How To Feel Secure When You're Upset

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How To Feel Secure When You're Upset

As we look at what it means to be secure in Christ, we need to remember it’s not just physically, but emotionally. When the circumstances in our lives are filled with pressure and we feel trapped by pain, loss, despair, or anxiety, there’s a place we can go for sweet relief.

“He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because He delighted in me.” -Psalm 18:19

Pressure

I’m feeling the weight of it all today. This diagnosis has robbed my husband, Bob, of the ability to speak clearly; his mobility is taxed and his energy drained. Bob’s anxiety shoots through the roof as he wakes up each day with different limitations. Chronic Progressive Multiple Sclerosis is a thief robbing him of his ability to work, provide, and engage in everyday life.

He retreats to his bed often, spent from emotional and physical exhaustion. Normally, he would push through exhaustion. He’s hard-headed, driven to accomplish tasks, and values hard work, however, his body defies his request to produce.

I’m left carrying the load with our three small children. The days feel long. I want to return to our old lives. This medical nightmare leaves me feeling alone and misunderstood. My days are filled with cooking, cleaning, parenting, and trying to navigate this ever-changing disease with my husband. There are new pressures and stress as we look forward to a disease with no cure. We face doctors who make educated guesses on how to treat the unending symptoms of memory loss, muscle spasms, tremors, and continuous nerve damage.

Each day I sneak away to a spacious place where God rescues me from worry, doubt, and fear. It’s not my reality, but by faith, I can confirm it’s existence. It’s a quiet place where Papa and I meet. I pour out my anguish, lost dreams, and endless trials. I unload my fears for the future, as the weight begins to lift. I rehearse the promises from scripture, and I hold on to hope, even when my reality is hopeless. I meditate on God’s goodness and character.

Being with Him, in this roomy space, helps me focus less on my troubles. Isn’t that the point of this walk with God, more of Him and less of me?

See, I imagine me and Papa in this perfect, expansive spot. This boundless area is void of sorrow and trouble. In my mind, it’s a meadow, full of flowers; the sun shines bright as God whispers His love. Other days I imagine a majestic mountain top, where God has brought me to sit with Him.

He stays with me and holds me. He tells me I’m seen. He speaks of His delight in me, which I can hardly believe because I’m just trying to hold it all together. He says, “Please don’t feel you must hold it all together, that’s my job. Your job is surrender.” I sigh and once again, release control, understanding, and will.

He assures me of His love and compassion in the messy middle of hardship. When I cry, “God, I can’t do this,” He lovingly asks me the same question. “Do you trust Me?” As warm tears roll down my cheeks, I whisper, “I do.”

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A Series on Forgiveness: There Is No Condemnation

/ Pamela Henkelman Coaching/
A Series on Forgiveness: There Is No Condemnation

I hear the voice of the Accuser ringing in my ears, condemning me for my behavior, but God has something else to say. He says I’m forgiven. In Christ, there is no condemnation. Once we realize this, it’s easier to walk in our true identity as forgiven daughters of God. Thank you for joining us as we continue our discussion about forgiveness.

“So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Jesus.” Romans 8:1

The Accuser

I sit in the pew and long for a powerful encounter with God while rehearsing the disastrous morning I’ve had with the kids. I gather our five kids by myself as my hubby, the pastor, arrives at church hours ago. The two boys fight while the little one struggles to get dressed. The dirty dishes line the counter while endless demands weigh on me. I’m impatient, frustrated, and need some rest. I keep my cool for a while, but when the pressure mounts, I blow it. I’m bossy when I should be kind. I’m harsh when gentleness is more effective.

If only I could control my tongue. Why can’t I be calm and patient? Why did God give me this strong personality? Why is the drive to church the longest and most frustrating of the week? I’m disgusted with my lack of self-control again.

We each exit the van hoping something miraculous will transpire in the next hours. As I slump in my pew, I feel the weight of the morning. I take two minutes to focus on God and try to enter into the music part of worship, but all I hear in my head is the Accuser.

“You call yourself a Christian?

“What is wrong with you?”

“If people only knew how awful you are!”

“Do you even love God?”

“Shouldn’t you know better by now?”

I recognize the tone, and I shrink under it as piles of condemnation and shame are heaped on my head. I entertain the thoughts for a moment, but I know better. I know not to listen to this voice.

Instead, I listen for the voice of God in conviction. Conviction helps me realize I need to make changes, to move towards more godly behavior. The Holy Spirit is loving and compassionate in tone. I’m moved by God’s love to make necessary changes.

I bow my head and quietly whisper, “I’m sorry, God, please forgive me. Thank you for the blessing of being a mom. Thank you for forgiving me when I fall short. Thank you for loving me in spite of my sin. Please help me choose gentleness and compassion as I parent.”

Peace washes over me, and I rest in Papa’s love for me; I am not condemned.

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A Series About Forgiveness: I Forgive You

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A Series About Forgiveness: I Forgive You

This is a series on the power of forgiveness. Go to last week’s post to read my family’s story. As we begin to walk in our true identity in Christ, we understand we are forgiven. Since we are forgiven, Christ also requires us to extend forgiveness to others.

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” Ephesians 4:32

A canopy of gold and red hangs above our heads as we meet at the park on this glorious October day. I sense God’s presence as I walk into a holy moment, one that changes the trajectory of my life. The sun shines brightly against the cornflower blue sky reminding me of the goodness of God. He is our light in the darkness, and I experience this truth profoundly in the weeks following the tragedy. This is the first time I will see Al’s face since the shooting.

Just two months earlier, I’m filled with rage towards my step-dad, Al. It’s been a slow boil for years as the devastation of alcohol abuse has wrung me out. The thought of him makes my stomach churn. The endless bottles of alcohol, his slurred speech, the ensuing arguments. The sad, emptiness in his eyes, as he’s in denial about his drinking. I find his behavior weak, repulsive, and I feel justified in my anger. I’m only nineteen but both my father and step-dad succumb to alcoholism, and I’m simply fed up. I should have compassion for his brokenness, but I only feel disgusted. I mean, come on, he shot my mom. Surely that warrants hatred? I am confident in my stance.

Until God interrupts my hatred!

The only explanation I have for my parent’s reconciliation is surrender and divine intervention. My step-dad surrenders in jail, while my mom has her own “come to Jesus” moment at home recovering from surgery. A local pastor’s wife reaches out to my mom, and they build a friendship. My mom is equally exhausted from a life of co-dependence being married to two alcoholics. Her first marriage ends because of my dad’s drinking. Her father is also a recovered alcoholic, which likely contributes to the familiarity of it all. She does not want this marriage to end in divorce.

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A Series About Forgiveness: You Are Forgiven

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A Series About Forgiveness: You Are Forgiven

This is a story of audacious grace and forgiveness. This is God’s story for my family.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” 1John 1:9

Intended for Evil

They argue as the air hangs thick in the house on this steamy August day. Al, my stepdad, retreats to the bedroom; my mom broods in the living room. The bed is a familiar escape for a drunkard. Drink and then you sleep, never able to actually escape what ails you inside.

Arguing is the norm for their relationship and ordinary for most homes where alcohol is king. Darkness descends and swirls all around Al. As he falls into blackness, he releases the clip on the gun. She hears a click from the living room and instead of running away, she walks towards the sound.

As she enters the bedroom, he rolls over in a drunken haze and points the gun at her and shoots. Shock, fear, and adrenaline course through her body. She thinks, “I must escape! Run!” She races into the kitchen, out the patio door, down the deck stairs, and to a neighbor's house. She’s alert, yet in shock. The bullet has gone through her chest. How is she alive?

She calls a friend who runs and grabs me at my job as a waitress. I’m 19 years old, and when an adult runs into your work and says, “You have to come with me right now. Something terrible has happened!” you go immediately. I see the fear in his eyes. My heart stops and I hold my breath as I run out of the restaurant. What am I about to face?

We race across town to find my mom on a gurney being lifted into an ambulance. She’s talking and alert. Terror is all over her face, but she’s alive. I’m simultaneously scared to death and filled with rage for my step-dad. How can this be happening? How is this my life?

My friend drives me to the ER, and we wait. I just want my mom to be safe. I pray to a God I barely know, to beg him to watch over her. I wait in the ER for what feels like hours hoping someone will update me. Everything moves in slow motion. I’m terrified, confused, ashamed, and overwhelmed. What are we going to do? Surgeons perform surgery and are amazed the bullet has only grazed her heart. She is millimeters away from death.

But for God.

My step-dad is brought to jail. The next day he wakes up and realizes something terrible has happened, but he has no memory of it. He asks the jailer why he’s there and crumbles into a heap when the jailer says, “You shot your wife.”

While in jail, Al meets with a man from a local church. They build a relationship and gain trust with each other. After much soul searching and counsel, nearly two weeks after the shooting, Al falls to his knees in repentance; he calls out to Jesus to rescue him and deliver him, and Jesus does. Al never drinks a drop of alcohol or smokes for the rest of his days. He said to Jesus, “If you will save my wife, I’ll serve you the rest of my life.” He is changed in an instant. Now the hard work of reconciliation and restoration would take many months, but it happens, all because of the goodness of God. What happens to my family is miraculous.

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In Christ, You are A Part

/ Pamela Henkelman Blogger /Life Coach/
In Christ, You are A Part

“All of you together are Christ’s body, and each of you is a part of it.” -1 Corinthians 12:27

I Want to Belong

I survey the room looking for a warm face. Even though I’m outgoing and friendly, I hate that feeling when I enter a room and know no one. Or worse yet, I know them, but not well. If I know they’re a close-knit bunch I wonder if they’ll make room for one more. I feel self-conscious, too tall, too loud. It makes me want to shrink. I’m the girl on the outside waiting to be invited in.

I take a brave step forward and say “hi.” Win them with a big smile, I think. One person acknowledges me, but the rest carry on with their conversation. I feel awkward. Maybe I picked the wrong circle? Maybe it doesn’t have to do with me at all. My inclination is to talk fast and try to get someone involved in the conversation, so I don’t feel so stupid. I’ll offer a warm smile and hope for the best, but sometimes people don’t respond. Then I feel stupid and wish I hadn’t tried. Sometimes I wonder, what’s the point? Being a part is a risky business.

So the trick is to anticipate which group will invite me in. Which circle will include me? You know how women are. We’re not always the best at that, especially when we know each other well. We’re close, so we share our inside jokes and common interests. We can unknowingly give off the vibe of “you’re not one of us, and we don’t desire to expand our reach.” Perhaps that’s the voice of my inner critic keeping me from connection? It’s hard to tell some days. Either way, I tread lightly because I felt the sting of rejection.

Girls and women have been playing this game for years. The dance shows up in Girl Scouts, College Sororities, Mom Playgroups, Card Clubs, Coffee Clutches and Bible Studies. We want to be part of something great without fear of rejection.

You Can Be A Part

We have a need to belong and Christ invites us to be a part of His family, He calls His family the Body of Christ where He is the head and we are the parts. Each part is valuable and important. Some parts are open and visible while other parts are hidden, but not one part will be overlooked by Him.

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I Am Enough Because Christ Completes Me

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I Am Enough Because Christ Completes Me

“So you also are complete through your union with Christ, who is the head over every ruler and authority.”-Colossians 2:10

Am I enough? The question looms in my mind at a young age. I relentlessly try to prove I am. I want to be found complete, but I often come up short. It would be years before I understood completeness is not dependent on me but comes from what Christ has done for me.

Not Enough

Junior high gym class is the worst. I’m a thin girl with long limbs who appears athletic, but it’s all an illusion. The middle-aged gym teacher selects the two fastest, most athletic kids as captains. “It figures,” I think, as I roll my eyes in disgust. Is it their popularity or their physical strength that enables them to toy with our psyches? I’m not sure how it works, but it doesn’t matter because when the scales are read, I’ll be on the “not enough” side. I won't be chosen first.

I’ll never be enough.

Not fast enough

Not strong enough

Not popular enough

One by one the captains choose kids for their teams. Of course, all the jocks are selected first and then there’s the rest of us misfits. Should I look at the ground? Should I flash my charming smile in hopes my bubbly personality will win them over, and they will call my name? What's a girl to do?

I know what the pecking order means. Those chosen first are the brightest, most wonderful. Those who are left last are less than, deficient. Nobody wants us. You might as well print REJECT on our foreheads.

I wiggle and squirm in the uncomfortableness of the situation hoping and praying I’m not the last one standing. I have compassion for the few not yet chosen. I've always felt that way about the underdog. I hold my breath, and I want the moment to pass. Relief floods my soul as my name is called, and I’m welcomed to the team. For a moment, the sting of rejection is gone as I saunter to the field ready to play.

The phrase I am enough is heralded as the epitome of confidence in our culture. We desperately try to prove it with more hard work, more hustle, or more perfection, but inside we feel incomplete. We post our perfectly curated Instagram moments, yet when the camera is put aside, we feel hollow, lacking, and insignificant.

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I Am Accepted By God As His Child

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I Am Accepted By God As His Child

“But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God.” -John 1:12

Many of us carry the scars of rejection and at our deepest core, we long to be accepted. We scan the horizon looking for proof of our acceptance only to feel rejected again. Jesus provides the way for acceptance as we become children of God.

I Am Accepted By God

The Christmas Eve program rehearsals are well underway in our tiny church. The church ladies demand respect and hard work. We rehearse the songs and study our lines well. This is no amateur show. These ladies’ reputations are on the line, and they don’t want any kids to make them look like they’re unprepared for this holiest evening.

Christmas Eve brings everyone to church even those who aren’t faithful the rest of the year. Everyone comes in their new Christmas attire and the kids gather in the basement classrooms while parents and guests are seated in the sanctuary.

The kids wait in their tiny rooms with their teachers. There is lots of excited, wiggly energy. A shy child who doesn’t want to perform clings anxiously to her mother. The Momma peels her distraught child off her leg and races upstairs in the hope the child will calm down. A flustered teacher is left to deal with the fallout of tears.

I have a special role this year. I get to play Mary, the mother of Jesus. I’m a little kindergartener, with a pixie haircut, wrapped in a white tunic with a rope belt tied around my tiny waist. The blue satin headpiece is a thing of my dreams. It’s a long rectangle piece of fabric that sits on my head and falls over my shoulders. I have to be careful when I move.

I feel pure, innocent and deeply accepted. Why would God allow me to have such an important role? I’m nobody. I sing my solo with confidence and am overwhelmed at the delight and the sense of Papa’s love for me.

It’s the very first time I sense God’s acceptance of me, and I’m overcome with joy and peace. It would be another fifteen years and a lot of heartaches before I understand I’m a child of God.

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