There’s a children’s Sunday School song about joy that echoes in my memory. It’s a catchy tune with a playful call and response that keeps the kids engaged.

“I’ve got joy joy joy joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Down in my heart to stay. And I’m so happy, so very happy. I’ve got the love of Jesus in my heart….”

When I picture a room full of young voices singing about joy, it makes my heart smile. Although when I think about it, children might be the easiest people to make happy. They’re eager to have fun. They rush inside with tears from an injury while playing, but the moment the bandaid is on, they scramble quickly back out the door. In the fiercest frustration can be softened with a cookie from Grandma.

As adults, facing the steady weight of daily responsibilities, their childlike happiness can feel almost foreign to us.

Was it really that simple to just be happy?

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We’re swamped with bills to pay, activities to chauffeur our kids to, ailing parents we care for, ministry challenges to solve that leaves us feeling stretched thin. Yet, somewhere between one hurried thought and the next, we still find moments to laugh at our kids’ made up jokes, notice the colours of a sunset and enjoy coffee with a friend.

But sometimes it’s not quite enough. The moments too fleeting. We long for something deeper.

As tensions pile up, we weigh our happiness against our hardships. When our hearts ache with weariness, joy doesn’t come naturally. Discouragement creeps in, despair draws close, and a heaviness settles over us, sometimes followed by anxiety we can’t shake.

We read the truths of Scripture calling us to “rejoice always” and to “rejoice in the Lord.”

Then we look at our lives only to notice joy’s glaring absence.

Shame pools at our feet. Self-judgment moves in, along with a chorus of “I’m-not-good-enoughs” thoughts.

But Christian joy is a fruit of the Spirit, not a Lego set. It’s an overflow, not a creation. It’s something God produces in us, not something we manufacture ourselves. Joy is fed by communion with God.

So maybe the starting place is a small reframing.

Not judgment: “I should have joy”

But relationship: “I want more joy.”

Understanding Christian Joy (compared to worldly happiness)

The African theologian Saint Augustine once observed, “Every man, whatsoever his condition, desires to be happy.” Certainly none of us wish to be unhappy or miserable. We all want to feel happy.

We search for joy in endless places. Advertisements promise fulfillment. Emotional escapes are always within reach. Our colleagues share their latest purchase, trip or party. Slowly the belief creeps in that our greatest satisfaction will come from what we find in the world. Even King Solomon, the wisest man to ever live, denied himself no pleasure, but his conclusion was sobering: it was all “chasing after the wind,” an endless pursuit that never satisfies (Ecc. 2).

The problem is not that we want happiness. The problem is that we misunderstand what true joy actually is.

Happiness is also shaped by what we believe about how life should go, what the trajectory of a Christian life looks like. When life grows difficult, pushing through can feel like crossing a flooded creek barefoot. The rushing waters pull us off balance and the debris coming downstream can knock us over. Suddenly we believe happiness will only return when the rushing waters stop; when our circumstances change and life becomes easier.

When we equate joy with happiness—defining it as the absence of sorrow or a feeling completely dependent on our circumstances—it’s no wonder our search feels like chasing the wind.

Eventually we begin to doubt whether joy is even attainable.

But is a life of ease, along with all the satisfactions the world offers, really where true joy is found?

Of course not. Yet we’re more tempted to live this way than we’d like to admit.

The Lexham Bible Dictionary describes biblical joy as “more a state of being than an emotion,” an awareness of God’s grace and favor rather than a feeling.

This may be difficult to wrap our heads around.

What if joy is less about how I feel and more about what I know to be true, a response of faith?

I love how Matt Smethurst describes it: “Joy is not an accessory to the Christian life, a perk for shiny saints who can turn their frowns upside down. Rather, joy is tenacious. It fights. It grips the promises of God and won’t let go. And joy is not a mere good mood; it is ballast in our boats, an anchor in our storms, an immovable rock to stand on when the waves of life threaten to flatten us.” Doesn’t that make you want it more?!

How do we get there? Psalm 16 gives us a glimpse.

Many believe David wrote Psalm 16 while he was either on the run or facing opposition. The man after God’s own heart was intimately familiar with waiting for God’s plan to unfold, with God’s loving discipline, betrayal, and sorrow. But his psalm reveals his frame of mind and teaches us where to find joy, contentment and rest in our time of need.

Biblical Joy is Found in the Presence of God

“Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge. I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you.” (16:1-2)

David begins the psalm with a plea for God’s protection in the throes of hardship. God is the place he finds shelter from the storm and protection from the raging battle (whether it’s figurative or literal). Aware of his desperate need, he once again seeks the Lord for help. He’s trusted God while living a secluded life as a shepherd. He trusted Him through the long years of waiting after his anointing. He trusted Him again while facing defiant enemies.

He remembers God’s faithfulness and resolves again that the Lord is the source of everything good. Despite the burden he bears, he praises God as the Giver of good gifts.

The ending of the psalm highlights again where true joy is found,“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Ps 16:11).

Fullness of joy, isn’t this what we all desire?

And what’s more, it’s found in the abiding presence of the Lord. As we draw near to Him, He draws near to us,

You hear David’s praising a God he knows and loves. Even though things are not as they should be, even a little haywire, yet he responds in worship, reflecting on who God is.

He is sovereign: “you hold my lot” (5)

He is the giver of good gifts: “The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance” (6)

He reveals Himself to us: “I bless the Lord who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me” (7)

He is a refuge: “my flesh also dwells secure” (9)

Notice how David speaks. His joy isn’t careless optimism, it’s thoughtful. He rehearses what he knows to be true about God.

Paul prays for the church in Rome with these words, “may the God of hope fill you with

all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Rom. 15:13). There is joy in knowing God.

We study the Word, commune with Him in prayer, and fellowship with His people. These practices lead us to remember the good news: that God did not leave us as enemies, entangled in our sin, but gave His son as a propitiation so that we might be reconciled to Him.

And I wonder what could change if we allowed these truths to settle in our hearts for a moment.

Biblical Joy Flows from Wholehearted Devotion

In the Gospel of John, Christ describes Himself as the vine and us as the branches. As we abide in Him, we not only flourish but find fullness of joy: “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11). He teaches us to remain in Him, in His love and in obedience to His commandments.

In Psalm 16 we see what this looks like in practice, through David’s wholehearted devotion.

Guarding his heart against rival gods: “The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply; their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out or take their names on my lips. (4)

Centering his life around God: “The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup” (5)

Receiving God’s with gratitude: “The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.” (6)

Intentionally setting his heart on the Lord: “I have set the Lord always before me” (8)

Where we set our hearts matters, because what we love most will shape the joy we experience.

Joy grows when our loves are rightly ordered, When God is our greatest treasure and everything else takes its proper place.

We enjoy a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. We pause as the sunrises, in awe of the vast colours adorning the sky. These are good gifts the Lord provides for our enjoyment. The difference is that we’re not striving to find joy in them. Instead, we receive them as the gifts they’re meant to be, not as our identity or our purpose.

John Piper famously reminds us, “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.”

Are our hearts deeply satisfied in the Lord?

It’s a question I want to return to regularly and intentionally. As I turn my heart and mind toward God, paying attention to his grace and favour in the ordinary moments of my day, gratitude begins to fill my cup. And slowly, that contentment quenches my thirst for joy, because in His presence, there truly is fullness of joy.

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

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Here on the Canadian prairies, winter doesn’t simply arrive — it settles in.

The cold turns sharp enough to sting your lungs. Snowdrifts swallow sidewalks. The sky hangs low and pale, and some days the sun seems more like a rumour than a reality. We learn to accept it. “Winter blues,” we say, as if naming it makes it normal.

Sometimes it is normal — the slow dip in energy, the heaviness that comes with shorter days. Sometimes it tips further, into what doctors call seasonal affective disorder, when the shadows feel less poetic and more oppressive. Some people book flights south. Others reach for vitamin D and count the days until April.

A few years ago, I started keeping a mood tracker in my journal app. Each morning I’d rate my mood on a scale of 1-10 and a few lines about what was stirring in my heart. I’d often pair it with a Scripture — not as a quick fix, but as a way of asking, Lord, what does Your Word say to this version of me today? My goal wasn’t to optimize happiness. It was to grow in emotional awareness before God.

Over time, as I clicked back to older dates, a pattern emerged. Winter. Every year. The numbers dipped. The words grew duller. I was surprised — though perhaps I shouldn’t have been.

I’ve walked through depression before, particularly during our transition from church planting in Tanzania to life back home. That season was heavy and unmistakable. This felt different. I was still functioning — working, loving my kids, serving in ministry. From the outside, life was good. But my inner world often felt flat. My energy lagged. Irritability crept in. I escaped into books or television more than I wanted to admit.

When I paid attention — really paid attention — I began to wonder if the winter blues weren’t just something to endure, but something to steward.

Strangely enough, it was research on jet lag before a trip to Kenya that nudged me in a new direction. Circadian rhythms. Light exposure. Sleep timing. Small physical habits that shape our mental and emotional world.

And so I began to experiment — gently, imperfectly — with a few practices to help me shift my mood and energy through the darker months.

These are five small things I’ve been trying.

1 Morning Light-A Small, Bright Experiment

Because I serve on our mission organization’s international board, I travel to Africa twice a year for meetings. Sometimes the trips are long. Sometimes they’re only a few days. Either way, the back-and-forth across time zones takes a toll.

Before one trip, I started reading about circadian rhythms, hoping to ease the transition. What I found surprised me. The research on light exposure — particularly morning sunlight — has implications not just for jet lag, but for sleep, mood, and energy.

It’s simple, almost embarrassingly so.

Our eyes contain receptors that respond specifically to natural morning light (not typical indoor lighting). That light signals the brain to release cortisol in a healthy, timed way — helping regulate our wake-up cycle, stabilize mood, and set the rhythm for the rest of the day. In short: morning light helps our bodies know it’s time to be awake.

The recommendation? Spend your first waking moments in real sunlight.

I was almost flabbergasted that I’d never really known this before. It felt so obvious once I read it.

But then the 49th parallel question surfaced: what do you do when winter sunrise happens after you’ve already left for work — or when the sky is a uniform grey for weeks?

That’s when I learned about “lux” lamps — light therapy lamps that mimic the intensity of morning sunlight. They’re designed to safely stimulate the same response when natural light isn’t available.

I remember wondering, Could it really be this simple?

For me, the answer has been yes.

I began turning the lamp on for 20–30 minutes each morning while I read Scripture and prayed. Nothing dramatic. Just light on the desk, Bible open, coffee steaming.

Within a few days, I noticed I was waking up before my alarm. My energy felt steadier. My mood lifted. Even my jet lag after that Africa trip was noticeably easier.

It hasn’t “fixed” winter. But it has helped.

And now I find myself talking about morning light more than I ever expected. It’s become a regular part of conversations with clients who struggle with mood.

Sometimes the smallest, most ordinary gifts — like light — are the ones we forget we need.

2 Sitting Back Down in the Counselling Chair

In my young adult years, I wasn’t opposed to counselling. I just never really needed it.

Of course I struggled — everyone does. But I didn’t have a clear reason to go. No crisis. No particular goal. Life was manageable.

That changed during our last year overseas, when we experienced a home invasion.

Our mission cared for us deeply in that season — immediate support, steady prayer, and a referral to a professional counsellor when we returned home. We went because it seemed wise. I stayed because I began to see how much I hadn’t yet understood about myself.

In those sessions, I discovered how limited my emotional awareness had been. I began to see how perfectionism quietly shaped my reactions. I learned to notice the “soundtrack” running in the background of my mind — the subtle narratives influencing my marriage, my parenting, my relationships, even my prayers.

What began as trauma care slowly became mentorship. In a season of transition and healing, my counsellor helped me untangle both my faith and my feelings with gentleness and clarity.

When she retired, I didn’t look for someone new. Life was full. I was busy. I told myself I was fine.

But working in mental health crisis care has a way of pressing on your own reserves. After a particularly heavy stretch of shifts, I found myself telling a colleague, half-lamenting, “I just want to talk to someone who wants to live.”

She placed her hands on my shoulders, gave me a small shake, and said, “Amber, I want to live. You’re doing a good job. Keep going.”

I smiled — grateful for her kindness — but I also knew something in me was thinning out. Not broken. Not in crisis. Just worn.

So I asked my supervisor for recommendations. I made an appointment.

I am so grateful I did.

There’s something profoundly relieving about being the one who doesn’t have to hold it all together. About sitting across from a skilled listener who isn’t looking to you for answers. About speaking honestly and being met with steady presence.

Some sessions uncover old patterns still trying to resurface. Others reveal new tensions belonging to this season of life. But each time, I leave feeling lighter — not because everything is solved, but because nothing is carried alone.

It has been, quite simply, a breath of fresh air.

3 Front Porch Time

Our life is probably lived at a 5K pace, when really we’re in a 10K race.

I often miss out on time just to sit — to be still, to contemplate, to think. The phone is within reach. There’s always something in the house that needs doing. There are countless small distractions ready to pull me away from quiet.

An analogy I really appreciated came from Samantha Decker in her book Hurried. She describes “front porch time” as moments to sit, unhurried, feet up, pausing the to-do list long enough to pray and reflect. I’m reminded of Elijah — how the Lord didn’t speak to him in the earthquake, fire, or windstorm, but in the quiet whisper of silence.

It made me think about how rarely I create space for that kind of quiet.

Hearing the Lord’s voice doesn’t often happen in the flurry of distraction. Jesus Himself withdrew to desolate places to pray. There seems to be something about stepping away that makes room for clarity.

So I began to consider what that might look like for me.

My actual front porch is covered in snow right now, but the idea still works. There’s a corner of my couch that faces outside, where I can gaze out the window instead of at the pile of dishes in the kitchen or the Cheerios under the table. I leave my phone on the charger in another room. And I take a few moments to breathe, to sit in silence, to pause.

I’ve also stopped listening to the radio when I’m alone in the car, letting the quiet become an opportunity to pray and settle my thoughts.

It’s often surprising what rises to the surface when I make room for stillness. The things that come to mind tend to shape how I pray.

I’m grateful for these small pockets of quiet — simple ways to practice relying on God in the middle of full days.

4 Changing My Eating Habits

I’m not recommending any specific diet for you. I’m not a dietitian, and I’m not your doctor.

But as I’ve been reading and researching more about health, I’ve repeatedly come across the benefits of reducing excess carbs and sugar. The research seems fairly consistent in pointing to their impact on energy, mood, and overall health.

So I decided to experiment — decreasing carbs and increasing protein.

It sounds simple. In practice, it’s anything but.

Because it’s never just about what you eat. It’s about why you eat.

This has required a certain curiosity about myself. What do I crave? When do I crave it? What’s happening beneath the surface when I reach for sugar, soda, or chocolate?

I’ve noticed that when I’m feeling sad, lonely, or anxious, I instinctively want something sweet. It promises comfort. A quick lift. A small escape. But often it’s my body signalling something deeper going on inside.

By intentionally reducing carbs, I’ve had to sit with those signals instead of numbing them. It’s opened up space to explore my inner life — the emotions, longings, disappointments, and unmet expectations that surface throughout a week.

And as they surface, I have the opportunity to bring them to the Lord. To seek His truth instead of simply believing the “truth” my feelings are telling me in the moment. It has become an unexpected way of practicing self-control. 1

What I’m learning is that self-control in one area tends to spill over into others. Like a quiet domino effect. A steadiness I wasn’t anticipating, but have come to appreciate.

For me, the combination of nutrition and movement has simply helped my body feel well. My energy is steadier. Daily tasks feel lighter. Even climbing the stairs at home doesn’t feel like such a chore — though shovelling snow will probably always strain my back.

My husband teased me the other day, asking if I thought I was planning to live forever now. He was joking — especially with how many health trackers promise longevity and “optimizing” your lifespan.

But I have no guarantee that any of these changes will make me live longer.

What I do have are the promises of God and my hope in Christ. That hope gives purpose to today and tomorrow — whatever they hold — and calls me to steward what He has entrusted to my care, including my body.

I’ve been praying the words of Psalm 90:12: “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (ESV)

I cannot control how many days I’m given. But I can seek to live them wisely — attentive, grateful, and as well as I’m able with the time He provides.

5 Stepping Outside

As an introvert, I could easily stay inside for days on end. I’m sure I have, more than a handful of times. Winter makes it even easier — the cold bites, the roads are icy, snowboots and hats and gloves are required just to step outside.

But staying isolated indoors, alone, isn’t great for our mood.

Getting out the door has helped — even in small ways. Having our kids involved in activities makes a difference. We meet other parents and kids on different teams. Instead of endlessly scrolling to find a movie, we’re out, watching games, going to practice, helping with activities. We meet with friends for Bible study, go to Awana. Life is full, yes, but also rewarding and meaningful.

We don’t have to simply accept that the winter blues are inevitable. Even in the darkest months, small choices — opening the door, stepping outside, connecting with others — can shift our mood and perspective.

These habits matter because they remind me that I am embodied, that God cares about the whole of my life — mind, body, and soul. Each morning of light, each moment of stillness, each step outside is an opportunity to abide, to notice what’s stirring in me, and to bring it to Him.

I don’t have promises that these practices will erase winter blues. I do have the promises of God. I can trust that He sustains me, that He walks with me even when the sky is grey, and that He offers grace in every season. By paying attention, by stewarding what He’s entrusted to my care — my body, my heart, my rhythms — I can step through winter with hope, not just endurance.

Small choices, made faithfully, become practices of abiding. And abiding in Him is the truest source of light and warmth, no matter how long or dark the winter days may be.

In Abiding

1 A resource for you

Check out Unhurried where Samantha Decker invites us to step off the treadmill of constant doing. This isn’t about clearing our schedules just to have more empty space. It’s about learning to live intentionally, with Christ at the center, so we can be fully present to what God is doing in and around us.

2. REFLECT

• Where in my life am I running at a pace that doesn’t match the season God has me in?
  Am I living as if urgency equals faithfulness — or am I willing to trust that abiding in Christ (John 15) produces fruit in its proper time?

• What distractions most often keep me from quiet with the Lord?
  When I strip away the noise, what am I afraid I might notice, feel, or confront?

• How does the gospel free me from the pressure to constantly produce?
  Do I believe that my worth is secure because of Christ’s finished work (Ephesians 2:8–10), or am I still trying to prove myself through activity?

• What would it look like to be fully present to what God is doing today?
  Not next month. Not in a different season. But here — in my ordinary routines, relationships, and responsibilities (Colossians 3:17).

• Where might Jesus be inviting me to step away and rest with Him?
  Is there a small, practical way I could create “front porch time” this week — not to escape my life, but to return to it grounded in His presence (Mark 6:31)?

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

~SDG

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

Subscribe now

1 Wrestling To Receive

Okay, so taking February to immerse myself in the topic of love maybe seems a little cliché. Heart-shaped cookies, Valentine’s Day stuffies and gifts at the stores are regular, visible reminders to celebrate love.

But I find myself stuck when it comes to thinking, and writing, about love.

I’m realizing, once again, the shame I continue to carry when confronted with God’s gracious, steadfast, powerful love. I know this to be true. But I wrestle to receive it.

Perhaps coming out of a month pondering disordered desires and self-control made me all too aware of my sin, my failings, my imperfections. I’m reminded of my unworthiness and how undeserving I am of His grace and mercy.

But this is the turning point, isn’t it? “That while we were sinners, Christ died for us.” (Rom. 5:8)

Here’s where knowing God’s love and receiving it moves from head to heart. And I’m in awe. My own love is imperfect, toward my husband, my kids, my friends, and the Lord. I find myself sitting in this familiar pit of shame again, but, like an outstretched hand, the invitation presents to revisit the reality God already knows and loves me anyway.

God’s love is unlike ours. It’s unchanging. It’s steadfast.

Most of the time, my definition of love has been shaped by what I can observe—someone who loves me does this or doesn’t do that. But my expectations are high, we fail each other. I disappoint those I love, and they disappoint me too.

Often, I carry this pattern into my relationship with God. If I’m honest, I sometimes believe that when I mess up, God’s love pulls back—just like human love can. But the truth of God’s Word tells me something different: even though I am faithless, fickle, and fledgling in my efforts, His love is perfect, constant, and unshakeable.

2 A Liking Kind of Love

And as I’m still unpacking my shame, a question arises: does God even like me?

Ps. 149:4 tells us that God takes pleasure in his people.

God who knows everything about us—past and present. This kind of intimate knowledge can feel exposing or even unsettling.

There are times when I’ve wondered whether others would accept all of who I am—my quirks, my interests, even my requests for prayer. I’ve held back from sharing, even in friendships and ministry contexts, unsure of how it being me changes how others see me.

Tim Keller puts it perfectly: “To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God.” 1

When I’ve felt like I wasn’t “enough” for the people closest to me, it’s hard to believe that God’s love won’t waver in the same way. Scripture teaches me I can do nothing to earn His love—it is freely given. When I feel shame over my quirks, my personality, or the way I’m wired, the love of God reminds me that He created me with intention and delight—that He has already accepted me and adopted me as His child. And when I choose self over others, pride over humility, or gratification over self-control, I’m tempted to think I’ve ruined everything. But God’s love meets me even there. His grace restores, drawing me back in repentance, not rejection.

We despair of ourselves, while God already knows us—completely—and still loves us. He invites us into relationship, not on the basis of our perfection, but because of His. So we have security, because “in Christ you are known and not despised”2

3 Love On Display

I expect others to love me sacrificially, but isn’t it way harder to do the same for others?

I find it’s easier to love and serve my kids because it seems they need me more than my husband. Assuming he can take care of things on his own, while their needs are “urgent.”

But, as it’s innately sacrificial, love can be draining. I remember this from the mission field. You’d expect to feel a burst of supernatural energy in ministry, because it’s work for God’s kingdom. Instead, it was often exhausting. Overnight hospital runs, regular requests for house calls in sickness, language mishaps, resistance to prayer and the gospel, seemed to deplete our energy. Acts of obedience, as is all of our love.

When we assume love will be comfortable, we neglect the reality love is costly.

“In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him” (1 Jn 4:9) It wasn’t because we loved God that He sent Christ, rather He initiated it, to atone for our sin. His idea, His sending, His sacrifice.

The gospel is such good news. We don’t receive God’s love based on our merit, but on His mercy. This definitely means we take no credit and can’t strive to earn it. But just as it cost the Lord Jesus, it will cost us in turn.

The greatest commandment, Jesus tells us, is to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. Wholeheartedly. Devotedly.

Not just on Sunday during the worship service. Not just when we’re still in prayer. Not just when our Bible is cracked open.

It’s the raw and messy kind of love. The forgiveness of those who’ve wronged us, the growing awareness of our disordered desires, and increasing capacity to confess and repent from our sin. The posture of our hearts surrendered to the Lord in every compartment of our life.

In Abiding

• If you’ve wrestled with receiving God’s love, I’d invite you to explore this helpful book by

  

  Here’s a few reflection questions to help you contemplate your own understanding and experience of God’s love:

  • Where are you tempted to hide—either from others or from God—and what would it look like to bring that into the light of His love?

  • Are you living like you’re loved by God—or like you still have to earn it?

  • What parts of yourself have you been withholding, and how might believing you are fully known and truly loved begin to change that?

  • This week, could you risk being honest with someone—or with God—about what’s really going on in your heart?

  • Ask yourself: Do I really believe God knows me completely and still loves me fully? Why or why not?

    ---

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

~SDG

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

Subscribe now

In the holiday movie Christmas with the Kranks, Mr. Krank realizes that their family spends $6,000 each year on Christmas celebrations. So this year, instead of observing the usual traditions, they decide to skip the season altogether and take a vacation instead.

The gifts, donations, and hosting we take on during the holidays can put a noticeable dent in our budget. And as full as this season already is, maybe it isn’t the best time to think intentionally about our spending—or maybe it is.

For a long time, I haven’t thought much about money. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because the day-to-day weight of it has largely been carried by my husband. While it’s been a kindness to me, it’s also meant I’ve paid less attention than I might have otherwise. Responsibility quietly shapes awareness; when one fades, the other often does too.

The Psychology of Money showed up on one of my lists as one of the most popular reads this year. The title intrigued me, so I picked it up. As I read, I noticed his insights weren’t complicated and had my thoughts drifting toward Scripture. Then, an old Puritan classic I read years ago—Jeremiah Burroughs’ Contentment, Prosperity, and God’s Glory also started coming to mind.

Here are a few of the notes that stayed with me.

1. How you behave matters more than what you know

“Doing well with money has a little to do with how smart you are and a lot to do with how you behave.”
—Morgan Housel

Knowledge alone does not govern our finances—our habits do.

This becomes especially clear when spending is used as relief: a way to numb, distract, or self-soothe. Hence the familiar phrase retail therapy. Over time, what begins as occasional comfort can quietly harden into pattern. And once spending becomes a response rather than a choice, it is far more difficult to rein in.

Behavior theory reminds us that nothing we do is random. Our actions are shaped by context—our values, our circumstances, our past—and reinforced by what they give us in return. Spending often works for us in some way: it offers pleasure, control, relief, or a fleeting sense of security. Until we are willing to ask what our habits are doing for us, they remain largely invisible to us.

Scripture presses us even deeper. “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs” (1 Tim. 6:10). It’s paying attention to that craving to discover where our heart and values lie, with the warning of how quickly we can be led astray by following those heart pangs.

Christian contentment, as Burroughs describes it, is not passive restraint but active submission of the heart. It requires attentiveness—an honest reckoning with why we reach for what we do, and whether those reaches align with trust in, just as Proverbs 4:23 reminds us:

“Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.”

This kind of examination is rarely popular, especially in a culture that normalizes impulsivity and calls it freedom. But for us as believers, it’s essential for our finances to reflect faith.

2. Spending and… humility

“One of the most powerful ways to increase your savings isn’t to raise your income. It’s to raise your humility.”
—Morgan Housel, The Psychology of Money

After living on missionary support for years, we learned to live simply. Some of that was circumstance—living in the bush is, in many ways, a remarkably inexpensive way to live. In our village we ate coconut rice and beans, and our home relied on a single solar panel for light and charging devices.

Over the years, we’ve done all kinds things to save money (as good missionaries do). On one home assignment, we drove my grandpa’s red 1980s Buick Regal, complete with a curtain across the back seat. We even drove it an hour into the city, apparently confident in its reliability. At one intersection, an elderly woman crossing with her walker stopped in front of us, looked at the car, and said, “That’s a nice car!”

It probably didn’t take long after returning home for our posture to shift. We aren’t driving the Buick anymore.

What I didn’t recognize at the time—perhaps out of naivety—was how much pride factors into our financial decisions. So often, the things we buy aren’t meant to impress ourselves as much as they are meant to reassure or impress others. Housel notes that “the hardest financial skill is getting the goalpost to stop moving.” There is always a temptation to want just a little more.

But when we live confidently as who we are—grounded in clear, quiet financial goals, no longer measuring ourselves against colleagues or neighbours—we tend to save more. More importantly, we begin to live in step with a biblical vision of contentment.

Jeremiah Burroughs offers a sober warning here:

“A man has never learned how to be full if he becomes immoderately sorrowful when God takes away his possessions.”

Humility loosens our grip, and contentment has room to grow.

3. What is satisfaction?

“ ‘Enough’ is realizing that the opposite—an insatiable appetite for more—will push you to the point of regret.”
—Morgan Housel, The Psychology of Money

When the desire for more becomes all-consuming, we begin to reason differently. We convince ourselves that we have less to lose. The risk feels smaller, the restraint unnecessary. Most of us have tasted that temptation in some small way—even in something as harmless as the brief exhilaration of winning at bingo night, or the familiar wanting that arises when the newest technology is released.

It’s a slippery slope—when nothing ever quite feels like enough.

When I think back to our mud house in the bush, I know I could live like that again. I would willingly do so if God led us there. If contentment was possible then, I find myself wondering why it feels harder now.

The answer, at least for me, is that abundance requires more diligence than scarcity. It may feel backward to admit, but when everything is available, satisfaction becomes a discipline rather than a necessity. It is a posture of mind and heart—one the Scriptures repeatedly call us to notice and to practice.

Jeremiah Burroughs writes,

“A godly man never prays more than when God prospers him in this world. Carnal men will pray much in times of affliction, but to be motivated to pray by prosperity is rare.”

When we believe we can provide for ourselves, we often become unaware of our deep need for God. Self-sufficiency dulls our dependence. I am learning how easily this takes root in my own life, and how difficult it can be to see.

When life feels full, prayer can quietly fade—and with it, our awareness of how dependent we truly are.

4. Control and Happiness

“People want to become wealthier to make them happier. Happiness is a complicated subject because everyone’s different. But if there’s a common denominator in happiness—a universal fuel of joy—it’s that people want to control their lives.”
—Morgan Housel, The Psychology of Money

I think this resonates with many of us at different points in life. Happiness is complicated because what we imagine would make us happy looks different for each of us. And yet, we all want to feel it.

From a biblical perspective, however, happiness isn’t the result of being in control. We believe in a sovereign God whose providence sustains and governs all creation. And when we chase control, what often results is anxiety rather than joy.

For believers, trusting God’s sustaining power brings freedom. He is the Good Shepherd leading us, the Great Physician tending our souls, the One who heals the lures of the world and guides our steps.

Jeremiah Burroughs writes,

“In all your abundance, learn thoroughly your utter dependence upon God.”

There is so much peace to be found in our financial anxieties when, instead of striving to control our world, we surrender our lives to God and live according to His good purposes (Proverbs 19:21; Psalm 37:5).

Burroughs continues,

“Now, if rich men would be so sensible of their condition that they depend on God for the enjoyment of what they have every moment and that they need mercy just as much as the poorest man on earth, this would help them greatly in learning how to abound.”

Happiness unfolds here—when we are satisfied in Christ, content in what God has given, and confident in what He is bringing to completion. When we depend on Him, we can abound, and joy is found not in control, but in trust.

5 Christ as the True Wealth

“Savings can be created by spending less. You can spend less if you desire less.”
—Morgan Housel, The Psychology of Money

Housel’s advice is simple, almost deceptively so. Yet in its simplicity lies a profound truth: contentment grows when our desires are aligned rightly, when our hearts treasure what endures rather than the fleeting things of this world.

We cannot serve two masters. We will love one and hate the other.

For Burroughs, a Christian could find contentment in any circumstance if Christ Himself was his cherished possession.

“Learn the excellence of true riches, namely, spiritual riches.”

Scripture reminds us,

“Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Luke 12:15).

Instead of treasuring the things of this world, we are called to store up treasures in heaven and to abound in good works. For it is better to give than to receive (Acts 20:35). Generosity reshapes not only our resources but our hearts:

“The point is this: whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully” (2 Cor. 9:6).

As Advent approaches, we are invited to live simply, to celebrate generosity, and to open our homes and hearts to others. Gifts, meals, hospitality, and acts of kindness are opportunities to reflect the light of Christ in a season often crowded with consumption.

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

Subscribe now

1 Tending Small Things

While I was away last week, the kinds of messages I got from my kids made me smile: “Mom, my leg hurts,” “I jammed my finger at basketball practice.” It struck me again how much the nurse in me spills over into my mothering—sometimes more heavily than I realize.

I’m grateful my kids know I’ll care for them, that I can walk with them through pain and the small challenges that feel big in the moment. At the same time, ER nurses aren’t exactly known for our tender empathy toward non-urgent complaints. If it doesn’t need a resuscitation bay, it’s hard for it to feel serious. More than once, I’ve been told my compassion could use a tune-up.

Sometimes it’s sounded like, “I’m sorry you’ve been waiting in the ER for six hours with your ingrown toenail, I know it’s painful and maybe infected, but we’re working on keeping someone’s heart beating in there, so kindly be patient.”

My kids, though, keep me grounded. They pull my perspective back to earth. Sometimes they’re not looking for a treatment plan; they simply want the comfort of mom knowing something’s wrong, the reassurance that she sees and cares.

So I tend to the small things.

It brings to mind Jesus’ attentiveness. In Luke 8:43–48, He’s moving through a crowd, teaching, healing, responding to urgent needs. Yet when a woman—bleeding for twelve long years—reaches for the hem of His cloak, He feels it instantly. He notices the hidden, the hurting, the overlooked.

As this season grows frantic, I want to follow His way: to slow down, to notice, to tend to what and who matters most.

2 Look to Understand

It’s been a while since I read Stephen Covey’s Habits of Highly Effective People. I’m pretty sure it was the first leadership book we tackled during missionary training. I read one of the habits again this week: first seek to understand, then to be understood.

It sounds simple enough—listen well, pay attention, ask curious questions.
But in practice? It’s surprisingly hard.

Maybe it’s because these conversations often happen in the margins—between tasks, in the middle of a busy day, or right as our minds are shifting gears. Someone brings a thought or a worry, and we’re still mentally parked in the last thing we were doing. It takes real self-awareness to stop and be fully present with the person in front of us.

And if we’re honest, sometimes we struggle because we don’t really value the other person’s perspective. We want to prove our point, show why our idea is better, or move the conversation along. What we need—what I need—is a heart shaped by humility.

Tim Keller puts it beautifully:
“The thing we would remember from meeting a truly gospel-humble person is how much they seemed to be totally interested in us. Because the essence of gospel-humility is not thinking more of myself or thinking less of myself, it is thinking of myself less.”

This kind of humility seems rare.
But it’s not entirely missing.

Just last week, one of our leaders said with steady confidence, “I don’t need to know everything.” Those words—so simple, so honest—hit me deeply. In leadership we’re often expected to have answers, to make decisions, to know the right path forward. Yet here was someone naming the freedom we so often forget: it’s not about us.

Dependence on God’s wisdom—and openness to the help of others—is not weakness but strength. It loosens our grip and opens our ears.

And there’s a rub in that, especially if we’ve spent years believing otherwise. Learning to listen, to receive, to surrender being “right,” takes practice and grace.

Christ Himself shows us the way. “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” His humility reorients ours, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” (Phil. 2:3)

May this be the posture we bring into our homes, our work, our friendships—seeking not to be impressive, but to understand.

3 Advent Season is Here

I mentioned earlier that I already feel behind. Ironically, I tried to be ahead this year—I printed Christmas cards in September, picked up a few stocking stuffers in the summer. But now we’ve reached December, the tree is still in a box and since we’re travelling for Christmas, I’m honestly not sure if I’ll decorate it at all.

What I do know is that I want to enter the joy of Advent. I want to approach Christmas with an unhurried posture, to linger in the gospel again. Volleyball has wrapped up, Bible study has paused, and as I look at the weeks ahead, I’m thinking I might dig out my box of nativity scenes and pull the ornaments from storage. There’s something about these simple, familiar decorations—how they quietly preach the season back to us, helping our hearts slow down and attend to Christ with intention.

If you’re looking for a few Advent-themed helps, here are some gentle companions for the journey:

• My Advent Reading Guide

• Mariel’s free study: Release Expectations This Christmas

• For writers and journalers: Jana’s thoughtful post on how writing restores the wonder of Christmas

For my own reading list this season, I’m planning my annual read of On the Incarnation and The Dawning of Indestructible Joy by John Piper.

4 Light in the Darkness

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone” (Is. 9:2)

The winter months here are dark. The sun doesn’t rise until after eight, and by late afternoon the sky has already dimmed. On an evening walk, your eyes adjust to the muted gray, but then a car turns the corner or you step onto a street lined with lamps—and suddenly you squint, surprised by how bright light can be when you’ve been in the shadows.

Isaiah’s words were spoken into a similarly dark season for Judah. King Ahaz was on the throne, Assyria threatened from the north, and instead of trusting the Lord or standing with Israel, Ahaz chose the false security of an alliance with a pagan empire. Fear spread. Spiritual compromise grew thick. The people turned to idols and neglected the God who had made covenant with them. Judgment was coming, and the landscape—politically, morally, spiritually—was dim.

Into that gloom, God sent Isaiah with a promise: a Rescuer would come, and His light would pierce the darkness.

Centuries later, Jesus walked the same soil, and Matthew recognized Isaiah’s prophecy fulfilled (Matt. 4:12–16). The Light of the World (Jn. 8:12) had arrived—not only to illuminate the way but to conquer the darkness both now and forever, for “in him was life, and that life was the light of men” (Jn. 1:4).

Our own dark valleys come and go. Seasons of grief, confusion, or disappointment settle around us, and the way forward feels clouded. In moments like these, Richard Baxter offers a gentle reminder: “Do not overlook the miracle of love that God has shown us in the wonderful incarnation, office, life, death, resurrection, ascension, and reign of our Redeemer.”

This is the miracle Advent holds before us: Light breaking in. The long-awaited Redeemer arriving to save. The grace of God opening our eyes so we might see Him.
“For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” (2 Cor. 4:6)

Looking at the world today, it’s easy to feel the ache—easy to sense the discouragement Judah once knew. But Isaiah’s promise still leads us toward hope. We don’t know how every situation will unfold, but our Savior does. The Light has come, and His light continues to break through for us today.

5 Year in Review

Disclaimer: I’m an avid journaler…and, my process may frighten you.

One of my favourite rhythms at the end of the year is stepping back to trace the contours of the months behind me. From a birds-eye view, the small moments begin to gather meaning—quiet whispers of what God has been teaching me, gentle reminders the Spirit repeated, and all the unexpected ways His faithfulness threaded itself through ordinary days. It becomes a recounting of blessing, a bucket of praise, a testament to His presence and purposes.

A few years ago, I leaned more intentionally into habits of goal-setting and rhythms of productivity. Life felt full, and the best way I knew to steward the roles and responsibilities God entrusted to me was through discipline and order—strengthened by a few wise and gospel-centred resources like Do More Better and Redeeming Your Time.

I begin each year with prayer, asking the Lord to shape my desires and clarify the goals that will anchor my attention. It becomes a kind of rule of life: yearly hopes broken into quarters and then into months. Week by week, I look back—sometimes with gratitude, sometimes with confession. And at the end of each month, I take stock of the progress, the detours, and the quiet growth. The seasons shift quickly in our home, so I hold all of it loosely, remembering, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.’ (James 4:15)

By the time December arrives, the practice of tracking and reflecting makes it easier to look back with curiosity and humility. I can see the “holy disruptions”—the moments that redirected me toward repentance and deeper sanctification. I can name the unexpected doors that opened into ministry or relationship.

Because the Advent weeks tend to fill quickly, I often begin this review early; it becomes a gentle guide as I pray toward the year ahead. I’ve started the page, blocked out some time in the spaces of this week to begin.

If it serves you, here’s the simple template I use as I look back:

In Abiding

• When you think about spiritual disciplines, does it move you toward dread or desire? But discipline feeds our health whether it’s physically or spiritually. Check out this short guide to show you!

  

• Have you heard about the practice of a daily examen? In my earlier dialogue about journaling, here’s a helpful framework for a daily check in after a busy day.

  
  A Quiet Examen for the End of the Day

  • Presence: “Lord, here I am.”

  • Praise: Where did I notice Your grace today?

  • Perception: Where did my heart drift or resist You?

  • Provision: Where do I need Your help tomorrow?

  • Peace: Resting in Your love.

    ---

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

Subscribe now

1 Emotional Awareness 101

It was an atypical morning at the ER desk. We were gathered around, sipping coffee, with all the patients stable, when the conversation drifted toward questions and curiosities about developing emotional awareness. Suddenly, everyone’s gaze turned to me.

How do we help our kids understand their feelings?

We pulled up a picture of a feelings wheel—a simple tool for reflecting on and naming what emotion is showing up. It helps us practice identifying what’s going on inside, and it’s something you can hang on your fridge and use to spark conversation around the dinner table.

Next, I shared about emotional vulnerabilities: Are you hungry? Hurting? Tired?

This became a mantra in our home. It’s a helpful check-in when someone has lost their cool, giving us all a little more awareness of what’s actually going on. I’ve loved watching my kids step back in certain moments and say, “I’m sorry I’m upset because I’m ____.” That perspective helps them make sense of their own behaviour—and it helps the rest of us offer a little grace, because we’ve all been there.

There may have been a time or two when I’ve been flustered in the kitchen, trying to whip up supper—patience thin—when a sweet teenage voice pipes up:

“Mom, are you hungry?”

rinsing a dish in the sink, oven timer going off

“Nope.”

“Mom, are you hurting?”

casserole dish tossed aside while the rice is threatening to boil over

“No, I’m good, hun.”

“Mom, are you tired?”

turning down the heat on the stovetop… pause… wait a second… hey… I see what you’re doing here… she’s smiling; she’s got me

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Just trying to get this all going.”

Cue a deep breath. “Whoever makes haste with his feet misses his way.” (Prov. 19:2)

And I wonder if that’s why we miss our own emotions so often: we don’t pause long enough to pay attention until our bodies finally shout through anxiety or fatigue. It begins with us—checking in with ourselves, and then with each other.

2 Supporting SCIDS Mommas

I got a call from CancerCare this week, following up on some of my daughter’s recent tests. The nurse was simply looking for an update on how things were going, but then she paused—she had another question for me.

There was a family with a baby recently diagnosed with SCIDS. Would I be willing to connect with the mom?

Over the last eight years since our own diagnosis, there’s been a handful of mommas I’ve had the privilege of connecting with—names of little ones to pray for, stories to hold with care. Each journey is unique, yet every one of them is marked by testimonies of God’s grace and mercy.

It always hits me hard when I remember those early days. Through the agony and uncertainty, God was faithful and present with us. And my chest tightens when I hear how He’s shown up for others in their suffering too.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.” (2 Cor. 1:3–5)

Though God allows us to walk through seasons of pain, He is the Good Shepherd leading us toward streams of water and quiet pasture. In His presence we find safety and provision. And as He tends to us, we learn how to tend to others.

May we be people who offer this comfort abundantly—not in trite platitudes, but in the steady companionship and encouragement that reflect His heart.

3 A Personal Curriculum

Apparently this has been a trend on TikTok this fall. In an effort to push back against “brain rot”1 and find fresh momentum for personal growth during the “Winter Arc,”2 people began compiling their own reading lists—one topic per month—to keep learning, focus, and curiosity alive.

The way my brain is wired (leaning a little more on the neurodivergent side), I genuinely enjoy studying a variety of topics. I’m one of those exhausting people who always wants to learn more, and my husband knows it well. He graciously reminds me that another degree or certificate isn’t always the wisest option.

Sigh. Yup, he’s right.

But to feed that curiosity and harness my thinking, a personal curriculum feels like a really compelling idea.

It actually harkens back, to my university days, reading Elizabeth George’s book “A Woman After God’s Own Heart.”

It actually harkens back to my university days, when I read Elizabeth George’s A Woman After God’s Own Heart. In it, she introduces the concept of “Five Fat Files,” encouraging women to grow their knowledge and competence in five chosen areas. I remember grabbing a binder, adding dividers, and filling it with printed articles and loose-leaf notes. I abandoned it for a while, resurrected it during our time in Africa (I’m not sure if that binder ever made it home—I can’t find it), and then pulled it out again when we returned to Canada.

I chuckle now at that overflowing three-ring binder—packed with home organization tools, homeschool resources, articles on prayer, prayer lists, and book lists—remembering how long it took to print pages, highlight them, and scribble notes. It’s only funny because my methods now are digital, free from misaligned binder rings, crooked tabs, and prayer cards sliding everywhere. These days I use tools like Readwise3 and Roam Research,4 with a loose Zettelkasten5 structure, to collect quotes, articles, and meaningful content across my topics of interest. (It sounds more organized than it actually is.)

So I’m brainstorming what this could look like—whether for now or for the coming year. What topics do I want to lean into? What habits do I want to grow?

I’m still chewing on it. And knowing me, most of the fun will probably be found in researching the books and podcasts and shaping the curriculum itself. 6

4 Cleaning out the house.

It feels too soon.

Mom passed away suddenly in September, and just weeks later Dad received a call about an available apartment in one of the seniors’ living blocks. They’d been on the waitlist for over ten years (as is typical), and he had 48 hours to decide if he wanted it.

He took it.

I don’t think we were ready for a move—for more change. He’s doing well overall with his health, but maybe this was more about us, accepting once again—as we do with every memory—that she’s with Jesus now.

We came home with things that reminded us of her.
The littlest grabbed notebooks.
My oldest, the same shoe size now, found a pair of Grandma’s sandals she loved.
My son wanted one of the last bags of her buns from the freezer.
And we found the journal she kept during their Christmas visit to us in Tanzania in 2009. My chest tightens at the thought of opening it.

Grief is hard. It’s not a box to be closed and put away, but more like a chair you sit in for a while before getting up to do something else.

And, it’s her birthday today.

“I thank my God in all my remembrance of you.” (Phil. 1:3)

5 Unsung Heroes

I walk into my hospital with a lot of pride—not only because of the ministry I know takes place here, but because it looks really clean. It’s over twenty years old, and yes, there are a few dings in the walls and marks on the floors, but overall it looks great. Time and again I hear patients remark on how clean our hospital is.

And those comments feed my pride for this place.

But the truth is, it’s not me doing the work. It’s our housekeeping staff, working hard every day to keep the building looking its best. Their job isn’t glamorous; they’re the ones who get called in for the messiest, thankless tasks. More and more, I’m trying to remember to voice my thanks and appreciation—to slow down, look them in the eye, and say how grateful I am. Their work makes our hospital a great place to be. It helps patients feel cared for, comforted, and safe.

Who are the unsung heroes in your workplace?

Maybe take a moment to say thank you, write a note, or offer a small gesture of appreciation. Doing menial or hidden tasks isn’t often rewarding in itself, but faithfulness in the small things has a way of strengthening others in ways we don’t always see.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.” (Col. 3:23)

Let us honour those who serve quietly, and may we learn to serve the same way.

In Abiding

• A book for your TBR: Unhurried: An Invitation to Slow Down, Create Margin and Surrender Control to God by

• Need reminders to pray? Or a place where you can keep your lists saved? Try the PrayerMate app.

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

Subscribe now

1. A Weekend at the Lake and Wisdom Remembered.

Surprise—there’s snow at the lake! How did I not know that? The wind cuts colder than -7°C, though thankfully it’s only a thin layer and I didn’t even pack snow boots. Inside, we’re sipping hot chocolate, playing Ticket to Ride and Risk. One teen’s working on her novel, a younger one’s bent over a sudoku book, magformers scattered across the table. Outside, the kids toss rocks onto the fragile crust of ice forming along the shore.

These moments of rest and refreshment are unhurried and intentional—a pause before the week picks up again.

I think back to our years as church planters in Tanzania, where we learned the deep necessity of Sabbath rest. In a culture not ruled by clocks, it might seem easy to rest—but the work of learning language, teaching Bible stories, and serving our neighbors was relentless. Life and ministry were beautiful, but they were also exhausting. Our team leader taught us that rest wasn’t a luxury; it was obedience. So every month we’d leave the bush for a weekend in the city—to restock supplies, send emails, eat a cheeseburger, and sit quietly by the beach.

Those rhythms of retreat shaped how I see rest now. We can’t always get away, but we can build rest into the unhurried moments of our ordinary days: takeout while watching Sunday football, popcorn with a family show, or quiet conversations after the kids are asleep.

Rest is not wasted time—it’s worshipful time. It’s remembering that God sustains what we lay down.

2. Sacred Work.

Each time I walk through the staff entrance of our hospital, I feel a quiet pride. It may sound strange, but this place stirs joy in me—for all the ways I see God at work amid the joys and sorrows of healthcare. Here is my place of ministry.

So often, our work feels like a task to complete—eight hours to log, bills to pay. And yes, sometimes that’s all it seems to be. But what if we remembered it’s also something sacred?

In Every Good Endeavour Tim Keller reminds us:

“Everyone will be forgotten, nothing we do will make any difference, and all good endeavours, even the best, will come to naught.

Unless there is God. If the God of the Bible exists, and there is a True Reality beneath and behind this one, and this life is not the only life, then every good endeavour, even the simplest ones, pursued in response to God’s calling, can matter forever.”

To see our work as a calling is to reframe it as service, as love in action. That’s what gives our work eternal weight—not our success, not promotion, not pay. My encouragement for us is to pause and consider where the Lord has placed us. How might we use these opportunities—these circles of influence—for His glory and the good of others?

3. High Feedback Coaching.

My daughter plays high school and club volleyball. This year my son joined the junior high team. It’s been interesting to notice the different coaching styles across their teams and over the years.

Some coaches sit on the bench, nodding at good plays and shaking their heads when something goes wrong. They’re the quiet encouragers, offering general cheers from the sidelines. Then there are the high-feedback coaches—the ones who can’t stay seated. After every play, they offer instruction: what went right, what to adjust next time. They’re steady, persistent, and ever-present.

It makes me wonder what it would be like to have a high-feedback mentor in my Christian life. Someone who stands beside me—cheering the good plays, but also pointing out the errors and showing me how to grow.

Sometimes, that person is my husband. He’s the one closest to me, seeing both my wins and my missteps.

In many ways, this kind of feedback is what life in the body of Christ looks like—how we ‘one another’ one another.

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God” (Col. 3:16).

We praise and affirm one another. We worship together. And when we walk side by side, we also teach and correct in love. This is both the rub and the beauty of the body of Christ—a family that sees one another, stands for one another, and by God’s grace, shines His light to the world.

4. A Young Africa and a Listening Church.

Last week I read about Ibrahim Traoré, Burkina Faso’s 37-year-old leader. At just 37, he led a 2022 coup that put him in power. He’s igniting conversations about youth leadership across a continent where more than half the population is under 20, and nearly 70% under 30. In a place where youthfulness is the norm and leadership still skews old, the tension is stirring. There’s a restless for change.

In our old home of Tanzania, elections a few weeks ago ended in tragic violence and city-wide curfews. Friends returning to Uganda expect unrest when their own elections arrive early next year.

This longing—to be seen, to be heard, to bring renewal—echoes in our own churches too. Now I sit in the middle-age pews—not the back with young parents, nor the side where college & career age gather. Our church’s young-adult crowd is growing—the next generation rising within our own body.

As cross-cultural missionaries and ministry leaders, I ask myself how we can listen well to our young people—to see through their eyes, hear their questions, and speak the gospel into their hopes and fears. To disciple them as Paul did Timothy—to help them live the charge: “Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12).

As we look at a world longing for change, may we not overlook the young voices among us—those eager to serve, lead, and shape the future of Christ’s church. The call to listen, guide, and walk alongside them is a sacred trust, one that keeps the gospel alive in every generation.

5. A Fast Mind.

A professional I spoke with recently suggested I might have a ‘fast mind.’ He handed me a book by that title—Fast Minds—and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

In kindergarten, my teacher struck a deal with me: I could stand at the table as long as one knee stayed on the chair. Effectively keeping me in one location while satisfying my need to move.

I guess that was the early version of today’s fidget seats and focus stations.

Reading through the book, I’ve been reflecting—on what fits, what doesn’t. My mom often reminds me that I skim her emails. I lose track of time when I’m wrapped up in an idea. The title Fast Minds is actually an acronym describing traits like forgetfulness, distractibility, and impulsivity. Some of them sound familiar; others don’t.

I’ve long known I think and process quickly, maybe differently—and I’m learning what that means. Still, there are moments when people’s comments echo in my mind—when I feel different, out of step, curious in ways others aren’t, restless for something more.

Yet even here, God meets me. He formed my mind and knows its pace. His grace slows me when I rush, steadies me when I spin, and reminds me that faithfulness isn’t about keeping up—it’s about keeping close.

The gospel gives me freedom to rest in who I am in Christ, not in how efficiently I perform or how neatly I focus. I’m reminded of Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Even in our fast or scattered minds, Christ’s strength is displayed. The call isn’t to perfect focus, but to faithful abiding—to bring our attention, however fragmented, back to Him again and again.

In Abiding

• A song for your playlist

• Have you checked out the First 5 app? Spend your first 5 minutes of the day studying God’s word!

Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

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1 Weary Worship

Once a month, our church gathers midweek to worship—voices rising, hearts recalibrated in the middle of the week. When the gatherings started up again this fall, I felt the weight of going. After a long counselling day and lingering fatigue from sickness, my head knew it was good—but my body felt otherwise.

As I stepped into church, heavy with fatigue, Christ’s invitation echoed in my mind: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

When my arms and legs tire of carrying me from place to place, He is my strength.

When my mind keeps running wild, His peace slows its pace

When I’m poured out, He sustains and satisfies.

“For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” (Jer 31:25)

As I stood to worship, to hear God’s Word, to lift my voice with the saints, I felt no fresh vigor—and a twinge of shame crept in. Why was I here if I couldn’t fully participate?

But His grace is sufficient; His power is perfected in weakness. Even in quiet fatigue, I found a gentle honesty in simply showing up. I belong even when I’m dry—and perhaps it’s especially then that transformation begins: leaning into Him rather than turning away, persevering in holy expectation of His nearness, no matter what I feel.

Lord Jesus, keep me humble and dependant on You for all I need.

2 On the Blue Jays and Volleyball

We’re in the gym watching our JV girls’ volleyball game. You look along the benches to notice at least a third of the spectators with phones propped in front of them, streaming the Blue Jays’ playoff game. Between sets, the ref asked for score updates (when he wasn’t yelling at the boys’ teams for banging buckets and making noise during serves). Every time the Jays got a base hit, a low ripple of cheers spread through the gym.

It made me laugh. What an ironic scene.

We’re present in body but distant in mind.

The reality is our focus can only be in one place; we’re single-minded creatures. And if our attention is in one place, that’s where our hearts often are too.

I think of all the moments I’m distracted at home, counting cups of flour while baking bread.

Not right now—I’m counting.

Trying to read and respond to a heavy text.

Hang on, I’m just thinking.

Nope, two things at once just doesn’t work.

Lord, help me keep my attention on things of first importance.

3 Fire Alarm Testing..All Week Long

Our hospital is expanding, and construction has been underway for over a year or two already. As we move into the final phases, it was time to adjust the fire alarm system—and my shifts happened to fall on this lucky week.

Loud ringing. Constant reminders over the PA: “This is just a test. No response is needed.” and “If there’s a real code red, it will be announced over the PA.”

Knowing when and how to respond to an emergency is what we do in the ER—recognizing symptoms, watching for early signs of deterioration, anticipating what could happen so we’re ready to act.

This is what I’ve always loved about critical care: steadying the nerves, knowing the next step, feeling the adrenaline of anticipation.

And I think this mindset carries into my spiritual life—a desire to grow in self-awareness, to spot temptations early, to face struggles, and to address difficulties rather than letting them linger.

The warning rings true: “So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” (James 2:17) God has prepared good works for us to do; we walk in them, striving for faithfulness for His glory and for the good of others. Our work isn’t merely how we pass the time. It’s our ministry—our way to bring gospel truth into the world, through what we say and how we live.

Lord, keep us alert to opportunities to make Your glory known to those around us.

4 Working at the Coffee Shop

I took my daughter back to the dentist to replace a bracket on her braces. Between preparing for a morning appointment and an afternoon Bible study, I knew it would be a full day.

We live outside of town, and usually I’d head home in between, but there were tasks I really needed to finish. Sitting in my car in the parking lot didn’t seem appealing. Then I remembered the new Starbucks—and a $6 coffee felt like a small price for motivation. So I made my way there.

It was quiet inside. I put in my headphones and turned on worship music while I worked—preparing my lesson and wrapping up notes. I was surprised by how much I accomplished, even as customers drifted in and out.

As tempting as it is to make this a new routine, I know these work-away mornings will be rare. Still, I’m grateful to know it’s possible—to sit in a small corner, coffee in hand, and find focus amid the hum of the world.

Lord, thank You for small pleasures that remind me of Your goodness in ordinary days.

5 The Dreaded Conversations

Anticipating something you dread can drain the calm and joy from an entire day. Ever notice what you’re like before it happens? Tense. Irritable. Anxious. Waiting on eggshells for the moment to arrive—for the meeting to start, the words to be said, the person to face.

You’ve prepared your heart before the Lord in prayer, sought wisdom and advice, and braced yourself for challenge or blame. You remind yourself to stay calm.

Then, as it unfolds, everything goes… okay.

You’ve spoken with love and compassion. They’ve felt seen and heard. All the messy you expected never came.

Other dreaded conversations come with our kids—awkward and difficult in their own way. When playground stories open the door to grown-up realities and brings questions about pornography home. You breathe deep, and talk about good pictures and bad pictures. You explain how some images are unhealthy for our minds, while still honoring the beauty and pleasure of God’s design in marriage.

Conversations are tough.

Lord, give us wisdom to speak truth with grace, and love without fear.

In Abiding

• A few months ago, I signed up for the daily emails from Matthew Henry’s Method For Prayer. I’ve really appreciated these scripture prayers, how they help me slow down, meditate and reflect.

• This song has been on repeat for me this week. The first time I listened, it brought me to tears—praising God for His mercies and goodness, even while walking through the dark places.

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

1 Here, not there

Driving to an appointment this week, I passed bronzing cornfields and noticed puddles of water scattered across the ditches and bare patches of land. It’s hard to believe the fields can be so muddied up near this town, while at home they’re dry. Farmers here are stalled in their harvesting; at home, they press on. How the weather can shift so drastically within an hour’s drive is a mystery to me—especially when all you’re crossing is flat prairie land.

It reminded me that what’s happening in my small bubble is only one of a thousand things unfolding somewhere else. That realization makes me feel small. Yet, as Francis Schaeffer points out, “We must remember throughout our lives that in God’s sight there are no little people and no little places. Only one thing is important—to be consecrated persons in God’s place for us, at each moment.”

What I do in my small corner of the world—though I’m tempted to think it’s insignificant—is of kingdom importance. Each role I carry, each hat I wear, holds value for God’s glory and the good of others.

When I think about moving from here to there, I’m reminded of Jesus—how He finished preaching to the multitudes, then crossed the lake to meet a single, tormented man. Wherever He went, He brought peace, power, and mercy.

So whether we’re here or there—shifting between roles as parents, spouses, colleagues, or friends—we remain the salt of the earth and the light of the world. By God’s grace, may we fix our eyes on Him and run with perseverance.

“One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much.” — Luke 16:10

Lord Jesus give us the grace to live faithfully in little.

2 Grief hits at random times

On a Saturday morning they were going to sleep in, thrilled for a day without school.

She trudges down with her blanket, looking at me on the couch with teary eyes

“Mommy, I wanted to stay in bed longer, but I woke up and really missed Grandma, so I needed a hug.”

That’s my girl. Solving hurt with hugs and snuggles.

On a Sunday morning, celebrating my son’s baptism. Mom had purchased a baptism gift for him and it arrived the day after she passed. So we find ourselves sitting for the service, my son and one of his best buds sitting together to share their declaration of faith.

“Your grandmas are proud of you.”

Lord Jesus thank you for a faith passed down.

3 I will follow you wherever you go.

I love the determination of the man in Luke 9—the passion, the commitment. But had he truly counted the cost? To sacrifice everything for Christ.

I’ve had a small taste of what it means to give up for the Lord. We quit our jobs, sold our home and vehicles, and packed four bins to take across the ocean to a dusty village in the African bush. We missed my nephew’s birth, my grandfather’s passing, weddings. We came upon malaria and dengue fever, jiggers and botfly worms.

I’ve also seen what it costs new believers in another culture. When they are disowned by their families, stripped of social standing, and branded as outcasts. When hostility rises—sometimes even to the point of physical attack. In those moments, the temptation to doubt or despair claws at their hearts. Yet as we prayed and came alongside them, we watched the church become their new family, providing for their needs and strengthening their faith.

Counting the cost isn’t easy. But I wish we did it more often.

To truly consider what it means to live radically different as Christians—whether persevering through hardship or sacrificially supporting believers in need. As James reminds us, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27)

Would I still follow Christ if I were left with nothing? Destitute like Job, or like David—fleeing from his city, his throne, and even his son’s affection. Would I long for Jesus like the woman begging for crumbs from His table, or the one who anointed His feet and wiped them with her hair?

Lord Jesus, help us count the cost and remember that You are enough.

4 Ask for wisdom

Suffering. Hardship. Complicated. Chaos.

The layers of heaviness lie thickly atop me, as though I’ve never taken off my weighted walking vest. They say the added weight is good for you, burns more calories, and increases core strength. But when it comes to the emotional weight, I’d rather just collapse and breathe again.

James teaches us—not if, but when we face trials—because the reality is, these moments will come. Yet he also urges us to ask for wisdom in the midst of them.

My prayers in suffering are often one-word groans of “Help.” But lately I’ve been wondering—how often do I actually ask for wisdom?

I pray for wisdom when making decisions, yes. But in the thickness of grief, it’s usually just my raised hand, pleading to be pulled out of the water. Still, in those desperate cries, I hear James’ gentle instruction: Ask for wisdom. And I realize how deeply I need it.

When the child we fought to save passes away.

When the teen I prayed for years ago takes their own life.

When my littles needs more tests and fear creeps in.

These are the moments when I need God’s wisdom most—to steady my heart, to see clearly when sorrow clouds my mind. He is the Shepherd who leads me through the blackness of the valley, guiding me step by step toward rest and refreshment.

And the wisdom He gives? It’s generous. He gives freely to those who ask.

And He does it without mocking.

My own voice can be harsh enough—quick to accuse, to whisper you should’ve known better, done better, been stronger.But His voice is kind. Generous. Patient.

It still amazes me that with such grace, He invites us to ask.

Lord Jesus, give us wisdom as our hearts wrestle with suffering.

5 The sickness

it was inevitable it would visit us. whatever this back-to-school bug has been, sore throat, fatigue, unsettled belly.

The kids navigated it like troopers. An off day and they were good. Well, since arriving in midlife these viral things hit me harder. During our bible study introductions we shared our favourite cold and flu remedies. Everything from classic NyQuil, to the only-for-the-brave Fire Jar, nettle pots, echinacea, herbs, vitamins, teas, and lastly, the tried-and-true method of sleep.

I realized I wasn’t quite ready for winter, but maybe now I’m a little more prepared.

Lord Jesus thank you for the health and strength to get through times of sickness.

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Reflecting on this past year fills me with awe at God’s goodness and wonder at how He’s worked in ways I never expected. There have been moments where discouragement crept in—when the goals I set or the habits I longed to develop didn’t unfold as I hoped. Yet, I’ve seen the Lord redirect my steps in His perfect timing. By His grace, I’ve experienced growth, catching glimpses of how He is shaping me into His likeness. And in moments of failure, His mercy has met me with a steadfast love that never lets me go.

This year has been a reminder of the tension we live in as believers—sorrow over the brokenness of the world and joy in God’s redeeming work. I’ve felt the weight of grief in prayer, crying out for the healing of wounds too deep for words. Yet there have been so many moments of beauty: marveling at His creation, sharing laughter with friends and family, and finding stillness in worship that brought tears of gratitude. Through it all, God has been faithful, proving again and again that His promises never fail.

One verse that has been a constant encouragement to me is Lamentations 3:22-23:"Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

When I consider the year behind me and the one ahead, I’m reminded that God’s mercies are renewed each day. His faithfulness doesn’t depend on my ability to meet my goals or avoid mistakes—it rests on His unchanging character. What a hope we have in Him!

Here are a few highlights from our year:

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Imagine this: You’re in the middle of an argument with your spouse, tensions are rising, and things are a little heated, then you both pause and place party hats on your heads. 

It sounds ridiculous, right? (#marriagetipsfrominstagram) 

The thought of it had me laughing out loud picturing my husband and I facing off in party hats. It’s hard to imagine holding onto anger or tension when we’re wearing symbols of celebratory silliness. But beyond the laughter, this got me thinking about what we usually "wear" in conflict.

When most of us enter a disagreement, we don’t come lightly, we come prepared.

Conflict often feels like a battle where we’re determined to stand our ground and defend our position. We gear up as if we’re about to face a great enemy.

Isn’t it interesting though, that Scripture speaks of armour in battle but reminds us our true battle isn’t against flesh and blood (Ephesians 6:12). We’re called to put on the whole armour of God, but this armour isn’t for fighting each other—it’s for spiritual battle.

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As mothers, especially those of us who are economically savvy, we often find ourselves shopping at Costco. You know the drill—snowsuits that will make it through at least two kids, sturdy snow boots, and those handy winter gloves. And let’s not forget the packs of Puma socks that everyone seems to be wearing at Bible study.

But here’s the dilemma: how do you determine if those snow pants hanging next to your child’s actually belong to them or to a classmate whose items are conveniently hooked right beside? If I’ve been diligent, I’ll have scrawled our child’s name in sharpie, but sometimes it’s faded, and other times, it’s completely rubbed out. Maybe there’s a distinguishing tear or stain, or perhaps they’re just a different size.

So, how do we know it’s ours?

We identify the unique markers—those grass stains, the ripped tag that tell a story.

In much the same way, it’s crucial for us to know who the Lord Jesus is by understanding what makes Him unique. He isn’t just a nice guy or a wise prophet; He is the Savior who came to redeem us. Because let’s face it—just being a good guy doesn’t save anyone.

The State of Theology in 2022 revealed a concerning trend: only half of evangelical Christians believe that Jesus is God, part of the Holy Trinity. Even more troubling, a significant number think He was merely a created being or just an ethical teacher.

This suggests there are some gaps in our understanding and discipleship.

In the opening lines of the Gospel of Mark, we find a powerful declaration: 

“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1).

As Graeme Goldsworthy puts it, “The titles of Jesus tell us much about him and make up part of the New Testament teaching about his power to save. Understanding the significance of his titles is of great importance if we are to confirm our confidence in the saving power of Jesus.” [1]

As we strive to live out and share the gospel, we must be confident in who we know and believe Jesus to be. Mark provides us with the clarity we need to stand firm in our faith.

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It’s funny how life has a way of sneaking up on you. Last year, I mistakenly thought I was turning 40—maybe it was inattentiveness, or maybe it was just denial! But now, with a whole extra year to prepare, I’m ready to embrace this milestone. Reflecting on these four decades, I realize that every year has been a mix of growth, gratitude, and plenty of lessons learned, some the hard way.

As I stand at the threshold of 40, I’m taking a moment to look back—not just at the highlights, but at the moments that shaped me, the people who walked with me, and the God who has been faithful through it all. This post isn’t just about reaching a number; it’s about the journey of getting here. So, here are 40 reflections, lessons, and gratitudes from a life well-lived, and hopefully, well-loved.

1.  Inattentiveness. I wanted to say this was forgetfulness, but more than likely it was just me not paying attention. But, I forgot how old I was in 2023, so I mistakenly believed I was turning 40 last year. I've had a whole year to contemplate this turn of age, I'm ready…I think.

2.  Graduation. It felt a little anticlimactic. Four years of a course or two on the go, always a text to read, a paper to write, then, it was finally over! A master's degree in counselling has helped give me skills to be a better listener, given me a greater understanding of the different factors of the problems people face and has grown my compassion for those who are struggling. Mental health wasn’t a field I ever imagined myself in, but I believe the Lord has called and gifted me to serve others in this way, to be his hands and feet to those in crisis.

3. A new opportunity. It was really a God-thing. Truth be told, I was struggling with burnout after the chaos of the last few years and pursuing private practice felt too overwhelming for me (especially while still holding my nursing job). But the director of a Christian counselling center approached me about joining the team and the pieces fell into place. I’m so grateful they did! I’m enjoying getting to know the team and their care for each other and their heart for ministry.

4. A blue belt! I've been training Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu for a while and this was a super exciting, super terrifying moment!! It's hard to put into words, but feeling unworthy was a prevalent reflection for a few weeks afterward.

5. 7 Years Post-Transplant. It’s our annual celebration, Transplant Anniversary Day. This year we didn’t even have to do bloodwork or any follow-up because we’ve graduated onto the 2 year check-up schedule. I mean, I wish we could’ve gone, it’s always great to have that reassurance, but I know our doc would remind us that how she’s doing is evidence of itself.  

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She wasn’t exaggerating when she told us there were 120 slippery marble steps to climb the hill to the Acropolis. August in Athens brings blazing sunshine and a stifling 34°C heat. It was on this sweltering day that we stepped off the bus to explore these ancient Greek ruins.

After gathering the group and sharing some insights about the site and the climb ahead, our tour guide led the way. A few of us stumbled at times, and we paused briefly—first at the ticket counter, then again to take in the remnants of an ancient theatre. As the path narrowed, the crowd thickened until we were shoulder to shoulder.

Just as I caught a glimpse of the gate ahead, I heard our guide through my headset. Her voice carried a sense of urgency as she called out to an elderly woman in our group: “No! Please don’t turn back now—it’s just a few more steps, and we’ll be there!”

The nurse in me hesitated. In this heat, I couldn’t be sure if the woman was really okay to continue. I couldn’t see her through the dense crowd. Was she pale? Dizzy? In pain? But with no way to check on her, I followed the crowd, praying she would be alright as we made our way through the marble columns at the entrance.

At the top, our guide gathered us in a shady spot where a gentle breeze offered some relief. A few moments later, the woman arrived, supported by her husband. She was sweaty and a little breathless but smiling. "Wow, that was quite the climb!" I said. "You did great! How are you feeling?" She looked up at me, beaming, and replied in a thick English accent, "I’m quite well, thank you."

How many times, when we face life's heat, do we want to give up or grumble when we can’t find shade?

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I'm blessed to partner with my friend Kyleigh Dunn for this series on perinatal mood and anxiety disorders (PMADs) and the emergency room. These articles are featured on her blog, The Sorrows of Eve where she provides resources and encouragement broadly for the church and more intimately for the moms who are struggling.

If this is you, don't hesitate to reach out to the crisis helpline, call 9-8-8 (in both Canada and the USA) .

Here's Part 2.

Understanding the supports and services of the emergency department can be helpful, especially when you, or your loved ones, determine it's necessary. You likely feel afraid and ashamed, but remember "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble" (Ps. 46:1); continue holding to him in your crisis.

What Happens at the ER?

Coming to the ER doesn't necessarily mean you will be admitted to a psych ward.

I think that's a common fear women have. As health care professionals, we do take postpartum depression very seriously because there are so many stressors moving into motherhood and without supports in place it can deteriorate quickly. This isn't intended to scare you; it's simply the reason why it's important to seek treatment.

The stats show that while 1 in 4 women experience postpartum depression, at most 2 in 1,000 will experience postpartum psychosis. This tells us it's not a common occurrence, but it is possible and something we want to prevent. In my eighteen years of nursing, I have seen this a handful of times. Thankfully, psychosis is treatable with medications and our patients improve, often quickly with intervention.

Please remember, we know you are doing the best you can, by seeking help, you are doing what’s best for your family, including your baby.

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Related Post: Dear Anxious Heart, I Want You To Know...

Previously on Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders (PMADs)

I'm blessed to partner with my friend Kyleigh Dunn for this series on perinatal mood and anxiety disorders (PMADs) and the emergency room. These articles are featured on her blog, The Sorrows of Eve where she provides resources and encouragement broadly for the church and more intimately for the moms who are struggling.

If this is you, don't hesitate to reach out to the crisis helpline, call 9-8-8 (in both Canada and the USA) .

This is Part 1.

Introduction

Hi, my name is Amber. I'm a wife, mother of 3, a nurse and counsellor. I've served in church planting ministry overseas and as a pastor's wife here in Canada. Currently, I'm active in my local church, and one way I serve is through teaching a women's Bible study.

I want you to know, I've been through some really difficult times. You're not alone in feeling frustrated, sad, and confused about what you're experiencing. You never thought your emotions would be so out of control, and though you keep telling yourself you "shouldn't" be feeling like this, trying to pick yourself up by your bootstraps, things don't change.

Kyleigh invited me to participate in this conversation with you, to provide information about what you may expect through emergency services when you're in crisis and to help equip you through this challenging time.

I work out of an emergency department in Canada, so I'm writing from that context. You will need to check around to understand what resources are available to you in your community and hopefully also through your local church.

My prayer for you is that though you walk through this very dark valley, you will fear no evil for God Almighty, the Good Shepherd, is with you. May you take comfort in the assurance of God's presence and promises.

(For the rest of the article, where we'll talk about how to know you're in crisis, click the link to get to the full post)

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Related Post: Dear Anxious Heart, I Want You To Know...

It’s rated one of the more difficult hiking trails in the province; through the forest, up and down rocky crags,  roots muddling the way, and a few spots to climb. It’s quite the contrast to our endlessly flat prairies. On a hot summer day, we traversed the uneven path, the trees providing good cover from the sun. The trek took us along a lake, so as beads of sweat began trickling down our face, we took a quick dip in the water to cool off before carrying on.

On this out-and-back trail, the return trip proved to be more of a challenge. While it was well-marked going in, the directions to get back were less frequent, camouflaged among the bush. 

I got a sense of familiarity about a particularly steep climb. As we completed it (again), I breathlessly asked my husband if we hadn’t been here before. Unsure, we kept going, but then, the third time facing the foreboding wall of rock, he agreed we had been walking in circles. 

I was exhausted, my feet were aching. Resting on a boulder, taking a long swig of water, a few hikers came by. We learnt there are a few ways to get back, and getting caught in this loop is common. We followed them and found the correct turn along an unmarked path leading us in a new direction-the one to get back.

Until we pause for a moment to investigate, our natural tendency is to follow the path before us, putting one foot in front of the other. We may not notice the turn or the arrow showing us the way unless we’re looking for it.

In the same way, we walk through life with our same habits and patterns, until we stop and pay attention to the path we’re on. The sin that so easily entangles, keeps tripping us up but we carry on the same way we always have, often leaving sin unaddressed. What we forget is that even as believers, our hearts can be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin (Heb. 3:12-13), that we’re warned not to become burdened again by a yoke of slavery to sin (Eph 5:1), and that we’ve been raised to walk in newness of life (Rom 6:1-4) by putting our old, sinful ways behind us.

This turning away from sin is known, in biblical terms, as repentance. Robert Letham defines repentance as, “a change of mind and will. This includes internal sorrow, but it requires more, a turning from sin, the cause of the grief or sorrow. The popular idea that repentance is feeling sorry for your sins is inadequate.”[1] 

Repentance encompasses the whole of us, not just our minds and not just our hearts.

God does this work in us by opening our eyes to see spiritual truths, drawing us to grieve our sin in light of his holiness, that we may become more like Christ.

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Eph 2:19).

To be called a saint makes me bristle. 

I’m all too aware of the ways I’m stuck in my pride and selfishness. 

I came across a note in my journaling Bible, a lament after I turned 30, wondering how I could be walking with the Lord for 20-ish years of my life yet continue struggling with the same sin. I felt discouragement at the seemingly insurmountable task, shame over not having lived better to make it gone, and frustration that, yet again, I must bend my knee in confession and repentance.

Here’s where perfectionism wreaks havoc on my soul. Knowing with my head I’m not—and cannot—become perfect, yet my heart longs, even expects, to be. 

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The Surgeon’s Knife

Peeling those layers back a little, I can see an element of pride in the discomfort of naming and confessing my sin. In contrast, there’s also a layer of godly intent in wanting to live a transformed life for Christ. 

As Dane Ortlund warns us, “we consign ourselves to plateaued growth in Christ if we yield to pride and fear and hide our sins.”1 When we keep ourselves from harmonizing our sin with his grace, our maturity lags with the incongruence of a dissonant chord. 

This invitation to accept the surgeon’s knife, to pray in earnest, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!  And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Ps 139:23-24). Words which unravel the pride and self-righteousness bound tightly around our hearts, seeking instead to open up those dark, secret places of our hearts, willing light to shine and the Spirit sweep the cobwebs.

It’s like the surgeon, performing a laparoscopic procedure. He usually has a good idea of what he’s going to find, but sometimes, once he’s got the camera in real close, he can see evidence of other problems or a reason for the symptoms. When we understand the problem, we can move to treatment.

But, do I want to be examined?

When the wave of shame easily washes over us, crushing us under the weight of all our imperfections, this prayer seems fearsome. The threat to our identity hangs in the balance if we gaze too deeply at our own sins. 

However, I remember this plea, “lead me in the way everlasting.”

Here’s where I want to be. Led closer to Christ. Invited nearer to the gospel of grace.

Gospel Grace For A Worthy Life

Nearing my forties now, these last years have been significantly shaped by a greater understanding of grace as I’ve wrestled with failings, walked through hardships and seen astounding answers to prayer. 

In writing about how to live a worthy life, Sinclair Ferguson says, “live in a way that is in keeping with the gospel, that matches the gospel. This is what the balanced Christian life looks like.”2 Along our pilgrimage, this journey toward Christlikeness, the gospel meets us daily, inviting us to the cross with our sins to bear and receive the grace bestowed on us each day and in every confession. 

There is no condemnation because we are in Christ; we’re met instead with restoration, peace and hope. His grace extends to our every day as the Spirit empowers and equips us to grow into maturity. A seed pressed into the soil requires warmth, water and nourishment not only to germinate, but also to sprout, to bear healthy fruit and pollinate. The gospel is our sustenance in our salvation and sanctification.

Chasing His Glory

Jerry Bridges writes, “In the biblical sense of the term, sainthood is not a status of achievement and character but a state of being—an entirely new condition of life brought about by the Spirit of God.”3 We’ve let go of our old selves and donned the new one, and our position in Christ is safe and secure, even as we persevere through the temptations of this life.

Bridges again reminds us, “Every new believer has been set apart by God, separated unto God to be transformed into the likeness of His Son, Jesus Christ. In this sense, every believer is a saint—a person separated from his old sinful way of life and set apart by God to increasingly glorify God as his life is transformed.”4

The Westminster Confession reminds us the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. Even though it’s uncomfortable, bringing sin to light is freeing at the cross of Christ for the purpose of our lives bringing all glory to God.

Perhaps you’ve taken a look back on the last year, your own unique edition of a pilgrim’s progress. You’ve seen the Vanity Fair surround you, maybe moments you’ve landed in the Doubting Castle or wrestled with faith crossing the Dark River. In reflection, you wonder how all of it is making a difference, in your own life or for the kingdom.

God is faithfully bringing his good work to completion, even when we don’t see it, especially when we view the obstacles of our sin and struggle as a mile high. We pursue then, by the grace of God, a life of faithful obedience as we abide in him—for the strength to persevere is found in him alone. 

“It is my duty, said he, to distrust mine own ability, that I may have reliance on him that is stronger than all.”  ― John Bunyan5

The journey toward sainthood isn’t an easy one, he never promised it would be. Yet it is the blessed way. 

So I pray, “asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him: bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; being strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy; giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light” (Col 1:9-12).

Journaling has been a tradition among the women in my family for three generations.

My grandma kept a journal, my mom has, my auntie and cousin both do as well. One Christmas we all happened to get a new 5 year journal.

There’s a box tucked in the back of my closet. Inside the box are crinkled pages from spiral notebooks, a pile of vibrant hardcover journals, and a jumble of loose papers that contain words of my life since my teenage years.

I haven’t read them. Honestly I’m a little afraid to. But, for the last couple years I placed a sticky note to bookmark the pages where I wrote out a yearly review so I can look back before I press ahead.

The yearly reflection is a sweet time for me. 

The Lord has held us through many different seasons over the years, they’ve come and gone, in like a lion and out like a lamb at times— phases of grief and suffering, transitions, celebrations and joy. The mountainous horizon of the journey, jagged as it is, clearly marked with the steadfast faithfulness of God’s goodness. This truth fills me with joy and hope for the next year.

If you’ve never thought about journaling a year in review, I’d invite you to consider it. Here’s why.

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Benefits of Journaling Your Year in Review

To remember the works of God

“Then take care lest you forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Deut 6:12).

Our memory fails us. 

These days it’s often due to busyness and distraction. With young families we’re planning the days and weeks ahead, managing the calendar like a commander, then often using up spare moments scrolling.

Time to deeply reflect isn’t readily available unless we make it. 

After their rescue out of Egypt, it didn’t take Israel long to forget the miraculous, inconceivable work of God to free them from slavery and set them apart as his own people. In the wilderness they complained about Moses’ leadership, the bitter water, the meat God provided, the manna he sent. Ultimately, their forgetfulness led them to idolatry as Moses went up the mountain and they worshiped a golden calf.

Forgetting is failing to remember.

When we sit down to remember God’s work in our lives, it’s like opening our gifts at Christmas. Our experiences over the year we’ve seen as a wrapped box with a bow on top (or maybe it’s been a crumpled brown wrapper with your name scribbled on it), we don’t know what’s inside. Unsure of the significance of the moments we’ve been through, we feel hesitant to peel back the layers. 

By journaling a year in review, we find “a tool for self-reflection that allows us to cooperate with the Spirit to make sense of the deepening work he is doing in our soul.”1 We recollect our comings and goings to discover where God has been at work in and around us, to keep our eyes fixed on him.

To grow in faithful obedience

A plan helps growth flourish. It's like planting seeds in springtime then leaving for summer on vacation. Without being home to water and weed, the garden is overgrown, strangling the plant. 

As we look back, we learn both from habits which helped, and also the obstacles that got in the way. We observe our responses to situations and the outcomes; things we could've done differently, or where we knew exactly what to do. Our learning is nudged along as we consider the past.

But we also need to remember, “our growth is not independent personal improvement. It is growth in Christ.”2  Paul tells Timothy, “guard the deposit entrusted to you” (1 Tim 6:20) by rooting ourselves in the gospel, not the sandy soil of the world’s “truth” in order to know and enjoy God.

To long for what’s yet to come

At some point in the last 12 months, you may have experienced devastation and turmoil. Going back to those moments isn't easy. Where grief and hurt lay along the path of your journey the Lord Jesus reminds our weary selves to lift up those burdens to his broad shoulders for him to carry so we may find rest.

The pain and sorrows acutely remind us things are not as they should be. Even when we’ve enjoyed a spectacular year, the best is still yet to come.

“As Randy Alcorn puts it, the Bible clearly teaches that we were made “for a person and a place.” And that person, experienced in the presence of that place, will meet every single need we could ever have. Complete satisfaction is possible. All of our longings tell us it must be. But only in this divine gift of a person and a place will we ever find it.”3

While we celebrate, grieve and learn from the year past, we’re propelled ahead with renewed focus on Christ as we long for his kingdom come.

Prompts to write your Year in Review

Here’s how I go through my year, I’ll share it as an invitation to you.

“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands” (Ps. 143:5)

Grab a notebook and a pen, a loose paper, or laptop, a cup of coffee and a quiet space. Have your yearly calendar handy.

Begin in prayer, asking the Lord to guide you as you remember the events of the year.

Start by thinking about your last New Year celebration, what were you hoping for, where had you been, where were you as you rang in the year?

Then look at your month of January, note what was happening, any celebrations like birthdays or anniversaries, or travels. Do this for each month of the year.

Now that your memories are fresh, ask yourself these questions:

• What was the hardest? 

• What surprised you?

• Where did you fail?

• What are yout thankful for?

• What has been disappointing?

• Where have you been stretched?

• Where have you grown?

• What have you learned?

• How have you persevered?

• Who has blessed or encouraged you?

• Where have you seen blessing from waiting? From struggle?

• Who or what have you invested in?

• How have you seen God at work?

• What have you learned about God?

• What, or whom, do you need to entrust to the Lord?

As you look ahead, consider:

• What do you need to let go of?

• What do you want to take with you into the year ahead?

• What are you longing for?

• What priorities or rhythms do you want to establish for the new year?

My prayer is for encouragement as you’ve reflected on the Lord’s work in your life, that you know and enjoy him and continue bearing fruit for his kingdom.

I pass the groceries from my cart onto the black rubber conveyor, then my eyes bulge at the screen when the total comes up.

Ugh…food did not always cost this much.

My belly twists as I tap my card, giving a tight smile to the cashier. Mentally working out what items I don’t actually need until next time around.

Meanwhile, December is here and many are considering their year-end giving. I unpack the bags from the car, almost resolute that with inflation there couldn’t possibly be any room for more donations.

Frustration and exasperation seep in as financial pressures poke and prod. Before we know it, we can find our coins locked into a tight fist and the miserly attitude of Scrooge hardening our hearts.

But, I don’t want to be like Scrooge.

So how do we face the tension of needs and gifts, more here, less there?

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Prayerfully

“Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Cor. 9:7).

Upon returning from the store, enthusiastic generosity wasn’t my leading emotion. A sunken head at the bills doesn’t bode well for lavish gifts. It’s only when my head bows before Jehovah-Jireh— the One who provides—that the hardness melts and trust blooms. 

This is the moment where I surrender all my cares and concerns to the Father, knowing wholeheartedly the sacrifice of Christ to save us and his promise of provision for all our needs. 

He is enough.

With the gospel as my hub, a willing and eager spirit moves in to obey the Lord’s instructions to care for those around me and support the work of disciple-making among the nations.

Generously

“For in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part” (2 Cor. 8:2).

When the Macedonian church had nothing—in extreme poverty— still they gave. 

I can’t imagine what they all went without in order to send their gift to Paul. The passage goes on to tell us they surrendered their hearts first to Christ and then to each other. They poured out love on others, supporting the gospel’s advance. 

I’m not living in poverty. Our home is heated, there are clean clothes to wear. We have food at every meal. Making wise decisions with our budget is important to us, and we seek to steward what the Lord has given.

Then, I remember the widow’s offering. She gave all she had.

No matter what my giving looks like this year, it’s not likely to be all I have.

Intentionally

“Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God” (Heb 13:16).

Perhaps it’s easier to give lavish gifts when you’re right there to see them being opened. I think of giving gifts to my kids and how beautiful it is to see their eyes light up in surprise as they tear the wrapping paper away. 

It makes it worth it. 

It feels good to give.

Recently, we met for a Christmas event with our local mission committee. A couple had visited a few months earlier, preparing to leave for Africa in January. During our director’s presentation, their names came up again and we heard that morning, they had received 100% of their support! It had been a serious struggle for them, but God provided, and you know what? There was a whoop of joy from everyone at the news!

The days of raising support are a vivid memory, as years ago we went overseas as church planters. The challenge of meeting numbers always felt intense, yet we persevered in trusting the Lord’s provision and his timing. Not only a test of faith, but one of great humility. There’s nothing like seeing a new name added to your supporter list (which always resulted in a leap of joy) and the humble gratitude for those who gave.

Prioritize support to your local church with your regular gifts, then seek the Lord about how to use what he’s given you to bless those advancing the gospel among the nations. (I can offer you an opportunity here).

The gospel reminds us of our God who generously gives. He's lavish in his expression of creativity in creation, in sending the Son when we had nothing to offer in return, then continues saving us daily through the Spirit's work in our daily lives making us more like Christ—he gives more grace.

With Paul’s words to Timothy, we’re reminded of God’s grace toward us, the privilege of giving and where our true hope lies:

“As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life” (1 Tim 6:17-19).

May the Lord bless you, and may we desire to be rich in the grace of giving.