dear Editor, RC Lester wore many hats.” A entire half page had been devoted to espousing not so much the accomplishments of my grandfather, although those were certainly mentioned, but more so his character as a friend and educator. Grandad died rather swiftly to pancreatic cancer in 2005 and this letter had obviously been written with great care by a longtime family friend who had known him both personally and professionally. We treasured conversations with him and trusted his sage advice on just about any subject, personal or otherwise. RC spoke not so much with authority as reason. He was not one to shoot from the hip. You might ask him a question and experience several moments of silence as his hands mused about rubbing his palms diagonally. We often quoted him and to do so would settle an issue. - Steve Lalli, The Bristow News, September 14, 2005I smiled through tears later that night as I read the article aloud to my husband and oldest daughter, remembering some of his familiar and timeless mannerisms, ones that I see reflected in my own father now and find so utterly endearing. The beauty in discovering this gem of an article is that it confirmed for adult Emily what little girl Emily knew to be true of her grandfather. That he was kind and serious and uncomplicated and sincere and, most of all, lion-hearted. It is a strange thing to build a life where people most dear to you are not known by those who were once most dear to you. I wish my children could know Grandad, that they could experience him waiting at the gate for us to pull up wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, hear him whistle as the cattle come running up the pasture because they know his voice, or watch him mercy kill a turtle who swallowed a fishing hook like it’s just a regular Tuesday. I suppose this will always be one of the great mysteries of the Kingdom to come. Will we get to know, really know, those who shaped our lives before they started? Will we one day hug their necks in a knowing sort of way and will their eyes see the story of our lives as we get to reflect on theirs? I’m banking on it and in the mean time, I’ll try my best not to forget. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. - 1 Corinthians 13:12To my dear WHTH regulars, I feel like I have been somewhat MIA this semester and I attribute that almost entirely to seminary classes. I recently finished a New Testament class and it was equal parts drinking from a fire hose, equal parts wonderful. I hope you’ll stay with me, read, please do comment, and share with friends as you’re able.I have a one-off article to share hopefully next week that I’ve been painstakingly distracted by and then plan to finish up the study on Proverbs before the Summer! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Hi friend! I’m Emily. I’m so glad you’re here! I’m a former therapist turned writer and theology student. In the early mornings and middle minutes while kids are at school, you can find me in my home office writing about hope, grief, spiritual practices, and Biblical literacy—all things that have changed my life and light me up inside. Today’s email is part of a monthly series I’ve been writing for over 2 years called So I Won’t Forget. It’s the overflow of a life full of the goodness of God and the simple way I practice remembering as a spiritual discipline, something I talk about a lot. It’s my most read and most personal writing. I hope you’ll stick around! What am I supposed to do with you, February? The more iterations of So I Won’t Forget I churn out over the years, the more I notice the subtleties of the seasons. More than any other month, February is somehow both confusingly too short and requiring of more grit. Dare I say that February is littered with more holding out for the next thing than even late August? I think it does and I’m bothered by it every year as I sit to write these essays.This is likely the reason you’re receiving February’s edition in early March. That and the paper I had to write for seminary last week that conjured up many long-buried feelings of paper-writing dread and hovered squarely on my shoulders until late Thursday when I finally pressed “submit.” I wonder what long-buried feelings tried to sneak through the cracks of your exterior this potentially grueling or boring February? Or what sat on your shoulders so comfortably, you’re just now beginning to notice it was heavy after all? Whatever the case for you, I wonder if you might practice a little remembering this month. Find a quiet space, take a deep breath with your hands laid open in your lap, and ask God to bring to the forefront of your mind the moments when you may have missed His goodness. By way of the Spirit, I’m confident you’ll find them.Here are mine. This is February and these are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…A million questions with a side of bad breathThere’s a speed by which my youngest daughter navigates the world. We used to joke that she had an on/off switch. She was either moving her body or she was asleep, no in between. As she’s grown from toddler to full-blown kid, her busyness has developed a bit more nuance, as personalities have a tendency to do. She can melt your heart with a fierce running to jumping hug and turn right around to incite a riot over where everyone is sitting at the dinner table. Meek she is not and I say that with a sort of womanly pride. Give me all the strong daughters.Except no one warns you that the real work of raising strong daughters is cultivating your own layer of thick skin because their strength comes with a side of brutal honesty. One that lacks the scaffolding of age and the skill of what professional communicators call “the compliment sandwich.” That’s right, no free compliments unless they want to borrow something from your closet, look at your phone, or want you to stop for a slushie on the way home from school. Last week, after spending the majority of the my time hyper-focused on a seminary paper, which is code for I left it all on the field intellectually-speaking, I solidly switched to mom-mode and spent the remainder of my afternoon chasing everyone around the house. Sometimes literally, but more metaphorically. I had almost nothing left to give when my youngest found me in the fleeting quiet moment of unloading the dishwasher and fired off a round of questions that went something like this:Her: Can I have a snack?Me: What have you had already?Her: I don’t know. Can you see if so and so wants to play?Me: Get something from the pantry, no candy please. They aren’t home from school yet.Her: Can I have a popsicle? Can you see if so and so wants to play? Watch this! (Cartwheels across living room)Me: I can text their mom. No popsicle, get something from the pantry. Her: What’s for dinner? Can we have mac and cheese? Will you play with me? Me: Chicken sausage and veggies. You had mac and cheese for lunch, remember?Her: Uuuuuuggggghhhhh, there’s nothing to do. Will you play with me? I’m going outside. Anyway, did you brush your teeth today? If I were to re-write the story of that conversation, I might have her say something along the lines of “Mom, I see you working really hard this week. Why don’t you finish unloading the dishwasher while I grab a string cheese independently from the refrigerator? I’ll even shut the door when I’m done. I’m headed outside to peacefully invite my siblings to play! Love you, Mom!”But that is a world I will never live in and the reality is I’m not sure I actually want to. It’s the real zingers in life—the ones that do occasionally feel like a kick when you’re already down—that remind us we’re not machines and neither are the people who live in our homes. This essay is not going the way of machine critique, but it is a plug for the irreplaceable resource that is our humanity, namely the humanity of our children who offer to us the kind of refining you can’t buy in a store or ask a computer to generate. Had I brushed my teeth that day? Yes, but in truth it had been a solid 10 hours and I most certainly had bad breath. Did I need to be reminded in that exact moment? Who’s to say other than the one whose lack of filter keeps me humble? No one could have delivered the feedback quite like her. #2…Out of the depths of Flu BSpeaking of humanity, a moment of silence for the flu that raged war on my body and the bodies of many people I love this past month. I hate being sick. And sure, the obvious response is to say no one likes being sick, but please hear me when I say I truly haaaaattttteee being sick. I’ve spent years cultivating an attitude of defiance toward the whole notion of needing to cancel my plans and do the annoying work of convalescing. I have an advanced degree in “it’s probably just allergies…” and somewhere out there I have a husband reading this and rolling his eyes. Alas, February got the better of me and I’m here to report it was not just allergies. It was Flu B and it kicked my butt. I tumbled head first into the hazy world of intermittent naps and sweaty sheets and wondering what time it was and whether the sun was shining. I had a post-viral headache for days long after I resolved enough was enough and proceeded with my regular life in spite of feeling like I’d been run over.As I type this I’m reminded of the many I know who suffer from chronic pain—my sister was one of them—and I have zero room to talk. My body managed the viral onslaught as is customary of a healthy immune system so I will not pretend to hold my two weeks of angst up as a memoir on suffering. But I did walk away with a slightly changed perspective on what it looks like to slowly exhale my need for care from others. That’s what it felt like—a slow exhale. Breathe in: There’s so much I need to do. Breathe out: Yet all my needs are met.Isn’t that the great irony of being a person safe within the Kingdom of God? There is truly much to be done, a great work ready for our participation, yet it is simultaneously a work headed in the same redeemed direction whether we hop on board or not. I think the grace of the occasional sickness might be this exact reminder. At least, it was for me this month and so my earbuds are attuned to the words of this song while I go about my day free from a headache, yet keenly aware of my need for God to hold my whole life, physical body and all, together in the center of His love. #3…Sideline siblings & another note on basketballWe attended approximately 438 basketball games this season. That’s a rough estimate based largely on feelings rather than actual data (my kind of math) and it translated to a ton of what I affectionately call sideline sibling activities. I know this rings true for all younger siblings and perhaps a few oldest who aren’t yet able to drive or stay home alone. We have all of that going on at our house so I like to think we’ve mastered the art of grabbing shoes, audiobooks, doodle pages, and a snack while toppling into a van already littered with the things we just shoved into our tiny, random bags. Toward the end of the season I started to pay closer attention to what was happening behind all the literal and logistical noise. Here are a few things I observed…* Makeshift pickleball using an old ball and a rope. * 4 boys piled in closely over the pages of a Space book. * A million trips to the bathroom with friends. No one is more knowledgeable about rural Oklahoma upper elementary bathrooms than my kids. * Collaborative doodling. * Smacking. * Sharing of Doritos—sadly the most healthy snack choice available. I’ll never understand the nacho cheese. * Baby doting of the most precious kind. It’s magical to be only 7 and think you’re the cool older kid. * Yelling and then asking why we’re yelling. * Shared celebration and shared disappointment. * Learning each others’ names and then remembering them the following week. Last week I listened to the most incredible podcast episode at the behest of my husband and one our dear friends. It’s an interview with Ben Sasse, an impressively credentialed former senator and university president who recently announced a terminal pancreatic cancer diagnosis at age 53. I’ll not be able to do justice to the episode by written summary, but suffice it to say this one will make you feel things. When reflecting on his ongoing work of “redeeming the time,” Sasse said this: “You can play a lot of basketball in the last 60 seconds…” I spent all week thinking about it and I’ve come to the conclusion that if that’s not true, what are we even doing?This season of sporting for our young family has been full to the brim. I can’t say I wouldn’t do a few things differently because I would. I’d holler less about getting in the car quickly and I’d care much less about the outcomes of games with scores even now I can’t remember. But I can say we played a lot of basketball, the fullest kind, the real kind that included sidelines and siblings and snacks and sometimes questioning everything. This ball and hoop game at its worst develops a little grit and at its best teaches us how to live. I know what sounds hyperbolic, but I really believe it. Listen to Ben Sasse put a bow on it and tell me I’m wrong. Don’t forget tissues. As always, I get to the end of these and feel profoundly grateful to anyone reading to the very end. Please don’t stop here though. I have two asks: 1) Take what you see here and try your own hand at it. Maybe writing is not your jam, but I contend even the non-writers can make remembering a discipline. Like all worthy habits, the results are in the long haul so you should probably get started…do you have a journal nearby? 2) Consider reading through my guide for studying Proverbs. I’m rolling it out over the entire semester so you can take what you see and go slowly…no rush, no pressure, just a resource for you that I’ll keep offering for free! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome friends to the first installment of So I Won’t Forget for 2026!If you’re new to We Have This Hope, you can find out what this is all about right here. If you’re an OG (or my mom who happens to be the real OG), I’ll be keeping this introduction shorter than normal because I have a lot of words for you today.These essays are the overflow of a grateful heart. I never finish writing them without being astounded by the goodness of God in my ordinary life. This is the consistent return for the spiritual discipline of remembering. I hope you’ll savor them as you read, laugh a little in between, and consider doing this work yourself. Prefer to listen? Pop in your headphones and take me with you on a walk. Read all the way to the end for an update on the podcast and an announcement about what’s coming next week! #1…I Have a Dream cakeMy eldest has an affinity for baking. I know what you’re thinking…what an adorable hobby! And you’d be correct because baking at age 11 does check a lot of boxes. It’s tech-free, creative, translatable to useful skills, delicious, and positions her in the center of the house while working independently. Sprinkle in a little math and it’s basically the unicorn of pre-teen hobbies. When we were drowning in toddlers, people espoused to me the wonders of kids old enough to use the kitchen on their own and that’s turned out to be somewhat true. It’s quite nice when they can grab a snack, eat it on their own, and then throw the trash away—your only involvement is to affirm the whole process. That’s much better than wiping the floor underneath their high chairs for the umpteenth time, but what I found missing from all the laud about childhood kitchen independence was any warning about the cost by way of character development. So dear reader, I will not perpetuate the myth that as children grow more independent in the kitchen they will not require your assistance. They will and it looks a lot like emotional coaching with a side of very clear verbal instructions. Results may vary, but I offer up a cautionary tale about a Nutella cake that cost me 5 hours and ended with the entirety of Dr. King’s I Have a Dream speech. Parents of toddlers, consider yourself warned.I found her in the kitchen donning an apron and a sidekick from across the street. When I inquired about the setup, she told me she wanted to bake a cake to share with neighbors on MLK Day. How could I possibly object to such a noble endeavor? I nodded along and snagged my iced coffee to sip while chatting with friends in the sunshine of my driveway. Flash forward to a time later that evening when the sun was no longer shining and the cake was still not done. For unknown reasons, our top oven won’t reach temperature unless you chose specific buttons and if someone doesn’t know this, say the 11 year old baking a two layered cake, it can result in wildly different textures and colors. By 6PM we had one perfectly golden, rounded layer and one light beige and very dense layer. We also had an abundance of tears about the disparity between them. Cue the aforementioned emotional coaching. Half an hour later and with much encouragement, she began tackling the Nutella-based icing while insisting that she did not, I repeat DID NOT, need any help from the adults. I learned shortly thereafter that the recipe had called for 24 ounces of salted butter which she melted in the microwave for slightly longer than recommended. More tears for her and deep breaths from me over this darling cake that appeared to be stealing our evening. Ever the hero in these situations, Dad stepped in to calmly demonstrate how to ice a two-layer cake even though I’m fairly confident he’s never actually done that before. And by 8PM the whole thing was heartily complete and resting under the shelter of a glass cake stand. The next day she called the neighbors over for cake and stood proudly in the corner of our dining room holding a book she’d brought home from school. With an air of poised classroom teacher, she read slowly and deliberately while we ate, holding open the pictures for all to see in between each paragraph. Halfway through her reading, I realized she was sharing Dr. King’s I Have a Dream speech word for word. This wasn’t just a cute picture book, this was his infamous speech peacefully calling out injustice and affirming the equality of all people made in the image of God. When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: “Free at last! Free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”These hallowed words came out of my girl’s mouth while mine was full of Nutella and I wondered in my heart what compelled her to facilitate such a staunch reminder of Dr. King’s legacy. Was she parroting what she’d seen through teachers, neighbors, friends, and family? Was she responding to a nagging sense of justice that she seems to have accompanied her out of the womb? Or was the Spirit of God calling these beautiful sensibilities into the next phase of maturity, a phase that produces that perfect blend of gentleness and wisdom and measured action? Please let all the answers be yes. When I set out to be officially laid-back about a cake that cost 5 hours with a side of my sanity, I hadn’t anticipated what I’d find on the other side of it. I mostly imagined that I was fostering confidence in the kitchen and encouraging creativity, but it was so much more than that. If I’d jumped in to rescue my mostly white kitchen, I might have missed my daughter rehearsing how to use her voice to speak truth in love, to name injustice, and to rally others to join her in these holy efforts. I’m still finding remnants of splattered Nutella that I could begrudgingly wipe up while wondering about a day when I won’t have a kitchen filled with little creatives or I could count them the markings of a sacred space where people grow into maturity. In some seasons that maturity looks like how to balance a spoon all the way to your mouth and in other seasons, it looks like how to turn curiosity into overflowing compassion. What a privilege to wipe the floor for all of them. #2…How basketball teaches us to be humanWe’re in the thick of basketball season at our house which mostly means calculating the time it takes to get from one rural Oklahoma town to the next. In a real life conversation a few weeks ago, I legitimately did not know what town I was in—somewhere that started with a C and was big enough to have an elementary basketball team, but otherwise no clue. Basketball is a new sport to me. I never played growing up and didn’t pay much attention to it in a college or professional level either. March Madness wasn’t a thing around my girlie household, but I married a Kansas Jayhawk and that changed the basketball landscape for me going forward. Save the time Dustin finished a game standing on top of our coffee table blaring All I Do Is Win by DJ Khaled, I’d say we’re fairly laid back fans. We make brackets, snuggle up to watch fourth quarters, and play out in the cul-de-sac a little. I’m the least qualified person to be chronicling the greatness of this game, but sometimes a mid-life convert can shed a fresh light on old things. We’re learning so much at our house through this fundamentally lovely game so allow me to indulge a few metaphors for the sake of remembering a formational and precious season. * Pass…You cannot do it all on your own. Sometimes the only way to get the job done is to surrender to the help of another. * Run…It’s one thing to be restful, but at some point our legs were made to run. Use speed at the right time and, for goodness sakes, don’t walk when you’re supposed to be running. * Arms up…There are times when you’re still in something, but you’ve also done all you can. This is when you calculate your risk and simply have to go arms up. It’s anything but passive—it’s strategic and utterly important. * Block…Defense wins championships so we’re told…set a boundary, be respectfully firm, and don’t compromise your values. * Foul…Some are personal, some are technical. You’re allowed a few with a bit of grace, but there’s a limit for the safety of others and the purposes of the game. Forgive when you’re fouled. Extend a hand to the one you foul. And get back to work.* Dribble…As is the case many times in life, you can’t skip certain steps or you’ll have to walk it all the way back. Pressing forward is not the same as barreling forward without a little skill. Don’t forget to look up. * Get open…There’s always repetitive and important work to be doing even when you aren’t the center of attention. Stay curious, move around, and when the time is right, call for it. #3…Not a book review“Having and defending and celebrating the Bible instead of receiving, submitting to, and praying the Bible, masks an enormous amount of non-reading.”- Eugene H. Peterson, Eat This Book: A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual ReadingThis is not a book review. It will be more akin to a love letter than anything else because twice now I’ve read it and twice now I’ve teared up at the urgency of it all. I closed its pages last week and, standing in our kitchen, emphatically told Dustin “We have GOT to read the Bible more” and I didn’t mean it in the way you’re likely thinking—more devotionals, more quiet times, more regularity out of rigor or duty. I meant we need more of it like we need more vegetables. We need to eat more of it. Get it into our bodies and do the slow work of digesting and metabolizing it so that we are different people because of it.I borrowed this metaphor, of course, from the book I’m about to espouse by the late and prolific Eugene Peterson. Most of us know him from his modern translation of the Bible called The Message, but too few of us know him for his other seemingly hidden works like Eat This Book: A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual Reading. “Language is not primarily informational but revelatory. The Holy Scriptures give witness to a living voice sounding variously as Father, Son and Spirit, addressing us personally and involving us personally as participants. This text is not words to be studied in the quiet preserves of a library, but a voice to be believed and loved and adored in workplace and playground, on the streets and in the kitchen. Receptivity is required.” - Eugene H. PetersonI’ve yet to read anything else that articulates more beautifully an argument for reading the Scriptures in a way that is wholly personal and deeply transformational. Peterson borrows his own metaphor from chapter 10 of John’s Revelation when John attempts to write his vision on the scroll, but the angel instead tells him to eat it. His point in dissecting these strange verses is simply that our interaction with the Scriptures ought to be a lot like eating—savoring, processing, experiencing, ruminating, and ultimately coming back again and again as if our whole lives depended on it. I find this to be such a comfort because it names reading Scripture as embodied work—in my view a much more compelling process than if it required intellect alone. In those seasons and moments when the Bible has astounded me, it has been less about the academics of it all and so much more about the way my insides were nourished. And because I’m in a season of academics, one where I am truly nerding-out about the text, I need to cling to the reality that Rich Mullins so lyrically captured for us in the late 90s: “I did not make it. No, it is making me….” If anything, may this essay live right here so when I re-read my own work, which I occasionally do, I’ll remember how much I love Peterson’s work and how much it felt like a hug from a mentor who put words to an experience that I couldn’t name. Also, I hope you’ll read it and let me know what you think. “Christians don’t simply learn or study or use Scripture; we assimilate it, take it into our lives in such a way that it gets metabolized into acts of love, cups of cold water, missions into all the world, healing and evangelism and justice in Jesus’ name, hands raised in adoration of the Father, feet washed in company with the Son.”- Eugene H. PetersonSome of you have asked me about the We Have This Hope podcast this year and the short answer is that I’m not doing any interviews until later this year. Why? Because I’m in seminary and I’m a mom of 3 and both require me to be healthy.For now, you can except monthly narrations of So I Won’t Forget if you just crave the sound of my voice or perhaps you’re simply more a listener than a reader. I get that. Most importantly…next week I’m rolling out the first installment of a Stack Study on Proverbs. If you have questions or you’re interested in following along, leave a comment and I’ll do my best to fill in the gaps. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

 “I think there are a lot of well-intentioned preparations that can so consume us that we forget why we’re doing them.” - Jen LudwigDid you know Advent is not a 25 day countdown to Christmas? Don’t worry, I am not about to knock the Charlie Brown chocolate Advent calendar we’ve all been eyeing at Costco this week, but I am going to nudge you to rethink how you interact with the season. Do you know what Advent means? Or its significance in Church history? Have you ever wondered if there might be something richer and deeper to the whole practice? Or perhaps longed for a more intentional approach to it for your family?I mulled over all of these questions a few years ago while we were in the thick of babies in high chairs. There had to be something more for us than hurling a Fisher Price baby Jesus to the ground on repeat and reading a few Christmas board books. I started reading more about the liturgical calendar and discovered a rich, seemingly hidden world of rhythms that the Church had been embracing for hundreds of years. We bought a wreath and candles. We invited friends to dinner 4 Sundays in a row. We sang in a tiny dining room, read Scripture, recited repeatable words and all while being clumsy and imperfect. This year my 11 year old asked me with a sense of urgency and longing: “Mom, we’re doing Advent dinners again, right?” She could have asked me a great many things related to Christmas festivities, but this was her first seasonal utterance. Talk about a parenting-ROI that I’ll be tucking away for when I feel discouraged. I share that not to boast as if our family has it all together—we simply do not—but to prove that rhythms over time shape the way we think and feel. They invite us into a story that’s been written for all of time and they form us into people with eyes to see our part in the work of God’s in-breaking kingdom. Today’s episode is such a timely gift because Advent starts Sunday, November 30th and I’m chatting with Jen Ludwig, author and worship leader, about her beautiful book Embracing Advent: Rediscovering Christmas in the Chaos. Jen shares accessible ways to incorporate Advent into our lives with daily reflections and Scripture focused on preparing our hearts for Christ’s coming and grounding us amid the chaos of the season. This one is for the planners out there (hello, me) who need to pause before we fill our calendars with the things that don’t really matter.I hope you’ll tune in NOW before the start of the season. Links to connect with Jen, order her book, and a few other Advent related resources are included below!* Order Jen’s book here: Embracing Advent: Rediscovering Christmas in the Chaos* Find her on Substack, Instagram, and Facebook.* She has a YouVersion devotional perfect for this season!* You heard her mention how she broke the Christmas story up for her kids when they were little. Here’s the resource for replicating that in your own home! * The Andrew Peterson album we chatted about and you MUST listen to if you grew up on Rich Mullins. Or if you didn’t…it’s beautiful stuff.* And the Fisher Price nativity that Jen hilarously called the “you can mess with this” nativity set. A few Advent resources for learning more that I’d heartily recommend:* Ashley Tumlin Wallace on the practice and history of Advent* Kendall Vanderslice and any of her work around Advent and baking.* Danielle Hitchin’s book Sacred Seasons. I consult this year round.* Behold the Lamb of God album - blare it all season until your kids have memorized the entire line of David and you weep when he sings “Gather round ye children come, listen to the old, old story of the power of death undone by an infant born of glory…” This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

What in the world is the Church calendar? I thought it was just Christmas, Easter, and regular days. What does it mean to have a liturgical home? Or better yet, could someone please explain the word liturgical to me like I’m five?Why would this even matter to a life of faith? It feels rather stiff and unemotional. For the one who has ever pondered these questions AND for the one who already knows the answers—this episode is for you. At one time or another, I’ve been both. I discovered the work of Ashley Tumlin Wallace earlier this year via my favorite place on the internet (Substack) and I was blown away by her depth and her accessibility. I knew right away that I wanted to invite her to the podcast because I wanted more people, namely those I love who listen to the show, to know about her work. I don’t think there’s anyone out there talking and teaching more beautifully about how to center our lives around the liturgical Church calendar. And this is holy work because it trickles down from the quiet spaces of our hearts that long to be a part of something grander than what we can see with our eyes. It settles into the every day rhythms of being a real live person and syncs us up with the movement of Christ’s Church around the world and for all of time.  “We were moving with the church that we went to on Sundays and then we were moving with Christians from all over the world.” - Ashley Tumlin Wallace from The Liturgical HomeIn today’s episode, you’ll get to hear parts of Ashley’s story and her heart behind The Liturgical Home. I hope you’ll settle into it like you would settle under a fuzzy blanket with a cup of tea. Maybe throw in some dark chocolate if your day calls for it. Either way, I know you’ll walk away with some rich resources and fresh ideas for how to cultivate a more intentional practice around the Church year. You can connect with Ashley via Instagram or directly at www.ashleytumlinwallace.com. Check out this post she created about Christ the King Sunday. Remember, this day is right around the corner on Sunday, November 23rd this year. Also, she shared about the Daily Office app and here’s the place to find it. Soak it all up because Advent is right around the corner and next week’s guest is a total delight. Jen Ludwig will help you consider how to embrace the season with intentionality and restfulness. She’ll also challenge you to cross some things off your list and don’t we all need to hear that? Can’t wait for you to listen… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

“Birding puts me back in that place of expectation, that place of hopefulness, that place of watching and waiting.” - Courtney EllisSo, what is birding, and what in the world does it have to do with hope? How could it possibly intersect with our experience of grief?Today’s conversation with author and pastor Courtney Ellis will invite you into a world that is happening all around you, but you may have never noticed. Courtney shares how birding—or bird-watching for the newbies like me—is more than mere observation; it’s a deliberate act of attentiveness and presence. It awakens us to God’s good work in creation and allows us to settle into His care for us. In the episode, Courtney explains how birding became a spiritual practice for her, especially during the heightened isolation of the pandemic and the wake of her grandfather’s death. Her story is one of hope and grief and delight with a side of practical application. This one might be the unicorn episode for those of you who need something to do with all your thinking…you know who you are.Courtney Ellis is author, speaker, pastor, and host of “The Thing With Feathers Podcast.” She’s also a birder, encourager, and inspiration-giver based in Orange County, California where she lives with her husband (also a pastor!) and three children. Together they serve Presbyterian Church of the Master.Courtney’s speaking credentials include Wheaton College, MomCo, faith-based retreats, women’s retreats, birding festivals, and dozens of churches, from mainline to evangelical. She holds a Master’s degree in English literature from Loyola University and a Master’s of Divinity from Princeton Theological Seminary, and her seven books have been published with Tyndale House, IVP, and Broadleaf.In this episode, we chat mostly about her book Looking Up: A Birder’s Guide to Hope Through Grief. It’s lovely and available to read right now. Connect with Courtney in all the ways you might connect with someone online:* Substack* Instagram* Her Website* Her podcast - The Thing with Feathers And don’t forget to check out her book Looking Up: A Birder’s Guide to Hope through Grief. Oh and the Merlin app for your birding adventures!In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more resources that will help you step into the liturgical new year. Christ the King Sunday and Advent are just around the corner and I can’t wait for you to hear from two guests who will brighten your imagination for how to engage with the new season! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

You know the feeling you get when you finish having coffee with someone who is equal parts depth and humor and you’re walking to your car thinking things like that was such a breath of fresh air? Or my favorite—I really needed that.This episode will do that for you. Why such a bold claim? Because I lived it, edited it a few weeks later, and I’m still feeling a little bit lighter because of some things my new friend Shelly Snead had to say. Shelly is a writer, seminarian, and the host of The Unperfect Podcast. She’s also a wife of nearly 30 years, a mother of 4 almost grown children, and a generally delightful human being. Her story includes the real stuff of communication in marriage, life in ministry, chaos (her word) in raising children, and learning how to abide in Christ while embracing imperfection. She does all of this with a side of humor that will make you feel like you can take your shoes off and stay awhile. Here are two things she said that I’ve still been thinking about:Sometimes God comes to us a like a thunderclap, like its huge, big, extreme. And sometimes it’s like a sunrise.It’s less about what am I going to learn and more about who am I going to be with.You can find more from Shelly via her website, her Substack, and anywhere you listen to podcasts. Here are links to a few of my favorite posts:And here’s a free resource she’s made available to you—Biblical Affirmations for Living in the Now and the Not Yet. In other news, I’m in the thick of an Old Testament seminary class that’s got my brain on overload, so there’s no better time to scoot off to New York for a weekend of ignoring homework. I’ll be back to reality in no time and the next episode on the docket is a delightful conversation with Courtney Ellis on birding and hope. You read that correctly. Can’t wait for you to hear it! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Friends, the podcast is back! I took a little break from producing new episodes over the summer so that I could be present with my family, but I missed these conversations deeply and I’m thrilled to be returning to the studio. Today I’m kicking off the season with Catherine McNiel who blessed me twice in the making of this episode. The first time when I actually had the conversation and the second time when I edited the episode. Shortly after, I sent her a quick email to simply say I love what you said. And I think you will too. Here are some thing we chat about in no particular order: seasons of doubt or deconstruction and normalizing them in the developmental journey of being a person of faith, motherhood as a spiritual discipline, what its like to co-write a book, the work of a hospital chaplain, and baby teeth as a metaphor for spiritual maturity. Available now in the Substack app, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen.Here’s a few other ways you can connect with Catherine and her good, good work in the world. * Her website* Her latest book that you need to read: Mid-Faith Crisis. Here’s a link to an excerpt that I released on WHTH earlier this year. * Her motherhood book that we chatted about in the episode: Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline* Christianity Today article about the book. An excellent summary written by another fellow Redbud Writer* Her Substack, of courseDon’t forget You Have Done Great Things Study: 8 Weeks on Ezra Nehemiah is available to download now for paid subscribers. Translation: if you become a monthly subscriber for $5 then you’ll have access to the download. Hear my heart behind paid subscriptions—I’m still learning the best ways to make quality content and to resource those who’ve decided to support We Have This Hope. If the paywall gets in the way of you doing this study, please send me a DM. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I just saw a meme that said “How did we go from June 1st to June 27th in just 3 days?” This sums things up rather accurately in my little world. We’ve simultaneously been out of school long enough for name-brand boredom to set in—the kind that harkens back to the days when my sister and I would watch MTV’s TRL countdown and scrounge together enough quarters to order a cheese pizza for delivery. We’re also happily in that middle space of Summer, donning crispy pink cheeks and anticipating a long vacation with everyone else in the travel toiletry section of Target.Life has been simple and sweet over here, perhaps more than normal because our to-do list shrank dramatically this month and frankly it needed to. As I sat down a few days ago to begin drafting this remembering essay, the ordinary-ness of my life felt palpable. What do I even have to write about? Has anything happened of significance?To what shouldn’t be my surprise, a few minutes of review is all it took—opening the app I use to capture things, some silence, and an iced latte—suddenly the good stuff came into view, the beauty in these ordinary days. Perhaps you’ve heard of Tish Harrison Warren’s book, Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Everyday Life. This work delighted me from the first time I heard the title. In it she reflects on the utterly formational process of being a real person with a real life—one who ultimately has to do the dishes at the end of the day. Who among us doesn’t need to be reminded that our ordinary days can be formational ones, still led by the Spirit, lived out in sync with the God who made us and invites us to participate in His kingdom? I certainly did this month…This is June and here are the things I don’t want to forget. “The new life into which we are baptized is lived out in days, hours, and minutes. God is forming us into a new people. And the place of that formation is in the small moments of today.” - Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary#1…on the floor where real work is done.I have a client who owes me quite a bit of money. I haven’t sent her an invoice because I know she can’t pay and because she lives with me right now. She’s also my daughter so in the therapy world we have what the professionals call a very serious dual relationship. I kid, obviously. The day my husband arrived home to a scene of two out of three children tucked away in their respective rooms doing who-knows-what because I had been with the other one for an hour talking about our big feelings, I jokingly said “she owes me $350.” As if that was ever my hourly rate… The truth is I had reached the bottom of the well in terms of my ability to pull out creative, non-yelling, approaches to our girl who is quite fierce and often times relentless. Any parent knows what I mean by this. You’ve read books, pray hopefully, talk about it with your spouse in the quiet of the evening so you can be ready for the next day, and go to sleep feeling a little less defeated because tomorrow you’ll be equipped. Then first thing in the morning your cute plan collides with the reality that is a human being and you wonder how much time will pass before they grow into the next stage of development. Tomorrow? Will it be tomorrow?On my desk lay the resources I printed out—feelings charts, matching games made up of helpful thoughts and unhelpful thoughts, the old guard of cognitive behavioral therapy. I entered into the therapy world so adorably green and had zero concept of just how basic some techniques have to get before the client can sync up with you. In the beginning, I wondered if teaching about the difference between happy and sad was a waste of a graduate degree. Don’t we all know this? Yet the more kids I sat on the floor with in my therapist office, the more I realized we certainly do not all know this. Some of us are born with an intuitive sense of emotions in our body, others of us need to go sloooooow with the feelings talk because too much at once is like picking a scab. At our house we have all kinds and I’ve found myself on the floor, so to speak, with the ones I love more-than-my-luggage several times. Much to my chagrin, it seems that the way forward in parenting is always going lower so they can go higher and thus I find myself on the floor more days than not. The trickiest part of being a therapist and employing techniques with clients is that you never really get to see how it plays out at home. You don’t get to see them use the things you’ve hopefully equipped them with it—you just debrief things after the fact. But in these most recent instances, I’m happy to report from first person observation that the client I assumed would be a rather contrary one has turned out to be a most engaged one and it’s filled my heart with the perfect blend of surprise and delight. We’re making progress. We can label our feelings. We can move from a 6 in anger to a 3 without wailing on our brother. I’ll take it. Putting all of this words has left me wondering if this might be similar to how God feels toward us when we embrace a wisdom that’s been whispered in our ear by the Spirit. Is he surprised? I suppose not. Does he delight in our choices even in full omniscience? I’d like to think so even though I don’t understand it. What I do know is that he knows how to get on the floor with us—to go utterly low so that we can climb on his back out of the pit we put ourselves in. Any grounding, any tiniest inkling of wisdom I possess, has been gained on the shoulders of the one who loves me enough to sit down and coach me through it. I document it this month because it’s good to hear (and say and write) these days of parenting young children. We’re living and breathing a Kingdom metaphor—may I remember that every time I see a feelings chart and take a belly breath. #2…a Tuesday. From the top of my second story bedroom I can see red solo cups lining the stairs. I walk forward until the curve of the stairs reveals tousled blonde hair and a sweet little girl making the red cups—there must be at least 45 of them—talk to each other with voices. Her sweet fingers place individual stickers on their tops. The hallway ahead is littered with books and stuffed animals tossed in such a haphazard way they must have been interfering with some kind of hurried pursuit. Following the breadcrumbs around the corner, another child draws quietly on the floor with a focus only to be interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. My voice will not suffice to get her attention because audiobooks are her constant companion these days. In the bathroom no drawers are closed. Scrunchies, so many scrunchies, and a suspicious bag of food coloring (yes, food coloring in an upstairs bathroom) tell a story I don’t want to hear right now so I press on downstairs, quelling the voice in my head that wants to turn back to the mini-scientist with the audiobook. The blanket-covered couch conceals a giant teenager—the once little boy who used to wake us up annoyingly early when he spent the night to play beyblades on the kitchen table of our old house. The one who previews ages and stages for us—he’s currently in his still-needs-a-nap era with a side of actually-quite-helpful. He’ll never know the space he takes up in my head and heart. Onward I go into the living room where large pieces of furniture are shoved together to form a fort with blankets. Claw clips that I pray won’t snap in two are used to stabilize them. A half turn into the kitchen reveals an open dishwasher, cabinet, pantry, and laundry room door. What’s with all the open things? Through the window into the backyard I spy my son painting while bellowing out some muffled music on the speaker he’s carried outside. Twenty bucks says it’s either Forrest Frank or the soundtrack to Finding Nemo. The dog pants happily along, her full body shoved up next to the back door so there’s zero chance of her missing an opportunity to slip inside. It was a Tuesday—the ordinary kind that I referenced at the beginning. It certainly wasn’t a perfect day. I still counted the minutes until my husband got home and enjoyed not one minute of cooking dinner. I didn’t finish the laundry and I thought about work many times without having any time to do said work. But what I did do well was look up and I think that’s because I’ve been practicing remembering as a spiritual discipline now for over a year, breathing prayers during the midday that I would see God at work and documenting it in some way for future reflection. That random Tuesday, I saw the scene unfolding beyond the shallow narrative of my messy, chaotic house. Instead of zero alone time and unfinished chores, I saw creativity, beauty, safety, togetherness, and the absolute gift that is healthy children around my table. May I always have eyes to see it (and a phone nearby to capture it so I can write about it later like I did for this essay).#3…a love letter to Beth Moore. I bought her memoir as soon as I heard about it, but I didn’t read it right away. Actually, it has been collecting dust on my shelf until just last week when I finally devoured it on a road trip. I spent an entire weekend juggling between written copy and audiobook and Kindle version in what turned out to be one long, glorious hit of Beth Moore. It was a wild weekend, you guys. Initially, I would not have claimed to be hesitant to start it, just rather too busy. Now I feel certain that what caused my procrastination in reading the memoir of someone who I admire so greatly was simply that I didn’t want to grieve its ending. Starting would mean finishing and finishing would mean it’d be over.Beth Moore is a hero of mine and her memoir washed over me at a time when I’m discerning God’s call on my life as a woman who longs to teach and lead. This feels such a vulnerable thing to say publicly even though I supposed this platform makes that rather obvious. All those years ago when I was a young college girl tucked away in the study hall of my sorority house with my copy of Breaking Free, I had little idea of what God might be nurturing in me—and I certainly didn’t know there might be those who would be opposed to it. Alas, I stand before you a super-fan. Both of Beth Moore and of women in leadership in ministry. I’ve done my homework with humility and with invaluable guidance from academic experts in the science of Biblical hermeneutics—Gordon Fee, NT Wright, Lucy Peppiatt, and Sandra Richter to name a few. But no one person has influenced me more than Beth Moore because she taught me to love the Scriptures and the Scriptures taught me that God loves me.Finishing her memoir while driving through Kansas on a scorching June day, my eyes brimming over with tears, I pondered Dustin’s simple question: how was it? My only response in the moment was to shake my head. I can hardly talk about it yet, but you know that feeling—goodness, I hope you do—when it seems like your insides are burning and you’re not sure whether to cry or start singing or laugh? That’s how it was. A thin place for me that I’ll always remember.Note to self (and Dustin): Don’t let Emily drive when she’s hearing from God, listening to Beth Moore talk about her move to the Anglican church, and craving a grande iced caramel macchiato.Friends, a quick reminder that I’ll be on vacation for the month of July (save the SIWF series). Each week you’ll be receiving some greatest hits content, which basically means things that best capture what happens at We Have This Hope. I hope they’ll be refreshingly new to you or you’ll consider them again with a fresh perspective. Either way, I’m so grateful for your readership and consider it a total joy that you’re here. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

What if God is inviting you to slow down—to live a life unhurried? Is that even possible?If you’ve ever kicked these questions around in your brain and felt defeated or if just reading them leaves you longing for a slower pace, this episode is for you. Today’s conversation is with Samantha Decker—wife, mom of 4, author, and Bible study teacher. She’s written a book that feels seemingly impossible for those of us with a van-load of kids, yet the invitation to a slower way is real. Unhurried: An Invitation to Slow Down, Create Margin, and Surrender Control to God captures God’s call to rest, to live life as if the One who made us truly has all things under His care, to wake up asking the question what do you have for me today, God? Here are just a few of the lovely things you’ll hear Samantha talk about:* Faith through the season of her life: Hear how God's faithfulness has guided her through sweet seasons of life—a young child with an eager heart to a striving teenager to a hustling mom of 4. * Perfectionism: Samantha shares her unfolding journey of surrendering control to God, how her calendar became an idol and her whole posture had to change. * The birth of Unhurried: A neighbor's comment and a powerful scripture sparked her book, a call to cultivate margin even amidst "good things."* Her porch swing as the ultimate metaphor: Samantha offers practical steps for creating margin, emphasizing prayer, God's word, and the importance of intentional rest over endless productivity.I hardly know anyone who won’t find something relatable and rich about Samantha’s story and I’m willing to bet you’ll want to pause midway through so you can text this to a friend. That’s how we all listen to podcasts, right? Listen now through the Substack app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. 🎧Order a copy of her book right here: Unhurried: An Invitation to Slow Down, Create Margin, and Surrender Control to God Did you know that Samantha and I are neighbors? JUST KIDDING, but we do live in the same state. If you’re an Oklahoma friend, particularly in the OKC area, then Samantha is nearby. I hope you’ll check out more of what she’s up to locally and sign up for her newsletter! Samantha’s website, Samantha’s Instagram, Samantha’s Substack This is the last episode of the season for We Have This Hope because hello, Summer and because I also take notes from the guests on my show. I need a bit more margin to be with my precious people and to mull over the things coming for WHTH in the Fall. You’ll still see regular writings here—including one excerpt that I’m particularly excited about next weeks. Stories via the podcast will be back in a few months.So…relish today’s episode! Enjoy your walk this weekend with Samantha’s story in your ears and don’t forget to share it with the friend who comes to mind! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to the May edition of So I Won’t Forget. An extra warm welcome to many of the new friends around We Have This Hope—I’m so grateful to have you! You are (hopefully) about to read a monthly series that was birthed out of my own desire to practice remembering as a spiritual discipline. Each month I aim to live fully awake to God’s good work in my life. This usually looks like collecting, observing, and pondering the little things while I drink coffee, take my kids to art camp, and walk around my neighborhood. It’s a light lift for anyone, but it does require a bit of cultivating—just like any worthwhile rhythm of life.So let’s get right to it…This is May and here are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…The Land of CounterpaneOne of the few slow mornings May afforded me came with coffee in bed and the luxury of snuggles from my youngest daughter. She is a hard one to pin down—always buzzing with energy or fury or delight—so having her curled up under my arm still inhibited by sleepiness from the night before was a Mothers’ Day gift not to be squandered. I knew if I moved to grab a book or toy, even one as close as the dresser, would mean the moment was over for me so I brought out the most timeless play-based resource at my disposal—my hands. With my fuzzy robe layered over the bedcovers forming hills and valleys across our laps, my fingers became little people traversing a mountain range. The hills were alive and she was enraptured. Her tiny fingers joined mine in a dance of delight, a race against some imaginative danger and eventually, to my sheer joy, she layered in funny voices. For ten whole minutes my busy girl giggled out her imagination using nothing more than what was attached to her body. Holy moly, I thought, it worked.Growing up we often read from a poetry book called A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. My sister, a literary nerd from birth, had a way of always elevating her preferences to the front of the room so this poetry collection became a staple of my childhood with her favorite poem, The Land of Counterpane, forever imprinted in my mind. In the poem, a little girl is home sick in her bed with nothing more to amuse her than the imaginary land she creates out of her bedsheets. As a child I remember realizing the Land of Counterpane was just a game being played by the little girl rather than a real place—what a riddle I thought I had uncovered! Now through adult eyes, this is adorably obvious. I told Cece about her aunt’s love for The Land of Counterpane and looked up the poem with my phone in hand. I watched her little eyes light up with the same realization that mine had all those years ago. Now she was “the giant great and still that sits upon the pillow-hill” and my heart ached in more ways than one. I saw myself immersed in my sister’s world—one without pain as the poem alludes—introducing her namesake to a treasured thing only we shared. A thing now I hold onto for the both of us.In a wild and precious ending to this story, my mother-in-law gifted me a copy of A Child’s Garden of Verses for my birthday this month. I had mentioned casually to my husband that I couldn’t believe we didn’t have it and I’d like to have one. Out of the book slipped a handwritten note that in the recesses of my memory I certainly had seen before. It was the handwriting—I knew it was hers before I even read a word. My sister had gifted this poetry collection to my mother-in-law, a connoisseur of children’s books, many years before and in the note even mentioned her favorite poem by name. I knew that already, of course. And so I’ll keep them forever—the note, the poem, the memory—the combination of them a thin place for me, one where my daughter, my sister, and my future hope mysteriously mingle together in the pleasant land of counterpane. And sometimes sent my ships in fleetsAll up and down among the sheets;Or brought my trees and houses out,And planted cities all about.I was the giant great and stillThat sits upon the pillow-hill,And sees before him, dale and plain,The pleasant land of counterpane.#2…Totally Safe Sheep I was there for the most adorable field trip in the history of field trips.My darling first graders (plural because I have twins, not because I’m a teacher) visited a working sheep farm in rural Oklahoma led by a long-time veterinarian and shepherdess. I’ve actually been on this exact field trip before with my older daughter so I looked forward to it with a knowing anticipation. The farm itself is not massive and it’s not home to a whole zoo of animals, but you can count on a couple of donkeys, a goat, and a few eccentric looking alpacas. What they do well at Shepherd’s Cross is sheep—sheep they know. We arrived on a perfectly drizzled day with rain boots and a van-load of enthusiasm. Dr. Dickinson, the shepherdess, met us with her crook in hand as we corralled kids into groups so they could ride out into the pastures. The hidden beauty of this day was really in the way she engaged the kids, speaking to them with the authority and tenderness of someone who really knows animals, who sees them as valued creatures with a job to do, but also doesn’t coddle them like a lap dogs. Propped up on the back of her tractor in the middle of the pasture, Dr. Dickinson asked us to look around. What do you notice about the sheep? Little voices piped up with the obvious answers. They’re black and white. They look dirty. Ewwww, it’s pooping. As the laughter subsided and she called everyone back to attention, she drew attention to their stillness. See how they’re so still. Why do you think that is? I found myself captivated by her prompts, holding back my answers to make space for the children. She’s not talking to you—the voice in my head whispered. Except maybe she was. It’s just that the sheep were so relaxed and her questions made me feel something. Their small, rather unimpressive bodies were curled up in the grass in such a way that communicated they had nothing to fear. I’d never noticed how still sheep could be and how stillness, the truly embodied kind, seems to overflow from an assurance that all will be well. I thought about how busy I am, how I wake up early and I get right to it—exercise, prayer, calendars—all the good disciplines I’ve cultivated over years of maturing, and yet stillness is quite obviously absent from my routine. The sheep and I have many things in common. We’re fairly well-fed, we have room to do the things we like to do, we have donkeys (literal and metaphorical) around to ward off any disturbances to the stable life we lead, and we share the assurance that our Maker is good and has all things under His care. The main difference between me and the sheep is posture. Am I still? Do I know who God is? Will I settle into the grass that He’s leading me to and just breathe? I’m not sure, but I want the answers to be yes. We ended our time in the pasture with the children all reciting Psalm 23 aloud. The sheep lazed about us, the shepherdess smiled knowingly on, and for a brief moment I mirrored the stillness of everyone around me. Their precious voices ringing out the familiar rhythms of King David’s words forced a stillness out of everyone. I swear even the grass stood at attention. The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing…your rod and your staff, they comfort me…surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life…How could I not stop in my tracks to these truths—recited by a chorus of single-digit aged children no less? So I suppose the lesson is simply to be more like the sheep. May there be more laying down in the month of June. #3…Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy…Don’t Let Me Down.This month my family gifted me a goose. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, researching online a bit, but uncertain if I could pull off. She’s white with a broad chest, an orange beak and yellow feet—a truly lovely goose. She lives on our front porch now and I named her Fancy. Also, she’s made of plastic—a porch goose from Gaggleville.First of all, I hope someone for a brief moment thought I owned a real goose. Secondly, I hope many of you can appreciate her name and the reference to a one Mrs. Reba McEntire’s infamous and deeply formational-for-me song Fancy. This song dominated the country music video charts for most of my childhood summers spent at Lake Tenkiller and I knew every word. Why in the world I was so enraptured by a song like this, I do not know. But I can say confidently that my mother must not have known because she would have vetoed it in a heartbeat. I learned about porch geese because there is another home in our neighborhood that has one and I started noticing that the goose had outfits. Yes, outfits. In October, it was dressed in overalls with some hay. In November, it wore a turkey costume. The grand finale came in December when the goose turned into a Christmas tree with its little beak sticking out like it had no shame. Reflecting on the hilarity of this whole situation made me realize that whoever lived in that house must be playful and lighthearted. I found myself driving more slowly in the hopes of catching them outside in the yard. They must be interesting and amiable people because how could you not be when you’ve dressed a plastic goose in a yellow polka dot bikini?I talked about their goose enough times that I suppose my family thought I’d like to be a porch goose lady and it turns out they were correct. It’s not because I want to spend money in wasteful ways—like on the red checkered bathing suit with matching sunglasses that should arrive on Monday—it’s because I want to be playful and lighthearted. I want neighbors to giggle when they see it and know we don’t take ourselves too seriously around here. I want my kids to delight in the silliness of it all—to laugh together or roll their eyes while it burns a memory in their brains so that one day they tell their kids about it. Remember that time Mom dressed the goose up for Dad’s birthday? Or the time she pulled out the American Girl clothes to see what would fit?I realize in sharing about this seemingly frivolous purchase that I am at once admitting to the luxury of being able to do such a thing—to be silly. I am well aware of the complex world we live in, one that is at times wrought with heartache so deep we can barely breath and anxiety so acute it wakes us in the middle of the night. I don’t pretend to have experienced it all, by God’s grace I certainly haven’t. But I have tasted it a bit and felt it lurking behind me in some unnameable way. While I know the real antidote is a defiant, mysterious hope that looks to God’s in-breaking kingdom, I also believe deeply that this shared humor is actually a legitimate investment that will produce a return—lighthearted people who invite others into silliness so we can go on sharing our lives. If we can’t laugh together, then we can’t cry together. I don’t know about you, but I need people who can do both.So in the words of the great Reba McEntire….here’s your one chance, Fancy. Don’t let me down.* Want to learn more about the practice of remembering? You can hear me chat about it on this recent episode of The Second Cup with my friend Deidre Braley! * Next week I get to share an excerpt from the book Mid-Faith Crisis: Finding a Path Through Doubt, Disillusionment, and Dead Ends. It’s co-authored by Catherine McNiel, an author who I really admire (and who is graciously mentoring me through my early days as a writerly person, a true gift!) This means I got an advanced copy and I’m halfway through it. I won’t spoil anything for you, but I can say that my first reaction was whoa, this book is so needed right now. * Finally, if you’re still here, would you leave me a comment with any reactions, stirrings, or thoughts that came up for you as you read? These mean the world to me and are fuel to my creative fire. 🫶 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Have you ever wondered where God was in the midst of your deepest pain? Today I’m sharing my conversation with author, speaker, and pastor Aubrey Sampson about her latest work What We Find in the Dark: Loss, Hope, and God's Presence in Grief. You got to read an excerpt of it just a few weeks ago—you can still do that here—and so many of you reacted to it that I couldn’t wait to share this follow up conversation. You’ll get to hear Aubrey’s story, how she came to write this particular book after the death of her best friend, and how her own dark night of the soul ultimately anchored her to the truth that God never removes His presence from us. Over the last few years I’ve shared a lot of resources about grief, stories or books by those who’ve put in the hard work of both living through it and also talking about it publicly. This one—Aubrey’s book—is fresh. It’s for those who are still grappling for a life raft that says God is still with you even though it feels impossible. I’ve walked that road and know how little capacity you have when you’re in that place. The last thing you want to hear is a five step plan for how to get out of your grief and the only voices that hold much water are those who’ve truly wrestled their way through the dark and come out the other side tethered to hope. This is Aubrey’s story and I can’t wait for you to hear it. Tune in right now via the Substack App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. 🎧Aubrey Sampson (MA, evangelism and leadership) coplanted and serves as a teaching pastor at Renewal Church, a multiethnic congregation in Chicagoland. She also speaks regularly at churches and conferences around the country. She is an award-nominated author, a coach with Propel Women Cohorts, and the cohost of The Nothing Is Wasted Podcast. Aubrey is the author of several books, most recently Big Feelings Days: A Book about Hard Things, Heavy Emotions, and Jesus’ Love (October 2023). She is passionate about helping hurting Christians find God’s presence in their pain. She and her husband, Kevin, and their three hilarious sons live, minister, and play in the Chicagoland area. * Order What We Find in the Dark: Loss, Hope, and God's Presence in Grief.* Connect with Aubrey on Substack, Instagram, or her website. * Read an excerpt of her book right here. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I just have to get to May.These are real words from my inner monologue…on April 1st. Shortly after they graced the halls of my brain, I exhaled and acknowledged this was no way to live one of my Aprils—wishing that I could skip to the part where I had less responsibility as if less responsibility magically equaled more rest. I’ve lived long enough to know that’s not how rest operates, so I had a chat with myself that went something like the following: You can let some things fall off the edges of your plate. You can think about tomorrow when tomorrow comes—at 5:00AM when you check the calendar to see if it’s a hair-washing day or not. You can apologize to your kids when you forget to turn in the field trip lunch money. This will probably be of more value to them—you apologizing—than if they had the boxed lunch anyway. As I write today, I’m happy to report that “April 1st Emily” was right on all fronts. This is likely coming to your inbox in the glorious month of May—the place I just needed to get to. Things fell off my plate. I did forget the lunch money. I lived a tad more moment to moment than I usually do and things stayed basically the same. Today I have my feet propped up at my favorite bakery in Tulsa and an empty plate sits next to me where once laid the most delicious coffee cake in all the land. So let’s get to it, shall we? I have much to share that didn’t just fill my schedule, but also filled my heart and mind with the foggy goodness that only comes into focus through words. This is April and here are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…basketball and a human chainI hate to be the one to point this out, but March Madness ends in April—something I had never paid any attention to until this year. So I’m getting ahead of any confusion—or I suppose my confusion because according to some people I live with it’s pretty common knowledge that the tournament ends in the first weekend in April. I digress. Our two youngest played basketball this year and we truly had the most fun. On the heels of all the hype, we decided to go all in with the NCAA tournament. We taped all five our our respective brackets to the full-mirrored 1960s wall that dominates our dining room and tracked our weekly scores using a dry erase marker on the wall. With the help of ChatGPT and a gleam in my eye, I constructed a bracket that simultaneously communicated my deep hope for a Cinderella story and my sheer lack of basketball knowledge. Who cares about stats when the other team just feeeeeels right? The Monday evening of the tournament, we stretched out on the couch and floor to see if Houston would pull through against Florida. Thus far any family tournament-watching had mostly looked like the kids being still during advertisements and bouncing all over each other when the game was actually happening, but toward the end of this game, people started to settle down. The gel pens and tiny magnet sets that I had pulled out in attempt to stifle the wrestling had indeed bridged the gap for us to the remaining two minutes. Suddenly everyone was locked in on those final moments of fouling, shooting, fouling again—holding our collective breath to see if the players’ perspiration and desperation would keep the game interesting. I glanced around the room observing my sweet people and noticed that we were all somehow touching. Think children’s science museum and know that if one of us had been touching an electric current we could have lit up a lightbulb at the other end. We were a human chain with someone’s leg drooped over someone’s stomach whose arm was laid across the chest of another. Our youngest was splayed out across her dad’s lap and his hand was comfortably on my leg. The little scene took my breath away for a split second and I thought to myself whoa, we’re a family. In John 10 Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd and says that those who belong to Him are never out of the Father’s hand. They’re always protected and held and connected to Him. Somehow this image of the shepherd and his sheep became one that lingered in my mind as I thought about our kids completely comfortable and completely up in our business. Human touch is a powerful thing. Most of us can hardly resist it. Will you hold me? Will you scratch my back? These are the requests of my children, but also the things my soul whispers at the end of the day when my head hits the pillow and darkness rolls in. Family can certainly be complicated, but I also wonder if in its most beautiful form, family could look a little like sheep huddled together, always touching and fumbling around looking to the Shepherd for what comes next. And I wonder if I might hold onto this tender image the next time my bouncy daughter leaps into my lap—bony knees headed straight for me whether I’m ready or not—and remember I’m never out of His hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. John 10:29, ESV#2…preaching Holy Saturday This year I attended my first ever Holy Saturday service. If you’re wondering what even is Holy Saturday, you’re not alone. I grew up in a church that observed Lent and some basics of the liturgical Church calendar, but we were never quite “high church” enough for things like Holy Saturday. Our church plant, now turned bustling and beautiful local church, joined an Anglican diocese a few years ago and we began soaking up new liturgical practices and incorporating more aspects of The Book of Common Prayer into our worship. Holy Saturday became one of those delightful additions. The twist this year is that I also happened to preach the service—something that still feels strange to even type and feels even more vulnerable to put out there to a world with potentially divisive views on whether someone like me should even be doing this. I’ll say this—it was a wholly wonderful process for me. Holy Saturday is the day the dust lingering on our foreheads from Ash Wednesday gets a glow-up—a transformation into something more tender and especially beautiful. In the gospel narratives, this is the day where nothing really happens other than the Pharisees pleading to Pilate for a seal to be put on the tomb and a guard to be posted out front. We don’t get any details about where the disciples, Mary and Mary, Joseph and Nicodemus, and all the others spent that saddest of all Sabbaths, but we can assume that it was a devastating one. Did we get it all wrong? What will become of us know?If you’re familiar with the Apostles’ Creed this is also the day that gets the strangest of all shoutouts—He descended to the dead it says. Without opening a suitcase I can’t neatly repack for you in the context of this tiny essay, I’ll say that the most compelling perspective on this phraseology (and it’s contextual roots from 1 Peter 3 & 4) is that Christ descended to the lowest places of the human experience. He knows anguish, despair, pain, brokenness, waiting, and most of all sorrow. And He doesn’t gloss over these things, but makes space for them much like He did when he ugly-cried outside the tomb of his dead friend Lazarus knowing full well He was about to call him out of the tomb alive. What will stay with me always about Holy Saturday is the pause of it all. There is moment in the Easter narrative for those of us who grieve, who’ve sat outside the tomb of our own Holy Saturday wondering if all was lost, if this too will be redeemed. Our darkest days and the scars we bear from them remind us that what we really long for is a Savior who hasn’t just skipped straight to the good stuff, but has wept with us knowing fully the pang of being human. With scars still visible in His resurrected body, Jesus says our pain matters, it will not be wasted, and then in all His Easter glory declares that even death will die. There’s your mini-sermon, but if you’d like to hear the full version, you can do that here:#3…the thing that feels like yesterday, but was actually 7 years ago.When memories of the last 7 years scroll across my TV screen, the thing that seems fleeting is their cheeks. In the sneakiest of ways, these precious cheeks have slowly but surely gotten less squishy—something I grieve collectively with all mothers throughout history. Sure, they sleep through the night easily and they go to the bathroom on their own, but their cheeks are disappearing like water through my hands. Seven glorious years ago I sat in an elementary pickup line waiting to grab my nephew from school. I had a 3 year old squirming in the backseat eager to get out of the car and my back was aching in a way that it had only ever ached once before. Alarm bells were going off in my head. This hasn’t gone away all day. It seems to be happening like every 2 minutes. The ache seems to be getting stronger and it hurts. I’m not sure what I thought the doctor’s office could do for me when I called them, but the wisdom they offered was this: if you’re having contractions while 37 weeks pregnant with twins, you should go to the hospital. It sounded reasonable enough. Our twins were born 3 hours later. Something about seven years feels magical. They are truly kids—not babies, not toddlers, not preschoolers, not little ones—kids who go to school, ride bikes with the neighbors, play soccer, and make their own tea on Saturday mornings. When we’re all out in public together, people still occasionally hold the door open for me and my three little ducklings, but not with the same frequency they did when I was trying to thread a double stroller and a toddler through the narrow doorway of Hobby Lobby on a Tuesday in the rain. The tradeoff happened as fast as people said it would. I suppose the thing I’m remembering this month is growth—literal, messy, delightful, head-spinning growth. My son weighed 4 pounds 3 ounces when he came into the world and last night I had to brace my core and bend my knees when he jumped on me for fear I’d throw my back out. Growth is a beautiful and tricky thing that sometimes we resist, sometimes we welcome, and in this case sometimes it just happens. And it’s the just-happens kind of growth that we often miss unless we make remembering a part of our rhythms. It’s also the kind that seems to produce a tiny spark of delight on the most regular of days. I wonder what growth is just happening right now around you? If you’re still here reading, can I nudge you to metaphorically look up? Squint your eyes for a second so things come into focus. Where do you see growth happening all around you? Now soak up some of that delight before it slips through your fingers. Did you catch the latest episode of the We Have This Hope podcast? Deidre Braley shares her story and talks about delight in a way that is so refreshing.Next week I’m sharing a conversation with Aubrey Sampson—she’s an author, pastor, church planter, and lovely human being who wrote the book What We Find In the Dark: Loss, Hope, and God’s Presence in Grief. You can read an excerpt of her beautiful work right here: This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

The silver lining of podcast post-production is re-listening to a really great conversation. And because that’s what I recently finished doing for today’s episode, I am here to say…this one is a true gem. Today I’m joined by Deidre Braley—writer, poet, editor, and host of The Second Cup. Her voice is a gift to those of us who are weary, who need to catch our breath from all the hustle and heartache, and who need to learn how to have fun—even if fun looks like putting it on the calendar and then wondering if we remember how to do it. Deidre shares her journey from classroom teacher to full-time creative through a season marked by motherhood, loss, burnout, and deep spiritual exhaustion. She’ll introduce us to the idea of delight as a discipline and how God has used this to breathe life back into a weighty season. Here’s my favorite thing she said:  The common thinking around delight is that sometimes if you're lucky, it might happen to you. Like if the circumstances align, you might get this fleeting feeling of delight, and that's a great thing. The same with joy or whimsy or enchantment. They all sound really nice, but when life gets hard those things are typically the first to go. But I have this theory that delight is actually the thing, the tool which keeps us soft…This is a tender, thoughtful conversation about creativity, healing, spiritual formation, and the small practices that bring us back to life. I know you’ll enjoy it! * You can find Deidre Braley on Substack! Or Instagram right here. * And don’t miss her podcast The Second Cup—it’s been a great one to tune into while walking my neighborhood. This season is all about…you guessed it…delight! * The April edition of So I Won’t Forget comes out this Thursday. These are my most-read essays and the ones that bring me the most joy. I hope you’ll read, laugh, relate, and share with a friend. If you’re already subscriber, this will come straight to your inbox. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

The first time I had breakfast with Jill I was captivated by her story, but mostly I remember laughing a lot. A few months ago a mutual friend reached out to say “You need to have Jill on your show.” Without even knowing what had been happening lately in her life, I knew my answer was yes because anyone who knows Jill knows that she is both whole-hearted and hilarious—an encourager by nature and someone who brings others into the fold without question. In other words, she’s a gem. At my kids’ school, she’s beloved for roping younger moms into Bible studies, gathering people at her home in the spirit of hospitality, and recommending books, podcasts, and more books. She’s also famous among the grammar students because she “always gives us candy.” Seems like she knows her audience. In today’s episode Jill shares about asking God for a new story. From growing up as a preacher’s kid in Arkansas, to life as a single mom, to now running a local business with her husband Keith, Jill’s journey is one of resilience and redemption. Whether you’re walking through a season of doubt, waiting for answers, or just seeking a little encouragement, Jill’s story will remind you that God can take our humble prayers and build something that multiples His good work in the world.I hope you’ll tune in and share with a friend! * There are several new friends around We Have This Hope. If you’re one of them, do you know about Stack Study: You Have Done Great Things? It’s a free, self-paced Bible study covering Ezra & Nehemiah. You can check out the introductory lesson below.* More beautiful stories coming your way this Spring via the podcast…I just wrapped up recording with Deidre Braley from The Second Cup and can’t wait for you to hear her talk all about delight.* I’m sharing my story at a local gathering of Storytellers Live this Sunday, April 13th at 5PM. If you’re in the Tulsa area, I’d love for you to join us! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

If March was a person, I’d have a lot to say to her. Over the years she’s been a breezy friend arriving with the promise of travel abroad, a blooming backyard, and even once a new baby who would delight us all 9 months later. She’s also been a sneaky you-know-what heralding a deep grief that still stings fresh every year. Who are you, March? No wonder Shakespeare told us to beware your ides. The reality is March has always had much to teach me about how beauty and sorrow coexist. It’s the month where the traces of ash on my forehead get a glow up—both literally on Ash Wednesday and metaphorically in my inner life. If grief has taught me anything—if the last nine Marches since my sister died have taught me anything—it’s that as much I despise my ashes, I also can’t live without them. I need them to remember what’s happening in my garden. I need them to make sense of what’s happening in our world. And I need them to explain how the ache in my heart can hold hands with the burning in my chest that says this will one day be made newer than I can dare to dream. Last night we were reading in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with our kids and it came to the scene where Lucy asks Aslan if there is anything more that can be done to rescue her brother Edmund. Aslan’s response jolted me to attention: “All shall be done, but it may be harder than you think.” If there has ever been a sentence that captured the essence of March for me, this is it. Even with its emphasis on hard, this lion-breathed truth reminds me ALL shall be done—not some, but all. Good will fully prevail. Spring will come again. The earth will be renewed. Even death will die. This is March and here are the things I don’t want to forget…#1…Musicals and kids growing outside of our grip. This month I joined the ranks of countless mothers before me who have successfully and unsuccessfully attempted to harness annoying mom energy when their child participates in an activity that they absolutely love. Our oldest daughter performed in her first musical and I subsequently earned a degree in playing it cool. Outwardly, I am a chill mom who knows a little about theater because of the plays I did in high school. Inwardly, I am Sutton Foster belting out Broadway tracks like I own the stage and wondering if I somehow missed my calling. I kid—the reality is I am a mediocre singer who loves singing and once in 2004 I had a lead role. What can I say? The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The whole experience brought me joy, not just because I love musical theater or that I know a little bit about the world of tech week, dress rehearsals, stage makeup, and call times, but because our girl found something that delighted her and she walked confidently into it. All parents possess some natural curiosity about what our kids are like when we aren’t around. Are they conversing? Are they being kind? Are they putting themselves out there—and oh goodness, are they doing that with the right people? She spent more time away from us during this activity than any other thing in her little life and every time I dropped her off I fought the urge to linger just a few more minutes as she settled into the dressing room. I’m good, Mom—her eyes said so I would take the hint and leave. On the evening of her first performance, I fought back tears watching her showcase all that she had been learning in the hours she wasn’t home. I marveled in the things she executed that we hadn’t taught her—choreography, cues, expressions—all of them metaphors for the ways she’s growing into a beautiful person who takes input from more than me and her dad. The truth is she was better for it. And while I know that may not always be the case, this time the loosening of our grip—and the vulnerability it cost me—paved the way for her to shine. She walked away from her weeks of rehearsals with what can only be described (and affectionately so) as a “camp high.” These are my best friends forever and we’ll never lose touch and we’ll always have each other and even though we don’t have phones, we’ll write to each other every week and I can’t wait to do this again next year. IYKYK, right? Coincidentally, we walked away with an “our kid did something hard and good and they loved it” high…so I guess we’ll be signing up for next year. Maybe I’ll come out of retirement for this one.#2…the month of March 93 times with a good attitude.I only have one living grandparent and this month he turned 93.Because we had the privilege of growing up around my grandparents, I have lifelong friends who know my Poppa well enough that even now they’re reading this and smiling because they’re remembering something quirky or funny he said during my formative years. Historically-speaking if I could pick one word to describe him, it would be jolly. One time in high school a friend was complaining to me about mall-walkers. She worked retail at the local mall and bemoaned the general grumpiness of the people who exercised around her as she unlocked the gate of her store ahead of long days on her feet. “They always act like I’m in their way,” she said—pausing only for a second to reconsider her statement. “Except for one guy, he’s my friend. He always says ‘hello young lady!’’ Her last three words hit some kind of rewind button in my brain as I replayed all the times my Poppa—who at the time was deeply entrenched in the business of mall-walking—had greeted me with the same affection.“I think that might be my grandpa,” I said casually. A few weeks later my friend and I were at my house when I remembered the mall-walking story and realized a picture of my grandpa was sitting on the shelf. I snagged it from behind her and placed it in her hand. “That’s him!” she squealed. At his party this weekend we gathered in his house—the same one that hasn’t changed a single bit since my grandma died 13 years ago—and we celebrated with a simple cake and ice cream. I can’t say from experience, but it seems to me that aging into your nineties isn’t for the faint of heart. Perhaps that’s why only a few do it. My once boisterous, active grandpa now leads a quiet life mostly in his chair and mostly on his own terms. But what age can do to the body, it can’t always do to the heart and in this instance, it has not robbed him of tender affection toward me and toward my kids. Every time I’m with him, the through line of our conversation is about how he is the luckiest man in the world. “You’re not a kiddin’” he’ll say and then pat my husband on the back as if to make sure Dustin knows what has been bequeathed to him—to make sure he knows a good thing when he’s got it.I suppose the last thing to say is that if Poppa can live through the month of March 93 times and still come out saying he’s the most blessed man in the world, then I think we’ll make it too. Attitude is everything so they say…and I think he proves that’s true. #3…things we learn from kids at the beach The kids were in their bathing suits within seconds of arriving at the little beach condo we rented for a few days last week. I had imagined we might do reasonable things like “get settled” before going down to the beach, but I was heartily overruled. Why wouldn’t we throw our suits on and start running—tripping on our sandals, buckets in hand, and stop only long enough to argue over who will push the elevator button? So that’s what we did. Thankfully our condo was right on the beach so the kids truly could run downstairs, blitz past the pool, dodge a few leisurely beach goers, and be right on the sand. I snagged a sweatshirt because this was mid-March on the gulf coast and followed my people like the obedient mother that I am—skip the sunscreen tonight because we’re playing beat the clock with the sun and I wasn’t about to do battle with any shovel-wielding angry raccoons.On the beach we were all business—Dustin and I snuggled up in one of those camp chair love seats as the kids were darting and digging and hollering with a kind of ocean-muffled delight. It was one of those magical moments where the ferocity of my kids’ play shifted into slow motion for me. They were operating on instinct and I was their adoring spectator. We finished the day eating ice cream, skipping showers, and reading together before all going to bed at the same time—details worth noting because once upon a time we had 2 infants and 3 year old. What even is this stage of life and how do I keep it forever? I wonder what kids at the ocean have to teach us about delight. That’s really the thought I’m settling into as I preserve this precious beach day in the annals of my heart and mind. They possessed such a sense of urgency, such instinct, to get busy unlocking the majesty that is playing by an ocean and remembering how very big God must be. And yet this big-ness didn’t instill fear, but rather seemed to buoy them with confidence and curiosity. It’s worth pondering if that same childlike sense of play, the fearless kind that says I’m totally safe here, is still somewhere in me? Have I let adulthood stifle it? Watching my kids relish freedom, safety, and provision with their whole bodies makes me want to grab a shovel too. With just a little digging, I might find that version of Emily is still in there, waiting to be nurtured to the surface.Perhaps the work for us to do is to once again take a cue from children—the Kingdom belongs to them after all, so why not mimic how they enjoy it. If our God is this vast, this majestic, this beautiful, then we must be so safe with him after all. If you enjoy these essays, I have two fun things to tell you! The first is that next week I’ll be sending out our first ever remembering collaboration called So We Won’t Forget—see what I did there? I’m delighted to be sharing the work of 3 other writers who have put remembering God’s work in their lives into practice. Keep an eye out for that!Secondly, you can join us too. If you’re a writer who’d like to be a part of this discipline of remembering, take the next step by sending me a mini-essay to be featured in the So We Won’t Forget collaboration later this year. More on how to do that right here. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Before an episode makes it to your inbox, I’ve lived it, edited it, and usually re-listened to the entire thing. And while I can’t tell you honestly that post-production is my favorite thing, I can say that re-listening to these stories always blesses me. I remember why I asked the guest in the first place.I remember why their story is so compelling.I remember that God is at work in each of us uniquely, tenderly, and purposefully. Today’s story is from Kendall Vanderslice. She’s a baker, author, and generally wise human being. Her latest book Bake & Pray: Liturgies & Recipes for Baking Bread as a Spiritual Practice blends the practice of baking bread with prayer, a truly embodied process and one that she explains in the episode. If you’re wondering how someone builds a career studying food and the way we eat around the table, Kendall will tell you it started with curiosity that God nurtured into calling. Her story and her resources are not only timely for the Advent season, but also a restful gift in the midst of hustle. I hope you’ll take a deep breath as you listen & share with a friend…maybe share with a friend over dinner together. Here are a few more ways to connect with Kendall and the work she’s doing: Edible Theology, Instagram, Kendall’s Website.It’s been a whole year since I relaunched We Have This Hope over on Substack and I have found this to be such a welcoming and wonderful place for my work to live. I'm going to take a little break for the holiday season so I can be present with my people AND so I can pray and dream about what is coming in 2025. If you subscribe, if you comment, if you reply to the emails, if you mention it to me in passing, thank you! All those touch points add up to something I hold dearly in my heart and mind: the fact that God is using this in small and beautiful ways. Here’s to much more in 2025! “May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us— yes, establish the work of our hands.” Psalm 90:17, NIV This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today I’m sharing my conversation with Sarah K. Butterfield, a fellow Substack enthusiast, a thoughtful writer, and generally lovely person. If we didn’t live so far from each other, I would have asked her to grab coffee. Instead I invited her to tell her story on the show and now I get to share it with you!Sarah’s worn many hats—missionary kid in France, mother, educator, ministry leader—and along the way she’s continued to offer resources to women through her writing. She speaks about the intersection of motherhood and faith, the balance of spiritual practices amidst the busyness of a rich life, and how to deepen our personal theology as our faith grows.Here’s a preview of something she said that’s stuck with me…“I feel that women, especially women, need to be empowered, to take ownership of developing their faith. And one of the reasons for that is I think traditionally we've been left out of a lot of the theological conversations or in the Christian market. We are marketed to as Christianity lite it seems to me. Please don't get me wrong, I love all of the devotionals with beautiful packaging and full color illustrations, but sometimes I wonder if we're just consuming what is easily digestible.” - Sarah K. ButterfieldYou can find Sarah K. Butterfield right here on Substack or via her website which is full of resources for busy women wanting to grow in their faith!You can find the full length episode in the Substack app, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you prefer to listen! 🎧🎙🤎We Have This Hope is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I’d like to give a special shout out to my algorithm. This time it served me well because its how I stumbled upon Mikella Van Dyke and the work of Chasing Sacred. To my total delight Mikella and her team are equipping women who want to study scripture for themselves and teaching a method that makes space for it to be simple and beautiful—a well that never runs dry, really. And like all ministries or missions, there’s an origin story that precedes the clearer nudges from God to get going. Mikella’s is one of those.It starts with a little girl hungry and curious with a hint of the grit it takes to find some answers. From a childhood spent overseas in Thailand to professional dancing in New York City to now raising five young kinds alongside her husband, Mikella’s story will remind you of what it looks like to pursue God with all of your heart in all of your seasons. I can’t wait for you to listen!Here’s how you can order Mikella’s book and connect her work at Chasing Sacred! * Mikella’s Book: Chasing Sacred: Learn How to Study Scripture to Pursue God & Find Hope in Him* Website: Chasing Sacred* IG: Chasing Sacred* IG: Mikella Van DykeIf you’re new to We Have This Hope, we’re all about remembering the work of God in our lives and telling our stories. You’ll see that clearly in the stories we share via the podcast and the writing we share here on Substack. This week I’ll be delivering an extra treasure to your inbox because its the end of the month when I practice what I preach. So I Won’t Forget…October 2024 will be out on Friday and promises to include tales about sparrows in NYC and a quote from the child who is most like me: “I don’t want to do it. I don’t feel good when I do it. I can’t help it. I get so mad…” This is my most popular series and one that delights me to write. Share it with a friend and practice with me! What do you want to remember this month? This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I am so happy to be dropping this story in your inbox today.You should know right away that this episode is not about disavowing technology use or cutting ourselves off from the world. What a terrible way to market a podcast or send an email that, chances are, you’re currently reading from your phone. Its Hannah’s story and I can promise you that she’s a breath of fresh air in the conversation around balancing our technology use. Her book The Unplugged Hours: Cultivating a Life of Presence in a Digitally Connected World is the fruit of simply responding to a nudge from God to put her phone away one day. It’s about living our lives awake to God’s movement in the world rather than chasing content. “You’ll have missed out on nothing, but gained something back instead: a piece of your time, a tiny sliver of your life. This is how your story will unfold—slowly one hour at a time.” Since I finished her book, I’ve practiced putting my phone in a drawer for a little bit in the afternoons. It’s not much. I can still hear it when it pings. I know it’s there. But this small gesture has become an exercise in being present—to my kids, to my home, to myself, and to the small stirrings inside my own heart and mind that seem to say this is the way…I hope you’ll consider listening to this today and even more that you’ll consider reading Hannah’s new book. It’s so balanced and wise. In the great irony of writing about limiting content consumption whilst promoting it, I’m going out on a limb here to say this one is worth your time. Find Hannah at hannahbrencher.com or on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest.Prefer to listen elsewhere? 🎧 Find the episode on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Have you ever read a poem and been moved in some way? Those of us with a bent toward the creative will answer yes. If that’s not you, I’m willing to bet you can at least appreciate poetry from an intellectual standpoint as something beautiful that illuminates something else. Poetry can take something really basic and leave you breathless. It can give meaning when the words of narrative seem a bit lacking. Take this stunning poem I found earlier in the week by Rachel Joy Welcher — if you’re a mom, you’ll find it impossible to read without stirring you up in a lovely way. Today’s episode is a continuation in our conversation on storytelling. We’re diving in old-school to what Psalm 107 says, why it mattered, and why it still matters. I believe it’s a poem about telling our stories and I wonder if you might ponder it along with me.It’s a short one for those of you who like to listen while you drive between here and there or do the dishes. Share your thoughts with me in the comments & enjoy! Quick Show Notes:Psalm 107 - Bible Gateway for NIV and Message TranslationBible Project series on Biblical Poetry This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome back to the podcast, friends! I took the summer off from hosting guests because the only time I had to record sans kiddos was around 5AM and who wants to have that conversation? Not me and definitely not any potential guest. But it’s September now and it’s been a total delight to be sitting at my desk (after 8AM) preparing this beautiful episode for you today.This season on We Have This Hope, you’re going to hear from some incredible women who will share their expertise, their passions, but mainly their stories—what God has done in their lives that’s anchored them to hope and carried them through seasons of love and loss. That’s what today’s conversation is about. Sabrina McDonald is a gifted writer and speaker. For over 20 years she’s written about marriage and family, publishing works with Focus on the Family, FamilyLife and most recently releasing her book A Home Built from Love and Loss: Coming Together as a Blended Family. This book is such a beautiful blend of authentic storytelling and practical wisdom. Truly, I found myself thinking about it during the day and then re-telling portions of it to Dustin at night. That’s the true sign of a book I love. In today’s episode Sabrina shares her story of being widowed as a young mom and how God carried her through a season of tremendous loss. She talks honestly about her journey into remarriage and blending families and ultimately how God has written her story in a way she never would have imagined. There’s something in this episode for everyone, I promise, so listen all the way to the end and tell a friend about it. Find her book HERE.Find her website HERE.And as always, you can tune in directly from the Substack app, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen. :) Next week on WHTHCheck your inboxes for the first article from our series on telling. We spent all summer exploring remembering, this Fall we’re diving into telling—what scripture says about telling our stories, how we do that and why it matters. Don’t miss it! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I love this work—thinking deeply about what God is doing in the world and how we respond to that. But also the rubber has to meet the road occasionally. The things we analyze and inwardly process have to influence the habits of our daily lives otherwise what an incredible waste of resources. On the heels of studying some Old Testament Hebrew words and knowing I’m about to bring you more thinking-deeply pieces, I’m itchy for some practicality. So today is all about how you can actually practice remembering as a spiritual discipline, how you can take this Biblical concept and implement it into the rhythms of waking up to an alarm, unloading the dishwasher AGAIN, doing your real life work, and just generally trying to be a responsible and productive human. These are simply ideas or things I have put into practice myself, not an exhaustive list, so I welcome any fresh takes on ways to incorporate remembering into the stuff of our days. Truly, let me know in the comments if you are engaging in a spiritual practice that you feel like aligns with what we’re chatting about. I’ll add it to the list. As always, thanks for listening and being part of We Have This Hope. Enjoy the show and tell a friend! Thank you for reading We Have This Hope. This post is public so feel free to share it.Here are links to most of what I mention in today’s episode. Let me know if you have questions about a resource or just generally want to know more. TGC Africa articleEvery Moment Holy Kayla CraigKate Bowler The Hiding PlaceDomestic Monastery This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s story is one that I know well because it’s partly mine. I shared the experience with a lot people, others who also had storm damage, friends and family who walked through it with us, but no one knows the intricacies of the last year more than my brilliant husband Dustin. He’s joining me on the episode to tell the story.One year ago the hundred year old oak tree in our backyard dropped a massive branch onto our house during a wild Oklahoma storm. I’ve lived through 38 tornado seasons in this state and had never personally experienced any damage. Even now I can’t technically say I experienced the moment of impact because we were traveling. What I did fully experience, however, was the aftermath of it—water damage, relocation, insurance claims, relocation, contractors, remodeling, relocation, so many spreadsheets—did I mention relocation? As I type this I can happily report I’m sitting in the office of my almost entirely remodeled home and, with a bit thicker skin, I can also say that this was ultimately nothing more than an incredible inconvenience.But we did grow a lot from it.We did see God move in ways that surprised us. We did experience community in a way that will hopefully impact the way we respond to others. We did question why this was happening and then walk away saying we’d do it all over again. So today we remember because we believe this story matters—if not for anyone but ourselves and our children and maybe our family and friends who stuck it out with us. I’m biased, but I think this is also a fun episode, one that you’ll enjoy as you walk around the neighborhood or empty the dishwasher. Odds are you likely encouraged and supported us along the way this past year in a small or big way so this episode is also for you. It was a wild and wonderful year—may it bear fruit in us as we remember. Emily This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Part 2 is ready for you!Last week I promised you the second half of my conversation with Lael Crabtree, a missionary living with her family in the busy of Papua New Guinea. It bears repeating that this story comes in two parts because we chatted for nearly three hours and I barely needed to edit. Please don’t miss out on the first episode because Lael does a beautiful job of giving context to their work—how they got there, what they do, and why they do it. You can listen right here.Today’s episode makes space for her honest stories of what its like when the adrenaline wears off and the real work begins—when persecution is real and you wish you had a bit more medical training. Lael shares of God’s faithfulness, but let me say that with a few more words because often we skip over God’s faithfulness. Lael shares about God giving them exactly what they need at exactly the right time, God moving and equipping and providing in ways that could not have been orchestrated by human hands or mustered by human strength. Friends, these stories are the testimonies of the saints—and they’re being delivered right to you headphones. Listen and let them do some good work in you. I’m also asking you to pray for the church in Wantakia. Could you pause right now and ask God to move, delight, inspire, and be known among the people? Consider this your official nudge to do that.Next week I’ll be sending out more details about what this summer looks like for We Have This Hope and I’m truly so excited. Thank you for reading/listening/commenting/subscribing/sharing/askingmeaboutit/sendingmefeedback/beingmyfriends/decipheringalltheserunonphrases/laughingalittlealongtheway!Emily Lael & Jack work for Ethnos360. Follow along via their IG account as well (@laelbcrabtree) Want to see what it actually looks like in their village? reachWantakia on youtube has some drone footage as well as glimpses of the church gathered for literacy and Bible training. Thank you for reading We Have This Hope. This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today I’m sharing my conversation with Lael Crabtree. She is an incredible storyteller and, unless you already have friends who live in the bush of Papua New Guinea (I mean, do you? that’d be a crazy coincidence), then you’ve never heard a story quite so unique and powerful. This is part one of a series on the work Lael and her family are doing because we talked for almost 3 hours during her interview and there was almost nothing to cut. Do I leave out the part about her developing an entire alphabet from a tribal language or the people responding to the gospel message for the first time or the incredible Wantakian women delivering babies on their own in the jungle? See what I mean… Part 1 includes the story of how she and her family decided to do tribal missions, their training and preparation for almost 4 years, and their eventual move into the jungle where they built their home, created an alphabet, taught literacy, and continued to raise their family. As I’ve been editing and re-listening to Lael’s beautiful story, I’ve felt compelled to remind all of us that the point of story-telling, or at least this kind of gospel story-telling, is not to sensationalize an experience, garner a wider audience, or even leave those of us at home in the states wondering if we’re doing enough. It is simply to let this incredible work of God, remembered and told by a real woman, settle in our hearts and minds. When we do this, the stories leave us changed, never in one airbud and out the other. They do work in us, by the power of the Spirit, that increases our faith and compels us to keep living in the deep hope that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. This is my prayer for you as you hear her story.Emily Lael & Jack work for Ethnos360 - follow along via their IG account as wellWant to see what it actually looks like in their village? reachWantakia on youtube has some drone footage as well as glimpses of the church gathered for literacy and Bible training. Thank you for reading We Have This Hope. This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I found Whitney K. Pipkin on Instagram and just really liked what she had to say. That’s how it started even though we’ve since discovered that we were both at the University of Oklahoma at the exact same time. The way she wrote about her experience of walking alongside her mother as she battled cancer for more than 20 years really got my attention.Good news for me when I discovered that she had a book releasing this year. So I did the thing I’ve developed the muscle for in the last year and a half: I cold-emailed her and asked if she would tell her story on the podcast. One of my favorite things in this process has been how approachable some people have turned out to be. Whitney is one of them. It takes some inner fortitude to agree to have a recorded conversation with a stranger about your creative work, your personal story, and your deep hopes—but thank God some people say yes. In today’s conversation Whitney shares the story of her life growing up alongside her mother’s cancer battle and ultimately how her mother’s death in 2020 forced her to ask questions of her own theology like: how do I make sure I’m changed in the right ways by this, in the ways that take me somewhere and not just leave me yelling at God? Whitney has a deep faith and you’ll hear that echo throughout her story—”death teaches us how to live”, she says. And even more, she shares how developing a theology of suffering prepares us and equips us to cling to hope in Christ’s finished work when the stability of our life is shaken. I hope you’ll check out her book We Shall All Be Changed: How Facing Death With Loved Ones Transform Us or share it with a friend who may need this resource. Even more, pass along this episode today. I have found that stories are often the way God teaches us to trust Him more—Whitney’s may be the one your person needs to hear. We also chat about her latest obsession: birding. I promised I’d link the Merlin app so open your windows today and start your life list. (If you have no clue what this means, two seconds of googling should bring you up to speed.)Find Whitney on Instagram and Substack here. Thanks for tuning in! Emily This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I’m delightfully calling this episode a crossover event. It is equal parts learning about the beautiful work of an organization in the child welfare sphere and equal parts the story of God’s good work in the life of one person.The organization is 111 Project (also CarePortal) and the person is Chris Campbell. Chris is a Tulsa native who recently traveled the world for a year with his family of 7. (You might know his wife, Ashley) He currently serves as the executive director of the 111 Project, an organization that connects local churches to the child welfare system in Oklahoma. There are currently over 6,000 children in the Oklahoma foster care system and over 6,200 churches here as well. Chris shares the origin story of 111 Project and their vision for the future. You also get a glimpse into Chris’s personal journey from playing guitar at FCA to good old-fashioned church work to running statewide initiatives. You’ll hear how he came to faith and how his resume reflects a career and life of following God on adventure.After chatting with Chris (and then re-listening while I edited), I spent the remainder of the day feeling energized. For lack of a less cheesy expression, I felt like I could really make a difference, like I could take action and that action would matter on a scale bigger than myself. His unique gift of mobilizing people is woven throughout the entire episode and you’re about to be one of them.If you are someone who is interested in learning more about practical ways to engage with the child welfare crisis, this is a great starting place for you. Also, if you are a person who needs to be reminded of the power of community and the work of God in our world, let Chris encourage you and maybe get you taking steps to join the movement.Step one, listen. Step two, share this with a friend. Step three, does your church know about 111 Project? This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today I am so happy to share with you the story of Jamie O’Donoghue. Jamie is someone who I am grateful to know. He's also someone who I asked to join me on the show without knowing much of their story. In fact, I think I totally surprised him when I asked if he’d be willing to do an episode, but I am so grateful he said yes. Jamie is intentional with his words and thoughtful about his faith. You’ll hear him share about his life as a young boy in Ireland on his grandparents dairy farm, how loss and upheaval in his family as an adolescent left him wandering and wondering, and how the truth of the Gospel has impacted his life.. He’ll tell us not just what God has done, but what He’s continuing to do over years of healing. Jamie and his wife Grace live in Tulsa, OK with their son Killian. And don’t worry, I definitely asked him how a young boy from Ireland ended up married to a lovely Tulsa girl. It’s a great story all on its own.As you listen, would you think about someone else who might be encouraged by Jamie’s story? Would you send them a link to the episode? I get the best feedback from listeners who heard one interview that somehow resonated with them at just the right time. These stories matter and God is using them in beautiful and surprising ways.Tune in next week for a few favorites from the archives & an update about the rest of the We Have This Hope season!We Have This Hope is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s episode is such a gift.  I’m sharing my conversation with author Kristen LaValley—you may know her from some of her beautiful writing over the years on her blog, from Instagram, or even right here on Substack. In this episode we talk about her upcoming book Even If He Doesn’t - What We Believe About God When Life Doesn’t Make Sense. Kristen shares about doubt and belief, hope and suffering, beauty and heartache all through the lens of her story. You’ll hear her mention some heavy topics—shame-based church culture, traumatic pregnancy, to name a few—with authenticity and resiliency, the kind that reminds us that God is with us right now and in all things. Kristen lives in Massachusetts with her husband, Zach, and their five children. You can find her HERE with some high quality reels that are a mix of deep reflections and Taylor Swift references. Who doesn’t love that? Or make your way HERE to preorder her book that comes out February 20th. I’ve already read it and I couldn’t put it down. Truly, I wandered the house carrying it in my hand while I did my regular chores. This story is for everyone, but maybe you have someone in your life that you think would really resonate with this episode? If so, would you take a minute to share with them now?And before you go, today is Ash Wednesday and the start of the season of Lent. Have you checked out any of the excellent resources available to us during this season? A great place to start is the book Sacred Seasons by Danielle Hitchen of Catechesis Books. If you’re new (or old) to the rhythms of the historic church calendar, this book offers simple and insightful explanations. It’s really the perfect blend of scriptural and historical context—with recipes and a pretty cover so basically you need it in your life. I hope you’ll enjoy this week’s episode and live eyes-wide-open as you look for ways to remember & tell the work of God in your own life!Emily This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

For this episode I'm looking at the gospel of Luke to answer the question "What does scripture say about women in relationship to each other and to the church?"This episode is adapted from a live talk given at Cornerstone Church in Tulsa, OK and available for you as a paid subscriber. I love creating content that helps stir your thinking and increase your hope and it means the world to me that you would support this work. Would you consider sharing your favorite episode with a friend right now? Or simply use the Share button below to text a friend about what’s happening here? The best way to remember/tell the work of God is to actually do it. These stories are for all of us! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s episode is with my friend Andrea Bubert. Even after saying yes to joining me on the podcast, Andrea gave me the opportunity to change my mind. “If you’re sure…” she said when I told her I was certain. If you’ve ever wondered if your story was ordinary, this episode is for you. If telling your story looks more like reviewing years of faithfulness and less like “I once was blind and now I see” this episode is also for you. Andrea shares about her life with God over 4 decades in seasons of abundance and in seasons of unmet expectations. She talks about what it’s like to faithfully live the life you have and challenges us to ask really beautiful questions like “what does it look like to honor God in the season that I’m in?” Her story is not ordinary, it’s lovely and full of the hard-earned wisdom that comes from a life of obedience to God. I’m certain you’ll be encouraged!  We Have This Hope is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

You know when you see someone all the time, bump into them often and think you'd like to be friends, but you don't really know their story? That is today's conversation for me.Today I'm sharing my conversation with my new friend Kasey Rutherford, a fellow mom of 3 who lives down the street and sits near me at church. But most importantly, she's a woman whose life has been profoundly changed by Jesus.Kasey shares about hearing the Gospel in college for the first time and God's good work in her that followed. Her story is about healing from patterns of family dysfunction and God rebuilding her life in seasons of singleness, marriage, and motherhood. Kasey is full of wisdom, the hard-earned really good kind, and I know you'll be encouraged as you listen! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

I can't believe it's been over a year of We Have This Hope. Just typing those words (or saying them in a microphone) is stirring up memories of Emily circa 2021 day-dreaming and scheming, eventually planning and preparing. If you’ve been with me from the beginning, THANK YOU!Today’s episode is simple. I’m sharing the vision for WHTH in 2024 and some exciting updates that I’ll be rolling out later this month. The bonus content is some small background clips of my kids yelling “Daaaaaaaad!” and my dog barking. Maybe treat it like a game of Where’s Waldo but in podcast form? You’re welcome for the professionalism. If you’re reading this right now and want the updates right away, here’s the scoop:* We Have This Hope now lives on Substack - an awesome platform where you can subscribe for free to get the podcast as well as new written content from me. * I’ll be posting content every week this year. The first interview of the year is launching on Wednesday, January 17th and my first monthly newsletter So I Won’t Forget comes out the following week.* You can also now support We Have This Hope by upgrading to a paid subscription on Substack. You’ll support the ongoing collection of stories and get access to Bible Studies and other content. * Either way, be sure to subscribe on Substack to get each new episode or newsletter.We have an incredible line-up of people remembering the work of God in their lives and I can’t wait to share their stories with you this year!  This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

We're wrapping up 2023 and Season 2 of We Have This Hope with a really sweet episode for you! I don't take this lightly when I say today's guest is by far the cutest one we've ever had. My 5 year old son Avett has been asking to be on the show for months and he's the perfect bookend to an incredible year of interviewing wise and lovely people. I'm also sharing a Prayer for Remembering the Past Year and I hope it will bless you. Thanks for tuning and we'll be back next year with more episodes and interviews! #wehavethishope #aprayerforremembering #podcasting #podcastinterview #podcastyear #remember This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Most of us don’t work at church.  Or at least we don’t call our local church the place we get paid to show up every day and that was really never Amy’s plan.  Today you get to meet someone who is equal parts wise and funny, someone I dearly love, someone who has served the local church for nearly 15 years.  My friend Amy moved to Texas after college to teach elementary school when God called her back to her hometown to serve at the church where she grew up.  In today’s episode, she’s remembering the good and long work of loving your church, your community, and the beautiful people we meet along the way.  Make sure you don’t miss “The Butterfly Story” toward the end!  #wehavethishope #remember #localchurch #butterflystory #podcastinterview #christianpodcast This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

“Do I actually believe the resurrection is true? If it’s not, all is lost. If it is, that changes everything…” - Sarah J. HauserFriends, you need to meet Sarah J. Hauser. I stayed up late editing her episode because I just couldn’t find a place I wanted to stop. My conversation with Sarah had me holding back tears, laughing, shaking my head in solidarity, and thanking God for her story. Sarah lives with her husband and four kids (including twins!) in the suburbs of Chicago. She writes and speaks about mental health, motherhood, grief, and creativity. Her work has been featured in several favorites including Coffee & Crumbs, Risen Motherhood, & The Gospel Coalition. She’s the author of All Who Are Weary: Finding True Rest by Letting Go of the Burdens You Were Never Meant to Carry. In today’s Remembering Interview, Sarah shares specifically about a season of depression after having kids and the grief she experienced after losing her mom to cancer. Her hope in the Resurrection hasn’t come without wrestling. If you’re wondering and weary, this episode will encourage you! #wehavethishope #podcasting #rememberinginterview #allwhoareweary #christianpodcast #motherhood #grief #podcastinterview This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

“Maybe this is an image of God some people find hard to bow before or praise.  But for me, a God who grieves is a God I am more willing to trust…” - Amanda Held Opelt, Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness, & the Myth of the Blessed LifeFriends, I can't wait to get this episode to your ears. Last week I sat down with Amanda Held Opelt, author of Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness, & the Myth of the Blessed Life and I haven't stopped thinking about our conversation. Amanda speaks beautifully about her life with God, the disillusionment she experienced when pain and suffering didn't go as she expected, and how a God who grieves is a God she just can't walk away from. If you've ever wrestled with emotions that don't match expectations, this is an episode for you. If you've walked through grief (we talk about infertility and sibling loss specifically), this is an episode for you. If you are clinging to Hope and trying your best to be human, this is an episode for you. Tune in and be encouraged! #wehavethishope #remembering #holyunhappiness #podcastingAmanda Held Opelt is an author, speaker, and songwriter. She writes about faith, grief, and creativity, and believes in the power of community, ritual, shared worship, and storytelling to heal even our deepest wounds. Amanda has spent 15 years serving in the non-profit and humanitarian aid sectors, and has written for Christianity Today, Premier Christianity, and 100 Days in Appalachia. She lives in the mountains of Boone, North Carolina, with her husband and two young daughters. Amanda's Books: Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness & the Myth of the Blessed LifeA Hole in the World: Finding Hope in Rituals of Grief and HealingAmanda's Podcast:Holy Unhappiness with Amanda Held Opelt This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

We're launching Season 2 with an interview that I am truly so delighted to be sharing. A few years ago I stumbled upon the IG account Liturgies for Parents and was captivated by how these prayers were giving words to my actual life as a mom with three young kids. As it turns out the author of these beautiful words is a real person and she's LOVELY. Today, we get the gift of hearing Kayla Craig remember the story of her own family coming together through birth and adoption and how her latest work Every Season Sacred was born out of her own parenting journey. Kayla is a former journalist who brings deep curiosity and care to her writing. She's the author of Every Season Sacred and To Light Their Way. With a poetic, prophetic voice, she created the popular Liturgies for Parents Instagram account, which Christianity Today named an "essential parenting resource." She also hosts the Liturgies for Parents podcast. Kayla's nuanced and accessible reflections, essays, and prayers are featured in various books, devotionals, and Bible studies. Kayla lives in a 115-year-old former convent in her Iowa hometown, where she hopes to create spaces of welcome alongside her four children, two dogs, and pastor-husband, Jonny.#wehavethishope #everyseasonsacred #podcast #liturgiesEvery Season SacredTo Light Their Way Liturgies for Parents on IGKayla on IGKayla on TwitterKayla’s websiteKayla’s Substack This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

This season we're exploring the SPACES we occupy, the actual physical spaces where God plants us and meets with us. Each week we'll focus on one particular space, digging into where its found in Scripture and hearing stories from YOU about how you've encountered God in the spaces you occupy. Here's a little preview of the SPACES to come this Fall.... Hometowns & Neighborhoods Church Buildings Foreign Lands & Temporary Shelters Spaces Where We Do Our Work At Home & Around Our Tables Outside Have you encountered God in one of these spaces? How has God used one of these spaces to influence your story? I'd love to include your response on an episode. Send me a 1-2 minute voice memo at [email protected]. See you next week for Season 2 of We Have This Hope! #wehavethishope #podcasts #biblestudypodcasts #spacesweoccupy #podcastersofinstagram This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Most of us can say that our stories are shaped by their intersections with grief and hope. Not as many of us can say that our everyday professional lives do, but for today's guest that's exactly the case. Dr. Ryan Huey is a medical oncologist at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, TX. Ryan shares his story of unexpected grief and how God used this season of his life to influence his care for patients and families as they walk through cancer. We've been friends for nearly 30 years and I've had a front row seat to God's work in his life...spoiler alert: it's good, good work. I can't wait for you to listen! #wehavethishope #remember #griefandhope #podcasts This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

In today’s episode, wife and mom of 3, Amanda Brown remembers her last year of discovering a tumor in her brain, followed by surgery, a cancer diagnosis, recovery and remission.  This story is one I haven’t stopped thinking about since recording. Not just because the story itself is compelling, but because of how Amanda tells it. Amanda shares about finding purpose in our pain, the beauty in receiving care and learning how to give it well, and how God’s given her enough for each day. I cried when she told the story and I cried when I edited the story.  God’s work in Amanda’s life is good and it’s not finished yet.  Listen anywhere you get your podcasts - LINK IN STORIES/COMMENTS  Plus, you can find more of Amanda’s story at @thebrowntribeof5 where she shares her everyday life + reflections on what it looks like to follow Jesus in our messy, painful, and beautiful lives.#wehavethishope #remember #artofremembering #podcastinterview   This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

"The crazy thing about grief is when you're experiencing one area of grief, it really tends to open a floodgate in our brains to the other areas of grief in our life that we've never dealt with..."On today's episode my friend Lauren King shares how God met her in grief and offered healing, empathy and rest. If you've ever struggled to sit in your own sadness or filled your life so full that you can't see yourself quite clearly, Lauren's words will challenge you and equip you. Her new book Sabbath Guide is available RIGHT NOW. This tool will help you build a more intentional Sabbath practice into your weekly rhythms. Friends, don't miss this resource and beautiful story behind it. Link to Sabbath Guide & Episode 24 in stories/comments!#wehavethishope #sabbathguide #remember #rememberinginterview #podcast This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Need to change your rhythms up this Summer? Or are your rhythms changing whether you like it or not? Join me for our Summer Morning Series on James - an 8 episode deep dive into the book that some have called the Proverbs of the New Testament. This episode will break down what I'm doing, invite you to join me, and a quick look at WHO IS JAMES? I bet you'll learn something you didn't know, I definitely did! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Ever try to turn your own dream into reality and find that God was writing the same story but better? Today’s Remembering Interview with my friend Cheryl Wood will remind you that God can use us in delightfully surprising ways. Cheryl is a certified birth & postpartum doula living in Tulsa, Oklahoma and in 2021 her dream of becoming a doula to refugee women came to reality in the most unexpected ways. Tune in for the encouragement we all need as she REMEMBERS the work of God in her beautiful story! LINK IN STORIES/COMMENTS#wehavethishope #podcasting #remembering #doula #refugee This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

What did you grow up hearing about Proverbs 31? Particularly if you're a woman who grew up near the church in the 90s? Join me as we unpack the context of this super familiar passage of scripture. Spoiler alert: I don't think it's actually about a woman at all. This episode is a BONUS episode in our series studying Proverbs. Feel free to jump all the way back to Episode 4 for a more in depth look at the entire book. If you want to go deeper, be sure to check out the show notes for quick links to some resources. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Anyone else feel like worship songs about being hungry were the anthem of their early 2000s youth group experience? No, just me? This week we're talking about how the Bible uses the experience of hunger to teach us. It started with the grumbling Israelites and ends with the grumbling you and me. Grab a snack :) and tune in! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

We're back with Weekly Words and we're talking about REST.  Are you tired?  Me too.  This episode we'll look at several uses of the word in the Hebrew and end with what Jesus had to say about it.  Does Biblical rest actually mean I'm not tired anymore?  How do I know when I'm rested?  Oh and the most elusive question of all...how do I get it?  Hope this prompts your thinking, praying, and studying this week!   This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe

Taking a pause from our Weekly Words series to drop this beautiful story into your feed. Today’s interview is with Todd Craig, a certified leadership coach and pastor, a Tulsa native turned jeep-driving Floridian.Todd chats with us about a theology of remembering and how over the last 20 years God has taken him on a journey from striving to rest. If you’re someone who is always looking to the future, always thinking about potential, always striving, this might be what you need to hear to slow down and REMEMBER that in Christ you are enough. Enjoy! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe