Light in the Margins

The penny wasn’t actually the problem.

The men weren’t angry that they were paid less than they had been promised. They got exactly what they had agreed to. The penny only became a problem when they saw what somebody else received.

Matthew 20 begins with Jesus telling his disciples about a man who owned a vineyard. He needed work done one day and went out to hire help. “He agreed with the labourers for a penny a day,” and sent them into the vineyard. These first workers knew exactly what they were working for—one penny for the day’s work. As the parable goes on, the householder hires more and more workers; some at the third hour, some at the sixth and ninth hours, and even more are hired at the eleventh hour. And to each group of men, the householder agrees to pay “whatsoever is right.” (Matthew 20:4, 7)

At the end of the day, the workers hired at first have put in a full day’s work. Those hired at the eleventh hour have barely worked a full hour when evening comes.

You can imagine those ‘first-hour’ hires: they’re tired, sweaty, dirty, but happy to have put in a full day of hard work.

The end of the day comes and it’s now time to settle up and pay out the wages. Jesus describes the scene for us— ‘call the men and pay them,’ the master says to his steward, ‘and pay them out last to first.’

At the front of the line stood men who had worked only an hour. Yet when they stepped forward to receive their wages—they each received a penny.

Now imagine watching that from the back of the line after putting in a full day’s work. As the line progresses, they see that every man in front of them is receiving a penny.

Finally, it comes to the end of the line and time for the first-hour hires to be paid. And the Bible says, “they supposed that they should have received more.” (Matthew 20:10)

They supposed.

They thought they would have been given more. Why? Had the householder made a new promise with them? Had their original agreement changed? No.

We don’t know whether the other men complained. But those who did complain were the very men with whom the householder had kept his agreement.

I have some questions for those men. Because apparently a penny would have been sufficient. They agreed, from the very beginning, to work all day for a penny.

Nothing about that penny had changed.

The only difference was that now they knew what somebody else received.

And I wonder, would they have been content if they had never known what those eleventh-hour workers had received? What if the steward had paid the first-hour hires first and then allowed them to go home and prop up their feet after a long day’s work?

Would they have complained if they hadn’t known?

The penny was enough to hire them. It was enough as they were working hard. I don’t see where anyone quit halfway through the day because a penny wasn’t enough. It’s not like somebody sent Jerry to organize the local United Vineyard Workers and renegotiate the contract.

The penny was enough until they looked.

What happens when we look?

Imagine you just bought your first home—sure, it’s small, but it’s yours. You’ve painted it, decorated it, planted flowers and thanked God for it... Until you walked into hers. Then you began counting bedrooms. Then you began noticing what your house doesn’t have. But wait—what about your house has changed? Nothing.

Maybe it’s not the house. Finish your own thought—

I was pleased with my progress until I saw...I was encouraged by my child’s accomplishment until I learned...I was thankful for my opportunity until I realized...

Would you still consider your portion small if you couldn’t see hers?

And there is something more underneath this story.

When we keep reading, we find the complaint of the first-hour workers: “These last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.” (Matthew 20:12)

Thou hast made them equal unto us.

That’s really the complaint here, isn’t it?

They weren’t complaining that the last workers received more. They were complaining that the last workers received the same.

We worked longer. We worked harder. We toiled in the heat of the day. Surely that should set us apart. Surely my work should count for more.

If they receive the same penny without all the same hard work, without the callouses and sweat—does that mean that my work wasn’t as valuable as I thought?

But friend, did you want the penny, or did you want proof of your worth?

Do we want the blessings or do we want what we think the blessing will prove about ourselves?

Then look how the master responds— “Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree with me for a penny?” (Matthew 20:13)

The workers are holding up their penny and measuring it against someone else’s. But the master pulls them away from that comparison and asks, ‘have I wronged you?’

What if we asked ourselves that question? Has God wronged me?

Why does God’s goodness to someone else suddenly cancel out His goodness to me?

“Is thine eye evil, because I am good?” the master asks. (Matthew 20:15)

He was good to the first-hour workers. He hired them. He honored his agreement. He paid them exactly what he promised.

Was he good to the eleventh-hour workers also? Yes, he was.

The master’s character didn’t change. The agreement didn’t change. The value of the penny didn’t change.

Maybe the problem wasn’t the penny. Maybe it’s where they were looking.

...but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise. — 2 Corinthians 10:12

I keep coming back to this verse in my thoughts lately. It feels nigh impossible to go through a day and not be pulled away by seeing someone or something that causes me to compare my own life and feel inadequate sometimes. But comparison is not wise!

Another woman is a faulty measuring instrument for my own life.

Sometimes I fear we walk around with these invisible scorecards. We look at our possessions, our successes and think, ‘+1 me.’ But then we see someone doing better than us and our minds think, ‘+1 her and -1 me.’

I think we give ourselves imaginary points for sacrificing more. For working longer. I’ve paid my dues. Surely that should mean something. Surely that should distinguish me somehow.

Why do we do that? Why do we fuel envy and strife? The blessings that God gives another woman is not proof that He has withheld something good from me.

Her +1 does not equal my -1.

Her success is not my failure.

And here’s the thing—our scorecards may never be equal. The answer to the comparison trap isn’t pretending our lives are equal. They’re not. She may really be blessed abundantly and I may really have to suffer loss.

But I don’t need her scorecard to interpret my own.

I don’t need to count her pennies to receive the blessing of the pennies I’ve been given.

And if I stopped counting her pennies, I could receive mine gladly.

I could rejoice in small blessings. I could stop checking numbers or keeping score. I could stop requiring someone else’s life to tell me what mine means.

The penny was enough until they looked.

What has God given you that was enough—until you looked?

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

Thursday I had the opportunity to share this devotion with ladies at my church. This is a look at accusation, evidence, and what happens when our hearts take something that may be true and turn it into a verdict about our character.

Several ladies asked if I would share my recording, so I’m sharing it here today along with the handout from the session.

I hope it will encourage your heart.

OVERTURNED: The Verdict of Grace

For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things. — 1 John 3:20

THE LOWER COURT — Examine the Evidence

What is the difference between conviction and accusation?

Revelation 12:10 — Satan is called “the accuser of our brethren.”

THE HIGHER COURT — What Does God Actually Say?

Psalm 103:8 — He is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.”

Psalm 103:10 — “He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.”

Psalm 103:13–14 — “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

1 John 2:1 — “…we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.”

Proverbs 18:13 — “He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him.”

When my heart condemns me…

1. What actually happened?Separate the facts from my interpretation.

2. What did I make it mean?What story have I attached to the facts? What verdict have I rendered about myself?

3. What is actually true?Do I have evidence for my conclusion? Is there something I need to confess or change?What has God said?

4. What will I do with the truth?Confess? Make something right? Learn from a mistake? Reject an accusation? Depend more fully upon Christ?

BRING IT INTO CAPTIVITY

Philippians 4:8 —“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true…think on these things.”

2 Corinthians 10:5 — “…bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 —“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

TRUTHS TO REMEMBER

* The evidence may be true. The verdict may not be.

* Grace does not deny the evidence. Grace keeps the evidence from becoming a verdict God never rendered.

* The One who knows everything about me is also merciful and gracious toward me.

* My weakness should lead me to dependence upon Christ, not despair.

Know someone who might need this reminder?

Want to keep in touch? Light in the Margins is where I collect thoughts about faith, grace, and the truths God keeps teaching me in ordinary life. If you’d like to read along, you can subscribe here:

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

Friend, I know I haven’t been writing much lately.

It’s not for lack of trying. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I have a hundred essays sitting unfinished in my Notes app to prove it.

Every so often I decide this is it—this is the week I’m going to get back into the habit. A verse, a Bible story, or an illustration catches my attention and I sit down with it and start to write a few paragraphs. I write and re-write, I edit, contemplate more Scripture...and close my iPad and walk away.

For awhile I thought it was writer’s block.

But I don’t think that’s quite it.

The truth is, I am struggling to write from the middle.

Lately the things that have caught my attention have been verses about contentment, waiting on the Lord, foggy valleys and an optometrist’s chart clicking into focus. And every time I’ve tried to write, I’ve hit a stalemate.

When I first began writing, it felt simpler. I had notes in the margins of my Bible, applications I wanted to share or some ordinary illustration of Biblical truth that I noticed in the chaos of my days. When I began, the words seemed to fly off my fingers. I wasn’t trying to make writing into anything bigger than it was. I simply saw something that encouraged me and wanted to share it in hopes that I could be an encouragement to someone else.

But somewhere along the way, something changed. I began putting pressure on myself each week to find something to share, and then I feared that I was forcing my writing. When my fountain of ideas began trickling, I began wondering, had I gotten this all wrong?

Transitions are hard.

And I’ve been going through a lot of them lately.

Learning to live without my mom was one. It wasn’t easy not having her to talk to daily, to mentor me and help me work through my thoughts.

Then my youngest children started half-day kindergarten and my mornings were open. I remember someone asking me that year, ‘what are you going to do with yourself?’ And without hesitation I said, ‘I’m going to write.’

Now another year has passed and my children are in school all day. And once again, I find myself staring at an open stretch of time and wondering...what’s next? After so many years where the immediate need and the next step in front of me was obvious, I keep looking at my life as though a chapter is closing and asking God what He intends to write next.

I wanted desperately to be an encouragement to women. I wanted to be taken seriously. I wanted to feel like I was using whatever gifts and abilities God had given me for His glory. And because I cared so much about those things… I started watching for proof.

We like proof, don’t we? We pray and look for evidence that our prayers were heard. We obey and watch for signs that we’re headed in the right direction. We invest our time into something and look for results that reassure us that it mattered.

But sometimes we’re measuring the wrong things.

And when I didn’t see the results I had hoped for with my writing, I began questioning the whole thing.

Maybe I wasn’t actually a writer. Maybe I wasn’t any good at this. Maybe I had misunderstood God all along and He hadn’t called me to this at all.

It didn’t help when I looked around and observed other women who wrote devotional content. I examined their lives and felt disqualified. Or I examined their daily writings and knew I couldn’t compete with AI-written prose.

Underneath that though, I knew comparison was the thief of joy. I knew that it was not wise. I knew that I was being a help to at least a handful of women and that should have been evidence of God’s blessing. I knew all the right answers to my discouragement.

…but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise. — 2 Corinthians 10:12b

But knowing those things didn’t stop the doubts.

And that became part of the problem.

Because what authority do I have to write about comparison when I still compare? How can I write about contentment when I’m still learning to be content? How can I write about trusting God with an uncertain future when I would very much like Him to make my path more clear? How can I encourage another woman to trust and obey while I’m quietly asking God if my own obedience is misguided?

I love writing. I especially love sharing lessons that I have learned. There’s something comforting, too, about reading how someone made it through a struggle and how God helped them along the way. It’s reassuring to be able to look at the messy threads of another woman’s life and hear her testimony how God wove all those strands into something beautiful.

But lately, so many of the things in my life just feel like tangled threads. So many things aren’t tied neatly with a bow.

And so often when I look at my life, I don’t always know how to hold it up as an illustration and say, “see? This is what happens when you trust God.”

I can’t tell you with absolute certainty that if you surrender something to the Lord, you’ll stop desiring it. I can’t tell you that obedience will lead you where you hope to go. I can’t tell you that trusting God is easy or comfortable.

But the authority in devotional writing shouldn’t come from the person mastering the subject.

If I have to wait until I understand the mechanics of prayer before I write on the power of it; if I have to conquer comparison before I can encourage another woman to stop looking at others, I should probably delete half of everything I’ve ever written.

The authority comes from the Word of God, whether I fully understand it or not.

So if good writing has to follow a formula of “I learned this Bible lesson, so let me teach it to you,” I’m not your girl.

Most of the time I feel more like saying, “I am struggling with this, but God has reminded me what His Word says. I don’t really understand it all, but I’m trying.”

There are so many things that I’m still learning.

I can’t point to my life and say ‘see how God’s truth applied here, see what I learned, and how you can trust Him too.’

Because so much of it is part of a story that He is still writing.

I don’t know what God’s will is for the next chapter of my life. I don’t know why I have a law degree, why I love to read and write and learn and grow. I don’t know why I have been given some opportunities while other things that I have longed for have slipped past. I don’t know why God gave me five daughters, or why I lost two others before I ever had the chance to know them. I don’t know why I had to lose my mom when I still needed her so much.

I don’t know why.

These are tangled threads that I see when I examine my life. And maybe someday I’ll be able to look back and understand how some of them are weaving together. But maybe some of them I will never understand on this side of eternity.

But maybe what I see as a mess is actually the message.

To put a Biblical point on it, I have been looking at the life of Gideon.

Look at this with me—

And there came an angel of the LORD, and sat under an oak which was in Ophrah, that pertained unto Joash the Abiezrite: and his son Gideon threshed wheat by the winepress, to hide it from the Midianites. And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him, and said unto him, The LORD is with thee, thou mighty man of valour. And Gideon said unto him, Oh my Lord, if the LORD be with us, why then is all this befallen us? and where be all his miracles which our fathers told us of, saying, Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt? but now the LORD hath forsaken us, and delivered us into the hands of the Midianites. — Judges 6:11-13

When we meet Gideon, he’s hiding. When the Angel of the Lord says ‘the Lord is with thee, thou mighty man of valor,’ Gideon’s response feels remarkably familiar. God is with us? If God is with me, where is the proof? Why has all of this happened? Where are the miracles? I know who You are, God. I know how You delivered us from Egypt. I’ve heard the stories, so why doesn’t what I see match what I know?

I see Gideon holding all the tangled threads and fighting discouragement. I see him trying to reconcile the truth he knows about God with the circumstances he sees. And I can relate.

I struggle. I battle doubts and discouragement. I plead Scripture and pray with hopeful anticipation that this time, somehow, I’m going to say ‘amen’ and the answer will come. This time I’ll finally understand what God is doing. But time after time, there is no answer.

I want the fog to lift.I want things to make sense.I want clarity.

But I don’t get a fleece. I have to have faith.

And oh, how I want that fleece. I want something I can see. Something unmistakable. Something to tell me, ‘yes, this is what God is doing. Yes, you’re on the right path. Yes, keep investing here. Yes, this thing matters.’

I want confirmation before I give my commitment.

I want to see proof before I persevere.

But faith doesn’t work like that.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. —Hebrews 11:1

Not seen.

That’s the part I keep resisting.

I want the explanation.I want to see.

Gideon wanted an explanation too, but look at what happens next— “And the Lord looked upon him, and said, Go in this thy might...” (Judges 6:14)

Gideon didn’t get an answer, he was given an assignment.

Gideon asked, ‘why?’ and God said, ‘Go.’

Most of the time, God doesn’t show us where the road goes. Sometimes we’re given just enough light to obey Him in the next step. Maybe I’ve been waiting for clarity when what I actually need is just enough faith for today.

That can apply to much bigger things than writing.

But for me, for now, it applies to writing.

Maybe it applies to you, too, somehow. Maybe you are trying to understand what God is doing, obeying without seeing results, praying and waiting and wondering.

I can’t tell you how everything will turn out.

But I can tell you that I’m running this race alongside you. I can tell you what I’m struggling to understand and show you what God says. I can remind you of His faithfulness while I remind myself.

I can’t tell you the ending yet, but I hope I can encourage you from the middle.

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

Do you remember what you made for dinner ten years ago, on… September 3?

Do you know what you ate for dinner last night?

This week I want to encourage you with a thought about one simple Bible word—yesterday.

I trust you are familiar with the story in 1 Kings 21 about a man named Naboth who owned a vineyard next to King Ahab’s palace. Ahab decided he wanted the vineyard and offered to buy it or trade it for a better one, but Naboth refused.

And Naboth said to Ahab, The LORD forbid it me, that I should give the inheritance of my fathers unto thee. — 1 Kings 21:3

Ahab went home pouting that he couldn’t get what he wanted. And Jezebel, ever so loving and crafty, came up with a plan to gather false witnesses against Naboth and have him stoned to death. With Naboth dead, Ahab took possession of the vineyard.

There aren’t a lot of details about Naboth’s family outside of this story, but I wonder about them. He had sons, so, did he have a wife living at this time? What did she think when Ahab wanted to buy the vineyard? Did she understand why her husband refused or did she ever wish he would simply sell it and avoid upsetting the king? Did she support his decision or was she like Job’s wife and speak foolishly?

And what was she thinking as Naboth was set on high as we read in verses 9-13? Did she understand how men were hired to speak lies against her hsuabnd? What did she do after he was killed?

I realize I’m imagining more to the story than the Bible gives us, but Naboth was a real man, so surely there were people who were affected by his death. What about them? Were they angry? Devastated? Grieving?

Before 1 Kings 21 ends, God sends Elijah to Ahab with a message of judgment.

And thou shalt speak unto him, saying, Thus saith the LORD, Hast thou killed, and also taken possession? And thou shalt speak unto him, saying, Thus saith the LORD, In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick thy blood, even thine. — 1 Kings 21:19

The Lord knew what had happened. He knew of all the wicked scheming behind the scenes and how the false witnesses came about. Jezebel may have appeared to succeed and Ahab might have taken possession of the vineyard, but God was not ignoring any of what happened.

But, because Ahab humbled himself, God tells Elijah that He will delay judgment until the days of Ahab’s sons.

Seest thou how Ahab humbleth himself before me? because he humbleth himself before me, I will not bring the evil in his days: but in his son’s days will I bring the evil upon his house. — 1 Kings 21:29

And so time moves forward. Slowly. As time always seems to move when you are hurting and waiting on things to make sense.

It can be easy for us to overlook the length of time because all we have to do is turn a few pages.

Naboth is dead in 1 Kings 21, and in short order we come to 2 Kings 9, where Jehu is carrying out God’s judgment.

But for Naboth’s wife or loved ones, they had to live every day in between those pages. They had to go past the vineyard and remember how that used to belong to their family. They had to live with the hurt and pain. I wonder if Naboth’s family was even aware of God’s promise to avenge his blood?

And then we come to the verse that caught my attention. As Jehu is telling the story after his arrow strikes King Ahab in his chariot, he says:

Then said Jehu to Bidkar his captain, Take up, and cast him in the portion of the field of Naboth the Jezreelite: for remember how that, when I and thou rode together after Ahab his father, the LORD laid this burden upon him; Surely I have seen yesterday the blood of Naboth, and the blood of his sons, saith the LORD; and I will requite thee in this plat, saith the LORD. Now therefore take and cast him into the plat of ground, according to the word of the LORD. — 2 Kings 9: 25, 26

“Surely I have seen yesterday...”

Yesterday.

Except it wasn’t yesterday.

More than a decade has passed since Naboth’s death. Years full of ordinary days have passed between Jezebel’s wicked actions and the judgment that God had promised.

When people talk about God’s concept of time, they often run to 2 Peter 3:8 which says “one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.” I believe that, but it’s also a bit hard to comprehend. A thousand years is outside my experience. I don’t know what a thousand years feels like.

But I can understand yesterday.

I can usually remember what I did yesterday. Yesterday is the dishes left in the sink. Yesterday doesn’t feel forgotten or buried in history.

I can also comprehend the passing of 14 or 15 years. And in some ways, those days really do feel like “yesterday”. But when I’m waiting on an answer from God, even a week feels like an eternity.

And in meditating on this passage, I can understand just a little better how God sees time differently than I do.

There are some things in my life that I have been waiting on for so long. Prayers that once felt so urgent, but now I have prayed so often that I almost don’t know what else to say. There are situations and circumstances that I thought surely God would have moved in by now, purposes that I thought surely I would understand by now.

But I am still living inside the story. In between those pages.

And God is eternal.

For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones. — Isaiah 57:15

What feels like a long time to me is a wisp of vapor to God. The passing of time doesn’t mean that God has forgotten what happened, or forgotten what I prayed. The promises of His Word are still sure even though they were given thousands of years ago.

When we read this story of Naboth again and again, we already know the ending. We know judgment is coming. We know that in just a few pages Ahab will be killed and Jezebel will be thrown down and righteousness will prevail. The passage of time and waiting seems so easy in most Bible stories that it can be overlooked.

Abraham didn’t know when Isaac would be born. Joseph didn’t know if the prison door would ever open. Job didn’t know if his health would ever be restored. And whoever mourned Naboth didn’t know when or how God would fulfill what He had said.

Likewise, we can’t flip ahead in our own lives.

I don’t know what God is going to do next year. I don’t know which prayers will be answered, how circumstances might change, or what I may understand better someday. I don’t know how many pages lie between where I am now and whatever God is doing.

And that becomes a trying of faith.

When I am waiting on God, two passages that come to mind often are Romans 5:3-5 and James 1:3 and 4. “...we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope:” And in James: “Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”

I don’t really like the word patience when I’m the one who has to practice it. I would rather have wisdom and understanding. I would rather see the plan, know the timetable, be able to point to the ending and say “see, there it is. That’s what God has been doing all along.”

But apparently the trying of my faith can accomplish something in me that God deems necessary.

Peter describes the trial of faith as something “more precious than gold” (1 Peter 1:7).

Waiting is not wasted. Patience is doing a work, even though sometimes I can’t see God at work anywhere else.

I look at the circumstances today and wonder what God is doing. I see the passage of weeks and months and wonder why I don’t have an answer yet. So much time has passed that details begin to get fuzzy in my memory.

But God hasn’t lost track of the story. And after all the months and years of waiting, He can still say “surely I have seen yesterday.”

Maybe I don’t need to try to understand God’s timetable so much as I need to trust that He is working. Years that feel so long to me have not made Him forgetful or inattentive. And while I wait for Him to fulfill His purpose, I can trust that He is doing a work within me, allowing patience to have her perfect work and refine my faith.

If it feels like yesterday to the Lord, perhaps I can wait on Him, one more day.

Recall the words of the hymn:

Day by day, and with each passing moment,Strength I find to meet my trials here;Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,I’ve no cause for worry or for fear...Help me then, in every tribulation,So to trust The promises, O Lord,That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation,Offered me within Thy holy Word.

I hope you can take this thought with you into the weekend and the days ahead and know that whatever trial you face, whatever circumstances just don’t make sense right now—the Lord is working and we can allow Him to use this trial to strength our faith. He promises to give us His grace sufficient for one more day.

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

Do you recall learning Grammar? Maybe in third grade you learned that a complete sentence has a subject and verb. But by high school, you learned about those participles, subordinate clauses, sentence diagrams that stretched halfway across the page—and you thought you’d never graduate.

Over the last several weeks, I have been contemplating contentment in a similar way. Just when I think I have learned contentment, a new level comes my way and I realize I still have so much more to learn.

(Welcome back, dear reader — I took the month of May off from writing to focus my time on completing our Christian school’s yearbook. I had every intention of jumping right back in, but I have been struggling a bit with writer’s block. I’d like to thank a friend, Sarah Ortiz, for beginning her own Substack, and for her first post on contentment. She had no idea that topic has been the focus of my personal quiet time recently, and her post spurred me on. Iron sharpeneth iron, and I am thankful to finally have clarity on just what to share with you.)

Some lessons that we learned in elementary school have stuck with us. Knowing that a sentence needs a subject and verb; learning that two plus two equals four; perhaps even most of the multiplication tables became so repetitive and familiar to us that we can recall them instantly.

But ask me a harder question...say, who was president after James Garfield...and I will have a more difficult time answering.

Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. —Philippians 4:11

I have often read that verse thinking that contentment was something that could be learned in the sense of mastery. At some point, won’t contentment become second nature to me, like two plus two? But as I have discovered, contentment has advanced courses.

Discontentment began not in poverty, but in paradise.

Eve was surrounded by good, abundant blessings. Every tree was good for fruit. She and Adam walked with God every day. So how then was the serpent able to pull her away?

Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? — Genesis 3:1

I think it is instructive for us ladies to notice that the serpent, Satan, came to Eve first. The Bible says the serpent was subtil. By definition, he was elusive, hard to understand, clever, cunning, and crafty. And with one question, the first question in the Bible, he was able to focus Eve’s attention on the one thing that God had withheld. “Yea, hath God said...?”

Did God really say that?

And then, in verse 4:

And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. — Genesis 3:4-5

Therein lies the trap that we are still susceptible to unto this day: God is holding back something good. With one question, one statement, the Devil was able to shift Eve’s attention away from her lush surroundings and on to one tree. How?

Do you ever read this passage and want to yell at Eve through the pages? Don’t do it! It’s not worth it! Stop and look at where you are! Go eat off of the hundreds of other delicious fruit trees!

The Psalmist says:

Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: — Psalm 103:2

In the Garden of Eden, Eve was certainly loaded with benefits. How could she forget or ignore her blessings?

As children, we learned those multiplication facts by reviewing and rehearsing them. Students review multiples of 3, 7, 8...they sing songs and chants and rehearse them constantly. Those facts are recalled over and over again throughout grade school and high school, and even into college. In time, daily review is not as necessary. That list of presidents, however, was one that I crammed in before the test and swiftly forgot. Beyond fourth grade, nobody asked me who the 19th president was and it fell out of my memory bank.

We have to remember and rehearse God’s goodness. The lesson isn’t ingrained in us yet, like our multiplication facts. Consider it Contentment 101.

What we rehearse becomes our focus.

What if, in Numbers 11, the children of Israel had recalled their cruel taskmasters and praised the Lord that they were free from the bondage of slavery? Instead, they longed for the leeks and the garlic of Egypt. They regarded the miraculous manna as “nothing.” (Numbers 11:6) They allowed their attention to rest on what was not there, just as Satan pulled Eve’s attention toward what she could not have.

Do we sometimes act like we have ‘nothing’? That God has not blessed us at all?

Instead of recognizing our present blessings, our focus can land on what we don’t have. We can become convinced that peace and happiness lie just around the corner, just out of reach. If only my life looked like this...if I could just get through this season...if I could just live there...have that job...I keep praying and God never answers...why is He keeping me from being happy? How quickly we can slide into accusing God, much like the serpent did!

Some truths aren’t as simple as two plus two. They don’t remain at the forefront of our minds. We have to refocus and remember. Contentment isn’t a test that we only need to pass once, but a lesson to learn our whole lives long. Daily thankfulness keeps our hearts tender to seeing God’s blessings and less likely to having our focus pulled away to only see what we do not have.

What blessings do we need to remember? What spiritual truths do we need to be reminded of this week?

But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. — John 14:26

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

On Easter Sunday my husband injured his foot. He was stepping off a curb and rolled his ankle at just the right angle and broke his fifth metatarsal. A classic basketball injury, but without the cool story or any accompanying heroics. In a walking boot, he’s been given instructions to stay off his feet as much as possible. And that… has been a challenge.

He has always been the kind of person who jumps in whenever there’s work to do. Now when my daughters and I clear away the dinner dishes, we often have to shoo him to the couch to rest. He knows that resting will help him heal, but everything in him wants to keep moving.

And watching him, I realized...spiritually, I’m not much different. My husband may need rest to heal his foot, but at times I need rest for my soul.

And why do I resist?

Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the LORD hath dealt bountifully with thee. —Psalm 116:7

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. —Matthew 11:28-30

The Invitation

Matthew 11:28 is not a demand but an invitation. “Come unto me…”

There is a sweet gentleness in that word, ‘come.’

As a mom, I’ve said it a hundred times. At the playground, when one of my children tumbles or gets hurt, I’ll call out, “Come here, let me see.” Sometimes they will run right into my arms for snuggles and a kiss. But other times they brush themselves off and yell, “I’m okay!” and keep playing.

The invitation is there, but the comfort isn’t forced.

Similarly, Christ invites the weary to come to Him, but He does not compel. He is waiting, watching, willing to comfort if we merely...come.

Perhaps one of the reasons we remain weary is not because we don’t hear the Savior’s invitation, but because we continue to insist that “we’re fine.”

Not for the Lazy

The invitation further says, “come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden...”

This isn’t a call to those who are idle or unwilling to work. Christ is extending the invitation to all those who are laboring, working, and carrying what God has called them to. The work is not the problem.

All the daily tasks of life: caring for a home, serving others, and faithfully meeting our responsibilities are good. We are, as Paul says, “laborers together with God.” (1 Corinthians 3:9)

If work is a good thing, then why does life feel so burdened at times? Who are the heavy laden?

The Invisible Weight

I would argue that the burden comes from what we add to the work.

It comes when we put pressure on ourselves to do everything perfectly. When we strive not to fall behind. When we try to quietly prove ourselves capable by doing it all, feeling like we can’t afford to say no or disappoint anyone. The burden comes in the subtle belief that if I don’t keep it all together, everything will fall apart.

Those loads don’t show up on a to-do list, but they are often the heaviest ones we carry.

Sometimes we can go through busy seasons where we have many obligations. We might say that if anyone asks us to do one more thing, we’re going to break!

Our hearts can be weighed down that way, as well. At times we are carrying so much grief, disappointment, anxiety and expectations that we think if we are asked to carry one more weight, we’ll fall apart.

To a weary heart, even verses that are meant to comfort can become burdensome.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee. —Isaiah 26:3

It’s a beautiful verse and one I have memorized. But how often have I quoted that verse at times and wondered, if I don’t feel peace, am I failing? Am I not trusting God enough? If my thoughts are scattered, maybe I’m not disciplined enough.

And suddenly, what is a simple promise of peace becomes another expectation. Another opportunity where I fear disappointing the Lord. Another burden to carry.

When Jesus bids us come in Matthew 11, there are no conditions.

When he invites us further, “take my yoke upon you and learn of me,” that verse can feel like more weight to an already heavy heart.

The Exchange

But Jesus is not asking us to shoulder an additional burden. He is inviting us to an exchange.

The Pharisees put burdens on the people. Satan has a burden and a yoke as the Antichrist is described in Isaiah 10. The Old Testament view of a yoke was one of bondage.

The pressure to be perfect. The fear of failing. The striving and straining to prove ourselves to others. Those burdens are not from God.

The invitation is simply, “come...”

Jesus doesn’t say come once you’ve figure it all out. He doesn’t tell us to come only when we are calm or have gotten everything under control.

As the hymn writer said,

If you tarry til you’re better —You will never come at all

We don’t have to prove that we can carry our burdens of life before we are deserving of rest.

Christ’s yoke is an invitation to walk alongside Him and learn of Him. He doesn’t remove the responsibilities of our lives, but He can change the way we carry them. As we learn what it means to be meek and humble, what we have to do in our weakened state is replaced with His strength. We learn that we don’t have to shoulder every burden alone, striving to prove our worth. There is no yoke like Christ’s.

We don’t find rest by finally figuring it all out or by doing everything flawlessly. We find rest when we lay down those weights and walk alongside Christ. When we take up His yoke in spite of our failures. When we abide in Him.

While my husband’s foot is healing, rest is not something that he can do just one time and be done with. He has to remember to rest, daily. Likewise, we can’t come to Jesus for rest one time and be completely satisfied. We must come back, intentionally, time and time again.

O what peace we often forfeit,O what needless pain we bear,All because we do not carryEverything to God in prayer.

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 always, you can listen to me read this aloud, just by clicking ‘play’ above.^

The other day I had purchased a three pound package of ground beef and began dividing it up to freeze in one pound portions. The kitchen scale I use is a few decades old, but I’ve always assumed it to be reliable.

I eyeballed a handful of meat, put it in the bag, and weighed it—15.7 ounces. Perfect. Another bag, another handful—15.4 ounces.

And then I looked at what was left in the package and said to myself...there is no way that is a pound. Sure enough, it came out to ten ounces or so. I was so annoyed! ‘How could the store cheat me like that,’ I thought!

Then I weighed my first bags again ... and suddenly one weighed more than a pound. The other weighed 12 ounces. In fact, all three bags began reading differently.

Clearly, my scale was lying to me.

So I scribbled “Prov 11:1” on my bags, sealed them up and froze them anyway.

A false balance is abomination to the Lord but a just weight is his delight. —Proverbs 11:1

An abomination is something extremely disgusting, reprehensible, something to be rejected and refused.

In Bible times, scales or balances were used to weigh things in the marketplace, just the same as we use today. There is a presumption of integrity on the part of a shopkeeper.

He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he. —Deuteronomy 32:4

God is a God of truth. And a dishonest scale is something that He outright refuses. Before I go further, I want to make clear that the Lord God is righteous and holy. Before a person can be saved they must first see their true nature, as a sinner. I don’t intend to condone sin with anything that I’m about to say.

But as a saved child of God, I began to wonder, do I have false balances in my own life?

We understand this idea instinctively when it comes to the kitchen scale. We want accuracy. We assume honesty. We want to know what is actually there, not a fluctuating, unreliable number that changes moment to moment.

And what changes moment to moment in my heart?

My estimation of my worth.

I am by nature a very self-critical person. I put my life on the balances.

A small mistake can become like lead.A passing comment sticks to me and weighs me down.A doubt or a struggle becomes a verdict.

I place all my self-perceived faults on one side of the scale, and I do not stop them from outweighing everything else.

I justify my internal criticism.

I say I’m “maturing” because I can quickly recognize my pride, my impulsiveness, and my selfishness. I think of myself as “discerning.”

But all the discernment in the world is of no worth if I lay it on a false balance and allow my self-condemnation to weigh me down and burden my mind. Even the truth must be rightly measured, or it becomes distorted. Scrutiny can become heavy and exhausting.

In John 8, a woman was brought before Jesus. She was exposed, condemned, and surrounded by accusers ready to throw stones and deliver swift execution.

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou? —John 8:3-5

The men who brought her were not wrong. The command was clear. She who committed adultery must be put to death. There were no loopholes. No excuses. The law showed no mercy. They each gripped a stone, ready to hurl.

But what did the Lord Jesus Christ do? He ignored them and stooped down, writing on the ground. In the midst of their fury, He was calm. As they focused on the law, He brought grace.

For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.— John 1:17

Jesus said, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” As he continued writing on the ground, one by one, her accusers left. The tumult quieted. And suddenly, the woman who had been surrounded by punishing voices— stood alone.

[H]e said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more. —John 8:10, 11

He did not deny the truth of her sin, but he gave her something the law could never bring. He gave her mercy and grace. He refused to let her accusers have the final word.

I see myself in that passage. Not only as the woman, but as the one holding a stone. How often have I have dragged myself into the court of my own mind and railed accusations at myself?

“Why did you say that?”“What is wrong with you?”“You should know better by now.”

I have sat as judge, jury and executioner.

And I have an eager co-counsel.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: — 1 Peter 5:8

Satan, the accuser of the brethren, is swift to bring to mind past sins and regrets. He is quick to point out my missteps, waiting at the ready to hale me into my courtroom of self-condemnation.

Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it. — John 8:44

Satan is the father of lies. The king of the false balance.

He is very precise at measuring out what is lacking in me, but very careless when counting up what the Lord has given.

And when I take a real flaw and magnify it, giving it more weight than it deserves...When I ignore spiritual growth, or the steady work and grace of God...I’m unbalanced.

Likewise, if I look at someone else’s life and measure it against my own, I am unbalanced. On casual glance, we can’t see the full weight behind someone’s life. It isn’t accurate to just examine a polished, curated exterior without considering the heartaches, struggles, or burdens that come alongside it.

...a false balance is not good. —Proverbs 20:23

It sounds so simple, but so profound.

When our measurements are off, everything that follows will be wrong.

Our perspective.Our self-esteem.Our contentment.

So what do we do? We go back to what is true.

God’s Word is true and never changes.

For ever, O Lord, thy word is settled in heaven.—Psalm 119:89

And in His Word, I see the truth of who I am. Yes—I am a sinner. But there is also truth about God’s grace, and about forgiveness.

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. — 1 John 1:9

And with that forgiveness, there is no more accusation.

There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. — Romans 8:1

Those are just weights. Not the fluctuating measurement of my own emotions. Not my inner critic. Not Satan’s accusations.

God’s Word is true.

When I examine myself, at times it can be like my malfunctioning kitchen scale. The numbers never stay the same. One moment I feel confident, the next I feel like a failure. One comment can lift my spirits, and another sends me into a doom spiral.

False balances.

So when I find myself picking up stones again, rehearsing mistakes, condemning myself, I have to stop and ask:

Is this true? Or have I gone back to that broken scale?

I’d like to leave you with this verse:

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. —Song of Solomon 2:14

You are hid in Christ. He wants to hear your sweet voice, and see your beautiful face. He’s not looking down with a scowl, angry at every misstep. He sees you with compassion and love. He delights in truth. And His truth should leads us to repentance, forgiveness, and the reminder that God’s grace far outweighs the crushing weight of our own self-critic.

I pray this was an encouragement. Would you consider sharing it with a friend? If you’re new here, I publish weekly devotional thoughts for women. If you subscribe, they can be delivered right to your email. Thanks for reading.

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

My kids can be bottomless pits at times. No sooner than we have finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen when one will wander in asking for a snack because they’re “hungry.”

Then there are times we sit down to dinner and they don’t want to eat—either because they filled up on snacks before dinner, or because they don’t like what I’ve prepared.

As a mom, it doesn’t really bother me if my children are still hungry after eating dinner, so long as they ate dinner. They’re growing and their hunger is just a sign of life.

Last week I wrote about having a place at God’s table. This week I want to ask: do we come that table hungry or full? Do we gladly eat whatever He has set before us?

The full soul loatheth an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet. Proverbs 27:7

How could anyone loathe honey? To loathe is not just a preference, it is an intense dislike or disgust. Honey is naturally sweet. I know all my healthy friends will substitute honey for sugar in recipes, and that’s nice. It’s also nice to drizzle that honey on a warm, buttery biscuit... But I digress.

Honey is something you would expect anyone to like. But the Bible says it is possible to be so full that even something as sweet as honey can be disgusting.

So what changed?

It wasn’t the honey. It was something inside of us. The fullness.

Even when we have eaten a filling dinner, my husband will almost always have room for a little dessert. So I have to ask myself as I read Proverbs 27:7—when I come to the Lord, am I full or hungry?

When Elimelech and Naomi left Bethlehem Judah, they appeared to be hungry--literally. There was a famine and they went to sojourn in Moab. But in verse 21 of Chapter 1, Naomi says “I went out full..” (Ruth 1:21)

It is possible to be full in a way that has nothing to do with food. To have a heart full of my own thoughts, my own expectations, my own pride. It is possible to be full of self. We use that phrase— “He’s full of himself.” We can be like the church in Laodicea and feel like we “have need of nothing.” (Revelation 3:17)

We can be sitting at the Lord’s table and not be enjoying all the blessings He has richly provided for us because we are full. So full that not even dessert sounds good. So full that we think we do not need the Lord’s provisions.

For he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul will goodness. —Psalm 107:9

Are we longing to be filled by the Lord or have we quietly come to a place where we are full and need nothing?

At times that may be true, but what if we don’t want what is on the table, not because we are full, but because we are afraid?

I am the Lord thy God...open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it. —Psalm 81:10

When I read this, I think of when my children were just learning to eat solid food. “Open wide,” we would say. And like little baby birds, they would open their mouths and eat almost anything I put in front of them...until they had something sweet. Once they had a bite of pears or banana or apple, it was hard to get them to take another bite of strained peas.

I don’t blame them—they didn’t understand why, they just knew what tasted better.

Sometimes I wonder if we approach God’s table with a similar hesitation.

There was a time in my life when I came to God very hopeful, wanting to receive whatever He had for me. In 2011, I prayed for the blessing of twins and to my delight, God answered that prayer. I spent weeks full of hope and joy knowing that the Lord had heard me.

I was eating honey.

The risks were clear, but I was hopeful.Then, the complications began—but I was still so hopeful.And then, Rebekah and Rachel were gone.

And my hope was replaced with sorrow and confusion. I had tasted bitterness.

That kind of loss doesn’t just hurt in the moment. It changes the fabric of your heart. It changes how you view God. Just like tasting bitter vegetables made my children skeptical of what was coming on the next spoon, I became skeptical of what the Lord was going to serve me next.

So later, when I was blessed with twins again in 2019, my heart had real joy and hope, but it wasn’t the same kind of easy, unbounded happiness. There was a part of me that held back for fear that my sweet joy would turn to bitterness again.

And then I return to Proverbs 27:7:...to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.

God promises to fill me—with joy and peace, with knowledge and comfort, with the Holy Spirit and the fullness of God. But first, I have to open my mouth—wide.

Job said, “What? Shall we receive good at the hand of God and shall we not receive evil?” (Job 2:10)

He promises to fill me—but I don’t get to decide what’s on the spoon.

Sometimes it is sweet.Sometimes it is bitter.

But if I believe that God loves me—if I trust that He cares for me and does good things—then I stay at His table, I keep asking to be filled, I keep receiving. Even when I do not like the taste. Even when I do not fully understand what He is doing.

Because I can cling to Romans 8:28—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.

To the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.

Thou art good, and doest good; teach me thy statutes.—Psalm 119:68

Like the song says about God— He is “always, only good.”

I think of my children, how easily they will come back to the kitchen asking for more. They don’t fear whether there will be enough, or worry whether I will give them something harmful. They come back to the table, trusting that they will be fed. They eat their veggies, however reluctantly, trusting that I have their good health in mind.

I think that’s what the Lord asks of us.

Not to strive to understand everything.Not to control what is given.Not to come only when we are sure we will like what’s on the plate.

But to come “open wide”.

To come hungry, not full of our selves and our own ambitions. To stay at His table and trust His hand, filling us, even when we don’t like or understand what He is placing before us.

The fear of the Lord tendeth to life: and he that hath it shall abide satisfied... —Proverbs 19:23

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

Last week I shared about how David believed a lie that he was sure to die at Saul’s hand. Sometimes our imaginations, fears and anxieties get the better of us. If we don’t challenge those thoughts, they can grow loud.

Recently, I attended a bridal shower and through a series of small, ordinary events, I found myself at a table I never expected to be at. I was seated with women who were older than me, women whom I respected and admired, women who carried a position and presence. I felt completely out of place.

During the luncheon, I barely spoke. I was nervous. I felt like I didn’t belong there. At one point, I caught myself wishing I could simply disappear or crawl under the table.

As I reflected back on that moment, I am almost ashamed of how self-conscious I was that day. My anxiety of the moment had taken control.

But what was the truth?

I had been given a seat. No one asked me to leave. I had a place at that table, even if I didn’t feel like it.

I thought about this as I read the story of Mephibosheth.

King David wished to show kindness to one of Saul’s house. He was told about Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son, who was lame on his feet. David sent for him and told him: “thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.” (2 Samuel 9:7)

The king’s command is repeated so often that it caught my attention— “Mephibosheth...shall eat bread alway at my table.” (9:10)... “Mephibosheth...shall eat at my table, as one of the king’s sons.” (9:11) “Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem: for he did eat continually at the king’s table...” (9:13)

Dear friend, remember how I said I wished I could “crawl under the table”? That phrase carries more meaning than we realize. “Under the table” is a place of humiliation.

In Judges chapter 1, the Canaanite king Adoni-bezek is captured and had his thumbs and big toes cut off. In verse 7 he said: “Threescore and ten kings, having their thumbs and their great toes cut off, gathered their meat under my table: as I have done, so God hath required me.”

But Mephibosheth was not humiliated, he was given a seat at the king’s table.

I wonder if he felt out of place at times. The Bible doesn’t say, but we do know that he sat there continually.

Mephibosheth had done nothing to earn his seat. He was humbly living an ordinary life when King David called for him and began providing for him. He sat there as one of the king’s sons, not because of who he was, but because of who had placed him there.

King David’s table would have been richly furnished. When Queen Sheba saw King Solomon’s table she was so impressed “there was no more spirit in her.” (1 Kings 10:5) The provisions were made so that “they lacked nothing.” (1 Kings 4:27)

There was nothing Mephibosheth had to do but receive the blessings of the king.

Like Mephibosheth, we did not deserve to sit at the King’s table. We are sinners, lame on our feet and unworthy of coming before a Holy God. Through Jesus Christ, God gave us salvation and grace abundant. None of us deserve the blessings of God.

But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons. And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father. Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ. —Galatians 4:4-7

Some times we may be called to do something we are unsure about. We may be asked to serve in a way that causes us to feel uncertain in our abilities. We may find ourselves ‘seated’ with those with whom we feel like we don’t belong, or feel like we don’t deserve to be where we are. Those doubts begin creeping in, obscuring the facts.

The truth is, our belonging isn’t always determined by how we feel or what we think we deserve.

Consider these verses—

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. —Psalm 23:5

Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy; —1 Timothy 6:17

The Psalmist said that God prepares a table for us—in the presence of our enemies! He provides all things for us. If you are a saved child of God, you are a child of the King! You sit at the table He has prepared for you.

Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not. —1 John 3:1

Mephibosheth did not seat himself at the table.The king placed him there.

If the King has given you a place, your presence is not a mistake.

Don’t doubt where God has placed you. Enjoy the table He has prepared and all the things He has given us richly to enjoy.

The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it. —Proverbs 10:22

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

Everyone is looking at me...I don’t know what I’m doing...Someone else could do this better...I don’t belong here...

Do your thoughts ever sound like that? Struggling with self-confidence and doubt is common, even for women who appear to be confident or capable. Sometimes our fears are just loud.

But before we run off to YouTube or Google how to be more confident, let’s look at Gods Word. Not only does the Bible give us examples of people who chose faith over fear, but there are also stories of those who believed their doubts and fears.

1 Samuel 27 opens by saying:

And David said in his heart, I shall now perish one day by the hand of Saul: there is nothing better for me than that I should speedily escape into the land of the Philistines...

When I come to this chapter, I want to argue with David. Get a hold of yourself! This is the same man who faced Goliath with a sling and unshakable confidence in God. He had already been anointed king. God had delivered him over and over again.

But here we see David had a thought in his heart that he believed to be true. And that one thought was louder than anything God had said or done in David’s life. And David followed it.

He defected to Achish and began living among the Philistines. He was living a double life of sorts—invading enemies like the Amalekites and Geshurites—while letting Achish believe he was attacking Judah. He was so convincing that verse 12 tells us “Achish believed David saying, He hath made his people Israel utterly to abhor him...”

All of that came from a single fear that David accepted as truth.

We do the same thing sometimes. Have you ever walked into a room and thought “hmm…they don’t really like me, I don’t really belong here, I should keep quiet”?

And instead of examining the thoughts and asking—is this true? We begin to adjust. We pull back. We stay quiet. We protect ourselves.

Our minds are wired for survival. Subconsciously, we’re constantly scanning for threats, even emotional and social threats, and we respond, often without ever realizing it.

Not every thought we have about ourselves is true. But to overcome those doubts we have to examine our thoughts.

Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ;— 2 Corinthians 10:5

I think when we read that verse we overlook how serious the word “captivity” really is. Captives do not go down without a fight. Captives are apprehended, captured, arrested, imprisoned—those words paint a much more vivid picture of what I am instructed to do with my thoughts. I am to grab hold of every thought and bring it into line with what the Word of God says.

David didn’t examine his fears, he accepted them as truth, and he allowed those fears to guide him. He began trying to survive in his own strength.

Now Esther is a Bible example of fear that feels a bit more relatable. Unlike David, I don’t see where she had a clear calling on her life. There hadn’t been a prophet anointing her, telling her she would be an advocate to save her people from genocide.

Her Uncle Mordecai could see that she was “come to the kingdom for such a time as this.” But for Esther, it wasn’t just uncomfortable for her to go in unto King Ahasuerus, it was risky! She could have been put to death if the king didn’t extend his golden sceptre. I imagine everything in her mind was tense with fear saying “don’t do this!” But while she did not have certainty, she did have a strong faith that allowed her to say “if I perish, I perish.”

In the face of her fear, Esther took counsel from her uncle Mordecai and took time for prayer and fasting. She didn’t ignore her fear, she just refused to let it lead her.

(For we walk by faith, not by sight: ) —2 Corinthians 5:7

Faith does not remove the fear. Faith trusts God in the face of fear.

Now when David was at his best, he lived this way too. When faced with Goliath, David rehearsed the times God had protected him and boldly came to the giant in the name of the Lord.

But I appreciate that the Bible includes the side of David that gave into his fear. It helps me to not feel alone in my own doubts.

The world is full of instruction on how to eliminate our fears and build confidence in our selves. The world’s advice would say that confidence comes after action. And in the Bible, obedience usually comes before clarity.

David didn’t wait to feel like a giant killer—Esther didn’t wait until she had certainty—Sometimes like Peter, we have to step out of the boat in faith. When we obey God, our trust and our faith will grow. When I am in a weakened state of fear, I have an opportunity to put my faith in God and trust in His strength.

As Paul says in 2 Corinthians 12:10— When I am weak, then am I strong.

The goal shouldn’t be to eliminate fear and never feel hesitation. The goal is to be dependent on God and not to let fear decide.

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. —Philippians 4:8

Fill your mind with thoughts that are true about yourself, grounded in God’s Word.

Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. —Proverbs 3:5

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