As your emotions rise and fall like the tides, do you feel as if God goes out with them? Be assured: God never leaves His beloved children. The Spirit remains within us as a constant, unchanging Person of the Trinity, despite our heart’s dullness at times.

I grew up writing and weaving stories—stories of chasing wild horses, children with mystical powers, and worlds unlike ours. But then as I grew up, I thought I had to outgrow fairytales, too. I had to write only inspirational articles and how-tos that told people what to think and believe. Yet as I cradled little children in my arms and read stories to them, and the scorching fires of suffering charred me, the inspirational and how-tos started to feel a little trite. I turned to stories for life, and my love was rekindled. Now, I want to help you rekindle that child-like heart that loves the fairytales and stories and show you how they can impact your faith as well.

I rarely dealt with or named my emotions—at least not the “negative” ones. They had to be killed, banished, ignored, and stuffed. I learned this from both Christian circles (like the counselor above) and my own fears. I didn’t want others to see my emotions. But what if we don’t need to pound every negative emotion into the dirt? What if there’s goodness in every emotion—even in our negative emotions that we don’t like so much?

Loving someone with a mental illness can feel like piecing together a broken glass mosaic—there are many tiny shards, and we don’t know where to start or even how to start in a way that won’t cause further injury. How do we love them? Through my own experience of being diagnosed with OCD, I share how we can come with sympathy, nuance, and the love of Christ.

During my teenage years, I read a plethora of books on Christian dating that taught me to think through my purity this way. They motivated me to remain pure by promising that it would keep my wedding night special, protect me from guys who would use me, and reduce future marital issues. Looking back, I wish someone had given me the greater, real reason to remain pure: To obey our holy God.

When we feel that fire inside of us, we need to tame it with a pause. As James wrote to the dispersed Christians, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19–20 ESV). How can we practice being slow to speak and quick to hear? By pausing, studying, and listening.

Our Good Shepherd leads through both the even, green plains and the dark, rocky gorges. He never grows more distant on either terrain but leads us with his outstretched arm and protects us with his staff. As he leads us, his ear is bent low to listen to both our gratitude and our lament, and he never grows weary of hearing either—even if others do.

Does repentance never feel like enough? Do you wonder how God could love someone as wicked as you? Do you doubt your salvation every time you sin? Sister, you can have assurance of your salvation and escape those weighty feelings of self-hate and condemnation—all through the gospel.

The Acadian deportation of 1755 reminds us to extend welcome and love to our neighbors today, to those who may feel like strangers in a strange land.

What does it mean to trust God when it seems he’s dealt scarcely with us? In my scarcity mindset, I became much like the dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, in Tolkien’s The Hobbit.

Searching for “peace” about a decision. Listening for God’s direction. Following the leading of the Holy Spirit. Waiting for a word from the Lord. All of these and more often lead to Christian Decision Paralysis. What if we could make decisions without Christian Decision Paralysis taking a hold of us? What if discovering God’s will wasn’t such a mystical, mysterious hunt?

As writers, we endure many deaths in order to grow. Our “darlings” fall before our eyes as editors cut them from our work—from beloved words to entire paragraphs we labored over. This is the process of the outer bark and old leaves wilting away. But as writers, we can trust these deaths will sprout growth too—not just in our writing, but in our lives too.

We don’t like to think of our cute, tiny children as being sinful. As moms, we may feel uncomfortable even telling our children they’re sinners. Why do we want our children to feel guilty? But what if the uncomfortable, bad news is necessary before our kids (or anyone) can truly understand the good news of the gospel at all?

Don’t buy the lie that you don’t have time for fiction and poetry and pleasure reading. Yes, biblical literacy is important. It’s valuable for Christians to spend time in theology books, commentaries, and Bible studies. However, we shouldn’t pit them against the beautiful and true writing found in novels and poems.

Can a friendship last even if you strongly disagree on theological points? Yes, and it should—because it will sharpen both of you.

I’ve known for a long time that I don’t like change. Over the past few years, I’ve recognized my unhealthy grasping for control over people, weather, health, and other realities I can’t possibly sway to my liking. But it wasn’t until the past year or so that I reckoned how much changes of mind rattled me—both in others and in myself.

Rather than dealing with the grief of your situation, do you project unnecessary judgments about yourself, your situation, or others? To help us better cope with our suffering, therapists have created a coping skill known as radical acceptance. As believers, we can use radical acceptance paired with our hope in Christ to help us through our suffering.

As I sat next to Daniel at his grandmother’s funeral, I couldn’t help but marvel at what a legacy she left. Sitting at the front was her youngest daughter, Daniel’s mother, who she had raised in the faith. Behind her and Daniel’s dad sat me and Daniel, followed by Daniel’s sister and brother and his wife and children. Each of us, spouses and all, clinging to that same faith she taught her daughter who then taught it to them.

We all have stories. Some are meant to be shared to encourage and give voice to others’ stories. But some are not meant to be proclaimed on the internet. There is power in a picture and strength behind a story, but sometimes it’s more important to protect those I love, including myself. Here’s how we can discern the difference.

After the birth of our twins, my husband suffered and need my care. And many times I failed. Often, watching someone else suffer makes us feel so helpless. We come before our husbands empty-handed and often wordless. How can we be their helper when we feel so helpless?