I don’t know about you, but I love a good deal. I went to a yard sale several weeks ago and saw a foldable children’s picnic table. I had seen them in the store and had considered purchasing one for my girls, but at $50, I just couldn’t justify the price.

When I asked the man how much, he casually replied, “Coupla bucks?” I was dumbfounded. “Two dollars?” I asked. “Sure,” he said. SOLD! I hoped my face was not giving away the thrill I felt inside. My payment made, the table folded up and in the back seat of my car, I slipped away as though I had just stolen the crown jewel.

“It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer: but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth." (I like to call Proverbs 20:14 the ‘yard sale verse.’)

We only pay for things when we believe they're worth the cost. Amusement parks will charge five dollars for a bottle of water. Five whole dollars for water—outrageous! But as you might notice, a lot of people are willing to pay for it, ridiculous as it may sound. Why? Because on a hot day, with ‘no outside food or drink permitted,’ that five dollar water suddenly seems worth the price.

Other times, like my picnic table, things are priced lower than you would expect. The seller just doesn't see value in an item and marks it cheaply. I like Vera Bradley brand purses and bags and recently found a backpack at the thrift store. Most of the time, being name brand, they are priced high and a large piece like this would be tagged $25. To my pleasant surprise, this one was only eight dollars. But on closer examination, I could see why—it was dingy, dusty, and partially covered in cat hair. Still, the zippers all worked, the inside looked great and there were no major tears or flaws. So I took it home.

After a half hour or so of scrubbing and rinsing, I could tell I had a diamond in the rough. The grime was coming off and after a trip through the washing machine, I needed only to wait for the dryer to finish the work and I had a lovely, new-to-me, name-brand bag.

So what's the point? It isn't about bargain-hunting escapades.

There's something satisfying about getting more for less. A good sale on groceries, a yard sale bargain—nobody wants to pay more than they have to. That's why coupons and loyalty rewards are so popular. You get to redeem them—exchange something small for something of value. “Would you like to redeem your points for this reward?” “Earn cash back to redeem on your next purchase!”

And that word “redeem” has a rich meaning. Redemption is a beautiful picture in Scripture:

For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God; Being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus: —Romans 3:23, 24

In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace; —Ephesians 1:7

Not only did God create you, He also gave His Son to redeem you. He saw so much value in you that He was willing to pay the highest price of the shed blood of Christ on Calvary. He didn’t get a discount or wait for a better deal. He willingly gave His life to redeem you to Himself.

Sometimes we have difficult days when we feel a bit worthless, don’t we? Could I encourage you with this thought? Like the overpriced water at the amusement park, God thought you were worth the price. Likewise, like the picnic table or the dingy purse—others may not see your worth, but God does.

God commended his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.—Romans 5:8

Even in our dusty, dingy, grimy state—He was willing to redeem us, even though the price was high. He didn’t wait for us to clean ourselves up—He died for us while we were still in our sins.

That is where your worth comes from—not from your performance or appearance, but from the everlasting love of the One who redeemed you.

Psalm 139 says: O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me...there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether...How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! How great is the sum of them! (Psalm 139:1, 4, 17)

If you ever doubt your worth, remember: to the One who knows you best—the One who knows even your words before you speak them—you are precious to Him. So precious, in fact, that He thought you were worth laying down His life for.

I hope this was a blessing. If you would like to read more, visit lightinthemargins.com or subscribe. I try to send an encouraging thought each Thursday morning.

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Audio recording of my testimony given September 18, 2025 at Clays Mill Baptist Church’s Ladies Conference. I am very thankful to have had this opportunity. To God be the glory!

If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a vessel unto honour, sanctified, and meet for the master's use, and prepared unto every good work. —2 Timothy 2:21

But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus. —Philippians 4:19

And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the LORD an offering in righteousness. —Malachi 3:3

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. —Romans 8:28-29

God Moves in a Mysterious Way William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious wayHis wonders to perform;He plants His footsteps in the seaAnd rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable minesOf never failing skillHe treasures up His bright designsAnd works His sov’reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;The clouds ye so much dreadAre big with mercy and shall breakIn blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,But trust Him for His grace;Behind a frowning providenceHe hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,Unfolding every hour;The bud may have a bitter taste,But sweet will be the flow’r.

Blind unbelief is sure to errAnd scan His work in vain;God is His own interpreter,And He will make it plain.

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Have you ever heard the phrase “living rent free in your head?” It's what people say when something takes up way too much space in their thoughts without adding any value.

For example, when you keep replaying an awkward conversation and obsessing—what should I have said? How else could that have gone? Maybe you text your best friend and invite them to overthink with you and analyze someone’s facial expressions or what they really meant. Wearily, that friend may ask you ‘why are you letting this live rent free in your head?’

Or, more simply, maybe your team lost a big game and three days later you’re still grumbling about that bad ref call—you’re letting it “live rent free.”

I had such an experience a few days ago. I went to bed replaying a situation over and over, wondering if I could’ve changed the outcome. I’ve also wrestled with frustrating thoughts about things that I can’t change at all. I told my husband that I knew I was wrong to keep obsessing, but I just couldn’t seem to break the spiral of my mind. I was letting these thoughts “live rent free” in my mind and drag down my whole day.

And that's exactly where Satan wants me.

If my thoughts are consumed with frustrations, I'm not thanking God. If I am overwhelmed with worry, I'm not praising God. And if I am filled with bitterness and have an unforgiving heart, I'm not walking in the Spirit.

Satan loves it when we are filled with anything that would distract us and keep our minds off of Jesus Christ. I need to evict these “rent free” thoughts, and I have a great example from Scripture on just how to accomplish this.

In Nehemiah 13, after the walls of Jerusalem were rebuilt, Nehemiah had to leave for Babylon. While he was gone, Eliashib the priest became allied to Tobiah. Tobiah! A man who had conspired to fight against Jerusalem and frustrate the work of rebuilding... was now allied with the priest?

Not only had Eliashib and Tobiah become friends in Nehemiah’s absence, but Eliashib had “prepared for him a great chamber” in the house of God. He allowed him to move in to the very place where they had stored up provisions for the priests. Eliashib was quite literally allowing Tobiah to live rent free in the temple.

What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? —1 Corinthians 6:19

When we accept Christ as our Savior, the Holy Spirit moves into our hearts. And as a saved child of God, we are called to walk in the Spirit. Unfortunately, as Paul so often mentions, we still have to live in our flesh.

For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would. —Galatians 5:17

Our flesh is contrary to the Spirit and still responds to Satan’s whispers. Like Eliashib, our flesh can be allied with the Devil. If we aren’t vigilant, Satan will set up house in our thoughts, causing us to obsess and worry over the slightest things. In time, all the good things of God can get shoved out, the way Eliashib tossed out the priest’s provisions to make room for Tobiah.

Slowly, Satan moves in a couch of discontentment here, adds a rocking chair of worry there, hauls in a table of bitterness. Carnal “furniture” that grieves the Holy Spirit according to Ephesians 4:30-31.

And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: —Ephesians 4:30-31

So what did Nehemiah do when he returned to Jerusalem and learned there was a squatter in the temple? He threw Tobiah out! When Nehemiah discovered what Eliashib had done, it grieved him and he “cast forth all the household stuff of Tobiah out of the chamber.” (Nehemiah 13:8) It was eviction day! Not only did he move Tobiah out to the curb, but Nehemiah cleaned up the room and brought back in “the vessels of the house of God” with the offerings and frankincense.

This is similar to what Paul calls us to do in our thought life. 2 Corinthians 10:5 tells us to "cast[] down imaginations, and every high thing that exalted itself against the knowledge of God, and bring[] into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ;"

These thoughts, though they feel like a simple worry, frustration or personality conflict, are not in line with the truth of God. Why should I worry and obsess over something when I can’t see the whole picture? Why should I allow my limited perspective to exalt itself against the infinite knowledge of God? There is nothing to be gained by replaying these thoughts in my head and they must be dealt with severely. I can’t politely ask them to leave, or learn to live with them. I must evict them!

When I sense that Tobiah (Satan) is living rent free in my head, I need to stop, identify the thoughts, and terminate the tenancy the way Nehemiah kicked out Tobiah. I should cast down the imaginations, lies, bitterness or anger and then refill the room with thanksgiving, Scripture, prayer, and praise.

The phrase “living rent free” is meant as a joke, but spiritually this is no laughing matter. We don’t have to allow Satan to set up his furniture and move in rent free. We can refuse to replay conversations, rehearse frustrations, or dwell on bitterness. Doing so will only crowd out joy and thanksgiving. The Lord purchased this temple with His precious blood—why give Tobiah any room? Let’s put away, cast down, and clear out all that would grieve the Holy Spirit.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. —Colossians 3:16

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There are times I wish people would just cut to the chase. No pretense, platitudes or polish. Just say what you mean.

That’s one thing I love about the Lord and his Word— He doesn’t mince words. His language is exact. He plainly told Adam and Eve not to eat of the fruit and was quite clear— “thou shalt surely die.”

The Bible doesn’t mince words with us, either. “Be sure your sin will find you out.” (Number 32:23) “Be not deceived; God is not mocked.” (Galatians 6:7) And— “without faith it is impossible to please Him.” (Hebrews 11:6)

That verse in Hebrews, “without faith it is impossible to please Him,” has always made me a little uneasy. I’ll admit I am a bit of a people pleaser. With family, friends, and especially those in leadership, I strive to be pleasing.

Not everybody has this tendency and to be honest, I sort of envy them. Some seem to march to the beat of their own drum and have an unshakable confidence that they’re doing everything right— whether you approve or not.

But as Christians, we should desire to please the Lord. After all, He so graciously gave us this life and an eternal home in Heaven. I think it’s the least we can do to ask: Lord, what do you want from me? How can I please you?

And so we come to that verse in Hebrews. Pleasing the Lord requires faith. Faith—the evidence of things unseen. Trusting in promises. Trusting words from a supernatural Book.

I wrestled with this quite a bit when my mother was sick.

On one hand, I would read verses in John like, “if ye shall ask any thing in my name I will do it…” (Jn 14:14) Or in Matthew: “with God all things are possible…” (Mt 19:26) People would come up and tell me they were “praying for a miracle” for my mom. Praying for “complete healing.”

Of course, I prayed for those things too… or did I?

When I saw mom in pain and suffering, I just wanted mercy for her—whatever that looked like. Whether it was healing or homegoing. Was I lacking in faith because I wasn’t specifically and persistently praying for her miraculous healing?

I asked my Pastor directly about this. Was I wrong to not believe that God would heal my mom? I told him I feared I lacked faith because the situation seemed so hopeless. I said I was surrendered to whatever God’s will was, but that I feared God was not pleased with me— fearing that I lacked faith that He would perform a miracle.

His response was simple and straightforward: Faith is trusting God to do as He desires, not as we desire.

That conversation came back to mind recently as I was reflecting on mom’s illness. I began meditating on the rest of the verse: But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is…

That phrase— “believe that he is” feels a bit grammatically awkward doesn’t it? That He is … what?

And as I thought on the verse, the answer came, that He is … God. The I AM. That He is all the things that He says He is.

He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him. His Word tells us in Proverbs 8:17: I love them that love me and those that seek me early shall find me.

When mom was sick, my mind was always swirling with the unknowns. I couldn’t see the path ahead. I couldn’t predict what life was going to be like two months, two weeks, or even two days from any given moment.

You may find yourself in a similar place— facing uncertainties, not being able to clearly see the next step, and needing a measure of faith larger than you’ve ever needed before.

When I encounter these situations, do I acknowledge the fact that God is God? Do I acknowledge the fact that His ways are higher than mine? Do I acknowledge that His plans and purposes are far greater than I could ever imagine?

And when I walk through difficulties, do I seek Him early on in those trials? Do I look for His hand? Do I seek His will?

I often remark that I don’t write from the mountain top. I can’t write from a position where I feel as though I’ve attained and dole out aged wisdom. But I can see now how I have grown in the last year.

“Without faith it is impossible to please him” no longer feels like a measuring stick that I’m falling short of. Now when I read that verse, I feel an invitation to trust Him more.

I couldn’t see that before. I thought that faith meant demanding more effort from myself, as though the more fiercely I believed, the more likely I could see my prayer answered.

But now I can see: there is faith in the waiting. Faith in the surrender. Faith in pouring out your heart to God and trusting that no matter what He does, it will be the right thing.

This one was a little tender—thanks for spending a few moments with me. If it was a blessing, would you consider sharing it with a friend? Maybe someone else could use a little encouragement today too.

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This past summer our family visited Gulf Shores, Alabama, and we had access to a quiet stretch of the beach. At least, it was quiet at dawn. One morning, our family was out enjoying the crashing waves, feeling almost as if we had the entire ocean to ourselves—when another family showed up. They planted their umbrellas, propped up their beach chairs, and promptly turned on a Bluetooth speaker. Loudly. Ugh. So much for our peaceful paradise.

Our world is just... noisy. Cars, cell phones, smart watches, televisions, iPads, talking toys—so many things compete for our hearing. And that can make silence too much to bear. When the power goes out, especially on a cold winter night, you realize how loud the hum of the refrigerator was. Silence can make us anxious.

So what do you do…when God seems silent? When you pray and pray and never seem to get an answer— not a yes or even a no, just… silence?

The disciples in the boat experienced a sort of silence from God. While the storm was raging around them, Jesus wasn’t just quiet, he was sound asleep! Silent. Still. And what was their response? Panic. “Master, carest thou not that we perish?!”

The children of Israel had a similar panic in Numbers 17 when, even after God showed His power by causing Aaron's rod to bud and establish his authority, they cried: “Behold we die, we perish, we all perish.” Talk about dramatic.

Silence feels like inaction. I see this in my children all the time. They will call to me from another room and I, silently, will begin walking towards them. If I don’t announce my coming, they’ll cry again, “Mommy!” I think to myself, ‘I heard you, child, I’m on my way. I just didn’t tell you.’

Sometimes I wonder if God is “on His way” to answer a prayer but I am too impatient. At times I look for God to answer me in the miraculous. Like Elijah, who looked for God in the wind, the earthquake, and fire—I expect earthquake answers sometimes. Last September I somehow pinched a nerve in my neck that caused my right thumb to go numb for weeks. “Oh, Lord,” I cried— “fix this now! Make this pain and numbness go away!” I wanted quick relief, not three months of slow-moving physical therapy.

When we walk through a difficult season and are met with silence from God, it’s hard for us to be still and accept the waiting. When all is quiet and nothing seems to be moving, our minds fill with doubts. Silence causes us to overthink, worry, and assume the worst. Satan pushes us to rush ahead and seek for answers. “You’re being left out! You’re falling behind!” he whispers.

But God is not afraid to move in quiet ways. Christ himself didn’t hesitate to respond with silence.

When Pilate demanded of Christ: "Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee?" The Bible says that Jesus "answered him to never a word." (Matthew 27:14) Mark 15:3 describes how "[t]he chief priests accused him of many things: but he answered nothing."

Still, silent waiting is hard. So what can we do?

Psalm 4 says: “be still...put your trust in the LORD.” Isaiah says: “in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.” (Isaiah 30:25)

Still...Quiet...Trusting...

Moses and Caleb tried to still the children of Israel in their moments of panic. (Exodus 14:13, Numbers 9:8 and 13:30) Naomi instructed Ruth to sit still and wait for Boaz's decision. (Ruth 3:18) Being still and quiet does not always equal passive inaction. Sitting still requires trust.

Likewise, silence from God does not always equal inaction. Sometimes God needs us to calm down first and seek His still, small voice.

Pray. Wait. Trust. It's not just something to slap on a t-shirt. It's a decision of surrender to God.

Let me challenge you to unplug—literally. We fill our discomfort with content. We reach for our phones in the waiting room, check Facebook at stoplights, listen to our playlist on every walk. Instead, let’s practice just being quiet before the Lord. Find a verse and meditate on it throughout the week. Don't just rush through a prayer list of things you are worried about and panicking over. Stop assuming that silence is rejection. Trust that God heard your prayers, and maybe what feels like silence is an opportunity. An invitation from the Father to sit still long enough to know Him, not just hear from Him.

In closing, I’d like to share a prayer with you that I recently read by Susannah Spurgeon, and hope it will encourage you:

“I thank Thee for my waiting times… When Thou seemest slow to answer prayer, it is but to make me more eager for the mercy, or to teach me to ask with greater confidence, or that Thou mayest gather up Thy blessings in order to bestow them ‘exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.’”

Waiting, she wrote, can be resting. It renews strength. It gives hope a foothold. And if I may add, waiting grows our faith. Faith that doesn’t panic in the storm. Trust that is comfortable with silence.

My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. — Psalm 62:5

He heard you. He’s still in the boat or He may be on His way. And He does all things well.

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When I was in high school, I dreamed of becoming a Spanish teacher and eventually, a school administrator. Because of that, I was given a unique opportunity to shadow our district’s superintendent for a day. I didn’t end up working in education, but I’ve never forgotten what Dr. Richard Hughes taught me that day: name recognition matters.

While we were touring one of the elementary schools, a student I had worked with during a summer camp saw me and waved. Of course I smiled and waved back, but as we walked away, Dr. Hughes asked me if I knew that little girl. I told him I did and explained the connection. Then he asked, “Do you remember her name?” “Yes…?” I curiously replied. He told me, “The next time you see someone you recognize, call them by name. People like to hear their name.”

I imagine he learned this principle from Dale Carnegie’s teachings, who is well-known for saying “a man’s name is to him the sweetest and most important sound in any language.”

My career path may have changed from those high school days, but that lesson about calling someone by name stuck with me like glue.

These days, I enjoy standing in the foyer of our Sunday school building and greeting most of the children by name. I may only get to teach five or six of the little girls, but I want every kid who comes in to know that they are seen and that they are known.

That hope to make children feel special has carried into other areas. When I began working on the yearbook for our Christian school this past year, I did my best to caption as many photos as I could. I also tried to find ways to include those who may not have been pictured in the yearbook as frequently. Of course, some were camera shy, but I did my best to say, This child was here. Not just a nameless face in a snapshot, but this is her name. This is his name. They matter.

The idea behind the lesson that Dr. Hughes taught me that day is that calling someone by name makes an impression—especially on a child or those serving with you. It feels like wow, he knows who I am. She knows my name. Put aside the cautionary lessons about pride for just a moment and consider this. Doesn’t it feel good when someone acknowledges you? Especially by name? It puts a little extra spring in your step, a little more gas in the tank to keep going, keep working, when you feel like you’re seen and known.

Now think of how many people you encounter, especially on a Sunday at church. Do you just see a crowd of meaningless faces? Or do you see each individual?

I think one of the greatest tools of the enemy is the desire for recognition. If Satan can’t lift our hearts up in boastful pride, he’ll drag us down into discouragement. He might make us feel as though our existence is overlooked, our contribution is meaningless, and that we are unknown.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, why not try to encourage else someone simply by saying their name? Look them in the eye and let them know they aren’t invisible. You may not know but that person may be struggling with the exact same feelings as you. Remember Proverbs 18:24:

A man that hath friends must show himself friendly…

We would all love to be called by name, and there is no better friend than the One who knows your name.

Dr. Hughes and Dale Carnegie may think this is a novel idea, but the Good Shepherd has been calling His children by name since the beginning of time.

To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out. John 10:3

The Lord knows your name. He calls you by name. Stop and meditate on how precious that is—He doesn’t just see a crowd of people on the Earth, He sees His children. You aren’t a faceless nobody to Him.

The Creator of the Universe, the One who flung out the planets and “made the stars also” knows your name. In Isaiah 43:1 He says, “Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by name; thou art mine.” When you were saved, He wrote your name in a Book better than any school yearbook—my name is in the Book of Life, Oh bless the name of Jesus!

Rejoice, because your names are written in heaven. Luke 10:20

What a comforting thought that the Lord keeps records, not of random statistics, but of names! Not because He needs help remembering, but because you matter to Him.

And more than your name, He knows your service. Momma, He sees your sleepless nights and the sacrifices you make for your family. I hope you feel valued and seen by those around you. But whether or not anyone ever acknowledges your dedication, He sees it. Nothing is ever wasted with Him. Three times in Matthew chapter 6, Christ said what He sees in secret, “He shall reward…openly.”

As I worked on the yearbook, there were some photos that time and space just didn’t permit me to caption. It pained me not to be able to list every name. But there is plenty of room in God’s Book. He knows every name. Every face. Every moment. Nothing is ever forgotten by Him, and He wants to write your name there too, if it isn’t there already.

All God asks for you to do is acknowledge His son’s name, call upon it, confess that you are a sinner, and accept His free gift of salvation. He promises:

For whosoever shall call upon the name of the LORD shall be saved. Romans 10:13

The name of the LORD. That strong tower I can run to. (Proverbs 18:10) The name that every knee will bow before one day. Because His name matters above all others.

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Sunday morning before the baptism, our church sang Take My Life and Let it Be. I nudged my husband. This hymn and the author of it has been an interesting point of study for me this summer.

Frances Ridley Havergal wrote the hymn, but more than that, she strove to live out the meaning of each word.

She suffered from poor health during her life, including typhoid fever, and died in 1879 at just forty-two years old. Before her death, she wrote a devotional book titled Kept for The Masters Use. She begins the book by explaining if we are asking the Master to “take” our lives, shouldn’t we also trust that he will “keep” them? And in letting Him take and keep our lives, all becomes kept for the Lord’s use, however He sees fit.

The book, published posthumously, carefully combs through each line of the hymn and considers a life kept for Him—our hands, our voices, our silver and gold, our intellects, will, and heart—all kept for the Master’s use.

The last line of the hymn we sang so breezily that morning says: Take my self and I will be Ever, only, all for Thee.

Take my… self?

What sobering words those are! Especially in 2025 when “self-care” and “self-love” have become big business. As women we’re told to “take time for yourself…don’t neglect yourself… do something good for your self.”

I wonder what Frances would have thought about all that.

This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves… —2 Timothy 3:1-2

Please don’t think that I am suggesting you cover yourself in sackcloth and ashes and deny every little comfort for the cause of Christ. But I would like to challenge us, myself included— have we gotten too focused on our selves and our comforts?

Romans 12:1-2 calls us to present our bodies a living sacrifice to our Lord and tells us that this is our “reasonable” service.

“Sacrifice” does not call to mind comforts and self-indulgence. Sacrifice sounds like pain. Suffering. Taking up a cross.

Take my self and I will be — Ever, only, all for Thee.

Those closing lines of her hymn —“ever , only, all”— are small words with deep meaning to Havergal. She wrote:

Dear friends the ‘all’ must be sealed with ‘only.’ Are you willing to be ‘only’ for Jesus? You have not given ‘all’ to Jesus while you are not quite ready to be ‘only’ for Him. And it is no use to talk about ‘ever’ while we have not settled the ‘only’ and the ‘all.’ You cannot be ‘for Him,’ in the full and blessed sense, while you are partly ‘for’ anything or any one else.

Havergal then points to our influence as a critical reason why we must live ever, only, all for Christ.

Influence is another big business these days. Social media has propelled otherwise ordinary people onto a worldwide platform, with brands and businesses lining up to collaborate with them for a share of their audience.

As a mom of five daughters, I think often about the comparison trap. Even without social media accounts, I sense it occasionally in my girls. A YouTube video here, a Pinterest search there—it doesn’t take much to notice what someone else has and feel a twinge that our own lives don’t measure up.

One of my creative girls once designed a Perler bead pattern and excitedly asked me to share it on Pinterest. There’s nothing wrong with sharing creativity, but that moment struck me how natural it is, even for a child, to want to be seen on a public stage.

It’s easy to scroll and see shiny, curated reels. As we thumb past beautifully staged homes or enticing vacation photos with perfectly worded captions, we may quietly wonder why our own life feels so ordinary in comparison. We may even notice how some posts draw hundreds of likes while ours barely move and we can wonder if we matter as much.

But God’s Word shows us that He does not value visibility as much as surrender. As Havergal says, we may feel we have very little talent, nothing special to offer Him. But as she points out, “[influence] is not what we say or do, so much as what we are, that influences others.” In what she describes as the “influence of a very average life,” Havergal points out the fact that God does not need to put you on a big stage to give Him glory.

Gideon thought of himself as the “least in [his] father’s house” yet God called him a “mighty man of valor.” God didn’t call Gideon because he was famous, he called him because he was faithful. Gideon saw himself as poor. We too, may feel as though we have nothing to offer but a broken heart. The truth from God’s Word is that He will not despise that broken and contrite heart.

There’s nothing wrong with sharing the good in our lives. But if God has given you a life that doesn’t draw attention, a life that feels less than exciting or even “ordinary,” don’t believe Satan’s lie that you are less valuable in His eyes. God can take an average life and use it for His glory in ways that we may never know about on this side of eternity.

The world tells us to build a platform, chase a following. Christ calls us to lay our selves on the altar. To sacrifice our broken spirit and present our bodies a living sacrifice.

You don’t have to be Instagram-famous to make an eternal difference.

Re-read the last lines of the hymn:

Take my self and I will be ever, only, all for Thee.

Perhaps the most influential thing you can do today is just live in surrender to the Savior who sacrificed His own life for yours. And when others look at your “average life” they can’t help but see Him, first.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

“This is the worst day of my life!” My 10-year-old daughter exclaimed before bed one evening. “I wish I could just go back to yesterday and nothing change.”

In March, at a regular check up, our pediatrician suspected that she had scoliosis. We’d been through this before with my oldest daughter and thought we knew this path. A quick x-ray, a brief chat with the specialist, and we’d be good. Just establish a six month maintenance plan to check in on things, and life would continue status quo.

Unfortunately, this visit didn’t go quite as smoothly. Between her first x-ray in March and the follow up in July, her curve had worsened significantly. What we expected to be a 30-minute walk in the park turned into a 3 hour ordeal—x-rays, measurements, and being casted for a back brace.

There’s about a four-week delay between the time I write my posts and publish them, so by the time you read this, we will have just begun our bracing journey.

To her 10-year-old mind, the brace feels like the worst thing ever.

As her mother, I see it as a help. An opportunity. A good thing.

The brace will give her spine the best chance to grow straighter and healthier. Right now, she has no pain. But if the curve continues, pain and difficulties will come. The brace is a prevention. A help.

Then a whisper came to my heart—This is how God sees my grief.

This is how He sees all those trials I buck against. The minor injustices I suffer that make me cry out “why, Lord?”

They’re like that brace.

The Lord also brought these Scriptures to mind:

Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you... 1 Peter 4:12

Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind... Romans 12:2

...be conformed to the image of his Son... Romans 8:29

I see my daughter, exasperated, saying “why do I have to wear this dumb thing? Life is good! Nothing hurts!”

And in parallel I see myself, weeping— “Why did I have to lose my mom? Life was good! She was my anchor. She loved me. Nothing was wrong!”

And just as I speak to my daughter with motherly wisdom— “this is to shape you. To help you grow in the best way, to prepare you for a healthier adulthood...”

—the Lord speaks to me in perfect Fatherly wisdom— “this is to shape you. To help you grow spiritually in the best way. To prepare you to become like my Son.”

Oh, why do I ever doubt His wisdom and His love for me?

“Romans 8:28!” We cry.

But sometimes, if I’m honest, I say “all things work together for good” as if I were holding up a shield, flinching from the Enemy's arrows of doubt.

Now no chastening at the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous...Hebrews 12:11

No chastening at the present seems good...

No back bracing at the present seems good...

They may dress it up with fun patterns. She may get matching doll accessories. But it’s still going to take some getting used to. It’s still going to be disruptive and inconvenient. A burden to carry. But she has to wear it.

And as her mother, I don’t want her to grit her teeth and bear it. I want her trust me, trust the doctors. I want her to accept it. I want her to rest in knowing that this is good for her.

Isn’t that what the Lord wants from us?

Missionary Amy Carmichael has a wonderful quote— “In acceptance lieth peace.”

I may not like my circumstances, but if I can come to an acceptance, there is peace. With acceptance, the verse “all things work together for good” changes from a shield, fighting off doubts, into a pillow I can rest on.

That night, when my daughter declared it was the worst day of her life, I told her I understood, but that I saw things differently. I believe God is preparing her. She has such a tender servants heart, so much joy, such a good disposition. I told her I believe God can use this trial to teach her and build her character. If she learns to trust Him now, while she is young, she will be stronger to trust Him through even greater things as she grows up.

Suffering is a part of the Christian life. When Christ said “take up your cross,” he meant it literally. The cross is suffering.

I didn’t begin learning these lessons until much later in life, but now I see the richness of surrender. The blessings that come when I stop resisting His will and begin accepting and receiving all the things He gives me.

So in this new season of meeting scoliosis head-on, God is teaching both of us to trust Him more.

And my prayer is that one day, she’ll look back and say “I'm so thankful I wore that brace.”

And likewise, I hope one day I’ll look back and say “it is good for me that I have been afflicted.” Psalm 119:71

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This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

When I was 13, I had an unusual fainting episode and woke up with a gash under my right eye, just above my cheek, that required 10 stitches. That was also the summer I got braces—an awkward beginning to my teenage years.

We did everything we could to lessen the scar—my mom was so diligent to carefully apply vitamin E oil to my skin every night. But even now, decades later, the scar remains. Most people never notice it.

But I do.

Especially when I smile—my face crinkles asymmetrically just above my right cheek.

Isn’t that odd? A mark left by a deep wound is most visible in my moments of joy.

I think there’s something to that—how joy and pain can live side by side. How one can provoke the other. In the beauty of a lovely, ordinary day, grief can brush up against happiness and quietly reveal itself.

I recently read the phrase “grief doesn’t have a finish line” and I’ve been ruminating on that. When I lost my mom, I knew the first year would be the hardest. But I think, quietly, I had hoped the sadness would ease off quickly.

Truthfully, it hasn’t.

This summer has only amplified my grief: remembering dates and appointments and moments that would become our “lasts.”

In the middle of an ordinary, carefree summer day, I can catch the smell of Tyler Diva laundry detergent on the breeze and suddenly joy walks side by side with tears. That scent—distinctive and immediate—can turn my head faster than my husband’s cologne. It’s the detergent my mom switched to when she came home from her first hospital stay, less than 60 days before she passed.

This road is somewhat familiar to me. When I lost Rebekah and Rachel, tiny things would take my breath away, unbidden. I remember walking down the grocery store aisles and all I could see were ‘Twin’kies and ‘twin’ packs. Just the word ‘twin’ felt like a punch in the gut. Even carrying another baby, holding a healthy child—it didn’t erase the ache of grief.

Grief is never “over”—you just learn to live with it, like a scar.

Just like I learned to live with a scar that crinkles up in joy.

It gives me great comfort to think of the scars my Savior has, that I will see one day. Wounds He could have erased, but chose to keep.

In 1859, C.H. Spurgeon preached a sermon titled “The Wounds of Jesus”. It’s worth reading in its entirety if you can find the time. In it, he says:

“I wish to draw your attention to the simple fact, that our Lord Jesus Christ, when He rose again from the dead had in His body the marks of His passion. If He had pleased He could readily have removed them. [T]hese scars, these are the memorials of the fight, and these the trophies, too.”

Christ did not remove His wounds, He took them to Heaven with Him. Like Spurgeon says, they were trophies—proof that He was not defeated by death, but that He conquered death.

“Even the captain of our salvation must be made perfect through suffering; therefore, we who are guilty, we who are far from being perfect, must not wonder that we have to be wounded too,” Spurgeon continues. “[T]he wounds of Christ are to teach us that suffering is necessary.”

He could have erased every trace of His suffering, but He kept the marks. Marks that reveal the depth of His love for us, and the cost of a crucified life.

Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy. — 1 Peter 4:12 & 13

Perhaps we should not hide our scars, or wish them away.

The scars of grief are not weakness. They are proof of love.

Scars are not failures. They are proof that you survived.

Time may fade the scar of grief. The edges may soften and the wound become less tender. But no—you will never be completely finished with grief.

And that’s okay.

Because He isn’t finished with you, either.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

As I’ve been meditating on this word grace, a thought came to me: why can I extend grace to others—but not to myself?

If I have grace flowing through me, I can overlook rude or insensitive actions of others. I can forgive. I can give the benefit of the doubt. But what about those times that I ought to show that same grace to myself?

On the outside, I might come across as polished, confident, perhaps even put together. But inside? The real me is second guessing our conversation, doubting my abilities, worrying about how I’m perceived. My mind is full of negative self-talk.

My momma always said “I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

I’ve been wired this way for a while.

I simply do not give myself much grace. I don’t give myself the benefit of the doubt. I expect too much. I demand perfection. Not because I am perfect, but almost as a defense mechanism. If I can do something close to perfect, then no one can criticize me.

But honey, it’s 2025 and this is the world wild web. If someone wants to criticize you, they will. It won’t take much.

So am I going to let that fear of failure stop me from sharing my heart? Especially if it could help another woman who might be struggling in the same, silent way?

If you want to know how deep this fear runs—I once switched my entire major in college because I was afraid of making less than an A in Quantitative Economics.

So yes, I will let fear stop me. At least I have in the past.

What does this have to do with the grace of God?

Let’s look at 2 Thessalonians 2:16:

Now our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God, even our Father, which hath loved us, and have given us everlasting consolation and good hope through grace,

The phrase that gives me pause is that “good hope through grace.”

Sometimes, by not extending grace to myself, I think I’ve quietly given up hoping for good things from God. I don’t know if you can relate. But somewhere along the way, I began to think that God gives good things…but with strings attached.

When I lost Rebekah and Rachel, I struggled for years with the question of why—why would He answer my prayer for twins only to take them back? (Yes! I prayed specifically to be given twins!) And I battled the fear that somehow I didn’t deserve God’s grace.

Frances Ridley Havergal, best known for the hymn “Take My Life and Let It Be” wrote about that sort of fear. She described the terrible thought that God might receive our prayers the way an adult might receive a token gift or scribble from a child, just to humor them, only to toss it away when they weren’t looking.

“Should we not trust Him to do this thing that we have asked and longed for?” She asked, “Does He mock our longing by acting as I have seen an older person act to a child, by accepting some trifling gift of no intrinsic value, just to please the little one, and then throwing it away as soon as the child’s attention is diverted?”

When I read that recently it landed like a stone on my heart, taking me back to the loss and pain that I struggled with over a decade ago. I truly felt as though God had answered my prayer for twins and then purposely yanked them from me to “teach me a lesson.” I could not rest nor find grace that God had a higher purpose—I only blamed myself.

I can see now how I was wrapped up in a spiral of shame and failure. It took years for me to accept that God wasn’t punishing me—He was shaping me. In love, He was teaching me obedience and conforming me to the image of His Son.

I wish I could write about this as though I have conquered the battle, but I can’t. I still struggle to extend grace to myself. Still feel like an impostor. Still doubt my abilities and fear failing. I chide myself that I need to mature past this, but recently, an older friend shared her own similar struggle and I have come to believe that perhaps I’m not alone. Perhaps needing to give myself grace is not something that I will outgrow, but rather I should grow into that grace, just as the verse says:

But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. —2 Peter 3:18a

I’m still figuring this one out, but can I gently say, to all of us ladies, and as a reminder to myself—give yourself grace. Forgive yourself for the times you’ve messed up. Forgive yourself for the things that weren’t your fault. You’re doing the best you can. Satan wants to discourage you, to take you out of the fight. Don’t give in to those lies. Knock off the negative self-talk. Would you speak to your best friend in that way? Or would you show her grace?

Grace is what you need—to give to others, but also to give to yourself.

Grace is what you need.

Not because you’ve earned it. But because He gives it.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com