You were grieved for a bit because you didn’t want the night to end; you wanted to hold on to that feeling for just a while longer. But the afterglow is our bonus. It’s those brief but beautiful moments just after the sun has dipped below the horizon, when the sky is tinted with shades of orange and pink and the darkness of night has yet to take over.

To anyone who has felt unwelcome, unseen, or unloved, I will say to you what I should have said to Vanessa all those years ago: you can sit with me. To anyone who has been hurt or betrayed, plop your weary self right on down beside me. There is space for us both on this bench. Jesus offers you His hand. He assures you are worthy of love and respect. His loving kindness makes space for you even when the world does not.

The A’s I’d earned in previous classes proved what I was capable of. For me those A’s represented redemption. They were so much more than a grade; they were affirmation that my belief of the enemy’s biggest lies could be reclaimed for God’s glory. I failed many classes in my first attempt at pursuing my degree twenty-three years ago. For years the enemy told me it was because I wasn’t smart enough, disciplined enough, or motivated enough. I know now none of that was true.

I hug my kids and wave goodbye as they venture onto campus, and then I walk away. This is the moment that always gets me. Every. Single. Year. This is when the lump forms in my throat and salty tears swell in the corner of my eyes. This is when I remember the prayer my husband spoke over my children just minutes before. This is when I realize they are in God’s capable hands, and that they were His kids long before they were ever mine.

For a long time, I sat there squinting my eyes to see past the broken exterior and find remnants of the life that made this place so special. I envisioned the sidewalk chalk that used to cover the front steps and the toddler-sized water table that was a permanent fixture on the porch. I remembered my daughter’s giggles as she rolled a soccer ball down the steep incline of the driveway. I recalled the fragrance of the rose bushes as I made my way to the front door after a long day’s work. It was all still there. Every memory was still held safely in this now desolate plot of land.

Our feelings of inadequacy are merely manifestations of fear, and fear is the voice of the enemy. Fear tells us we can’t make a difference, that our past is too embarrassing, and that we are nowhere near ready. Fear tells us we’ll never measure up; there are plenty of people far better equipped to do the job. Fear tells us to remain a caterpillar. Love tells us there is a miraculous transformation ahead.

Those two little words, “under God,” are there to remind Americans that it is God who formed us before we formed this country for our independence. It is God who considers all we do before we consider the best interests of our citizens. It is God who promises to bless us when we make Him Lord instead of making lords of each other. How easily we forget.

I kept my eyes sealed shut for the duration of the ride, and when all was said and done, (a mere 95 seconds later), I wondered why I’d held out so long. There had been nothing to fear. Now I’ll hop on any roller coaster, so long as I’m prepared to have my equilibrium thrown off and my stomach churned for the remainder of the day, (everything changes in your forties). The day they make a roller coaster with seats allowing you to remain in the fetal position, I’ll be the first in line.

The escape hatch God provides is often hard to see when we’re settled comfortably in the darkness of our sins. It’s so much work to navigate our way through the tunnel and push open the door that will lead us to our rescue. By now we’ve spent so much time in the dark we’re kind of used to it. So instead of exerting ourselves, we sit back and relax. We allow the temptation to consume us. No one can see us here in the dark.

My children are eleven and eight now, but memories of their “threenager” years trigger my post-traumatic stress. I clocked many hours in the hallway outside my child’s door, knees pulled to my chest, a glass of wine in my hand, and tears in my eyes. I was convinced I was failing as a mother. I wish I could go back in time and wrap my arms around my younger, inexperienced self. With the utmost kindness, I would say, “Be gentle with yourself. You’re doing the best you can.”

Seventeen years ago when I asked Kristin to be my bridesmaid she responded, “I’ll be there with bells on. No seriously, I’m wearing bells.” It was such a Kristin thing to say. Her wit was unmatched, her light and her beauty were incomparable. I am blessed to remember her words so clearly, to bottle her brightness on a page and share it with the world. “Words are our tools of resurrection.” They breathe life into our loss.

Sure, we can start out faithful, but we won’t stick with it. We get distracted, we give in to temptation, we lose motivation, and we succumb to laziness. When the ground beneath our feet starts to shift, we lose our balance. We forget to be faithful. So how do people like my Opa manage to live a life of faithful submission to the Lord and others? Because faithfulness comes easier when we rely on a faithful God.

Often the best gifts are disguised as disappointments, like the perfectly plump stuffed bear my brother gave me in a crumpled old grocery bag when I was young. I slept with that bear every night for the next eight years. It’s those gifts that remind us that wrapping isn’t everything. God’s gifts to us don’t always look good and perfect, but His purpose for them always is.

Think of how easy it is to scatter confetti, a substance that seems to multiply all on its own. It requires zero effort, but the result is a colorful, celebratory, mess of happiness! Imagine filling your pockets with confetti at the beginning of each day. Every little piece represents a smile, a warm gesture, or an act of generosity. Now, make it your mission to scatter that confetti, emptying your pockets by the day’s end.

Patience and prayer. These are the antidotes for my worrisome heart. It’s possible to find joy in hope by choosing to fixate on all the positive potential my son has, rather than all the negative. Instead of imagining him rubbing elbows with a cellmate, what if I imagined him surrounded by a community of faithful, God-loving friends? I can turn my worries about the worst outcome into prayers for the best outcome.

A number of the disciples were fishermen by profession. I bet they knew what to do when a storm came up. But at some point, the waves became too much for them and they started to panic. They forgot, however briefly, that they weren’t alone. Had they only remembered the Son of God was in their midst, they would have found peace in the chaos.

Then, a miraculous thing happened. My tears that God so faithfully and lovingly collected were used to water my dry and desolate soul […] With wisdom and generosity I will never comprehend, God waited to provide joy when He knew I needed it most. Only when my cup of tears was overflowing would there be enough tears to sow songs of joy.

I have aged. I have grown complacent. The shine of my new faith has long since worn off. How miraculous it is that God’s love for me has only grown stronger. He adores me just as much today as He did the first day I welcomed Him into my heart. There is nothing worn, dusty, or subdued about His love for me. His passion for me is still aflame; no rekindling is needed. I only need to read His love letters to see that.

When we begin the arduous task of sifting through our stuff, choosing what to keep and what to part with, these are the things we should insist on hanging on to. We need to surround ourselves with reminders of who we are, the people who love us, and how far we’ve come. God speaks truth to us through the stories found in the good stuff.

Even when we don’t anticipate it, God does, and He provides everything we need to navigate our new territory. He does not lean back and wait for chaos to ensue, rather He leans in, encouraging us to take a look around and find the gifts in the unforeseen.