Blogger’s Guilt

It’s hard not to feel guilty.

Following the A-to-Z Blog Challenge I took during the month of April, my new goal for this blog was to publish a post two or three times each week.  But I’ve failed … miserably.

Truthfully, I think about writing on my blog every single day. In fact, it’s never that far from my mind.  Writing is a cathartic hobby for me, a pleasure which never feels much like work. Because of this, I am always eager to find a few moments in which to sit down and write.

It’s actually finding those few moments that is so very hard.

Image from Pixabay
Image from Pixabay

Ten days ago, three of my five children returned home from Germany. I’ve loved having a loud, chaotic house again.  Cooking for a tribe, tackling Mt. Laundry each morning, sorting out disputes, being the chauffeur to five people who apparently have busier schedules and more places to go than myself … it’s all part of the fun and games and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Two weeks ago, the baby I keep each weekday decided to begin to use her walking skills on a regular basis. Suddenly, everything has changed! “Miss E”  is able to quickly get into a lot of things she is not supposed to get into … and I’m remembering things about toddlerhood I had long forgotten. Whew! There really is no sitting down with a toddler in the house! These little people are work, and nap times are just as much for moms as they are for the sweet child.

Most days I am trying to figure out how to fit in time to read my Bible and exercise, much less have time for personal hobbies. My daily schedule isn’t filled with vast amounts of free time. Just like everyone else on the planet, I’ve only got 24 hours a day. The hours are limited, and I’ve got to use them wisely.

It’s during seasons like this I must remember there will be days when writing, even if it is writing for God, must take a backseat on my priority list.


Last week, I came across this lovely blog post:  Seven Reasons Bloggers Don’t Blog.

I can relate to all seven reasons given by the author of that freeing blog post.  (1) I do not want to post fluffy content on my blog. (2) My biggest desire is to  write encouraging and helpful words for my audience.  (3) Writing is tiring, and time consuming.  (4) The 40% of me that is somewhat introverted needs time to quietly process life before I can write about it publicly.  (5) I’m writing a book …  but I’m only about halfway through the first two chapters. I am discovering it is a painfully slow process to write a book.  (6) Big and wonderful things are happening in life.  My family is preparing to become a foster family. I’m excited and scared and very busy with getting my home ready to take on another child. (7) Finally the biggest reason of all … blogging is not living.

I love my blog. I love to write. But my biggest responsibility is to be the godly wife and mom God has called me to be.

I realize that according to the experts, if I am to ever have a “real” career as a writer, I need to have a platform, build an audience of 5000 or more readers,  and post three or four times a week on my blog. But I’m not there. I admit that many days I wish I was because I think I’d love nothing more than a fantastic contract with some big name Christian publishing house and a couple of books on the shelves  down at the nearest Lifeway Book Store.

Yes, God called me to write … but He simply asked me to write for Him, not for a publishing house or for a set of standards that He didn’t give to me. So that’s what I am going to do … write for God.

And He also asked me to be a wife and helpmeet to my husband Jon.  God called me to be a mother to five wonderful teens and tweens, who are growing up so quickly. They won’t be home with me for very much longer before they leave to start their own lives. God asked me and my family to open our home and share His love and our lives with children I don’t yet know through fostering.  He asked me to be a good neighbor to the lady next door who is dying, and to be a listening friend in real life, not just on the computer screen.

I’ve got just one life to live. While writing and blogging is very much a part of my life, it’s not all that I do. And so today, I’m setting down the guilt I put upon myself for not blogging on some made-up schedule. I’m laying aside the burden I’ve carried around for the past two and a half months for not keeping up with an insane blogging schedule, as well as tending to the realities of my life.

Instead, I’m asking the Lord to help me be faithful to do all He requires of me for today, and nothing more. I pray a lot of those days include writing for God.  I think they will.

But whether they do or whether they don’t, I’m done with “Blogger’s Guilt.”

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.  ~John 8:36

Leaving on a Jet Plane … Soon and Very Soon

“It’s 10 am, Mom.  You know what that means … it’s officially just a week left! Dad said he would pick us up at 10 am next Friday, and then we are off  on our trip! Do you think I should start packing today?”



Three of my children are preparing to leave. In just 168 hours (according to Nathan’s latest update), they will walk out the door, suitcases in hand, to board a jet plane headed for Germany where they will spend the first half of the summer visiting their dad.

Eager. Enthusiastic. Wired with excitement. These words describe the mood of my three first-time world travelers.

Each day now is spent with an attitude of preparation and expectation for this highly anticipated trip. My kids are impatient for their father’s return, even though he will be taking them to a place they have never seen. None of them doubt their dad will do as he said, and come for them.  Moreover, they are eager for his return, filled with anticipation for the journey ahead, and trust implicitly everything will be just as their father has told them it will be.

And as sad as I am to see them go away for six long weeks, I can’t blame them. If I were in their shoes, I would also be excited to embark on the adventure of a lifetime! I just wish I had plane tickets to join them. I wish I could pack my bags and experience the excitement of going to a new country for the very first time.

Unfortunately, I’m not invited. All I can do is prepare myself to say goodbye, and pray they bring me back some German chocolate as a souvenir.


As a Christian, I too am preparing for a trip. I also have a Father who has promised to return for me, to take me to a place I’ve never seen.

In John chapter 14, Jesus said these words:

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me.  In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”  

~John 14:1-3

As I watch my children excitedly prepare for their earthly father’s anticipated arrival, I wonder if the way I live my life here on this earth reflects that one day (possibly soon) my Heavenly Father will come for me, and take me to a new place,  a home which I have never seen.

The difference is my children know the exact time their trip will begin. So they are able to count down the days, hours and even minutes. They have also seen pictures of Germany. The list of sites they hope to see grows longer each day, as they peruse the internet and scour travel guides from the library. The Ann Frank House, Neuschwanstein Castle, a hike in the Alps, a visit to Europa Park (a large amusement park in Germany) … so many interesting places to go and new things to experience! And even though they haven’t yet embarked on their travels, this trip feels as real as a trip to the grocery store.

Yet, the reality of heaven quite often feels to me like a dream or a made-up fantasy. Perhaps if I had a specific date or a few  photos to view, the journey would seem more of a certainty.  But I don’t have a date to circle on the calendar.  And other than the Bible, there are no travel books to tell me more about heaven’s glory. I can’t look at pictures or talk to someone who has visited there.

But I do know heaven is just as real as any place on earth, more wonderful and perfect than I can begin to imagine, and my Jesus will come to take me there Himself. I don’t need expensive tickets, just faith and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ are all I need to be invited to travel there.

I’m eager to go check out heaven … just as soon as Jesus comes to take me home!



What about you? Do you believe heaven is real? Are you ready to travel when the Savior returns? 

If not, I hope you will ask me how you can get your “free ticket” today.

M is for …

M is for Moving.


When I married Jon Hamilton, I loved everything about him. Everything, that is, with the exception of his house. And that, I hated.  

So hate might be a strong word, but the truth is I had no pleasant feelings about this home other than for the man who owned it.  A white brick, ranch style home in an older subdivision, it was small and run-down. Jon had bought it with his ex-wife, chosen mainly for its location and school district.  It needed lots of minor repairs, but we lacked the funds and skills to pour into these projects.

The worst of it was the way all seven of us were packed into the small space, like sardines in a can. Two of the children slept in the formal living room, which we converted into a bedroom. The master bathroom was so small that you could turn on the faucet for the sink while standing in the shower. The kitchen was nothing more than a ridiculously tiny box, unable to hold more than one person at a time. I felt like I was performing a huge feat of engineering each time I entered to cook for our family of seven, which was at least three times a day nearly every day of the week.

I wanted to move, but Jon didn’t believe it was possible.  “Paige, we cannot sell this house. It’s got too many cosmetic flaws,” Jon would tell me anytime I asked about the possibility. Then he would launch into his list of 3,492 reasons why selling our home was practically impossible.

However, his pessimism didn’t stop me from praying about it. And frankly, I prayed about that house a lot. Sometimes, I even did more than pray … I would look at local houses on the web, wishing I could find a deal so amazing that even Jon could not refuse. Mostly, though, I just prayed.

One afternoon, I got a strange phone call from a realtor in the area. He admitted to me that his company had captured my information from their website, and he was just calling to see if I was perhaps looking to buy or sell a home. I answered that I wasn’t in the market to do either at this time, but he was a typical realtor and didn’t take no for an answer. After a brief conversation, the realtor asked if he could come talk with me in person.

“No,” I said. “you can’t come speak to me about seeing this house. Truthfully, it belongs to my husband, so you’ll need to speak with him. I will tell him you called and give him this number. If he is interested in pursuing the idea of selling further, then he will call you back. Otherwise, you can assume he isn’t interested at this time.”

When Jon came home that evening, I told him about my phone conversation, trying to give an air of disinterest. Jon didn’t buy my act for a second, and immediately began to work his way down the long list of reasons why we couldn’t sell our home. At some point, my eyes began to glaze over … at least until I noticed Jon was picking up his cell phone. The next thing I knew Jon was setting up an appointment for the realtor to come take a look at our home.

The following day, I watched in wonder as the realtor put up a For Sale sign in the front yard. “Don’t get in a rush,” he warned. “Older homes are harder to sell. I expect you’ve got at least 6 months, maybe longer, to wait.”

Less than 48 hours later, we were under a contract for a cash sell on our home.


When God’s ready to move you, get ready to move …

unless He’s not ready to move you and in that case get ready to wait.


All along I had figured selling our home would be the hard part. Finding a new one was sure to be easy. I was wrong.

For two months we house hunted. We must have looked at 25 homes, maybe more. Nothing in our price range seemed to fit our needs. And when we finally found a home that did, we rushed to put a contract on it only to discover that we didn’t qualify for the rural development loan as we had been assured.  

As we neared the closing date for selling our home, the only solution seemed to be accept an offer to rent our old home from it’s new owner.  Of course,  the rent was going to be nearly $200 higher than our mortgage. If I thought I hated that house before I sold it, now I really hated the idea of renting that house for a bigger cost. I felt bummed at the situation and irritated with God as I tried to figure out what He was up to doing in my life.

It wasn’t long before a friend called me insisting that Jon and I needed to check out a particular home. “Paige, every time I go visit my friends, the Bellards, I just see your family living in this home. It’s not on the market, but I know they are wanting to sell soon. Would you mind if I told my friend Renee about you and gave her your number?”  Still feeling defeated about house hunting, I agreed she could pass along our contact information.

A few days later, Jon and I found ourselves walking through the door of the Bellards home. It was a stone’s throw from our old home, situated in the exact part of town where we wanted to stay. There were four big bedrooms, two full baths and two half baths, and a nice-sized home office located away from the center of the house. The kitchen was spacious and open to the living areas. And the backyard was completely fenced in, with enough space for our dogs and kids to play. Despite being centrally located, the neighborhood was quiet. This house had everything we were hoping for … everything, that is, except the price.

Jon and I knew it would take an act of God for us to purchase this home. Yet, somehow we felt encouraged to consider it carefully as an option. We spent quite a bit of time looking at the house, and talking with the owners. As we were getting ready to leave, Renee pulled us aside and said, “I just wanted to pray with you before you left. Let’s both ask God for wisdom about whether or not we should proceed. If He’s in the deal, it will be the right outcome, but if He’s not in the deal it will go wrong from the start.

It’s the first and only time I’ve ever been involved in buying anything that the seller asked me to pray with me before I decided whether or not to make the purchase.

A day or so later, Renee contacted me and said that she and her husband had decided to reduce the price of the home by $15,000. Now the price of the Bellard’s home was sitting squarely within our price range. But there was another problem. There was no money for a down payment. We had been hoping for a rural development loan, but had discovered earlier we didn’t qualify because I owned another piece of property.

Once again, a mountain stood in our way. A mountain only God Himself could move. After several days of praying and talking, there seemed to be no solution but to call the Bellards and tell them about our predicament. “Perhaps,” Jon said, “they will give us a year to come up with the $7,000 we need for the down payment, seeing as they hadn’t even listed their house on the market yet.  Maybe we could try to sell your house in north Louisiana. Or we could save my annual bonus and combine it with next year’s tax refund to come up with the money. If they aren’t willing to wait,  we will just have to tell them we can’t buy the home.”

There was a rock at the bottom of my stomach. I did not want to talk with Renee about this issue and yet I knew it was what needed to be done. As I pulled out my cell phone to call Renee, I heard my own ringtone. It was Renee calling me!  I answered, “Renee! I was just about to give you a call.”

“Paige, whatever you have to tell me can wait. I need to tell you something first.”

“Okay. I’m listening,” I said.

“Well, we’ve been praying all weekend. Kerry and I are in agreement on this. We feel very strongly that God wants us to give you $7,000.”

How did she know? Jon and I had never told them the down payment was a problem or that it would be exactly $7,000 we would need in cash? I was stunned.

A month later, we moved into our new home … the home God Himself chose for our family.


The God-story doesn’t end there. 

It wasn’t just a blessing for my family, it was a blessing for another family too …

actually two families that lived in Wisconsin.


Exactly one week after moving, I left behind all the unpacked boxes to attend the Speak Up conference for Christian speakers, writers, and leaders. While there, I kept feeling a nudge from the Holy Spirit to talk to a particular lady.  I didn’t know her and had never met her, and yet over and over God pressed upon me to go speak to her. Mentally I bantered back and forth with God, arguing that I didn’t know what to talk about. I spent most of the weekend working to stay far enough away from this lady so as to give myself a convenient excuse for my disobedience.

Then on the last day of the conference, I saw her, sitting alone at a table, drinking a cup of coffee. Once again, I felt God urging me to go over and talk with her. After another short internal argument with the Lord, I decided the best thing for me to do would be to obey.  As I approached her and began to chit- chat about the conference, I could tell she didn’t really want to converse with me.

“See, God,” I said in my heart, “I told you this woman does not want to talk to me.”

“Ask her if you can sit down at the table.”


“You heard me. Ask her if you can sit down.”

Grudgingly, I did … and to my surprise, she smiled and said she would love some company. As I pulled up my chair, I realized I didn’t have a clue of what I should say. I had already gone through all the polite conversation starters …weather, where she was from, children, etc.  This lady was not a big talker, and the last thing I wanted was a long, awkward silence.

And then I heard it, a loud whisper in my soul. “Tell her about your house.”

“Oh, come on! Really, Lord? You want me to tell a complete stranger about my house? I can promise you she does not want to hear about it.”

“Yes, she does.. Go on… tell her about how you got your house.”

“I really don’t want to. It’s obvious this woman has nothing to talk about with me, and I’m going to end up looking like a fool.”

“I’d rather you go ahead and obey Me, even if you do think you’ll look like a fool.”

“Okay … okay. I’ll do it.”

The next thing I knew,  my mouth opened and out began to pour the story of how Jon and I bought our new home. As I retold all the events of how my family was blessed with our new home, my new friend sat listening with rapt attention. Before I was done, she had begun to weep, tears streaming down her cheeks. I sat there silently, watching her cry, wondering what on earth was going on.

Looking up, she whispered, “You couldn’t have possibly known. Only God … He sent you to me. You see, I’m in the exact situation, only I’m the seller. I have a big old home, but my children are grown and gone. I’ve got my eye on this beautiful little log cabin. Really, it’s my dream home. I was wanting to sell quickly so that I could purchase it.  Last week my husband and I were approached by a young family  we know from church.  They have seven children, and live in a tiny house not too far from us. When they found out we were wanting to sell our home and downsize, they asked if we might consider selling to them.  However, they don’t have the down payment. They offered to pay half now and the other half in six months, if we are willing to wait on them to raise the money. To be honest, I didn’t want to wait, because doing so means I probably won’t be able to buy the log cabin I love so much. And yet, making that decision felt horrible. All weekend I’ve been conflicted as I’ve struggled to decide what to do, knowing when I go home tomorrow I would need to call and tell them what I had decided. Now I know … God wants me to bless them, just as your friends blessed you.”


I’ve moved more than 15 times as an adult. While I don’t hate moving, it’s not exactly enjoyable either. Packing and unpacking, boxes piled upon boxes. I have to admit there is a part of me that never wants to move again. But if I do, I hope the Lord gives me another moving experience like this last one … one that has His fingerprints all over it, from beginning to end.

My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.

~ Isaiah 32:18


F is for …

letterFMy eight-year-old daughter Julia peered at me, confusion etched into her round face. Amidst the chaos of Christmas morning wrapping paper and laughter, she held the contents of her gift: a small white card on which was drawn a simple fish.

“What does it say?” I asked.

Julia studied it for a moment, and then she read the words printed on the card aloud.

“What will you name me?”

Slowly, a small grin spread across her face, until she had a look of  sheer delight.  She let out a small gasp. “Really, Momma? A fish? You mean, I’m finally getting a pet …”

To say Julia was excited about owning her very first pet would have been a complete understatement. For days she could talk of nothing else. The wait until the pet store reopened after the holidays seem to be unending. Julia’s excitement mounted as she counted down the hours until she could go and pick out her already beloved fish.

Finally, the much anticipated day arrived. Julia raced into the pet store and hurriedly found the area of the store in which the fish were located. She nearly swooned from the excitement when she saw the floor-to-ceiling tanks filled with fish in every color, shape, and size imaginable. There in the corner we saw a shelf filled with small glass bowls. In each bowl swam a single betta fish.

The manager brought Julia a stool to stand on so she could carefully inspect each fish. She solemnly peered into every bowl, sometimes talking softly to the fish contained inside while other times silently stroking the glass.

As I watched my daughter go about the serious task of choosing her pet, I began to fear that this could be a torturous process. There were so many fish from which to choose that the process seemed to be overwhelming even to me. No two were alike, and each one seemed more stunning than the one in the bowl next to it. Brilliant reds, shocking blues, soft purples, iridescent greens … there was even a shimmery gold one with bright orange and black flecks resembling a leopard print.

My 13 year old daughter Maddie spotted an unusual blue betta fish with tiny black stripes. It had spiky fins which somehow gave it the look of a bird’s feather. She tried in vain to get her younger sister to choose this spectacular specimen, but Julia was not impressed.

Ten year old Megan pointed out a fancy betta fish, vivid red in color with fluttery fins that whorled around it in the water. The manager, who noticed Meg’s interest, said, “That’s a Half Moon betta. Very pretty. Quite popular. A bit more costly. It will set you back $20.” As I steeled myself for the task of telling Julia we were not going to buy the $20 betta fish, I realized that my littlest girl wasn’t interested in this one either for she was already quite enchanted with another fish.

With a quick glance, I looked to see which fish had captivated my daughter, discovering with surprise the fish at which she gazed so lovingly was truly the most unremarkable in the entire collection of dazzling fish. It was a dull, pale pink, and its fins weren’t very long, wispy, or elegant. Yet my smitten daughter watched with rapt fascination.

When Julia caught my eyes, she exclaimed, “Oh, Momma … did you see how she follows my finger! I’ve found my fish!”

So that’s how it came to pass that we took home the plainest betta fish in the store. I must admit I felt twinges of disappointment in Julia’s final choice. I had expected something more exotic, something more flashy.

Julia did not seem to notice or share my disappointment. Instead, she beamed all the way home as if she knew she had found a rare treasure among all the glittering gems.

Once home, Julia named her beloved fish Sushi, and cared for her as if she were the most amazing fish on the planet. Sushi lived in a glass bowl on the bedside table next to Julia’s bed. She never missed a meal. Her glass bowl was kept sparkling clean.  It was obvious that Sushi’s presence brightened the small bedroom.

As the weeks went by, I began to see such beauty in what I originally thought was just an unremarkably plain fish. Sushi would swim over as I entered the room. She seemed aware of my presence. And when Julia summoned me to watch Sushi perform a special trick, I had no more doubts that this plain little betta fish was indeed a unique treasure.

Unfortunately, a few months after Sushi came into our home, Julia noticed a small bump on her side, near the fin. Obviously, there was nothing we could do but watch and hope our little friend was okay. Time passed. Sushi’s bump grew larger. It effected her ability to swim. I knew she was dying, but Julia continued to hold out hope.

Then late one night, Julia came to me in a panic. She had woken to the sound of splashing water, and had discovered Sushi laying on her side, flopping around in a jerky sort of manner. Hugging Julia, I said, “Baby, I am so sorry, but I think Sushi is about to die. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Through her tears, Julia said, “Well, I’m going to pray.” And she did. I stood in awe as I watched Julia pray for a miracle for her fish. And when she stood up, she seemed convinced her small fish would live, not just through the night but for a long time yet to come.

Sure enough, in the morning, Sushi was swimming around her bowl, peppier than we had seen her in months. As Julia fed her, I watched with rapt fascination as the little miracle fish practically inhaled her food. I felt grateful our special friend had survived the night.

Sushi lived on another two months, before quietly passing away while we slept. There were tears as we said our final goodbyes because Sushi was more to us than just a beautiful, flashy fish in a bowl. She was a good pet who brought a lot of happiness to our home.

After Sushi’s death, I recalled my initial emotional response to fish Julia had chosen. I didn’t think she had made a good choice because Sushi didn’t have a beautiful outside appearance. But after the fish came home, I began to see my first impression was wrong. Suddenly, as I remembered the plain little fish, I felt God whispering in my heart, reminding me how He loves to use the unexpected and unworthy to carry out His plans.

He used an elderly man to father an entire nation of peoples, as numerous as the stars and as countless as the grains of sand upon the shore.

He turned the uncertain stutterer into a man who would confront a pharaoh, bring forth plagues, and lead an entire nation out of slavery.

He used the very youngest and smallest soldier in an army of underdogs to overcome the impossible giant.

He found the coward hiding in the threshing barn and used him to lead a tiny ragtag army into battle to defeat their unbeatable enemy.

He took the young virgin maiden barely old enough to leave her parents and brought forth from her His perfect salvation.

And that salvation … well, it turned out to be a babe born in a barn instead of King triumphant in battle glory.

It was this same God who called out to a few weary fishermen, with their torn and empty nets, asking them to follow, using them to bring His gospel message of hope and peace to the far corners of the earth, so that He might turn them into bold fishers of men.

And He even uses the insignificant, like a plain betta fish, to be a reminder to me of forgotten truths:

His ways are not our ways, for He continues looks beyond outer appearances, into the heart of each soul. 

He still calls out to the weary.

He still uses the small, the weak and the scared. 

He still defeats the enemy with the wounded sinner. 

And He promises to us that He has great plans for our lives too … if only we are willing to be used for His glory.


F is for the Fish who reminded me God wants to use me just as I am.

Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That’s why we have the saying, “If you’re going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.”

~ 1 Corinthians: 26-31

Defeating Defeat

For as long as I can remember, I have loved words. The sounds of words, like serendipity and fricasee. The meanings of words, like blessed  (Oh, how happy) and  Hallelujah (to boast in God). The process of stringing words together, creating alliterations and metaphors. I even think in words, not pictures. My dreams often consist of visual  words, like closed captioning in my sleep.

I don’t remember when I first began to write, for  I never really kept a journal or a diary with any sort of regularity. By adulthood, I wrote almost daily, and for a variety of reasons.  To remember … all the adorable things my children did and said, as if putting it down on paper would ensure that I would never forget a single moment. To clarify and organize my thoughts, especially when feelings didn’t match beliefs and I searched for the right perspective. My marriage felt apart, and I found writing helped me to grieve.  Somehow I realized through writing, I found myself … perhaps more importantly, I found God.

Along the way, through all this writing, God called me. He called me to write for His purposes instead of my own, for His glory instead of mine. I marveled at this plan for my life. I laughed with joy when, on my 40th birthday, God Himself gave me a verse, confirming what I already knew in my heart that in this next season of my life I would write for Him:  “My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the King; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.” Psalm 45:1

And then I very promptly got the worst case of writer’s block ever.  Eight months of nothing … I couldn’t not write a single sentence, not even prayers in my journal.  At first, I felt annoyed. Soon, I was concerned, then anxious and finally devastated.

God had called me to write. I knew it as sure as I knew my name. Then why was I unable to pen words? Over and over I tried, I cried and I prayed.  Nothing changed. I felt completely defeated. One morning, out of my complete misery,  I wrote in my prayer journal, “Lord, I feel defeated. Why? And how can I find victory again?”

To my surprise, God’s response was instantaneous.  From the tips of my fingers came words, written in the form of an acrostic. Since I’m sure that I’m not the only one who experiences feelings of defeat, I’ll share what God showed me.

I will feel defeated when…

D: I am in DENIAL of the truth.

It goes without saying that what I believe and what is the truth are often completely different things. Satan is constantly whispering things in my ear, lies that he wants me to believe. But Jesus said, “The truth will set you free.” (John 8:32) When I am willing to listen to God and embrace His truths, I discover that I am free from feelings of defeat.

E: I hang onto my  EXPECTATIONS (which are often unrealistic).

Expectations are a problem for me. Often I realize that I’ve got assumed, but unspoken, expectations of myself and others (including God). Furthermore, it seems, more often than not,  my expectations are unrealistic. When I have an expectation that is unfulfilled, blocked, uncertain, lost or even fails, it opens the door for me to experience feelings of anger, anxiety, sadness, and perhaps shame. Rarely are these emotions founded in the truths of God. Rather, most often, I’m listening again to the lies of Satan.

God has been showing me how to let go of my expectations for this life, and embrace His plans for me.  I love the words of Jeremiah 29:11.  ” ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for your welfare, not your destruction,  to give you a future and a hope.’ “


Just like I listen to lies and have unrealistic expectations, quite often I spend the majority of my time pondering my failures … failures which often exist only in my own mind, failures which often are only measured by the world’s successes.  I’ve been learning that I should focus instead on two wonderful truths.

The first is this:  Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will.  (Romans 12:2). God’s plans for my life will look a lot different than the world’s idea of success, therefore I cannot use worldly standards to measure my success.

And the second truth:  I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13)  If God has called me to do it, then He will give me the strength needed to succeed.  All I need to be is willing to follow Him.

E: I  EXTEND  myself in areas that God has not called me.

God has specific callings for my life. I am a wife, mother and writer.  These are my three most important roles. Too often, I allow other activities to get in the way of my responsibilities in these areas, and when I do that I am going to feel strained and stress.  Quite often I know when I am over-extending myself because I will begin to feel weary and worn down.  It’s a sign that something is out of balance.

Jesus told His followers, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Mattthew 11:28-30)  I have to be careful to put up guard rails and protectors in order to keep myself centered in the path God has laid out for my life. When I am careful to do this, my life isn’t marked by feelings of defeat.

A: I  AVOID  dealing with my sin.

But sometimes I just do not want to give up whatever it is that is making me miserable.  I don’t know why sin works that way, but I’ve found this to be true time and time again. I get caught up in some sin, and even though it makes me moan and groan and whine about the state of my life, I refuse to confess it to God. I just don’t want to give it up.

Wise King Solomon wrote, “Whoever conceals his sin will not prosper, but he who confesses and renounces them will find mercy.” (Proverbs 28:13)  If I want peace in my life, I’ve got to continually confess my sins and turn back to choosing to live God’s way.

T: I am unTEACHable.

Quite often, when I am stuck in a rut of defeat, I know that God is trying to teach me a new way of doing things.  He wants me to grow and mature so that I am living a faith-filled life.  I don’t know about you, but I can be ridiculously unteachable.  I just flat refuse to listen and learn.

In 1 Peter 2:2, it says, “Like newborn infants, desire the pure spiritual milk, so you may grow by it.”  There are many things I desire in this world:  a strong marriage, children who love the Lord, financial stability, my daily chocolate . More than these, my heart should desire God and His truth in my life.

It’s been more than two months since God shared with me the reasons behind my feelings of defeat.  It didn’t cure me instantly of my writer’s block.  However, God also shared with me how to find victory in my life, and as I began to implement those truths I found my ability to write returned more and more in the days and weeks that followed.

Isn’t it comforting to know deep within the soul that God does not want me (or you) to live in perpetual defeat?

How have you overcome feelings of defeat through Christ? I hope you’ll share your success stories with me!

Stay tuned for part 2, when I share how God showed me how to make a VICTORY PLAN for living my life according to His perfect will for me.