Our Longing to Be Seen, Known, and Understood

“Daddy! Hey Daddy! Can you see me? I’m over here!”

My daughter yelled at the top of her lungs to my husband. He was across the park and we were inside the fence at our neighborhood pool. When she saw him walking in the distance she jumped from her chair and used all her might to get his attention.

When he finally heard her voice and waved, she cried, “He sees me! He sees me! Daddy sees me, Mom!”  

I was transported back to a text from a friend that very morning: “Does God even see me?” she wondered.

My friend was exhausted, broken under the burden of the hard calling of motherhood. She has six kids, one with significant special needs. She not only cares for her children who span in age from toddlerhood to the teenage years, but she is a full-time nurse for her daughter who can do almost nothing for herself. She gives away every morsel of her energy and time to her kids.

“Does God even see me?” was her heart’s cry.  

Whether we are carefree little girls or completely spent mothers, we long to be seen.

To be seen is to be known. It is to be understood. It is to have our circumstances measured, our burdens weighed, our situations assessed and appreciated. But motherhood is often hidden. Our days are spent inside kitchen and playroom walls. We go days, weeks, and years alone with our kids, navigating terrain that others never see.

And we wonder if God sees us in our secret settings. Does he know? Does he understand what we’re walking through?

The birth of our Savior in a manger in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago was the ultimate act of God seeing his people. Our Father in heaven saw that we were bound for destruction and he sent a rescuer in. Our good and kind God had compassion and he ran towards us. He saw and he came. And not only that, but he sacrificed his one and only Son so that we, who he saw to be dead, might live.

33 years after his humble birth in a manger, before Jesus was crucified on your behalf and mine, he saw that his disciples were afraid to be alone, afraid to be without him. He assured them, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever” (John 14:16). Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come and dwell with us and be in us (v. 17).

Our Father in heaven saw that we needed first a rescuer and later a comforter. He saw then and he still sees now. He sent his Son to identify with us and to rescue us, and he sent his Spirit to live in us, to help us, to teach us, to give us peace (John 14:26–27).

When we wonder if God sees us, we must only remember Christmas. Jesus is the Word who “became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). We have a High Priest, as the book of Hebrews says, who can “sympathize with our weaknesses” (Heb. 4:15) because he lived life in the flesh too. Our Father in heaven and his Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, are not far off.  

God sees! He knows! He pursued us not just once, but twice—both in Jesus and by the Holy Spirit. We are not alone.

This Christmas let the blessed Baby in a manger remind you, dear momma, that God sees you. He knows the weight of your burdens, the contents of your days, the hard tasks in your home. The Lord “looks down from heaven; he sees all the children of man” (Ps. 33:13). And in his seeing, he doesn’t stand far off. The Spirit dwells in us. We must only call on him, daily surrender, and ask for help.

That day last summer when my hurting friend texted me, I gently reminded her that God is indeed there. He was, in fact, with her. I encouraged her to call on him just as my daughter would call on her dad later that same day.

Perhaps you identify with the words of my hurting friend. Let me remind you, as I did her, that God does indeed see. And you can call on him, just as a daughter calls upon her Father, and rest in his gaze, his remembrance, his understanding.

The Holy Spirit is right there, ready to minister to you and to me and to my friend with full hands and full days. He is our “refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1). As Jesus was present 2,000 years ago, so the Spirit is present in your home, in your heart, right now. He sees and he’s your very present help.

Like my daughter, may you and I realize that we are seen. Through prayer, the Word, fellowship, and worship we can remember and rehearse the gospel. And then, with deep joy, we can exclaim to one another, “He sees me! He sees me! Our Father sees me.”

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:

1. In what ways has your experience in motherhood left you feeling unseen or longing to be understood? When was the last time you felt this way?

2. How is the coming of Christ the ultimate cosmic gesture of seeing/noticing?

3. How might recognizing your Father’s attentiveness to you and your needs transform the posture in which you carry out your days as a mother?

Jen Oshman is a missionary mama raising four girls across three continents. She’s also a church planter’s wife and writer. You can follow her at www.jenoshman.com and @jenoshman on social media.

Our Longing for Reconciliation

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.” (2 Corinthians 5:17–19)

“Mom, I don’t like it when you say that back to me.” Her eyes were wide but sure, and her face looked up at me, definitely uncertain of what kind of response she was about to get.

“Say what, baby?”

“When you say, ‘I’m sorry, too.’”

What did I say again? Wasn’t it just an “I’m sorry … ”? The pause. The realization. The pierce of my sin.

Oh.

A habit had solidified, and it was a pretty nasty one. While correcting my oldest daughter, after she would come to a place of repentance and apologize, I would (more often than not) say, “I’m sorry, too.” Meaning that I’m sad—I’m sorry—that you will have to experience these consequences for your actions. But she didn’t mean the sentiment; she meant the tone. For you see, I wasn’t expressing my apology in a tone of gentleness or genuine remorse—often it would escape with a sigh of irritation or an escalated tone of frustration at her continual wrongdoing.

A kid.

A kid messing up.

Sigh.

It’s a farce to think that the older we get the less frequently we will find ourselves needing to apologize, begging forgiveness of both the one we’ve wronged and the God who saves. Just like the story of salvation itself—the exact opposite of what we expect is what really happens, and as I mature I find myself needing to apologize and ask forgiveness more than ever before. And again, like the story of salvation itself, what seems a cruelty must actually be a kindness, for I must be being made new.

If you feel that space between your neck and your shoulders shrinking as we head into the Christmas season, you are not alone. The anticipation of seeing those we’ve had beef with, have beef with, or are likely to have beef with is enough to make anybody steal the words straight from the mouths of any number of couples seen on House Hunters International: “We just wanted a fresh start somewhere tropical!”

But it’s a lie. Christian, we are being made new, and it is now true that “the love of Christ controls us” (2 Cor. 5:14). And when the truth of who we really are collides with our daily yuck it’s uncomfortable, and ugly, and it downright hurts. But we are called to participate in the exchange that calls us to more. “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21). Just like our Savior at the cross, to be made new in him is a call to humility and selfless death, obedience and action.

This Christmas, not if but when I wrong someone, oh Lord—may I be quick to repent. Change my heart and make it soft and pliable to your will. May I repent both directly to the wronged, and to the God of the universe who made sure the curtain was torn in two from top to bottom (Matt. 27:51), so I can access the throne room directly through the blood of his Son.

Second, when someone wrongs me, may I step in as my own agent, not in a demanding attitude of self-righteous harshness, but in the safety and recognition of the value Christ has given me. May I say, “Hey, that hurt my feelings,” or, “I don’t like it when you say that,” and may I do so quickly and in a tone of gentleness and brotherly affection. And may I put this on display for my children, so that when I wrong them, they in turn feel the agency to speak up and call me to a place of repentance and reconciliation. For now I am their mother, but ultimately (and eternally) I pray I am their sister in Christ.

I can feel you ask it—I can feel myself ask it: But what if reconciliation with our family of origin isn’t received well, or doesn’t even appear to be wanted? What if the sadness is so dark or the anger so piercing because of deep past hurts that carry terms like betrayal, abuse, or abandonment? You can offer it all day long, but the message of reconciliation can be an unswallowable horse pill for those who are not ready for it. The good news is it’s not our responsibility whether or not they can get it down—that is the business of the Spirit. But believer, it is our responsibility to make the offering. My life changed the moment I was taught we are only responsible for our actions, and not for how they are received.

I don’t pretend this is an easy road—especially during the emotionally-loaded holidays. I don’t pretend because I know the potholes and sharp turns, the surefire toe-stumpers of pride and self-righteousness, the snaggy-crags of parental justification and the propensity to lean on childish forgetfulness, or the temptation to just sweep the family stuff under the rug one more year. But we are called to be a people of reconciliation. We are called to be a people of generational sin-breaking. We are called to apologize and receive the always-ready fresh start, the remaking of our very souls, being shaped by the God of the universe to the form of the One in whom there is not a single crack of imperfection.

So this Christmas, as our hearts peer into the manger at the Babe who came for us, may we see his eyes in the eyes of our very own littles—eyes that beg of us never to fear, but to trust that forgiveness is ours if only we ask for it.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:

1. Do you practice repenting (saying “I was wrong” and asking for forgiveness) to your children? What makes it feel risky? Why is it important?

2. Are there any past hurts that resurface around the holidays for you and your extended family? With whom in particular is it difficult to interact? How do Christ’s actions on your behalf change the way you interact with this person?

3. Do you sense God calling you to repent directly to someone? If so, will you ask him for the grace to do so?

4. Is there one scripture or portion of scripture you can memorize and write on your heart today, asking God to use it in you for the good work of reconciliation this Christmas season?
   
   

Holly Mackle is the curator of the mom humor collaboration Same Here, Sisterfriend, Mostly True Tales of Misadventures in Motherhood, and author of the family Advent devotional Little Hearts, Prepare Him Room. She is the wife of a handsome, mama of two flower-sneaking bitties, and a fairly decent gardener and hopefully better humorist for joegardener.com. She spends most of her free time explaining to her two young girls why their hair will not do exactly what Queen Elsa’s does.

Our Longing for Security in Shifting Seasons

“The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” (Psalm 18:2)

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against the house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” (Matthew 7:24–27)

Glancing first at my candy-striped pajamas, I turned my gaze to my two-month-old lying happily on a blanket next our half-pint Christmas tree. Where is he? I grumbled inwardly. The baby needs to go down for her nap, and if he doesn’t hurry we’ll miss Christmas morning entirely!

Admittedly, my unmet expectations marked our first major holiday as parents. Though our ever-changing circumstances continually presented us with opportunities to practice, clearly our communication skills still needed work. In my husband’s defense, I failed to tell him how much tradition and routine—like that of Christmas morning—would mean to me as a mother. At the time, I don’t think I even had words to acknowledge it. But now, with another move, an additional child, and a few more pregnancies under my belt, I’m able to see that despite our very uncertain circumstances, so much of my life beats rhythmically, like the rum-pa-pum-pum of the little drummer boy’s drum.

This is all good with my Type-A self. I love everything about predictability and certainty, from the grandiose traditions that revolve around the holidays to the simple joy of an infant’s predictable napping schedule. And yet, in his kindness, God gifted this predictable gal a most unpredictable set of circumstances that often bring those rhythmic drum beats to a standstill. Despite the routine days of motherhood, my life still feels like one ginormous transition. No, I’m not just talking about our growing family, my postpartum body, or kissing my 20s goodbye. I married a U.S. Army soldier, which, as you might imagine, involves packing when we’re told, moving where we’re told, and spending time apart—you guessed it—whenever we’re told. I mention this because it represents uncertainty and transition, which I know we’ve all navigated or will navigate at some point in this life. And when we do, feelings of vulnerability and insecurity often bubble to the surface of our hearts, and we find ourselves idolizing both the past and the future while completely neglecting the present.

But I’m here to make the case that instead of neglecting one and embracing another, we should actually embrace all three in faith. In faith, we look back on what God has done; in faith, we consider what he is doing; and in faith, we look forward to the fulfillment of his promises.

In all of redemptive history, transition and change have marked the people of our unchanging God. For example, Adam and Eve were driven from the garden of Eden after they failed to obey God’s command (Gen. 3:23–24). Abram left his home country to travel to an unknown land (Gen. 12:1). Joseph was sold into slavery in Egypt, and after being promoted to overseer, eventually rescued his family from famine by bringing them to Egypt too (Gen. 37–46). Fast-forward to Moses, who led the Israelites out of Egyptian captivity (Ex. 14), to when Joshua took God’s people into the much-anticipated promised land (Josh. 1–3). Later, they faced a time of complete exile, in which the Israelites yearned for rescue and their coming Messiah (Jer. 52).

In the midst of such unpredictability, the people of God were encouraged to press into the beautiful reality that despite their ever-changing circumstances, God never changes (James 1:17). We know this and yet, just like the Israelites wandering in the desert, we grumble our way through our present circumstances, like I did at the foot of my Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

So, what is our hope in the midst of schedule changes, medical complications, relocations, or the death of a loved one? What would it look like to remember what God has done for his people instead of grumbling our way through the transitions we face in life? How can we go about our journeys with joy and peace in believing, abounding in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Rom. 15:13)?

Only God can offer us this kind of hope and rejoicing, and he has—richly—in the person of his Son Jesus (Titus 3:4–7). We can trust God because he loved the world so much he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). We can surrender our plans and the shifting seasons of our lives to him, knowing that “the eternal God is [our] dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deut. 33:27). Our security is not in man-made traditions, in the seasons of this life, or in our ideal present. Rather, our security rests on the Rock of Ages (Ps. 18:2).

The coming of Christ offers us an anchor for the soul and a firm foundation that our circumstances never will. Because of his finished work and certain promises, even in a state of constant transition, we can joyfully navigate the twists and turns of our journeys. We can know that we have been born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that, regardless of our shifting seasons, is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading (1 Peter 1:3–4)!

May the reality that Jesus took on flesh to live a life we never could, died in our place, and intercedes for us at the right hand of the Father even now be the hope that we reflect upon, remember, and rejoice in—forever.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:

1. How does your heart typically respond to transition and unknowns?

2. How does the gospel offer us hope in the midst of shifting (and perhaps disappointing) seasons?

3. What sort of transition are you currently experiencing? How might God be seeking to shift your gaze to what he has done, what he is doing, and what he has promised he will do? How might that shift affect your experience of this season?

Hunter Beless believes God has called her to seek after those whom he has awakened to guide them back to their Heavenly Father. She passionately exercises this God-given design through her roles as a wife, mama, and host of the Journeywomen podcast. Though they stumble often, she and her husband Brooks strive to display God's covenant-keeping love through their marriage and oneness. They have two little girls, Hadley Grace (3), Davy Kathryn (2), and a baby boy on the way. The Beless family currently resides in Fort Campbell, KY where Brooks serves in the U.S. Army. Hunter, Brooks, Hadley, and Davy love journeying through life together for the glory of God.

Our Longing for Freedom from Fear

Mary, the mother of Jesus, was minding her own business when a fearful thing happened: She was visited by an angel of the Lord with extraordinary news.

“And the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’” (Luke 1:30–33, emphases mine)

Mary was overwhelmed by such a divine visitation (v. 29), let alone by the astonishing news that she would carry God’s Son in her womb. This would be a miracle of undeserved grace, and an exercise of her trust in God. I wonder about the questions that might have crossed her mind: What would her family think when she was suddenly pregnant? What would Joseph think? What would it look like to raise God’s Son?

In our longing to be free from fear, we can take Mary’s story to heart. God hasn’t spoken to us by an angel, but he has spoken to us through Jesus Christ (Heb. 1:2). The baby he conceived in Mary’s womb is the Savior and Lord who frees us from fear and calls us to trust.  

What fears are weighing on your mind right now? Maybe it’s your kids’ safety and wellbeing. Maybe it’s your own fear of getting sick this winter and having to mother through it. Maybe you’re wondering what your kids will think when the gifts under the tree are few this year. Maybe you struggle with the fear of inadequacy and failure, or the fear of being judged by others.

Me too, Momma. I long to be free from these fears, to live day-by-day, moment-by-moment with a deepening trust in God’s character and heart. The good news is that God says to us what he said to Mary: “Do not be afraid.” We see in her story three truths that will increasingly free us from fear.

God gives us amazing grace in Jesus Christ. “For you have found favor with God” (v. 30). God’s grace is his abundant kindness to undeserving, fearful sinners. Mary was a sinful human, like each of us, but God chose her and drew her near. Her troubled reaction to his awesome presence turned into reverence and obedience, as she responded, “I am the servant of the Lord” (v. 38).

Every day, we have the amazing opportunity to draw near to the God of the universe, as he shows us our need to be in right relationship with him––and he sent his only Son, Jesus, to earth to make this miracle possible. Though we don’t deserve such kindness, Jesus came into the world to rescue sinners and free us from the most fearful of fears: the wrath of God, which he suffered on the cross for our sin.

Momma, when you receive God’s lavish grace, you are freed from fear in its greatest sense: You will never know God’s just, fearful wrath because Jesus took it for you. In him, you find favor with God.      

God gives us supernatural strength in Jesus Christ. “He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High” (v. 32). Before his work on the cross, Jesus lived a normal, human life. He faced all the temptations we face––yet was without sin (Heb. 4:15). And when the Son of God humbled himself to the point of death on a cross, he didn’t stay there: He disarmed death by triumphing over it through resurrection. Once a weak and dependent baby born in a stable, Jesus showcased his divine strength when he rose from the grave and went to his Father’s side in glory. Death’s accusations were no match for the Son’s perfect goodness.

What an incredible solace—that Jesus sympathizes with us in every way, that he walked the same human life we walk––and that his perfect, sinless, death-defeating record can become ours by faith. Not only this, but he continues to serve us by praying for us in heaven (Rom. 8:34), and he gives us power and wisdom through his Spirit, who dwells in us and helps us when we’re weak, weary, and fearful.

Momma, as you depend on Jesus’ strength and learn, by his Spirit, what it looks like to trust him, you will be increasingly freed from your fears.

God gives us eternal hope in Jesus Christ. “Of his kingdom there will be no end” (v. 33). What Jesus has accomplished for us is an everlasting work that stretches beyond this life and into eternity. He’s secured for us an inheritance that far surpasses earthly riches; a place at God’s table—which never lacks a thing; restored relationships with our brothers and sisters; the removal of all pain and suffering; and perfectly pure, undistracted, fearless hearts that will live to gaze upon the face of their Savior.

“Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.” (Hebrews 2:14–15)

Jesus is our hope in the midst of our fears, and he’s our hope beyond them. Momma, as you struggle with fear, and even if your worst fears come to pass, he will walk with you through them. He will remind you of your deliverance from the fear of death. He will carry you in his strength. He will teach you how to trust him. And he will increase your longing for the day when fear itself will be banished in his glorious presence.

“Do not be afraid.” Receive the favor of God by faith, and the Son of the Most High will be with you, now and forever.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:

1. How are you currently experiencing fear?

2. What difference does it make to your fears that God is for you in his Son? How does this shift your perspective when you’re facing fearful circumstances?

3. What are some practical ways you can walk by faith in the Spirit this week and push back fear? Think about memorizing a Scripture verse so you can think on its truth when fear arises.

Kristen Wetherell is a writer and Bible teacher. She is co-author of Hope When It Hurts: Biblical Reflections to Help You Grasp God’s Purpose in Your Suffering and author of a forthcoming book on fear and God’s promises (Bethany House, 2020). She and her husband are members of The Orchard in Itasca, Illinois. They have one daughter.

Our Longing to Be Free From Shame

“For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”

— 2 Corinthians 4:6

As the fog settled in along the shore of Lake Superior, I strained to see our children. With my typical mom concerns forming inside, I began walking in the direction of their voices, just wanting to catch a clear glimpse of them to know they were all accounted for, none lost, none having accidently fallen into the cold water. The heavy ash-gray mist made it hard to see which child I was approaching as I walked in their direction, but we moms have other ways of determining that: sound of voice, pattern of steps, or general outline of body.

This isn’t the only time I’ve been in deep fog. But the usual fog I’m dealing with is internal. Sometimes it’s a fog of tiredness, sometimes a fog of grief, and sometimes the fog has been the dark shadows of sin and shame.

Sorting things out in the fog feels hopeless, which is why we need the bright light of God’s Word to shine down into our hearts and help us see our sin and shame clearly. Only with the floodlight of God’s Word can we recognize sin as sin and shame as shame.

Left to ourselves in the fog, our sin and shame is illusive. In fact, we feel ashamed for things that aren’t shameful at all: we feel ashamed that our kid’s bedtime is so much later than our friend’s child’s; we are embarrassed over our shabby furniture; we sense there is something wrong with us because our family devotions consist of wiggles and blow-out diapers and general disinterest; or we feel shame over sin that someone else has committed against us, that we had no part in.

On the other hand, we tend to push down an appropriate sense of shame we ought to have over real sin. We watch ten hours of debauchery and sexual immorality on Netflix and are brazen and unashamed, even proselytizing others to join in this shameful act; we scroll social media for hours without end, putting off our kiddos; we speak with harshness and pride to those closest to us.

Why do you suppose this is? Why do we feel ashamed of ourselves for things that are not shameful, and when we ought to feel ashamed of ourselves, we don’t? I have three answers: the world, the flesh, and the devil. The world is, for a short time, ruled by the devil, and therefore it can best attack Christians by confusing them about what is shameful and what isn’t. It distracts us with misplaced shame over things that aren’t. Furthermore, the world, our sinful flesh, and the devil, all collude to tell us that any feelings of shame over sin should be shushed up and airbrushed with some really positive self-talk.

The penetrating light of God’s Word is the only way to dispel the mist of confusion and wrong-headed thoughts and feelings regarding shame. With God’s Word, we can rightly discern what it is we’re dealing with. We can see what and who is standing in front of us.

So, once we’re seeing, once the fog is burned off, then what? What if the light of God’s Word reveals a whole lot of legit sin and shame? What if I really am all wrong on the inside—tainted, dirty, unlovable, and unable to do what I ought?

Fellow mom, I have some killer Good News for you. It’s that Jesus Christ died on the cross to bear our sin and shame. Because he died on the cross and received in his body the punishment for sin, you also must consider yourself dead to sin.

He was killed on your behalf, not just so that you could live, but so that you, too, could die. The person who is unlovable, sinful, dirty, and tainted must be reckoned dead with Christ.

But let’s not stop there. After he died, he rose from the dead and is now seated at the right hand of God. And what’s incredible and almost impossible to comprehend is that if you are in Christ, you, also, have risen from the dead. You are a new creation––the old has gone, the new has come.

So whatever accusations the world, the flesh, and the devil hurl your way about how you’re too dirty or how you’ll always be tainted or how there is something deeply, fundamentally wrong with you, you have your answer to hurl back.

You can say, “Yes. All of your accusations are true. I was sinful, dirty, tainted, and without hope. I was broken clean through on the inside. But you have left my God out of this story––my God who sent his Son to be born of a virgin, my Jesus who lived perfectly and died sinlessly and was raised from the dead on the third day, and my Holy Spirit who is here now as my Helper and Comforter. You are leaving out the best part: ‘For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ’” (2 Cor. 4:6).

Dear ones, we must not leave out the best part of the story. Our God makes the unlovable into something lovely. Our God raises the dead to life. Our God shines into the dark places of our hearts, bringing light and healing. And our God gives us the power to kill sin day by day, replacing our shame with the hope of the glory to be revealed in us: Christ himself, the hope of glory (Col. 1:27).

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION/ APPLICATION:

1. Do you struggle with feelings of shame? What specifically makes you feel unacceptable, tainted, or unclean?

2. How can you discern the difference between what is and isn’t something to be ashamed of?

3. How can you silence the accusations that come from the world, the flesh, and the devil? For the things that the Bible does call shameful? And what about the things that aren’t actually sin?

Abigail Dodds is a wife, mother of five, and graduate student at Bethlehem College and Seminary. She’s a regular contributor to Desiring God and the author of (A)Typical Woman: Free, Whole, and Called in Christ (2019). You can find on Twitter, Instagram, or her blog.

2018 Advent Devotional

The Gentle Leading Mama Advent Devotional is a collection of 25 devotions written by a diverse group of 25 unique women. When you sign up, you'll receive a daily email beginning December 1st and ending Christmas Morning with a short devotion about how the coming of Christ fulfills a longing we experience in Motherhood. Each email will also include 2-4 Questions for Reflection/Application... so this is a great chance to dust off your journal, reactivate that #collegefriends group text, or deepen your community with your #momsquad .

.Although you must sign up by November 30th to receive the devotional in its entirety by email, the Sign Up Page will remain up until Christmas Day, so feel free to continue to invite friends to join in. We feel humbled and grateful to have a position in your inbox and your advent experience this season. I am praying now that you would be refreshed and encouraged by the truth of the gospel as you read these offerings and ponder these questions this season. Would Christ be exalted!

*I am extremely grateful to all of the women who participated in the creation of this project. Specifically our wonderful 24 contributors, Lindsay Cournia for dedicating her time to copy edit and Maggie Combs for offering an occasional extra eye and second opinion. Thank you to each of you who shared about the devotional and who are following along this year!