Learning Wrestling Prayer in a World of Instant Gratification

learning wrestling prayer in a world of instant gratification #prayer #followingJesus

I like things to be instant. Well, everything except pudding. Nothing beats a slow cooked custard pudding. But for the most part if I decide something, I want to go right then and get it done. I’m just like that.

Yet, I’m learning that things don’t happen this way in the Kingdom of God.

For some reason God seems incredibly concerned with persistence.

From the story of the friend who got what he needed because he wouldn’t stop knocking, to the widow who gets the justice she desires because she won’t stop bothering the King— Jesus, himself, gives us permission to pound on the gates of heaven with our requests. Continue reading


Weakness, Impossibility, and Miracles

The skies were painted pink that night. Swirls and arches of color that filled the shadows with rainbows.

We sat in the dining room and ate grilled ham with pineapple, scooped up spoonfuls of broccoli salad, and laughed until our sides ached. When we left to drive home, long after the last shades of pink had disappeared from the sky, they had pressed the book into our hands.

She smiled, “What Ann Voskamp’s writing has done for me, Angus’ has done for my husband.”

The book was titled, A Farmer’s Yearwhich seemed a perfect name. This devotional was for more than just my husband though. Each morning as I made breakfast, he would read from the living room and the stories of faith and reminders of God’s power and majesty began sinking into me. Continue reading

the key to surviving hardship

I think I learned to love Job the most when I was battling depression. I struggled with the conversation between Job and his friends, but then I would sit and read God’s answers over and over. His glory hushed the scream of my pain. His power quieted the spinning thoughts in my head.

I read them again today. All those words God spoke from the whirlwind.

Oh, glory.  Continue reading

Why I loved my tiny house

Almost seven years were spent in the little house on the hill. People made comments sometimes, wondering that we could ever live in such a tiny place. Usually their comments only lasted as long as they were driving-by and talking. Once they came inside, they shushed up right quick.

My husband had taken a little run-down pigeon barn and fashioned a cozy, warm homestead.

Between the towering recycled dance-floor ceiling, the wall-sized windows, the golden-cherry cupboards, and the hand-crafted staircase– most people just turned around with eyes wide open when they stepped inside.

It was beautiful. And I loved every single minute we lived there. Continue reading

Faith in Life and Death (and infertility)

I was sitting on the sofa, tears streaming down my face. My words came out stuttered and halting. “I just feel like now it’s final. I’ll never have a child.”

It sounded harsh, even to my own ears. My husband’s hand tightened around mine.

And then the man seated across the room from me sighed heavy. “Actually, Tasha,” he said, “I’ve been sensing something from the Lord for awhile about this, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong. Truthfully, it was just fear because I don’t want anything to be harder for you. But I’m going to say it. You’re going to have a child, soon.”

I was too tired to laugh, as Sarah did. And too desperate for hope to refute him, as the Shunammite woman did to Elisha in 2 Kings 4.  Continue reading

Finding Him

This morning I read the story of Jesus showing up again.

He already had once, you know. He could have said, “Well, y’all had your chance.” But He didn’t. He just kept showing up, over and over. It was after his death and resurrection that He walked right into the disciples lives again.

They were back in the fishing boat. Back where they started. Their few short years of traveling with the miracle-worker skidding to a sudden halt. Continue reading

Grace Promise

Word-Snacks: bite-sized devotionals for your hungry momentsLast night my daughter called me up to her bedroom. “I neeed you, Mommy,” she whispered from the hallway. Of course I went.

Turns out she was nearly hyperventilating with worry. When my husband came home from work last evening, he was well on his way into a rough case of the flu bug. Our dear little drama-queen had her daddy all but dead and in the grave. “It was just the way he spoke, Mommy,” she cried into my shirt, “I think it might have been his last words.” Continue reading