After introducing his readers to the topics of joy, wisdom, steadfastness, and our eternal reward, James turns to warning them about what stands in the way—trials and temptations, which are not exactly the same thing. Trials form us like gold refined in a fire. God often uses trials to mold and shape us to better image him to the world.

But James is clear that temptations are not from God. While God is sovereign over us and everything we face, the intent of temptation is to draw us away from God. God sent his Son, Jesus, to die for us so that we could be reconciled to him (2 Corinthians 5:18). Why would he then try to lure and entice us away from himself? He wouldn’t, and he doesn’t.

When we think about temptation, we have to remember two simple points. They seem obvious, especially if we’re not currently facing temptation. But when we’re in the middle of fighting our earthly desires and the siren song of anything that goes against God, these points are easy to forget.

“Blessed.” It’s a word our culture has overused and misunderstood. It’s a word that has become a joke on social media. New car! #blessed. Big house! #blessed. And maybe that’s not entirely wrong. “‘Blessedness’ has to do with well-being in life that flows from the favorable position in which one is rightly related to God”[1].

We’ve gotten part of our understanding correct. We receive good gifts and recognize that we have some well-being in life. But what we often miss is that those gifts aren’t necessarily because of our right relationship with God. That’s why the psalmists and the prophets over and over again lament that the wicked prosper (see Psalm 73). Often it looks to human eyes like the wicked are ones who are #blessed.

For many of us, the events of 2020 have probably raised that same question. Maybe we wonder if God is really in control or why there’s so much evil in the world. Maybe we’re not sure if we can really trust him or we’re uncertain even in the age of information what’s actually true. Maybe our emotions, what others tell us, or our circumstances leave us feeling tossed around in doubt, confusion, and discouragement.

But in the beginning of his letter, James reminds us that joy, steadfastness, and spiritual maturity come from knowing and trusting that God is who he says he is.

I’m starting something new on the blog this week. Typically, I post stand-alone blog posts, stories, or recipes, but sometimes there are topics I want to look at more thoroughly, but they can’t be covered in one post. So, I’m excited to be launching a blog post series on the book of James.

Back in January, I started studying James, and now eight months later I’m still in it. It’s only five chapters long, but it’s such a beautiful, practical book. Tim Mackie called it, “a beautifully crafted punch in the gut.” I think that’s pretty accurate.

For many of us, saying grace can easily become trite and meaningless. But prayer before our meals is not just “something we do” as Christians. Instead, it’s a way to acknowledge our need and God’s provision—provision for our daily bread and provision as the Bread of Life.

Every night before my husband and I go to bed, we tiptoe into our kids’ rooms. We give them one last kiss, and then we straighten out their blankets and tuck the covers around them. And every single night since the twins were babies, I’ve put my hand on their backs, leaned in close, and listened for the sound of their breathing.

The habit started out of fear. For months after we brought our tiny newborns home from the hospital, I’d check on them incessantly. I’d pick them up, smell their sweet skin, and watch their chest rise and fall as they inhaled and exhaled. I needed to hold them just one more time before collapsing into my own bed for a few hours. My husband reassured me regularly, “They’re okay. They’re going to be okay,” and I knew—most likely—he was right. At the time, I didn’t think I was being an anxious parent, but looking back, I can see how fearful I really was—and often still am.

One minute, we grab sugar and flour from the pantry to bake away our feelings. Hours later, we vow to detox from carbs for a month. At dinner, we laugh with our kids around the table. As we gather empty plates and load the dishwasher, we find ourselves yelling at everyone to just stop yelling.

Maybe some nights we think, “We’re okay. This is hard, but we’ll get through it.” The next, we’re huddled in the bathroom, hiding the sounds of our sobs and the sight of our tears.

At times we feel so sure that God is in control. Then a news headline hits, and we shake our head at him and ask, “Really? You sure you’ve got this?”

Growing up in a Christian home, we prayed regularly before meals. Sometimes the practice felt more meaningful, like before a Thanksgiving feast or on Easter Sunday as we focused on all we had been given. Other times, the mealtime prayer has been one I’ve struggled to utter: I didn’t really want to thank God for breakfast the morning my mom died. But most days, prayer before meals dwindles to a quick sentence said in a rush, one that grants permission to finally eat.

For many of us, saying grace can easily become trite and meaningless. But prayer before our meals is not just “something we do” as Christians. Instead, it’s a way to acknowledge our need and God’s provision—provision for our daily bread and provision as the Bread of Life.

Back in January, I decided my word for the year would be “hope.” 2019 was a challenging year personally—mostly internally as I battled depression. As the year came to a close, I welcomed the fresh start that came with a new year and a new decade. And only a quarter of the way through 2020, I think many of us are ready for 2021.

This year has been nothing like we expected, but the idea of hope seems more relevant than ever. There’s loss and grief all around, and the world is longing for healing, restoration, encouragement, change. We’ve always needed those things, of course, but it seems like many of us actually recognize that need more than we used to. We used to think we were in control or we could figure life out. At least I thought that. But yet again, God is teaching me that I am not in control—and that’s a good thing. He’s teaching me that hope doesn’t depend on my ability to navigate my circumstances or on how well I can figure things out and solve problems.

Think positive. Hope for the best. It’ll all work out.

I read tweets and Instagram posts with those kinds of phrases, and the cynic in me shakes my head. The optimism can be helpful at times, I suppose. At the very least, those words reveal our craving for hope. We long for something different than the brokenness we see around us. But those phrases are like candy. They may perk us up for a moment, but they will never sustain.

Other times we hear verses recited like, “All things work together for good” (Romans 8:28). We know that message is true, and we believe it. But at the moment phrases like, “Woe to me!”[1] or “Out of the depths I cry!”[2] feel more accurate to the stirrings of our souls. We wish we could tie our sad stories up in a bow, find a solution, or tack on a happy ending. But grief, pain, loss, fear, and heartache cling to us like a snare, and for many of us, cries of distress are all we can utter.

We’re in some crazy times, aren’t we? I’ve been addicted to reading the news, fighting anxiety, and struggling to focus. It’s easy to grow more discouraged and weary, and I think we have to actively battle that by finding things that nourish our souls.

Here are a few ideas and resources I’ve collected this week. I hope they’re helpful, and I pray we can all remember that God is still good even in the chaos.

2019 Holiday Gift Guide! Here's what to give the cook, the person you want to encourage, the creative, and the mama this Christmas!

Many nights, I lay my head on the pillow and the quietness of the evening makes my thoughts all the louder. I scroll through questions in my mind from mundane to meaningful. Did we close the garage door? Did I just hear the kids call out? Was my friend offended by what I said? Shouldn’t I be doing more about all the problems in the world? Why does God allow such suffering? What if my daughter’s fever gets worse? Do my kids have to bring a snack to preschool tomorrow? It’s like the questions are ping-pong balls flying through my brain. Even if I answer each one, another comes flying back at me.