​There are two kinds of thankfulness: the easy kind, and the kind that you offer in the midst of a fight.

The easy kind flows when life is peaceful, kids are getting along, your heart feels full, and everything goes as planned. Of course we’re thankful for these things! But the other kind — the battle-cry kind — is forged in the middle of anxiety, sleepless nights, unanswered prayers, and overwhelm. That kind is a sacrifice of thanksgiving. It’s worship…and warfare. As soon as it’s offered, it changes the atmosphere.
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The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I realize:
Gratitude isn’t about being positive. It’s about being postured.
It’s not a self-help, fluffy tool. It’s a weapon. It’s obedience. It’s faith…

There are seasons when our prayers feel like they’re still being written. 
This time last year I was a shell of myself. My body had become stuck in fight-or-flight mode. I couldn't sleep at all, could barely eat. It felt like my brain had broken and I had no idea how to get the pieces back together.
 
After a trip to the ER, a psychiatrist appointment, counseling and deliverance sessions, and lots of support from my family and friends, I finally started to slowly exit my way off what I call the “hamster wheel,” the endless cycle of my OCD thinking. 

My brain had become locked in on sleep, obsessing over it to the point that I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t even really sit down. I was broken and I needed help. I cried out for deliverance.

Every night, when my fear became the greatest, I would sit beside the Christmas tree with my Bible and journal. I would whisper and write prayers to God until I fell asleep in that chair. It was the only place I could rest for a while, right there in the arms of Jesus. 

So, I get it. If you’ve watched the clock tick and the calendar pages turn. You’ve carried longing in your chest like a stone, wondering whether God heard, whether “yes” is coming, or whether you’ll ever see the “yet.”

And in that place—right in the middle of the incomplete, the undone, the still-becoming—you can still give thanks. Because gratitude isn’t an offering we present to God when everything’s tidy. Gratitude is a posture of the heart that whispers, “Even if …”

​I don’t know about you, but slowing down doesn’t come naturally to me. My default speed is “go.” Between motherhood, ministry, writing deadlines, and the ever-growing list of to-dos, I’ve often convinced myself that the faster I move, the more faithful I’m being. After all, productivity feels a lot like purpose—until it doesn’t.
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Somewhere along the way, I realized that gratitude and hurry can’t coexist. One always chokes the other out…

There’s a kind of gratitude that never makes it to Instagram.

Not because it isn’t beautiful, but because it’s quiet. Subtle. Hidden in the kind of moments no one claps for — the sock folding, the toddler tears, the seemingly ordinary Tuesday where dinner is chicken nuggets with a box of Annie’s mac and cheese and grace covers what energy can’t.

As women, especially in a world that celebrates curated thankfulness — the handwritten pumpkin tags, the thanksgiving tablescapes, the picture perfect holiday family photo — it’s so easy to believe that gratitude is something to be performed rather than practiced. That we show our thankfulness by the way we present our lives, not by the posture we hold in the unseen corners of them.
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But the most transformative gratitude?

Here’s my confession — I used to think I was an extrovert.

Mostly because I genuinely love people. I’ve always been up for a good party or hangout. For years, I worked as a camp counselor, followed by even more years in ministry. People are great!

But then I got married to a true extrovert.

After long stretches of social time, I’d feel the urge to disappear — to read a book, play music, or write alone. My husband, on the other hand, wanted to keep the evening going. “Should we invite someone else over? Grab dinner with friends?” he’d ask. His tank would be overflowing while mine was running on empty.

Surprise! I’m actually pretty introverted — and I need quiet time to refuel.
Still, I love hosting. Curating a cozy weekend hangout or cooking a meal for friends genuinely fills me with joy. Our home has an open-door feel, and our friends and neighbors know they’re welcome to pop in anytime.

I’ve always loved Hebrews 13:2, which says:
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”

Extrovert, introvert, or somewhere in between — we’re all called to show hospitality. If we ignore that call, we might miss out on angels… or the very answers to our prayers walking through our doors.

So yes, we open our homes. But if you’re like me, there comes a point when you need to recharge from all that “people-ing.” With the holiday season approaching, how can we love others well and protect our own peace?

Here are a few gentle, introvert-friendly ways to host without burning out:

​When I step away from the online world and back into real life, I don’t see people as opinions or political leanings. I just see a man and woman chatting in line at the coffee shop, a mom soothing her toddler at the grocery store, a teacher smiling as she opens the door for children to walk into school.

We live in a hyper-individualized culture, and social media only amplifies it. Platforms are curated for “Follow me. Like me. See me.” Me, me, me. But the Bible reveals a different way of living—one centered on community and interdependence. If we look at the first church gatherings, we see that they shared life together—including meals.

The good news is this: when you decide to host a gathering, you don’t have to feel crushed under the pressure to provide it all. When everyone brings something, the table becomes a community space filled with dishes that reflect the uniqueness of each person.
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Maybe the way forward isn’t doing more, but sharing the table—and the load.

Here’s what makes me ask…

You’ve probably heard the story of David and Goliath. David is a scrawny teenager who decides to slay a giant in a war he wasn’t old enough to fight in. The King at the time, Saul, tries to protect David by at least giving him some armor to wear. Notice what happens:

"Then Saul dressed David in his own tunic. He put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head. David fastened on his sword over the tunic and tried walking around, because he was not used to them. “I cannot go in these,” he said to Saul, “because I am not used to them.” So he took them off."
- 1 Samuel 17:38-39, NIV

Take a moment to imagine David as he straps on all that heavy gear and it weighs his awkward teenage body down. The metal clangs around, his feet shuffle under the weight, and he can’t quite see out of the helmet on his head. So what does he do? He takes it off.

As I've been studying about David’s life for work, I’m realizing just how much we have to learn from this moment! How often do we put on other people’s armor and pray it does the trick for us?

This past week has been a rollercoaster. If you’ve followed me for any amount of time, you may know that I’ve struggled with anxiety and waves of insomnia for years. As that resurfaced for me recently, I’ve had to go back to old writings and reels to give myself a pep talk and remind me of the fact that I’ve come through before. What God has already done, He can do again.

Suffering, despite how incredibly painful or uncomfortable it may be, is often our best teacher. It is there in the fire that we, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, become aware of, drawn to and dependent upon another in the midst of the blaze, sustaining us through. When the heat dies down and we are finally delivered, we see that Jesus was with us even in the messy middle, held our hand when our struggles have threatened to take us out, and allowed us to step out without even the smell of smoke so that He may get the glory.

People too notice how we suffered and came through to the other side They see that the miracles and hope we bear witness to in the impossible circumstances can only be attributed to a great God. While we hate our pain, both attacks from the enemy and self-inflicting wounds, God always gives it purpose.

In seasons of suffering, our thanksgiving is a “sacrifice of praise” (Hebrews 13:15). When my hallelujah is worn out, here are three things I have been so grateful for that carry me through until a strong song of praise is back on my lips…

​In one of the most polarizing elections in America’s history, we the people have elected Donald Trump to be our next president of the United States of America. Some are thrilled and others are brokenhearted. Many are celebrating while others are rocked with fear or disbelief. Due to social media and those with concrete opinions blasting their stances, we can forget that there is also an entire population who feel neither red nor blue, but gray. They didn't know who to vote for or chose a third party candidate and are watching the sea of voices and news headlines roll in and wondering how the tide will wash out. 

It would be incredibly easy this week to hop over to a favorite social media outlet to vent, seek solace from a comment section, or leave something nasty in the feed of an outspoken individual with a view that opposes our own. There, take that! 

But, what if we didn’t?
What if we allowed this month that is blanketed in the theme of gratitude to actually inspire us to unity instead?