It’s day 16 of my 100 days of testimonies in 100 words or less challenge.

It’s been more challenging than I anticipated.

I have found that most of the challenge isn’t in the bad days, where I’m sick or on the floor crying out to God for His help. In fact, those days are the ones I see Him moving the most. The days I feel His comfort and presence. Of course, scripture does tell us:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

-Matthew 5:4, NIV

The challenge arises most on ordinary days. The ones where I’m completing the same tasks again and again. Meal plan, cook, clean, read, ensure we all get to where we need to go...

How do I find something new to write when so many days blend the same?

I’m looking closer at those days. I'm not deciphering every habit, like folding my towels the same way every time. The towels don't reveal much. But how I handle two kids fighting over a cardboard tube? That one's worth looking at.

Not obsessively. In a way that’s showing how God is working and changing me when it comes to solving those problems. The prompts for listening to both sides of a story. Not speaking yet, only listening.

Sometimes in those ordinary days where everything seems quiet and like nothing is happening… He’s working on me.

And sometimes I just have to wait to hear the good news from a friend about how their prayer was answered!

God is always working. He is always nearby. Even in the mundane, we can find His works.

Sometimes it feels like when you live in a high-traffic area, and you’re used to all the noise. Just because you’re used to it and don’t notice it anymore doesn’t mean the traffic isn’t still there. It doesn’t mean someone visiting from a smaller town doesn’t notice it.

Let’s not get used to God working, like we get used to all of the noise, and tune Him out.

Tune your spirit to Him — and watch how much goodness you'll find working around and through you!

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100 words or less…

Are you able to share your testimony in 100 words or less?

Thinking back on becoming a Christian, falling away, and repenting when God called me… There are so many twists and turns, I'm not sure I can. So much went into that time in my life, how can I single parts out without taking away from the gravity of the change that God made in my heart?

I have written it down, but even for myself, it was a bit overwhelming. New portions I’d remember would need to be added in. It possibly could be its own short novel. The thought of sharing that time in my life felt terrifying at first, but with the Holy Spirit on my side, He gave me the courage and timing to share as He called me to.

Still, it should be rehearsed and ready to go, right? 1 Peter 3:15 says that we should be prepared to give an account to anyone who asks.

"But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect." ~1 Peter 3:15 (ESV)

That’s when a book I’ve been reading flung the door wide open. In his book Organic Outreach For Ordinary People, Kevin G. Harney opened the door that I had only been peeking through. He advises on evangelism, how it should overflow naturally as our faith is a natural, authentic part of our lives. Asking permission, keeping testimonies brief, and even the revelation that we have many testimonies.

Okay, okay, you may already know that. Perhaps I did, and it didn’t hit me like a ton of bricks until just now. I mean, all the times we were asked if we had a testimony to share in church should have been a dead giveaway.

How did I get narrow-minded to think that every time I heard, “Who would like to share their testimony,” I would think about only my putting faith in Jesus or the repentance I had gone through?

Simply put, I don’t know. The wires were crossed somewhere between schooling, having kids, and sitting in the office right now.

Isn’t that one of Satan’s tactics, though? He comes in and slowly covers over things we’ve always known, like condensation on a windshield. We’re on the right road, but we can’t see it clearly, so we wipe off just enough with the sleeve of our shirt to see through. Once the defroster really kicks into gear, the condensation is gone, and God shows us the whole view of the road again. He reminds us that we are covered in testimony every single day. He is working in our lives each moment, and those moments are a cause to testify about!

Harney also gives a challenge to keep your testimony brief. Can you share it in 100 words or less?

Here we go:

How has God worked in your life recently? Are you up to the 100 words or less challenge?

Source:

Harney, K. (2018). Organic outreach for ordinary people: sharing good news naturally. Zondervan.

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“Mom, when will J. start having to shave his unibrow?”

My face twisted before I could stop it, looking at my daughter incredulously. “His unibrow?”

“Yeah, when will that start growing in?” she asked.

My son started laughing, and the two of us followed suit.

There are so many questions in motherhood that I never thought I’d have to answer, this being one of the most recent ones. We had a moment to laugh, and I lovingly corrected my daughter, then answered her question.

The questions don’t get any easier as they get older, though. Sometimes, in between the goofy questions to get a laugh, you notice how their questions mature alongside them. You get a peek into the intellectual side of their brain, forming so many connections, some we hadn’t even thought of before.

Our most recent one from our son went something like this: “If the Bible says every man will taste death [Hebrews 9:27], then does that contradict what happens when the rapture occurs and we all disappear [1 Thess. 4:16-17]?”

Yikes.

I was not prepared for that one. However, instead of hopelessly flailing around to make something up, I did what I had been working on with myself over the past couple of years.

I acknowledged his question and the fact that I hadn’t considered it before. I let him know I didn’t have an answer just yet, but I would look into it. Then I read Scripture [Ps. 119:105], prayed [1 Thess. 5:17; Col. 4:1], and sought wise counsel from others[Prov. 1:5]. When the time came, I talked to him about what I had learned from studying the topic. Even if it still left a couple of questions, it did not go unanswered.

Too many times have I been faced with other questions and wanted to leave them with a simple “I don’t know.” You know kids, though. They don’t forget. The questions just keep banging around in their head. If we don’t answer them, they will find other sources to go to. Those sources may not always lead them on the right path. "Even Scripture acknowledges it: ‘When I was a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child’ (1 Cor. 13:11). With that, I’ve never felt comfortable leaving my kids alone to their own devices to find their answers.

I have wanted to pawn it off on someone else to answer. There are some instances where someone may be better qualified or well-versed on a topic. They can offer insight that we as parents may not have. I love to learn alongside my kids when this happens. I can go talk to said person about the topic for an answer, or my kids and I will talk to them together. That way, they can ask any other questions that may come up. We discuss those things afterward as a family.

I don’t know everything.

I don’t know when my son’s “unibrow” will grow in to be shaved.

Some connections have never occurred to me. My brain doesn’t form the same trains of thought my kids do.

That doesn’t stop us from talking. It doesn’t stop a conversation. Not knowing starts one. It provides new opportunities to learn. Instead of a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ we get to work through them. Together!

As I’m typing this, I realize that I’ve still been in the mode of gathering answers for my kids. That’s not a bad thing to do, as I’ve reiterated through this piece, but am I teaching them how to seek answers for themselves? They won’t be at home forever. While I will always be a phone call or text message away, at some point, they will need to be able to do this for themselves [Prov. 22:6], and even teach this to their own children.

So far I’ve been leading by example [1 Pet. 5:3; Titus 2:7]. I grab my Bible and say, “Let’s look at this together.” I’ve admitted when I don’t know something. When I ask for clarification from someone else, I let my kids know who I went to and why I trusted them to ask. Perhaps it’s time to be more intentional.

Not as in a class on how to do this. (How many kids zone out immediately when they feel like it’s school?) In such a way as to invite them with their own Bibles to flip to verses with me. To show them how I’m finding verses on certain topics and let them try. When I consider who to ask about a topic, I invite them to think of who to ask and to come with me to that person or to participate in the phone call.

Earlier, I said I never wanted to leave my kids to their own devices to find answers. I stand by that. But there's a difference between leaving them alone and teaching them to navigate well. This may be the next step in my discipleship to my children…

Ultimately, this isn’t about having all the answers. It’s an encouragement to be present in the questions. To be honest when we don’t know something. To be the ones who walk our kids toward the truth rather than leaving them to find their own way there.

Be intentional.

Have conversations.

Learn alongside your kids.

Information is more accessible today than ever, which is both a blessing and a curse. But that’s a topic for another day.

And the unibrow? We’re still waiting. But when it comes in, at least I’ll be ready for that conversation, too!

Dig Deeper:

Job 8:8-10; Prov. 1:1-7; James 1:5; Ecc. 11:5

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Pizza Palace was crowded, just like it was every Sunday. Coming here meant no cooking or dishes to do at home. The buffet was laid out and ready to go. It’s why most hungry churchgoers rushed over after the final prayer for the best seats. We had learned not to rush too quickly, though. If you got here at the right time, they’d be putting out fresh pizza. It gave time for us to eat hot food and let the first wave of kids clear out of the arcade.

Attie and I piled our trays up high. Mine was filled with pepperoni pizza and cheesy bread. Hers beside me held cheese, pineapple, and macaroni pizza slices. She didn’t stop there. She line jumped to get over to the pasta for her usual bowl of elbow noodles and marinara with extra cheese to top it all off. I blinked a few times.

She’s not going to finish all of that.

I turned back to grab my tray. I waded through the crowd of people towards our long table, filled with our church family. Spotting an empty seat next to Miles, I sat down before Attie could claim it for her own. She loved to question new people about their life story, so I decided to spare Miles that interrogation.

We ate as we listened to the adults talk about the sermon from this morning. Their attention was mostly focused on Geraldine talking about her experiences. They were ecstatic to hear that she and Miles had moved here permanently and hoped to continue attending services with us. The music playing overhead seemed to drown out her voice when she turned to someone on the other side of her.

Miles took his time eating his food. He seemed more interested in the yellow and red walls of the room than in the people around him. One slice of pizza lay halfway eaten on his plate.

“You’re not hungry?” I asked.

Miles peeled his eyes away from the wall to look at me. “Not really.”

I nodded my head, then said, “When you’re done, we can go to the arcade. My mom bought extra tokens today.”

He took a couple of more bites, then replied, “I’m done.”

Standing up, I looked over at my mom and gave her a small wave.

“Make sure to share your tokens. And don’t leave the building. Stay in the arcade or come back to the table,” she said.

I smiled, then we made our way into the brightly lit game room. It was overwhelming with bright colors, lights, and sounds from the machine. The music playing overhead tried to compete with the machines to see who could be louder. Kids ran by begging the others for more tokens.

One kid yelled, “I just need one more to play the game! Please!”

A toddler waddled by with a ball from the basketball-toss game. His dad smiled and followed him around, guiding him back gently towards the machine.

“What do you want to play first?” Miles asked.

“Um...” I looked around at the options before us and spotted an empty machine, “How about Galaga? There’s no one at that one.”

Miles shrugged. We pushed our way through to the machine. I reached into my pocket to give Miles a token, but he’d already pulled out his own. Within a moment of inserting the coin, the machine came to life, ready to defend itself.

“Have you played before?” I asked Miles.

“A little bit. I’ve never been very good at it,” he replied.

“My mom taught me how to play when I was younger.”

“So you’re pretty good at it then?”

I laughed. “Not at all. I can hold down the fort for a little while, but that’s about it.”

Miles smiled. “My dad used to say that.”

“Used to?” I asked.

His smile wavered, “Yeah. He, um, isn’t here anymore. Neither is my mom.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The sound from the game rang in our ears as it announced Miles’ defeat.

“Your turn,” he said.

I moved in front of the screen and inserted a coin. Grabbing the controls, I pressed the start button. Soon enough, my spaceship was under attack.

“What do you typically do around here?” Miles asked.

I ducked slightly as the aliens shot back at me, then I replied, “Well, there’s a summer festival in a couple of months. Every now and then, there’s a parade. We have a trail and a pump track, but there’s really not much beyond that. You’re better off trying to find things to do at school to keep you busy.”

Miles looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you know if there are any clubs at the schools?”

“It depends on which school you’re going to and what you’re interested in.”

“Any writing clubs?” he asked.

My lips tightened together as I thought to myself while trying to dodge another alien attack, “Um, not that I know of. I like to draw more, so I’ve never looked into anything for writing.”

“You draw?” he asked.

“A little. Mainly just monsters and things like that. I’m not so good with people,” I replied.

I heard a piece of paper rustling as he pulled it out of his pocket. He unfolded it and laid it in front of me.

“Hey! I almost beat this level!” I exclaimed.

Not being able to see the screen anymore for the paper blocking it, the machine announced my defeat for all to hear.

I was doing so well...

I sighed and took the paper.

“I’m sorry,” Miles said, “I got excited for a moment and didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, reading the words in front of me.

On the paper was a hand-drawn comic strip. It described a monster in a school that was waiting around the corner for a boy. The boy had no idea the monster lurked nearby, waiting for him to turn around. The monster fed off fear, ready to take the boy away.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s a graphic novel I’m writing,” he replied, “It’s a story about a boy who is being attacked by monsters.”

I mumbled in acknowledgment and continued reading to finish the page. The lines were spaced out enough that the letters weren’t jumping around as much as normal. It still took me a moment to read everything.

“This is cool,” I said.

He nodded urgently, “You think so?”

“Yeah. I’d read it.”

Miles smiled wider than I knew he was capable of in the short time I’d met him. “So you’ll help me then?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean? I’m not a writer.”

“I don’t need a writer, I need an artist,” he said.

“I’m not that good of an artist.”

“But you’re good at drawing monsters, right? You do it a lot?”

I thought back to the recent sketches of my nightmares. “I mean, I guess so...”

“You’ve got to help me then,” he said.

Sighing, I sat for a moment.

I’m trying to fight my own monsters here... He looks so excited, though.

“Ok. Give me a description of your monster. I will try to draw it out,” I said.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, “This is going to be the best novel ever. There will be monsters and fighting, and he’s going to win in the end!”

I smiled. “Ok then. Let’s go back to the table and work this out. Do you have any paper?”

“No,” he frowned, “but maybe I can come over, and we can work on it together?”

“Let’s go ask my mom,” I said as we walked out of the arcade.

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James 5:16b
“...pray for one another, that you may be healed.”

Some struggles feel safer when they stay private.

Carter didn’t mind learning about the Armor of God in Sunday School. It was something printed neatly on a page — a lesson that could be folded and tucked into his hand. But when his mom mentioned his nightmares to Geraldine, the battle stopped being theoretical. It became personal. And suddenly someone outside his family knew about it.

That kind of moment can feel exposing. It can feel like something fragile has been handed to a stranger without permission. When we are fighting something quietly — fear, doubt, anxiety, nightmares — we often believe we can manage it better if no one else sees it.

But Geraldine didn’t respond with curiosity or judgment. She responded with recognition. “I’m writing it for my grandson. He has nightmares, too.”

In the space where Carter expected embarrassment, he found something unexpected: connection.

Spiritual battles often convince us that we are the only ones experiencing them. Isolation magnifies fear. But God frequently meets us through people who quietly say, “You’re not alone.”

Galatians 6:2 tells us to carry one another’s burdens. That means burdens were never meant to be hidden indefinitely. Sometimes what feels like exposure is actually the first step toward shared strength.

Galatians 6:2
“Carry one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

🕯️ Think About It

1. Why do you think Carter felt uncomfortable when his mom shared about his nightmares?

2. Have you ever discovered someone else was struggling with something similar to you? How did that change things?

3. What makes it hard to let others help carry your burdens?

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🌙 Week 7 Challenge — Battle Together

Draw two pictures:

1. A battle fought alone.

2. The same battle with someone standing beside you.

What changes in the second picture?

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Sunday School had just ended. I crumpled my handout as I walked down the hall, weaving through kids racing to the water fountain. My Armor of God paper slipped from my grip. I scooped it up before anyone could stomp on it.

As I gathered my crumpled handout, the hallway buzzed with noise from classes letting out. Attie’s classroom door opened right then. She peeked with her blue eyes around the corner.

“Attie! I’m right here,” I called.

Her smile spread. “Look what I drew for Mom!”

She held up a picture of a knight. The armor was pink from head to toe, the sword purple, with a puppy off to the side and hearts all around.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” I said.

“Thanks!” She beamed, and we pushed through the small crowd of kids together.

After weaving through the crowd, we made our way past the open doors. Our church was full of older members who’d been there forever. Most of their kids had moved away, but grandkids still showed up on Sundays. That left just two classes for us—older and younger. Attie was old enough to move up, but liked drawing and videos, so she stayed.

We rounded a corner and almost bumped into Mom. She stood with an older woman I didn’t know. The woman’s white curls framed her warm smile, thick glasses nearly covering her face. She smelled of chocolate chip cookies and wore a dress with soft pink flowers.

“There y’all are!” Mom said. “How was Sunday School?”

“It was good,” I said, hanging back.

“Mom, look what I drew!” Attie waved her knight picture.

Mom studied it carefully, “Attie, this is beautiful! I love the puppy. It makes the whole thing come alive.”

Attie glowed.

“You’ve got an artist there,” the older woman said kindly.

“Yes,” Mom said, “Actually, I have two. This is Attie, and this is Carter—he’s the one I mentioned with nightmares.”

I froze.

What? She told her?

My stomach twisted with embarrassment and confusion. Nightmares were private. She wasn’t supposed to tell strangers.

Mom caught my look. “I didn’t give her details. Geraldine was our guest speaker today. She’s writing a book about spiritual warfare in nightmares — invisible battles people sometimes don’t realize they’re in.” She gave a small shrug, but her eyes stayed serious. “I wanted someone who wouldn’t think I was overreacting.”

That made things a little better. Still, the knots in my chest wouldn’t go away.

Geraldine smiled down at me, “I’m writing it for my grandson. He has nightmares, too.”

“He does?” I asked, cautiously.

“Yes. Would you like to meet him?”

Before I could answer, she turned toward the men’s bathroom. A boy about my age walked out, a black notebook in his hand. Dirty-blonde hair. Green eyes, sharp and cautious. Blue button-down shirt tucked into khakis.

“Miles!” Geraldine called, “Come meet someone.”

He crossed the hall slowly, stopping beside her. He looked at me, then back at her.

“This is Carter,” she said, “He goes to church here with his mom and sister.”

Miles’s first words came out blunt: “Where’s your dad?”

“At basic training,” I said.

“Hm.” He nodded as if approving my answer.

Mom broke the pause, “Geraldine, would you two like to join us for lunch? We’re getting pizza. The kids can play arcade games while we talk.”

“That sounds nice,” Geraldine said, “It’ll give Miles a chance to make friends.”

Miles’s mouth thinned. He drew a deep breath, then looked at me.

I gave him a small smile, “There are fun games there. We’ll find something.”

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Breathe.

At work right now, I’m completely indulging the silence. Well, as silent as you can get with electronics humming around, and the heater running to keep us warm while it’s in the single digits outside.

This moment right here is what I needed after a couple of days of my brain fighting to stay upright as I navigated rapid waters I’m kayaking through. Nothing overwhelming, just requiring a lot of attention and leniency. That in itself can be too much.

As promised, though, I’m here to continue posting. I had planned to post a new chapter of Drawn in the Dark this week, but alas, I got a new laptop for Christmas and just realized that it is saved to my old one. As I’m working on Substack at the moment, we will just have to wait a little bit longer for it to come out!

I’m not willing to give the enemy a foothold, though. He doesn’t get to win this battle just because it’s saved elsewhere. I’m still here. I’m still walking in obedience. I get to talk to you for a moment, even through a screen.

How is your soul?

That’s been a question we’ve pondered during women’s group the past couple of weeks, since one of our chaplains brought it up. We often ask how each other is doing and go on with our day, but how often do we check in with more than our actions? How often do we check in with our souls?

Mine is doing better than I think... I think! It’s alive, kicking, and roaring for battle. Spiritual warfare is prominent on our doorstep yet again. It’s upped the ante since I decided to write a book about spiritual warfare.

What caught me by surprise was that it didn’t start in the beginning, when I was so excited and overwhelmed with the amount of research I needed to do. I didn’t even want to start because, well, where do I even begin? Yet the title and outline came so clearly and easily to me, I knew it was the right direction.

No, the attacks started after God got hold of my mind and quietly led me to read books of protection and grounding in my Christian faith before I even began the bulk of the research I wanted to explore; books like Psalms 91, Mere Christianity, and, dare I say it? My own Bible.

What I need to know is already in front of me. The answers are freely given. When I am unsure, I have a beautiful community of Christians to share my concerns with and ask questions. Do you know how wonderful it is to be able to be corrected without fear of rejection? Or to find confirmation amongst other believers? (I’d be remiss to say that correction always feels good, but it is good in itself.)

“My son, do not despise the chastening of the Lord, Nor detest His correction; For whom the Lord loves He corrects, Just as a father the son in whom he delights.” ~Proverbs 3:11-12, NKJV

So, despite the vivid dreams that have started up again, and the warning the other night to stay cautious and vigilant (1 Peter 5:8), it is well with my soul. My God is good to me. He is with me. He is for me. Victory is already claimed in His name (1 Cor. 15:57). My soul is ready to go, yet quiet, as I need to learn to quiet my own life in this season so I can better hear Him.

The first chapter I wrote is not even the first chapter of the book. It’s on the importance of grounding. In our culture, we don’t focus on the spiritual side of our relationship with God too often. We know it’s there, but we don’t talk about it. In other cultures, it is accepted and talked about much more easily, like the sky being blue. (Or every color except blue if you want to get into that!)

I’m excited to share this journey with you; though, don’t expect the book itself to be on Substack anytime soon. That isn’t the direction God is leading me with this project as of yet.

Have a blessed week. If there’s anything I can pray over for you, please don’t hesitate to share.

“The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance to you, And give you peace.” ~Numbers 6:24-26, NKJV

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Yes, I’m a little behind on the celebration and merriment of the occasion. If anyone made resolutions, this may be the point where you’re reconsidering them. I hope not, unless they’re truly detrimental to yourself or your relationship with God. Take this belated Happy New Year as both a reminder and an encouragement to keep going.

Before I took a small hiatus for the holiday season, I left things on a bit of a cliffhanger as I prayed over the direction of my writing. What I feared might happen when I first started this Substack slowly came to pass: I began posting simply to post.

When I send out devotions, they aren’t meant to be produced like something from a machine just to meet a number or a schedule. Though they were drawn from my own life and readings, I slipped into the mindset that if I wasn’t posting, I wasn’t following the will of God, which simply isn’t true. The moments where I truly feel His inspiration and His leading to share are the moments meant to take root here.

The enemy truly prowls like a lion, watching and learning us throughout our lives. I’m especially prone to the temptation of staying busy and producing works in order to please God, even when my intentions begin in the right place. But the simple truth, one God reminds me of often, is that works do not equal salvation, nor do they make Him love me more. My growth as a Christian is not measured by how much I produce, but by the transformation of my heart and my habits as they align with His will. Obedience still bears fruit, but it grows from love, not pressure.

To be clear, I’m not saying works are meaningless. As James 2:18 says, “Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.” I know myself well enough to recognize that when I’m not grounded in my faith, work can quietly become the focus rather than the fruit. In time, it becomes burdensome.

After much prayer and reading, I’ve been led back to where I started: posting without urgency. Moving forward, I’ll be slowing the rhythm and allowing room to breathe. Some weeks will hold new chapters of Drawn in the Dark and Faith in the Dark. Other weeks will be set aside for devotionals or reflections drawn from my ongoing research.

I’ve also outlined and begun working on a new book centered on the spiritual realm and spiritual warfare, written especially for Christians who may not often have the opportunity to talk about these things. Perhaps you grew up in a church that acknowledges spiritual warfare but doesn’t discuss it much. Maybe you’ve had spiritual experiences and hesitated to share them because you didn’t want to sound “crazy.”

This book… this book is for you. I plan to share what I’m learning as I write, bringing you along on this journey with me.

I’m truly excited to walk this road together. If you have stories you’d like to share, or anything you’d like prayer over, please don’t hesitate to message me. I’d love to spend that time with you in fellowship.

God is good!

Psalm 34:17 (NIV)
“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; He delivers them from all their troubles.”

Carter’s mom surprises him when she accidentally pulls him out of a daydream. As they sit down and talk, he finally lets everything spill out—the meetings with his teacher, the nightmares, the pressure, the fear of not being enough.

His mom listens.
Really listens.
Then she steps in to help. She shares what she’s learned from her own nightmares and offers to talk with his teacher. Carter isn’t thrilled about that part—he’s afraid it might make things worse—but something unexpected happens:

He feels lighter.
Hope flickers.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s facing everything alone.

Carter didn’t want to burden his mom. He didn’t want to add to her stress. But instead of scolding him, she offered comfort, wisdom, and help. And that simple moment—choosing to open up—freed him from the cage of fear he’d been carrying by himself.

How often do we do the same thing?
We hold everything in because we don’t want to be a burden. We say, “I’m fine,” even when we’re not. But the people who love us… they notice. They see the heaviness in our eyes, the silence in our voice, the weight we’re trying to hide.

And when we stay closed off, we’re not the only ones who suffer—they worry too.

Sharing our burdens with someone trustworthy doesn’t just lighten our load; It gives others the chance to actually understand what’s going on and offer help, or at least a different point of view. It’s like taking off a blindfold so they can finally see with us instead of guessing in the dark.

God places people in our lives for moments like these. And even when we feel like we can’t lean on anyone else, we can always lean on Him. He already sees every fear. Every wound. Every weight. Nothing is hidden from Him—and nothing is “too much.”

But He still invites us to hand it over.
To cry out.
To release the grip we have on the things that are crushing us.

He never promised life would always be easy.
But He did promise to walk with us every step of the way.

So today… what do you think?
Ready to lighten your load?

Psalms 55:22 (NIV)

“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.”

Think About It

1. Can you think of a time when you told someone you trusted what was truly happening in your life and felt better?

2. How does it feel to know that God already knows what’s troubling you and wants to help lighten your load?

3. Is there anything you can cast onto God’s shoulders today?

🌙 Week 6 Challenge- Backpack Burden

This week, you’ll get to see what it feels like to carry your worries—and what it feels like to finally set them down.

You’ll need:

• An empty backpack

• A few small items (books, pencils, socks, toys—anything you can safely carry)

Step 1: Pack Your Burdens
Think of a few things weighing on your heart right now.
For each one, place an item in the backpack.

You don’t have to write anything down.
Just choose one item for each worry or stress.

Step 2: Carry the Load
Put the backpack on and walk around for a minute.
Notice how it feels:

• Heavier than you expected?

• A little uncomfortable?

• Like something you don’t want to carry for long?

That’s what it feels like when we hold everything inside.

Step 3: Lighten Your Load
Take the items out one by one.
As you pull each item out, say a simple prayer:

“Lord, I give this to You.”

Feel the backpack get lighter.
Feel your heart get lighter too.

Step 4: Leave It With Him
When the backpack is empty, take a deep breath.
You don’t have to shoulder everything alone.
God walks with you—and He carries what you can’t.

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“Yikes!” I yelped, spinning around.

It was just Mom, gently touching my arm.

She jumped back, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” My heart pounded, “I was drawing and got lost in it.”

She smiled softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to check in.”

Her eyes flicked down to the paper. She’d seen my drawings before. At first, she’d tried steering me to “nicer” things. But eventually she stopped. She said taking something scary and turning it into something good was a gift. Writers and artists did it all the time.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

I took a deep breath and answered, “I’m still having nightmares. Grayson said I should try drawing them out. Maybe then I’ll sleep better and stop zoning out in class so much.”

“That explains the email I got today.”

I frowned, “What email?”

“Your teacher says that you’re daydreaming too much, and it’s causing problems.”

My eyes dropped to the floor.

“Hey,” Mom touched my cheek, “You’re not in trouble. We’ve had a lot going on. And your grades show you’re still keeping up. Even with zoning out, you make it work.”

“The schoolwork is easy! She’s teaching stuff I already know. I’m not talking. I’m not distracting anyone. Why won’t she just leave me alone? Isn’t getting good grades enough?” My voice cracked, rising, trembling with frustration and hurt.

Mom blinked, surprised, “Did something happen?”

I hesitated. One voice inside whispered, Don’t tell her. She has enough to handle.

Another louder one said: Tell her.

So I did.

I spilled everything. The hallway talks that made me feel isolated and small. The glares that stung with judgment. The scolding that left me tense and anxious. The pressure to answer when I didn’t even know what to say.

By the end, my eyes burned red. I hadn’t cried, but I was close.

Mom bit her lip, nodding, eyes fixed on the floor. She picked at her nails, deep in thought.

“I’m going to handle it,” she said at last.

My stomach knotted, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to handle it,” she repeated. “When she emailed me, she asked for a parent-teacher meeting. Now that I’ve heard your side, I’ll get hers. Maybe we can figure something out.”

I nodded, still uneasy.

“Grayson was right, by the way,” my mom said.

I looked up.

She smiled faintly, “I had nightmares, too. I never drew them, but I wrote them down. I learned how to recognize when I was dreaming. That helped make them less scary. Writing them down made them just stories.”

“Wait—you’re saying you don’t have nightmares anymore?”

She laughed, “Not quite. But I don’t panic like I used to. Your brain can’t tell the difference between dreams and real life, so the fear feels real. But if you can figure out that you’re dreaming, you take back some control.”

I leaned back, muttering, “Hm.”

“I’d love to see the finished drawing when you’re done,” she said, “Maybe we can compare notes.”

She winked.

I smiled and nodded. She kissed my forehead, then slipped out.

I looked down at the paper.

There’s no way I can draw every nightmare tonight… but maybe I can draw enough to give my brain an advantage like mom has.

Hope flickered in my chest, lifting some of the heaviness in my heart and making me feel lighter for a moment.

This would be my best drawing yet.
Details and all.

Psalm 118:1 (NIV)
“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.”

I sat down this week ready to write another devotional—and instead all that came out was a list of praises. No clever theme. No big spiritual insight. Just gratitude bubbling up and spilling onto the page.

Maybe that is the insight.

Sometimes God reminds us that worship isn’t complicated. He deserves more than our words can offer, but He still chooses us… and He delights in what we bring.

Thank You, God, that this –6° North Dakota cold is gentler than I feared. Thank You that my kids haven’t fought me on the extra layers.
Thank You for the sunlight glittering on the snow like You dipped the whole world in grace.
Thank You for my husband—steady, hardworking, faithful.
Thank You for the late-night talks with my sister, for holding my baby niece, for coming home refreshed.
Thank You for reminding me it’s okay to slow down.
Thank You for work that matters.
Thank You for friends who lift my arms when I am tired.
Thank You for being my refuge—my help—my always-present Father.

As we move deeper into the Christmas season, may we keep the spirit of Thanksgiving alive every single day.
May praise become our posture.
May His love shine through our actions—not just in December, but in the year ahead.

What are you thankful for today?

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Psalm 62:8 (NIV)

“Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.”

Grayson gets a chance to see Carter’s artwork during recess in Chapter 5. At first, he’s confused—he thinks Carter’s sketch is of ghosts. But the truth comes out quickly: Carter didn’t want to draw the details. He wanted to get the nightmares “out,” but only halfway. Enough to say he tried… not enough to actually face them.

We do this more than we realize.

When we don’t show the full picture, people are left confused, and we’re left still holding the fear. We loosen our grip just enough to feel like we’ve dealt with it, but we keep one hand clamped over the rest—trying to stay in control.

And God can’t take the reins if our hands never actually let go.

It’s a lot like getting a papercut. Our first reaction is to cover it. Even after someone walks up with a bandage, we keep our hand over the cut as if that will help. But it doesn’t. In fact, now both hands are tied up—and no real healing can start until we uncover what hurts.

That’s what God wants for us, too. He wants to help us heal. But if we only show Him the outline—if we hide the deeper hurt out of fear or embarrassment—then we can’t receive the help He’s already holding out to us.

And the truth is, He already knows.
He already sees the full picture—even the parts we’re scared to say out loud.

When we finally take that brave step and hand it over, something powerful happens: the fear begins to lose its grip. Just like Carter, when we face the whole thing honestly, the power shifts away from the fear and straight into God’s hands.

So the question becomes:

Who will you give that power to—your fear, or your Father who cares for you?

Psalm 34:4 (NIV)

“I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.”

---

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🕯️ Think About It

• Have you ever shared “just a little bit” of what you were feeling instead of the whole story? What made it hard to be honest?

• Why do you think it feels safer to stay in control, even when it isn’t working?

• How might your fear lose its power if you brought the whole truth to God instead of just part of it?

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🌙 Week 5 Challenge- Finish the Drawing

Carter only drew part of his nightmares.

This week, find something in your life you’ve only shown halfway — and “finish the drawing” in your own way:

• Finish telling the story

• Finish the prayer

• Finish the sentence

• Finish the thought you keep pushing away

You don’t have to show anyone the drawing — you just have to stop hiding the unfinished part.

Grayson and I leaned against a tree at recess. We’d been playing Minecraft in real life, building safe towers with invisible blocks.

I was describing an incoming monster attack when Grayson suddenly remembered something.

“Hey! Did you draw those nightmares out like I suggested?”

I gave him a sideways glance but kept stacking pretend blocks. Quietly, I muttered, “Yeah. Kind of. I at least got started.”

“Can I see?”

I hesitated, feeling my heart hammer, then dug into my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Passing it over, I watched as Grayson turned it this way and that, lips puckered like an art critic.

“Hmmm…”

“It’s not much,” I said, peeking closer.

“I can see that. I’m just trying to figure this out… so, the monsters in your nightmares are all ghosts?”

Rolling my eyes, I snatched the paper back and stuffed it into my pocket without folding it. “No. I started to draw them, but I left out the details. I didn’t like remembering their faces.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?” I shot back. “Only huh?”

Grayson shrugged. “You make up monsters all the time. Do those scare you?”

“No. I made them up. They’re fake.”

“Okay, then.” He tapped an imaginary block into place. “What’s so different about these? Your brain made the nightmares while you were asleep. Your monsters come from the same brain, only while you’re awake. Drawing them doesn’t make them real. You don’t believe your usual sketches come to life, do you?”

“Of course not. They’re for our games. Hopefully, I’ll make an app out of them one day.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Grayson kept stacking blocks. I crossed my arms, still.

Gradually, my thoughts dragged, dread curling in my chest as I pictured one of the nightmare monsters—the shadow in the snow from the daydream that landed me in the hall earlier.

In my mind’s eye, the shadow flickered in the warm breeze of the day, uneasy and insistent, not fully solid. It loomed just behind Grayson, who kept building the tower as if nothing was wrong. My heart pounded as the shadow and I watched each other.

I took a step toward it. It didn’t move.

“Do you see it?” Grayson asked.

I blinked. The shadow vanished.

“I did,” I admitted.

“But it’s gone now?”

“Yeah. Because it was fake to begin with. Just my imagination.”

He grinned. “Exactly. That’s how you take the power from it. Now go home and draw them for real tonight.”

**

Sigh.

Another day had passed. I stared at the unfinished outlines I’d drawn a few evenings ago, resisting the urge to think about them.

The sheet was a crumpled mess—outlines of invisible men. Mannequins half-sketched. A puppet slumped over.

I’m going to have to redraw these again.

I smiled, thinking of a line from one of Mom’s favorite movies. “Roll the map!”

Maybe I’d remember that for next time. Or just keep it in my sketchbook.

My pencil slid across the paper, retracing shapes from the last attempt. Embarrassment pricked at me. How had I let something from my imagination scare me so much?

Cartoons also came from imagination. Why did mine hold so much power over me?

The invisible man was easiest. He was invisible, after all. Just an outline with wavy lines. I imagined staring hard enough at him to notice how the world behind him bent and warped.

Next came the puppet. Hair parted on the left, shaded dark. His large eyes stared at me, mischievous.

I hesitated at the mouth. Did I want to draw it? No mouth meant no words, no chance to speak—a silence that relieved me.

Ridiculous.

I gave him a slight smile, softening the creep factor. My body sketches weren’t great, so I set him in a T-shirt and shorts, hands hidden in the pockets.

The mannequin came last. It looked like the little wooden figure from art class, only life-size. Wooden knobs, rods for joints. Faceless.

In the dreams, there were so many of them. They couldn’t speak. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see.

My brain spun a story for them. A video game idea:

No mouths, no ears, no eyes.

They couldn’t express themselves.

Couldn’t hear comfort.

Couldn’t see the good.

They felt every presence around them, raw and unfiltered. And without guidance, they lashed out in emotion they didn’t understand.

“Carter.”

I froze, eyes wide, the pencil still in my hand.

Where did that come from?

Were they talking to me?

“Carter.” Louder this time.

Then, something cold brushed against me…

Psalm 139:16 (NIV)

“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”

Chapter 4 is a bit of a doozy for all of us. It almost feels hard to keep up, so let’s slow down and walk through what Carter is carrying.

After another nightmare, we find him standing in the hallway at school. Again.
He’s been sent out more than once for “zoning out,” but today is worse than usual. He barely slept. His dad called the night before, and even though he played it cool, he misses him deeply. When he finally drifted off, the nightmare shoved him right back into fear. So he walks into school already exhausted, already overwhelmed, and already stretched thin.

Then his teacher demands answers he doesn’t have the words for.
She’s frustrated.
He freezes.
His mind shuts down in a self-protective way.
And she sees defiance instead of exhaustion.

So let me ask you…
How often do you feel misunderstood?
How often is there more going on behind the scenes than anyone around you realizes?

In 1 Samuel 1, we meet a woman named Hannah who is heartbroken because she has no children. She goes to the temple and pours out her heart to God so deeply that the priest watching her assumes she’s drunk. He totally misreads her pain. When she explains the truth, he blesses her, and God eventually gives her a son named Samuel.

Misunderstandings happen.
People don’t always know what’s going on in our hearts or our minds.
They don’t see what’s happening at home, in our thoughts, or inside our friendships. It’s hard to receive correction when someone doesn’t have the full picture. But while we can’t control how others speak to us, we can control how we respond.

If your brain sometimes locks up and you’re not sure how to respond, our weekly challenge is here to help. It’s a simple acronym you can remember when things feel overwhelming. You’ll find it right below!

God doesn’t misunderstand you.

He formed you in your mother’s womb, and He knew every single day of your life before your first breath (Psalm 139:13–16). He knew the days you’d laugh with your siblings. The days you’d listen to instructions. The days you’d feel proud of yourself.
And He also knew the days you’d struggle; when focusing felt impossible, when words wouldn’t come out, when emotions piled up, or when you didn’t behave the way you wished you could.

He knew all of it… and He still calls you His child.
He still wants every moment with you; both the strong ones and the messy ones.

So on the days you feel misunderstood or small, remember this:

God already called you enough before you were even born.
And He gives you the wisdom and strength to respond with grace in every situation you face.

You can do this because you are His.

1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

“…People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

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Think About It

• Have you ever been misunderstood like Carter? How did it make you feel?

• What’s something you wish others knew about you when you’re having a hard day?

• Why do you think God understands you even when people don’t?

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🌙 Week 2 Challenge — R.E.S.T.

Sometimes we need a little help getting our brains moving in the right direction again. Practice the acronym REST during the calm moments — the times you’re not overwhelmed. When you do, it becomes easier to remember when your brain is on overdrive.

It’s a little like building muscle memory. The more you practice it, the quicker it shows up when you need it most.

R — Recognize what’s going on inside you.

Take one quiet moment:
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I’m tired.”
“My brain shut off.”

E — Explain with simple, honest words.

One sentence is enough:
“I’m trying, but my brain is stuck.”
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

S — Slow down and take one small step.

Do just one doable thing: turn your paper, look up, ask for directions again, or breathe before answering.

T — Try again… and talk later if needed.

Ask for a redo now, and when things are calm, explain the full story to someone you trust.

Icy wind bit my cheeks. A force pushing against me. Still, I stayed upright and, inch by inch, pressed forward.

Weights clung to my legs just below the knees, dragging them down. I crossed my parka-covered arms against my chest for warmth. My eyelashes froze together, sticking until I pried them apart.

Not that it mattered much—there wasn’t anything to see anyway.

Snow battered the frozen terrain. The storm fought against my mission—to reach the mountain peak.

Reason didn’t matter. I just needed to get there.

The gale tore the breath from me. Still, I trudged forward. The trek had barely begun, but I couldn’t give up. Not now.

Out of the corner of my eye, something shifted. A figure. Not far away.

I strained my stiff neck to see. Through the snowfall, only a silhouette appeared. The shadow warped with each gust, yet it somehow stood untouched and unmoved.

The distraction cost me. The gale shoved hard, sending me flat onto my back. Snow swallowed me whole.

Cold. Darkness.

The shadow loomed above, watching as I sank beneath the drift.

***

The shadow’s presence lingered even as the cold faded. A voice rang out, distant but sharp, and the world of snowstorm and shadow slipped away as I was sent into the hallway for the second time this week.

What more does she want from me?

Strange how empty it felt without students. Normally, the corridor buzzed with kids pushing toward freedom between lessons. Now it was hushed—sealed off by multiplication tables, creative writing prompts, and spelling tests echoing behind closed doors.

Sigh.

Mom would’ve called it an “off day.” She’d already noticed I was quieter at breakfast. I shrugged it off.

Attie made up a song at breakfast. I typically smile or nod along. Today I just kept eating. She looked hurt, but Mom stepped in.

Earlier last night, Dad had called. I couldn’t sleep, so when I heard Mom’s voice down the hall, I crept closer.

Her words spilled out fast as if trying to fill every second: “I know I’m going through a lot all at once. What about you? …Oh. I get not wanting to talk about it right now.”

I cleared my throat.

Mom smiled at me. “Carter’s still awake. Do you have time to say hi?”

She handed me the phone.

Dad’s voice sounded hoarse. “Hey, Bubba. I’ve only got a minute. How are you doing?”

“I’m good.”

“Good. How’s school?”

I shrugged, though he couldn’t see it. “Okay, I guess. One kid moved away to Nebraska, and we already have a new one in our class.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”

Dad chuckled. “All right. Well, I’m glad you’re holding up.”

Strict voices barked in the background. He breathed out hard. “I’ve got to go. I love you. Tell your momma and sister I love them too. Take good care of them.”

“I will. I love you too.”

The call cut off abruptly.

I handed the phone back. “He said he loves y’all.”

Mom blinked. “Already?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, eyes glassy, then hugged me before sending me back to bed.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind circling. When sleep finally came, morning followed too soon.

Now, back at school, I was in the hallway again.

Why can’t I focus? Why do I keep zoning out?

The door squeaked. Mrs. Lee stepped out, shutting it hard enough that it nearly slammed.

Her blonde hair was wound into a bun. Black pants, white button-down, and a pink vest filled my view as she squared up in front of me. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp.

“You never pay attention in my class. Why won’t you listen to me?”

I shrugged.

She scoffed. “No. This—” she waved her hands “—isn’t going to cut it.”

My body froze.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” she pressed.

“I… I don’t know.”

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

It was embarrassing to be pulled out. My mind just shuts off sometimes. If I could control it, I would.

I wanted to listen. I wanted to learn. But my voice stuck in my throat.

Mrs. Lee rolled her eyes and kept talking. Her words blurred into a muffled sound. I nodded every so often. I had no clue what I was agreeing to, but she seemed satisfied enough.

Finally, she finished. “I get that you don’t want to be here, but you have to be. You must listen to me, or you can just sit beside me on the bench at recess. I’ll be talking to your mom about this later.”

She stepped back and pulled the door open.

The sound jolted me from my haze, and I followed her inside, feeling as if I’d just woken up.

James 4:7 (NIV)

“Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”

At the end of last school year, my daughter came home insisting she couldn’t read.
Not “struggling to read.”
Not “afraid to read out loud.”
But a full, confident, “I can’t.”

Her teacher was confused.
Her dyslexia specialist was confused.
I was confused.

Because she can read.

But somewhere along the way, she started looking around at the other kids in her class — especially the ones reading far beyond her level — and something inside her whispered a lie:

“If I can’t do it like they can… I won’t do it at all.”

And she believed it.

Her confidence dropped.
Her effort dropped.
Her willingness to even try dropped.

The comparison trap had done its job.

When we moved to North Dakota, I wrestled with whether to send her back to school. She begged to go. But all I could picture was her walking into a new classroom, seeing confident readers, and shrinking back into that same lie:

“I can’t.”

And I realized something:

The comparison trap doesn’t just discourage.
It steals identity, effort, and joy.
It’s a spiritual battle.

And if we’re not paying attention, our kids — and we — start listening.

James 4:7 tells us exactly what to do with a weapon like that:

Resist it.
Stand against it.
Push back with truth until the lie loses its voice.

So this year, I decided to homeschool.
We rebuilt our routine.
We found a dyslexia program online.

And slowly — almost quietly — something beautiful happened.

She started reading things she used to avoid.
She began sounding out words with bravery instead of fear.
She started volunteering to read in our co-op… out loud… in front of everyone.
She reads song lyrics with her friends.
She helps cook by reading the instructions.
She points out headlines, signs, and captions with excitement.

Not perfectly.
Not quickly.
But confidently — and that is the victory.

The same girl who once said, “I can’t read,” is now looking for opportunities to read.

Because confidence doesn’t grow from comparison.
Confidence grows from resisting the lie that says you’re already defeated.

That’s what James 4:7 is talking about.

Resisting the devil doesn’t always look dramatic.
Sometimes it looks like a child choosing to read one sentence she was scared to read.
Sometimes it looks like a teenager ignoring the highlight reel of others’ lives.
Sometimes it looks like a parent choosing to stop comparing their calling, gifts, or timeline to everyone else’s.

The enemy loves comparison — because it shuts down courage before it begins.

But when we resist?
When we reject the lie and choose truth?
When we refuse to let fear silence us?

He flees.

This week, remember this:

When you resist the enemy’s lies — even the quiet ones — God strengthens you with a confidence that cannot be taken.

The devil doesn’t get to define your ability.
God does.
And He always speaks life.

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Reflection

1. Where has comparison tried to silence you?

2. What lie have you been believing about yourself?

3. What truth will you stand on instead?

Prayer

Lord, thank You for giving me strength to resist the lies that try to steal my confidence. Help me recognize comparison for what it is and replace it with Your truth. Build courage in me—as You’re building it in my daughter. Quiet every lie, every fear, and every distraction. Strengthen us to walk in confidence, peace, and identity rooted in You alone.
Amen.

Isaiah 41:10 (NIV)
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Carter opens the mental box of his nightmares this week, and something unexpected happens. When he braces for an attack, the creatures freeze instead. Once he realizes they aren’t going to touch him, he reaches for his pencil — but fear presses hard on his chest.

Should he really draw them?
Does putting them on paper give them new life?

We all have our own “boxes.”

We hide fears to avoid thinking about them — but hiding doesn’t remove their weight. In Chapter 3, Carter’s fears take the form of monsters. Ours might feel very different:

• worry about disappointing people

• past trauma

• fear of failure

• uncertainty about the future

• and so much more

Stuffing those insecurities into a box is a short-term solution to a long-term problem. They stay there, quietly pressing, until we’re brave enough to unpack them.

For Carter, drawing the nightmares takes their power away. Seeing them on paper makes them feel less real than the versions in his mind. For you, your outlet may be writing. Or talking to someone you trust. Or praying through it.

When I surrendered my own fears to God, it took prayer, Scripture, and saying it out loud:

“God, I give You my anxiety to do with as You please.”

God doesn’t want us living in fear.
He didn’t give us a spirit of fear — but He also didn’t pretend fear wouldn’t exist.

Instead, He steps into it with us.
He lifts what we can’t carry and whispers, “I’ve got you.”

And He steadies us when everything in us wants to run.

You don’t have to face your fears alone.
God will step into the dark with you every single time.

2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)
“For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.”

️🕯️Think About It

• What’s one fear you’ve kept tucked away in your own “box”?

• Why do you think it feels safer to hide it instead of facing it?

• When you think about your biggest fear, what would it look like if God stood beside you while you faced it?

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🌙 Week 3 Challenge- Safety

Think of a place where you feel completely calm and protected — a cozy corner, a bright field, a quiet room, a fort made of blankets, or even a spot outside where you’ve felt close to Him.

Now draw yourself there with God nearby — maybe sitting beside you, maybe standing behind you, or maybe His presence is shown as warm light filling the space.

You don’t have to make it perfect.
Just make it peaceful.

When you’re done, write a simple sentence underneath:

“God is with me.”

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That evening, I crossed my legs in bed and stared at the paper in my lap. My favorite book sat underneath, giving me something hard to write on.

The pencil—

Dang it! Where’s the pencil?

I flung my covers aside, searching frantically. It was here a second ago. I hurled the paper and book off the bed and dropped to my knees.

Not there.

Underneath was just clothes and books I’d shoved away. The gaming chair sat empty in the corner. The toy box I couldn’t let go of sat closed.

My walls were bare, except for the calendar where I crossed off the days until Dad came home.

I plopped down on the bed with a sigh—

“Yikes!”

I shot back up. A sharp poke in my thigh. There was the pencil.

With everything together, I sat again, ready to drag the nightmares out of my head. Normally, I ignored them, boxing them up and shoving them aside. But even locked away, I could still feel them pressing, waiting.

Tonight was different. They were quiet. Too quiet. Like they knew I was about to let them out.

My heartbeat thundered like hooves on a racetrack. My head swam. My imagined hands hovered over the cardboard box in my mind. The flaps quivered under my touch.

Am I really ready for this? What if facing these nightmares makes everything worse, instead of better?

If they’re locked away, they can’t hurt me or anyone else. Isn’t it safer to just leave them there?

Yet…

I steadied my trembling hands.

One.

I can still change my mind, can’t I? I haven’t gone too far yet.

Two.

Maybe I should just bury the box under something heavy—my Lego build, maybe—so nothing can get out.

Three.

All at once, like a jack-in-the-box, the creatures burst out.

The empty space around me was filled with the things that haunted my dreams. They were everywhere. Glinting. Looming. Their eyes fixed on me, certain of their mission.

The ground gave way. I stumbled into the wall. My heart raced. The creatures just stared. They knew nightmares had done enough.

“No! Stop!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face. I braced for claws to rip, teeth to sink in, tongues to taste my fear. I braced for slimy hands, for rough fur, for scaly skin to pin me down.

Nothing came.

Had they gone?

I peeked between my fingers—then snapped them shut again.

They were still there. Still hovering. Still awful.

How long until they struck?

I peeked again. They hadn’t moved.

Slowly, I lowered my hands. The monsters stood frozen. Their eyes darted, confused, as if they were realizing they were trapped.

How is this possible?

I didn’t think long. I had my own mission.

My pencil lay nearby. I grabbed it, hand shaking.

Why am I doing this, really? Do I want to be free of these nightmares, or am I just hoping they’ll disappear if I ignore them?

It’s scary enough having them loose in my head. There, at least, they’re contained—even if they still bother me.

But once I draw them, don’t they become real? Don’t I give them a place in my world?

If I keep them locked away, I never have to truly see them. If I put them here, on paper... I’m making them real, and I’ll have to face them. Am I ready for that responsibility?

The pencil touched down. A single dark streak stained the page.

Do I?

Or do I not?

Matthew 6:34 (NIV)
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Why do we insist on borrowing tomorrow’s troubles?
What benefit does it ever bring us?

Planning ahead isn’t wrong. Sometimes it’s wise. Thinking about another potential shutdown, for example, gives us space to prepare—maybe by putting a little more into savings or buying food in bulk when we can. That’s stewardship. That’s wisdom.

But there’s a difference between planning and worrying.

Planning equips you for the future.
Worry drains you long before the future arrives.

Merriam-Webster defines worry as “to afflict with mental distress or agitation.” And it really does. Anxiety sneaks into the small, quiet corners of your life and suddenly takes over the whole room. It affects your mood, your relationships, and your body. Even when your mind feels calm, your body may still be screaming the echoes of an old fear.

Why is worry such a beast to overcome?

For me, I got used to it. Worry became familiar. Not peaceful, not healthy—just familiar. I knew the patterns, the spiral, the tension. In a strange way, it became the road my thoughts traveled the most. And it changed me. It weighed down my personality, my physical health, and the joy in my everyday life.

And climbing out of that place took time.

I didn’t claw my way out alone.
God met me there.
He shined a light when everything felt dim.

Through prayer, through conversations with my doctor, and even through therapy, I learned to cope with anxiety. Not perfectly. Not permanently. But well enough to breathe again. Well enough to stand again.

Is my anxiety magically gone? Absolutely not. But I know what to expect now. I know how to redirect my thoughts toward Jesus. I know the difference between a flare of worry and the truth underneath it.

But even knowing all this, my body sometimes reacts long before my spirit does. That old flesh-vs-spirit battle rises up, reminding me how human I really am.

It takes work to stay grounded in today.
It takes practice to stop reaching into tomorrow.

I’ve had to repeat verses like Matthew 6:34 to myself—sometimes out loud:
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Today has enough trouble.”

Then I have to believe it and move on.
I can’t entertain anxious thoughts. I have to release them.

Some days it’s easy.
Some days it’s not.
But by God’s grace, it’s possible.

So today, I’m sitting here grateful that this shutdown is over. I’m doing my best not to borrow fear from a possible future one. But I am sitting down with my husband to make wise plans for our family—while remembering that one way or another, God already has the future worked out.

We will be okay.
He’ll make sure of it.

Practical Application for the Week

Try one (or all) of these:

• One-Day Focus:
Each morning this week, pray: “Lord, help me stay in today.”

• Five-Minute Reset:
When you feel anxious about the future, set a timer for five minutes.
List only what you can do today. Let tomorrow go.

• Scripture Anchor:
Write down Matthew 6:34 and put it somewhere visible—mirror, fridge, steering wheel.

Small steps. Real peace.

Reflection

• What worries are you borrowing from tomorrow?

• What would it look like to release one of them today?

• Which verse keeps you grounded in the present?

Prayer

Lord, thank You for another beautiful day. Thank You for providing everything I need. Thank You for looking out for my future in ways I can’t even see. Help me stay grounded in the present and lean on You for peace and comfort. Take my anxieties and do with them what You will, because they do me no good. Lead me beside still waters. Restore my soul. Guide my steps so they align with Your will and not my own.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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2 Corinthians 12:8-9 (NIV)

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

In chapter 2 of Drawn in the Dark, we’re introduced to Carter’s school life. Right away, we notice that Carter isn’t just fighting nightmares — he’s fighting distraction and discouragement in the classroom too.

Carter has something called Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), which can make it hard to focus or sit still. Some kids zone out like Carter does; others fidget or move around a lot.

He also struggles with dyslexia, which means the words and numbers sometimes get mixed up in his brain. It can make reading feel like trying to solve a puzzle that never stays still.

It’s hard to admit when something feels different about you.
What will people think? Will they believe you? Will they understand?

“Why would God make me this way?”

That’s such a valid question — one that even grown-ups ask.

There are many verses we can turn to in the Bible, but let’s look at one moment in Jesus’ life. Before He died on the cross for us, He also asked for the hard thing to go away.

Matthew 26:39 (NIV)
“Going a little farther, He fell with His face to the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me…’”

While Jesus’ “cup” meant the cross, our cups look a little different.
Your cup might be:

• Fear

• Moving to a new school

• ADHD

• Dyslexia

• Pet allergies

• Illness

• A loved one in prison

• Or something else that feels too heavy to carry

But Jesus wasn’t done praying. He finished His sentence by saying,

“Yet not as I will, but as You will.”

Jesus trusted God so much that He believed even this painful journey could bring glory to God — and open the way for us to live with Him forever.

God meets us in the hard places.

That’s the part I don’t want you to miss.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t ask God to take your cup away — Jesus asked, too.
But even when the answer is no, He stays.
He takes what’s hard and turns it into something good.

He doesn’t pull you out of the hard place so you can find Him.
He meets you right there.

So pray. Cry if you need to. Ask God, respectfully, why?
Then let Him comfort you and walk with you through the storm.

Let Him take your struggles and turn them into something beautiful —
like Carter does with his doodles and comics.
Art may not be your thing, but you were made for something.

You were made with purpose. Don’t ever forget that.

Psalm 139:14 (NIV)
“I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

🕯️ Think About It

• What’s something difficult that you’ve asked God to fix?

• What helps you to remember that He’s still with you if it doesn’t go away?

• Carter enjoys drawing comics. What helps you cope with fear- drawing, writing, dance, playing sports, etc?

🌙 Week 2 Challenge — My Cup, My Calling

Think about something you’ve prayed for God to change — your “cup.”

1. Write or draw what that “cup” looks like for you on one side of a card or journal page.

2. On the other side, write how God has helped you through it (a friend, creativity, strength, patience, humor, courage).

3. Keep it somewhere you’ll see it this week as a reminder:

“God doesn’t waste my pain. His power shines through my weakness.”

Optional extension: If you’re doing this in a group or classroom, create a “Grace Wall” where kids can anonymously post cards that say: “God is helping me through ___.” It keeps the focus on God’s grace rather than the problem itself.