Light in the Margins

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

Since my mother passed, not a week has gone by that I haven't wished things could just “go back to normal.” In fact, I have come to appreciate “normal” days more than ever before, though what's normal now is far different than it was a year or two ago. I long to pick up the phone and call her throughout my day. I miss letting my girls FaceTime her whenever they want. Talking to her had a way of making everything right again, for all of us.

Sometimes “normal” just vanishes without warning.

My mother didn’t ask to get sick. She didn’t plan to leave my girls without a grandmother at such a young age. But there we were.

And I was left standing in the gap between what was and what is, with the aching question—what do I do now?

The most natural response is anger and bitterness. How could God do this to me? Why would He hurt me so? I don’t deserve this. But anger and bitterness are like weeds. If I don't pluck them out by the roots, they'll quickly grow into vines that will wrap my heart in bondage.

Maybe it’s not the death of a loved one that you face. Maybe it’s the death of a dream. A difficulty you never anticipated. Something that just turned normal upside down— and here you stand, holding a broken heart, full of hurt and anger and questions—unsure what to do next.

We don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but we do need to decide what to do with these emotions that threaten to eat us alive. We need to seek the grace of God.

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. —2 Corinthians 12:9

But what is grace, really?

I’ve been trying to study this concept of grace a little more intentionally this summer, because I’ve needed it more. I trust when I read God’s “grace is sufficient,” but I don’t want to settle for a vague sense of the word; I have sought for a deeper understanding.

And I’ve learned that God’s amazing grace isn’t just a cute wall hanging from Hobby Lobby.

Grace is a gift. (Romans 5:15) It teaches us. (Titus 2:11-12) It gives strength. (2 Timothy 2:1) It gives everlasting consolation and hope. (2 Thessalonians 2:16).

Grace isn’t a mood or an aesthetic. It’s a gift to the humble. It's something that we can grow in (2 Peter 3:18), and something that we can boldly ask for more of. (James 4:6)

When your normal is lost, others pay attention. They say things like “I couldn’t do it,” or “I could never be so strong.” And you know what?—they’re right. Just as our trials are different, so is the measure of grace we are given.

But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ.— Ephesians 4:7

And when the difficulty comes, yes, you do panic somewhat. You do feel threatened by an overwhelming flood, dwelling on an uncertain future.

But may I assure you that His grace will be there?

The truth I have learned is that God gives the grace in the time of need. He gives the way to escape with the temptation so that you can bear it. Grace isn’t something that you can stockpile. You don’t make withdrawals from a savings account of grace that you have stored up—it’s something that’s given in real time. It is sufficient— not “will be” or “used to be” but it is sufficient — right in the moment.

Some days all you can do is say Lord, I can’t do this— give me grace! And He promised to give it. In fact he tells us to come boldly unto the throne to find grace. (Hebrews 4:16) Do we come boldly? Do we pray in confidence, knowing the God who cannot lie? Do we claim that promise that His grace is sufficient?

Sufficient— think on that word for a moment. Webster’s defines it as “enough to meet the needs of a situation.” Christ says “my grace is sufficient.” He knows the need. Remember “my God shall supply all your need”? You won’t be turned away for non-sufficient funds— He can and shall supply as much grace as you need. As the hymn says, “He giveth and giveth and giveth again!”

Trials will come. We will face difficulties. We will be wronged, or suffer hurts. Our hearts will be broken by things out of our control. Things we can’t undo.

When others observe me going through a trial, do I want them to see how strong I am? Or how strong my God is? Do I want them to see my nerves of steel? Or the power of God through me?

We can know the sufficiency of grace, helping us, meeting our need in real-time. We can see Christ’s strength made perfect in our weakness. And like Paul, we can say: Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

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

Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for we are not ignorant of his devices. —2 Corinthians 2:11

There can be no doubt that we have an Enemy who seeks to discourage and destroy us. The Bible tells us not to be ignorant of his devices, and, speaking from experience, I think one of his most cunning devices is the small, unintended thing. Those subtle jabs that were never intended, but can still cut deep.

This unintentional harm shows up in common law as a concept known as the “eggshell plaintiff” rule. It originated with the idea that if a victim had a skull as thin as an eggshell, and the defendant caused that fragile skull to break, the victim would still be entitled to full damages. In other words, you’re responsible for the harm your actions cause—even if the injury seems disproportionate.

I think about that concept sometimes when I fear I am walking around, not with an eggshell skull, but an eggshell heart. There are days I feel just a little weaker than others and wish I could put a warning label on my forehead that said “fragile—handle with care.”

Simple, innocent actions can hurt deeply sometimes, can’t they?

A comment made in passing. Not being included on the invite, the group chat, the inside joke. A silence that’s just too loud to ignore.

Not one of those things is inherently cruel by itself. In fact, some things are honest mistakes. You and I make them all the time. We stick our foot in our mouth. We get so busy that we forget to respond. We forget to include people, not because we don’t want them—we just...forgot.

But sometimes those things land on an eggshell heart. To a woman already weary or quietly wondering if anybody sees or cares, innocent comments can become darts in the hand of the Enemy.

Suddenly that unanswered text becomes “she doesn’t like you.”

Not being included on the group chat whispers “they’re talking about you.”

That comment made in passing morphs into “they didn’t care to hurt you because you’re invisible to them.”

When Scripture tells me not to be ignorant of Satan’s devices, the preceding verse tells me to forgive others.

To whom ye forgive any thing, I forgive also: for if I forgave any thing, to whom I forgave it, for your sakes forgave I it in the person of Christ; —2 Corinthians 2:10

We don’t have to be unbreakable, but we do need to be anchored in truth. When I assume the worst from other’s actions, I’m operating from a position that I am unloved, unwanted, or unworthy. That isn’t the truth of who God tells you you are. The Bible says you are loved with an everlasting love. (Jeremiah 31:3) You are accepted in the beloved. (Ephesians 1:6)

How much freer and happier would we feel if we could stay rooted and grounded in Christ’s love for us! If we could walk in that light and forgive others freely—even offenses that were never intended, and may never even be realized.

I want to be careful with others. No doubt all of us, at times, have walked around with eggshell hearts. I want to treat others with compassion, “be pitiful, be courteous,” as 1 Peter 3:8 instructs.

But I also don’t want Satan to get an advantage because of my own fragile heart. We don’t have to read between the lines of every conversation. We don’t have to take offense where none was intended.

When you feel weak and ready to crack, rely on God’s strength to help you see the good in others and to forgive them. With God’s help we can “cast down imaginations” and ignore the evil assumptions that the Devil would like us to make. After all, God knows what was in their heart. He knows the truth. And that’s good enough for me to rest on.

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 was reading Psalm 77 this morning, a word leapt off the page. (This happens a lot—I'm convinced my Bible is full of words waiting on little springs to jump up and grab my attention and arrest my meditation.)

“I complained,” says the Psalmist.

I remembered God, and was troubled: I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed. Selah.—Psalm 77:3

But wait, I thought, didn't the children of Israel mess up with their complaining? Aren't we told in Scripture to do all things without murmurings and disputings?

Murmuring... “the people murmured against Moses...” (Exodus 15:24)

I'm not about to make an airtight argument in defense of complaining—indeed, the first use of the word comes in Numbers 11:1: “when the people complained, it displeased the LORD:” But the fact that the Psalmist complained remains, and I want to explore this thought.

Asaph, the writer of Psalm 77, says that his spirit was overwhelmed. David, too, in Psalm 142, pours out his complaint and says his spirit was overwhelmed. Psalm 102 is entirely a “prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed and poureth out his complaint before the Lord.”

Overwhelmed. How well we can relate to that word.

Life can be overwhelming at times. Troubles and difficulties come. We feel cast off from God, forgotten, unable to find His mercy. Oftentimes in those moments I feel I should not complain; that it would be sinful for me to complain.

But what if the problem isn't in the complaint but in the posture of my heart?

The children of Israel complained from a position of discontentment. They wanted what they could not find: food and water. As you read their murmurings in Exodus, you can sense the rebellious doubting of Moses and of God to meet their most basic needs.

These are murmurers, complainers, walking after their own lusts; —Jude 1:16

The Psalmists who complained did so with a different tenor. Their complaints are followed by verses remembering the wondrous works of God, praising Him, and seeking His refuge.

Almost twenty years ago now, I graduated law school. I left that calling when I became a mother. While I haven't seen the inside of a courtroom in over 12 years, I still enjoying seeing some analogies from the legal realm.

In court, the initial Petition is often called a "Complaint"— a lawyer lays out the wrongs and grievances in a thoughtful manner. There should be no frivolity in taking up the court's time with a gripe about a minor injustice. At the end of the Complaint usually comes the Prayer for Relief, or what the Petitioner desires for the outcome. The other side makes a Response, and sometimes a case never makes it to trial because one side is so clearly in the right. When a judge can rule in favor of a party without hearing any more evidence, that's called summary judgment. (I'll come back to this in a minute.)

When I read the murmurings of the children of Israel, I just see frivolous whining, even slander. "What shall we drink?" "Would God that we had died in the land of Egypt!" And the men who were sent to spy out the land "made all the congregation to murmur against him, by bringing up a slander upon the land." (Numbers 14:36)

I don't see any murmurings marked with remembrance of God's goodness. In fact, the Psalms are quite clear that they forgot His good works. Other words accompany murmuring, like provoked, grieved, tempted, believed not.

When I am tempted to complain, I need to be careful that it does not slide into murmuring. There is a fine line between the two.

But God did not reject the Psalmists who complained. He didn't rebuke Hannah who poured out her soul in an abundance of complaint and grief. (1 Samuel 1:16) He didn't forsake Job in his complaints. Why? Examine the heart posture. The Psalmists praised God for His goodness. Hannah was humble in her prayer for a son. Even though Job mourned and complained, he declared “though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” (Job 13:15)

It's okay to be overwhelmed. It's okay to not see the path. But when we lay out our complaint before the Court of Heaven, let us follow it with praise and thanksgiving for what God has done.

Let's not be so focused on our own desires, our own pain, seeing only what we don't have. Pray for relief, but be surrendered to the response. He doeth all things well. All things work together for good.

God will give an answer and win summary judgment every time.

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

We recently upgraded our minivan to a 2019 model, and it has this fancy modern feature called “adaptive cruise control.” If you’ve never experienced this, it’s sort of wild. You set the speed you want to cruise at, let’s say 75 mph, but as you drive, the car uses radar to detect vehicles ahead of you. It calculates their speed and distance and adjusts your speed accordingly. It will never go faster than the cruise you set, but if a car moves in front of you, you’ll find yourself slowing to 72…70…68 mph. Once that car gets out of the way, yours will ramp back up to 75, all while you do nothing but guide the steering wheel and eat your brisket sandwich from Buc-cee’s.

We took this new Millennium Wagon on vacation this Spring, and somewhere south of Birmingham, I had this revolutionary cruise set and was lost in my audiobook when it suddenly felt like the van was braking—firmly. Before my brain had time to process—before I noticed that traffic had slowed to a crawl—the vehicle recognized what was ahead of me and recalibrated instantly, bringing my speed down to prevent a collision.

Doesn’t God work in a similar way sometimes?

When you’re young, it’s easy to think you can have it all figured out. I’m going to graduate, go to this college, have this career, work there, live here, etc. We want to set that cruise control and just let it drive. Full speed ahead.

But along comes set backs. Delays. Disappointments. Illness. Grief.

That 75mph you set is feeling more like 50mph. People are passing. You look at the dashboard and think, what is going on here?

When the van slowed me down, it wasn’t malfunctioning or trying to prevent me from getting to my destination. It was helping me prevent a collision. It was keeping me safe.

Sometimes the Lord throws things in our path that slow us down or change our course, not because we’ve done anything wrong, but because He’s protecting us. Dwelling in Eternity, He can see what’s coming long before we do.

At times, He blesses us. But God in His infinite, marvelous wisdom, knows how much success will tend to develop pride in our hearts. He knows when we’re going to get too confident in our own abilities. That delicate push-pull can be frustrating. We get just enough clarity, just enough encouragement to move forward. We accelerate, set the cruise and then…life slows down. Things stall. Circumstances cool.

What if it’s not rejection? What if it’s a sort of Holy Spirit calibration?

Elijah’s life was full of ups and down. We first meet him boldly declaring to King Ahab that a drought is coming; then suddenly, God pulls him back by the brook Cherith. The brook dries up and Elijah is led to the widow of Zarephath for miraculous provision. Then the widow’s son suddenly dies. In fact, one of Elijah’s greatest difficulties came after his greatest success. One moment he called down fire on Mt. Carmel, cruising right along at 75mph, but in the very next chapter he’s at a standstill—running from Jezebel, depressed and begging God to take his life.

Elijah’s story isn’t one of constant success, accelerating in linear fashion. There was an ebb and flow, a back-and-forth. Success then setback.

Another way to look at it is if you’re making candy. If you’ve ever boiled sugar and water you know it takes a certain finesse to get it just right. You can’t just set it on the stove and walk away. The heat and stirring have to be managed carefully. Stir too little and it scorches. Sometimes you have to lower the heat, and sometimes you have to take it off the burner entirely before it boils over. It’s a delicate push-pull. Constant calibration.

Sometimes God lets us build steam, like that pot on the stove heating up. But in His marvelous, infinite wisdom, He knows when we’re relying too much on ourselves and our own abilities. He slows us down, cools things off—not to discourage us, but to keep us steady.

He knows how to protect us from dangers that lie ahead. He acts before our mind can even comprehend what is happening.

So if things feel slow or more difficult than you expected—

If doors aren’t opening as fast as you thought they would, or progress isn’t visible—

Don’t assume that you’ve failed. Don’t wonder if there’s something wrong with the engine.

If you’re trusting God, He promises to work all things together for good.

Even the slowdowns and the brakes you didn’t see coming.

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 final part in the series, Too Much, Not Enough, but Still Valuable. Go back and read Part 1 or Part 2 if you missed them!

So far, I’ve explored how Peter’s boldness made him seem like “too much” and how Moses doubted his call, claiming he was “not enough”. At the end of Part 2, I mentioned that God did not chide Moses for his doubts and say “you’re right—I picked the wrong guy.” Instead, God responds with a question— “what is that in thine hand?” (Exodus 4:2)

I wonder if Moses looked down at his shepherd’s rod and was confused. His wooden staff was great for herding sheep, but surely God couldn't use that to lead a nation out of the hands of evil. That’s a tall order for a piece of wood.

Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the LORD our God. —Psalm 20:7

His ways are not our ways. With one swoop of Moses’ rod, God was able to drown Pharaoh’s chariots and horses. God can use whatever you have, however insignificant it may seem. He chooses the simple things to confound the wise. (1 Cor. 1:27-28) God delights in using simple things because it brings Him glory.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. —2 Corinthians 4:7

After God directs Moses’ attention to his humble rod, He commands him to “cast it on the ground.” It wasn’t until Moses surrendered the rod in obedience that God performed the miracle, transforming it into a serpent. Likewise, we must be willing to give God whatever is in our hands and cast it at His feet. We must humbly lay down our gifts, our pride, and our ambitions, recognizing that we have no power in ourselves to make them anything great.

I also noticed what God did not ask of Moses. He didn’t say “what can you put in your hand,” He asks Moses “what is that (already) in thine hand?” Not “what can you get?” but “what have you got?”

How often do we think we can serve better in the future, when we have more time? “Perhaps, in another season of my life, I can serve.” Or, rather than looking at our station in life, we look at what we don’t have yet. “I don’t have enough money to give to missions” —but anyone can pray. In fact, E.M. Bounds wrote that “Money is important, but money without prayer is powerless…” God doesn’t ask for imaginary future resources, He wants your present surrender.

Moses may have overlooked his rod because it felt so ordinary. What do you find in your hands today, sister? What have you dismissed as “not enough”? What abilities have you overlooked because you think it’s “too much”? Ordinary objects may seem trivial, but when surrendered to God’s use, He can perform miracles. That casserole, that prayer, that text message of encouragement could be the very thing God needs from you today.

Take whatever you have and cast it down in surrender. Don’t overlook your abilities, no matter how small and simple they seem. Don’t disqualify yourself as too much or not enough. Nothing is ever wasted in God’s economy. He will use you, if you are willing.

Bounds, E.M. The Essentials of Prayer. Baker Book House, 1979, p. 132

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 Part 2 in the series Too Much, Not Enough, but Still Valuable.

Click here to read Part 1.

In my first post, I discussed the life of Peter and how I love his boldness: not cowering in fear but asking to walk on water; not merely looking in to the empty tomb, but rushing right inside. At times I feel like Peter, bold yet bumbling, passionate but prone to overstep, charging ahead when others would stand still.

And then, there are times that I relate more to Moses.

The beginning of Exodus moves quickly. Within 15 verses, Moses goes from being a baby in the bulrushes to a fleeing fugitive. He, like Peter, fumbled his call. Though not explicitly stated, we assume Moses knew early of God’s call upon him to deliver the children of Israel. Stephen recites how Moses “supposed his brethren would have understood how that God by his hand would deliver them: but they understood not.” (Acts 7:25)

Moses failed because he was running ahead of God, trying to deliver his brethren by killing an Egyptian—aiming for the right purpose but in the wrong way.

That failure led Moses to self-exile on the back side of the Midian desert. He ran away.

How many times have I messed up and wanted to run away? Burnt dinner, let down a friend, or worse, lost my temper with a child. Sometimes those feelings of failure run deeper than guilt— they can become outright discouragement.

Moses’ failure did not disqualify him. God still sought him to deliver His people, calling to him out of the burning bush. And Moses answers the call— “here am I” but his confidence quickly evaporates and is replaced with the question— “who am I?”

Truly, this is the position we should all have. When we stand before a holy God, we see how small and insignificant we really are. Moses certainly has the right posture of meekness. In fact, Scripture tells us that Moses was “(…very meek, above all the men which were upon the face of the earth.)” (Numbers 12:3)

But there is a razor-thin line where his humility and meekness turns into self-doubt.

Even after God lays out his complete plan, Moses responds, full of uncertainty.

He doesn’t just say “what if they don’t believe me” — he insists “they will not believe me.” (Exodus 4:1) In other words, ‘they're not gonna listen to me. They're gonna say, who do you think you are?’

On top of his doubts, Moses makes excuses. “I am not eloquent…slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.” (4:10)

Moses is deeply resigned in these feelings of inadequacy.

How many times have I also banished myself to my own desert of doubts?

Several years ago, I was in the deep trenches of early motherhood. My oldest had just turned 3 and my baby was one year old. At the top of a small piece of paper I wrote: WHAT IS UPSETTING ME, 12/15/15. These were my raw reflections—

"Feeling like a bad mom.

I don't feel adequate enough to have more kids…

I just never feel like I do anything right.

What is wrong with me???

Am I called to be a mom or not?

I'm so useless."

Sometimes it's hard to be pulled away from our own self-loathing.

I, like Moses, was looking only at myself and my abilities.

I’m not enough. I'm so useless. What is wrong with me? You’ve got the wrong woman. Send someone else.

But sister, God put you right where you are. He knows you, inside and out, knows your frame, knows your faults. And He still calls you.

God didn't leave Moses. He never once said, “you're right, Moses—I made a mistake. I picked the wrong guy.” He says, “certainly I will be with thee.” (Exodus 3:12)

When Moses makes excuses, God responds with a question— “what is that in thine hand?” (4:2) That question will be the focus of Part 3 in a few days.

But for now, if you are feeling lost in a wilderness of failure, convinced that you are inadequate for where God has placed you—can I tell you, you aren’t the first woman to feel that way. You aren’t alone.

Take your eyes off of yourself and your self-perceived limitations. Look to Jesus, the One who will never leave you or forsake you. Whose strength is made perfect in weakness.

Even when we feel like we’re not enough…

Even when we think someone else could do it better…

He will be with us.

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

I read my Old and New Testaments concurrently throughout the year and sometimes the pairings fall in interesting ways. Recently, I was in both Exodus 3 and John 20. As I reflected on the lives of Moses and Simon Peter, I found some interesting similarities in both their personalities and failures.

Over the next few posts, I’d like to share my reflections and what I learned—especially when I feel like I’m “too much” or maybe not enough.

I’ll begin with Peter. He is easily one of my favorite Bible characters because he is so relatable. I see in Peter some of my own personality that I’ve tried to tame because I worry that I am “too much.”

Peter is bold. He speaks up. When Jesus comes to them walking on the water in Matthew 14, the other disciples are afraid but Peter says, “bid me come.” Yes, we can discuss how he began to sink with fear, but he wasn't afraid to ask.

He speaks in definitive, impulsive statements. He doesn't hedge. “Yet will I never be offended.” (Matt. 26:33) “Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee.” (Speaking of Christ's crucifixion, Matt. 16:22) “Depart from me; for a I am a sinful man...” (Luke 5:8) “I will lay down my life for thy sake.” (John 13:37)

He thinks of bold gestures. “Let us make three tabernacles...” (Luke 9:33) He tells Christ to not just wash his feet “but also my hands and my head.” (John 13:9) And, as previously mentioned, he has the crazy notion of asking Jesus to let him, too, walk on the water.

I wonder if the other disciples thought, to use modern vernacular, “Peter's... a bit much.”

So as I read John 20, I see Peter running into the empty tomb. His boldness leaps off the page at me, because John acts more “proper,” right? He stooped down, looked in, “yet went he not in.” (John 20:5)

I've seen the memes about John outrunning Peter, but this whole story isn't in the Bible so that some kid in 2025 can make a meme about it.

John gets there first, but he is...reserved. Respectful? Proper? Timid?

When Peter finally arrives, he goes in.

I love this picture. John looks in. Peter runs up behind him and just bursts on into the empty tomb.

Good ol' Peter... he's always a bit much.

But look what happens next—Peter enters the tomb in verse 7 and in the next verse, John “went in also...and he saw, and believed.”

I wonder if there was something about Peter’s character, his impulsive, I-gotta-see-this response that spurred John to go in as well.

I don’t think I’m alone in relating to Peter.

We as women are emotional creatures. We can be impulsive, forget to “mind our manners,” struggle to bite our tongues...

And when we see other women who are just so good at being meek and quiet and gracious, we can feel like a flop.

“Me and my big mouth... I bet Mrs. So-and-so wouldn't have acted like that.”

“Why do I have these big, wild ideas... I'm sure everyone thinks I am just too much.”

“Why do I care so deeply? It just leads to heartbreak.”

Just before his tomb-rushing, Peter had experienced one of the greatest failures of his life—complete denial of his Lord Jesus Christ. No doubt, that look from the Savior as described in Luke 22 is still burned on Peter's mind.

Despite this failure, he doesn't suddenly give up. He doesn’t start drowning in an identity crisis. Three days later, he doesn’t run upon the tomb and think, “oh, wait, John is that ‘beloved’ disciple, and he's not going in... maybe I better hold back.”

Peter is still Peter.

And Christ doesn't reject him.

In John 21, there is a beautiful restoration—three times, the Lord tells Peter to "feed [his] sheep."—one for every denial, is what I have been taught.

Peter is not immune from the comparison trap, however, and in the midst of this beautiful reconciliation, he asks Jesus about John— “Lord, and what shall this man do?" (John 21:21) Twice, Jesus responds by saying “what is that to thee?”

Bro. Mike Wells preached an awesome sermon on that passage during the NCGC in 2024 and the note I made in my margin is: “Don't be focused or worried about what others are doing—God needs you just the way He made you.”

It can't be said any better.

I have to pause here and say that I am beyond thankful for ladies who are more quiet, more gracious, more... the opposite of “too much,” whatever that is. I can learn from them, and should learn so I that I can bear more of that beautiful fruit of the spirit that is meekness.

But what can I learn from Peter?

He failed but didn’t quit. Didn’t try to become a carbon copy of John, standing at the tomb, just looking in... Peter, through his boldness, somehow encouraged John to come in to the tomb, and experience something deeper and richer, something that spurred John to believe. And then, Jesus essentially tells him, “who cares what I call John to do—you do what I called you to do.”

Peter never quit being Peter.

I don’t want to bury who I am, either. I just want to yield my spirit, my messy, impulsive too much-ness, and be surrendered to whatever God can do with me as me.

But what about those times when I have failed and the boldness is replaced with searing doubts? When I don’t feel like rushing in anyway, but instead question everything I once felt called to?

That hesitation is where Moses comes in. I hope you’ll come back and read Part 2 in a few days.

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When I lost my first set of twins, Rebekah and Rachel, in 2011, a dear friend sent me a sympathy card. In closing she wrote, "Though my words be clumsy tools, I remain your devoted friend."

Those words were anything but clumsy. They were a beautiful sentiment that has stuck with me all these years.

Sometimes words can just feel clumsy, though, can't they?

Especially when someone is hurting or going through a trial.

We want to say something but we're never quite sure what.

How often have I thought:

"She is probably tired of hearing from people, I'll just stay quiet."

"I haven't actually prayed every single day... maybe I shouldn’t tell her I'm praying for her?"

We get so tangled up in our minds about what we should say, or if we should even speak at all, so afraid of sounding like a “hot mess”— that I think often we just stay silent.

The Bible tells us, "Open rebuke is better than secret love." —Proverbs 27:5

Could that possibly mean: better to say something clumsy than nothing at all?

I had one such clumsy conversation last year on Mother's Day. The Lord had laid a sweet lady on my heart who has battled infertility, and so I approached her and began with, "I hope this comes out the right way" (spoiler alert: I'm not sure that it did).

I told her, in less-than-elegant words, that she was on my heart because I knew, from my own losses, how painful Mother's Day can be when you have empty arms.

Judging from the look on her face, I hadn't offended her, but it didn't seem like my message landed quite the way I had hoped.

I walked away cringing inside and thinking, what even was that?! You didn't help at all!

To this day, I still have no idea if I brought comfort or confusion. The Lord never showed me. But that conversation, like my friend's card, has stuck with me. Maybe to remind me that clumsy words are still better than no words at all.

We don't need eloquent words.

We just need expressed words.

You're on my mind.

I'm praying for you.

You're not forgotten.

I really believe the Devil likes to pit women against each other, in our minds, with our fears, comparisons, and hesitations. We should fight back by encouraging each other more, not less.

So even if you feel like you're stumbling all over yourself—

Even if you walk away thinking, "What in the world did I just say..."

Even if you never fully know the impact your kindness makes—

Speak life and love anyway.

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My husband was recently promoted at his job, a promotion which I’m incredibly proud of him for achieving, but as I reflected on his success, I was struck by a sobering thought: there are no promotions in motherhood. No annual evaluations. No bonuses. No ladder to climb. And sometimes, that makes it intensely difficult to know if we’re doing this whole ‘motherhood thing’ right at all.

We do laundry. We make meals. We listen, kiss boo-boos, tie shoes, and try to stay patient. But no one pauses to say, “You know, I saw the way you negotiated those last two bites of broccoli and I must say—well done, Mrs. Bradley.”

And so, we start to look for any measuring stick we can find to gauge our progress. And sometimes we look sideways.

At other moms.

And whether we mean to or not, we compare.

We measure ourselves against women who appear confident, accomplished, polished. Mothers whose children seem more well-behaved, more advanced academically—whose diets include more fruits and veggies than goldfish, yogurt, and marshmallows.

We wonder if we’re failing.

To every mother who feels that way, I want to share something I’ve learned after twelve years in the trenches:

Comparison is a thief of joy, and I believe Satan delights in using it to frustrate us.

Scripture warns us plainly:

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

So what does a “successful mother” actually look like?

Is it solely determined by her children’s outcomes? Well that’s not fair—on the child or the mother.

Is it the woman who is sought after for advice, whose lifestyle is imitated by other women? Maybe. But that kind of affirmation is fleeting.

And I don’t think it reflects the heart of God.

Our Heavenly Father doesn’t evaluate success the way the world does. In fact, the only time the word success appears in the King James Bible is in Joshua 1:8—and it’s tied directly to meditating on God’s Word and obeying it.

This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success. — Joshua 1:8

There is no platform, no curated highlight reel. Just faithfulness to His Word, seeking His face diligently.

That’s the measuring stick. That is what scripture tells us God rewards.

Without faith it is impossible to please Him: for he that cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him. —Hebrews 11:6

Have you been faithful with what He’s given you? Have you met with Him in the morning and given your day to Him, knowing that you can’t do this in your own strength?

Have you used His blessings in the best way you could—day in and day out?

And even if you’ve gone to bed feeling like a failure, have you rested in the truth that His mercies are new every morning?

If we are walking in faith, in these trenches of motherhood, when all the days feel like the same breakfast dishes and the same towels on the floor— that’s precious to God. And I want to encourage you, especially, dear young mother— you can be pleasing to God without a platform. You can be “successful” in motherhood even when life feels disorganized and messy. Just seek His face. Do this ‘motherhood thing’ for God’s glory—not for outward applause.

One day, the only performance review that will matter will be at the Judgment Seat of Christ.

And my prayer is that I—and you—will be found faithful.

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