Devotional – Katie Evans

On the One Hand: A Back to School Reflection

I am a walking contradiction. Depending upon which minute of the day you talk to me, you might hear a different version of this story.

On one hand, I feel relief. Joy. Release. Freedom. I am not the one in charge of two kid’s education. I don’t have to be the one to manage everything all the time. I am not juggling reading lessons with math lessons with diaper changes with meal prep, cleaning the sinks, and getting the laundry into the dyer before it starts to smell. I am not the one convincing someone to write three sentences instead of one or to read a book they didn’t pick. There’s quiet when the toddler naps. I can take a breath.

On the other hand, I am not the one in charge of two kid’s education. I don’t get to create an atmosphere of learning and joy around the table every day. I am not choosing curriculum, ordering books or supplies, nor am I witnessing with delight the incremental progress as they grow in their understanding of this world we live in. I am not planning field trips that ignite our imaginations or stretch our ideas of how God might use us in this life.

We won’t have Friday adventure days (though we can have them on the weekends!) and won’t start our days around the table with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Instead, you will gain other adults who want to see you grow, spend three days a week in the garden, and get to go to music class twice a week and art class. You’ll learn skills I don’t know to teach you, practice being independent in a safe space, and have opportunities to make friends you will see every day.

I take my toddler on a walk. Even at 10 a.m., it’s so hot we are dripping in no time. We prep dinner, eat too many snacks in too short a time, pull out a puzzle that never gets done, keep her out of the big kid’s room, reassure her that they will come home soon, give her a middle-of-the-day bath, and put her down for a nap. It’s quiet now. And I love it, and I hate it.

But I mostly love it. And then I wonder if I should love it a little bit less.

God, I heard you those many months ago when you asked me to open my hands and trust you with my big kids. It was your voice that put all of this into motion. I’m reminded that obedience doesn’t always make sense but produces a harvest of righteousness. I can’t quite see what you are doing in my life right now. I’m still home with a toddler, but it does feel as though a new season might be just around the corner. Breathe your Holy Spirit into our days.

May we delight in learning more about ourselves, you, and the world you created, whether we are gathered around our kitchen table or at a school desk.

______ is not the Promised Land.

I put a lot of faith in the promised land. The Promised Land, in my mind’s eye, is where everything will fall into place. Once I get married, once I have kids, once I get that job, once we find the house, once we move to a certain city, once we get where we are supposed to be going, or achieve a type of lifestyle. It’s almost as though, my heart believes that the Promised Land is very close, just around the corner. But it seems elusive. This land, flowing with milk and honey remains just out of reach. I tell myself, that if I can just figure out the next right step, if I can just get the last puzzle piece in place, then I will have arrived.

But, what if the thing, whatever your fill-in-the-blank is, isn’t actually the Promised Land?

What if God stands in amazement at the way in which I get stuck in circular thinking and the spinning of wheels?

What if the journey is just as important as the destination?

What if God can meet me in the wandering in an even more real way than I ever imagined?

What if part of it is about being faithful in the before. Faithful in the wandering and the wondering?

What if the thing I am looking for doesn’t bring the salvation that I expect?

What if the very thing I am looking for, I have already found in the person of Jesus Christ?

The Bible starts in a garden and ends in a garden. And in between God’s people are promised a land in which God will be present to them and they will be present to God and they will flourish and bless all the other nations. The Bible Project describes the Promised Land as, “a picture of covenant faithfulness as God’s people try (and often fail) to live out their divine calling”. The thing is, God is always faithful to hold up his end of the bargain. It’s his people, it’s us, that forget and wander off and whether willfully or not, end up hopelessly unfaithful. It’s in Jesus, that we find the One who can keep the covenant for humanity and it’s Jesus who through his death and resurrection ushers us into the kingdom of God – the already and not yet kingdom.

And so, I preach to myself, that _________ is not the Promised Land. I already have access to the Promised Land, to the thing that will most lead to flourishing and to the kingdom of God in the here and now. I already get to participate in the unfolding of what God is doing in the restoring and redeeming of all things – right where I am. No next step needed.

_________ is not the Promised Land, but Jesus is with me.
He is Emmanuel, God with me. And his Holy Spirit, the Promised One is with me and for me.

Is there something you find yourself placing your hope in today? Something that feels very much like the Promised Land? As though perhaps you can just figure it out and get that last puzzle piece to fall into place, you might have made it? Maybe if you squint hard enough you can just see it in the distance?

Can you join me in simply saying, ________ is not the Promised Land; But I know the One who promises he will never leave me, will never forsake me. I put my trust and hope in Him. I re-center myself today on his promises and goodness. I ask Him who is faithful to help me to be faithful in the waiting.

The Rush is Inside of Me.

There’s a saying, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

It means that you can’t outrun yourself or your problems or the places where you find yourself struggling. You can change your location, your environment, your job, or the people you surround yourself with, but the common denominator between all those things, you, will still be there.

Wherever you go, there you are.

It’s both a beautiful and a terrifying idea.

I felt a lot of pressure to do everything well in my pre-Sydney life. I served as a part-time pastor, a full-time mom to two kids, and a first-time homeschooler. Sometimes I felt so rushed, as though there wasn’t enough time for everything to get done. And the reason I felt like that was often that it was true. There literally weren’t enough hours to do all the things I wanted to do well.

I must not be the only one who experiences this, because there is an actual name for it: Hurry Sickness. (Thanks to John Mark Comer for highlighting this in, The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry.)

Psychologists define hurry sickness as a behavioral pattern characterized by continual rushing and anxiousness, or an uncomfortable feeling in which someone feels chronically short of time, and so tends to perform every task faster and to get flustered when encountering any kind of delay.

I’ve experienced this for most of my life, I just didn’t know it had a name. I find myself believing that everyone else has much more time and that I am the only one who feels so stretched.

In high school, I wondered what it might be like to be some of my friends with more margin in their lives, jealous of what I perceived to be their lack of time anxiety. I imagined them watching Dawson’s Creek, painting their nails, and relaxing. Who knows why they were painting their nails in this scenario?! That must have been the ultimate dream for me.

Even today, when I see someone out for a midday walk or run without children, I think, “Must be nice to have that kind of time!” That knee-jerk thought reveals a deep longing inside of me.

Hurry Sickness is such a part of me that I believed that quitting my job and moving to another part of the world might be the cure to end all cures. And it was kind of. I no longer move from Zoom meeting to Zoom meeting, from congregant coffee to staff member coffee. I no longer spend hours wrestling with a sermon before coming home to prepare dinner, do bedtime, throw in laundry, and plan our lessons for the next day.

However, I’ve only been in Sydney for four months, all of them under strict lockdown restrictions, and I can feel it creeping in again.

Wherever you go, there you are.

The rush is inside me. The anxiety doesn’t come from the outside pressure or the environment I’m in. The anxiety and pressure and hurry must come from within.

As we walk to our weekly play date with the one friend we have in Australia, I worry we will be late. As we came home from the playdate, I’m afraid we will miss the window for naptime. During naptime, I rush to the grocery store, anxious that I’ll take longer than the kids will rest. Then, while they were less than enthused to play by themselves, I made homemade dough for our pizza night, with a gnawing sense in the pit of my stomach that I wouldn’t finish everything that needed to be done before our Sabbath evening started. As I was kneading dough, between helping the kids with their shower and vacuuming the living room, a single thought hit me.

The rush is inside me.

I am the keeper and the carrier of this pressure I feel. I am the author and the instigator of this anxiety. In lockdown, on the other side of the world, with no one to answer to other than myself and my family, with no deadlines other than those that are self-imposed, the hurry starts with me.

I think about the words of Jesus, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

And I want that life. I want to recover my life. I want to discover real, restorative rest for my soul. I want to stay close enough to Jesus that I can say that I am walking and working with him. I want to learn the unforced rhythms of grace and learn to live freely and lightly. I want to pass this way of life on to my children.

And so, I sit in silence with Jesus today and say, slowly, with no rush, “Lord, teach me what I need to know. Teach me those things that have felt elusive in the past. Do for me what I cannot do for myself. Holy Spirit, heal the parts of me that I can’t heal on my own. I am ready for a heavenly exchange. I will offer you my anxiety, my self-imposed standards and ideals, my worry, and my hurry in exchange for your unforced rhythms of rest and your freedom.”

Do you long for that too?

Do you want to trade your hurry and your rush and your anxiety for the unforced rhythms of grace? Tell Jesus today. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and ask Him to show you the way, His way, that leads to life.

The altar.

“Will you place your calling on the altar?”

I was pumping gas and heard the words in a split second. The image of Abraham binding Issac and placing his only son on the altar before God immediately followed. These words surprised me and were nothing that I could have made up. How in the world could He ask me to lay it on the altar? To release my grip? Since that moment, I have seen that image and heard those words gently coming back to me in moments of quiet – while driving, drifting off to sleep, washing my daughter’s hair, this persistent small, still, voice that says, “But, will you place your calling on the altar”?

I push it aside because this can’t be the actual voice of God. This can’t be what God is saying to me. I have been waiting to discover the “next thing” that God has for me. The next thing to use my giftings on, that elusive thing that will pay enough for me to get a babysitter and get out of the house. The thing that will give me a role and a place and a seat at the table…any table, besides my kitchen table.

And yet, when I hear the voice again this week, I don’t ignore it. I turn to the story of Abraham and Issac and the moment when God asks him to sacrifice his beloved son. I’ve always felt uncomfortable with this story. Why would God test Abraham in this way? And in a way that feels traumatic for his longed-for and cherished son? What would make Abraham trust God in such a way that he would go through with it?

I have more questions than answers, but I notice that perhaps Abraham didn’t really expect to give up his son. He tells Issac that God himself will supply the sacrifice. In addition, he tells his servants that he and his son will see them in a couple of days. And yet, Issac still carries the wood on his back. Abraham binds him as the sacrifice and lays him on the altar. He raises his knife. He prepares to obey God. Even if it means giving up the very thing that God gave him just a few short years ago.

Does the fact that he doesn’t actually think he will end up going through with the sacrifice make it any less about his obedience? Or make it any less of a story of God’s faithfulness? I’m not sure yet. God, Himself, does indeed provide a sacrifice. And in fact, the story prophetically foreshadows another story about another beloved, only son. This son carries the cross on his back and although he asks for the cup to be taken away, he does not turn away. He remains obedient, even to the point of death. Yet, we find out in three days time, that even death does not have the final word. What appears to be the way of death and the way of defeat is in fact the most glorious victory in history. And isn’t it just like God, just like the way of the upside-down kingdom where in the values and the economy of God, death is actually turned to life?

Even though it feels like death to set my calling on the altar of God, what if it’s actually the very path to life? All I can do, like Abraham, is trust God with the life He has given me. Each step forward is a step into the way of obedience and the way that leads to life.

What is it that you are holding tightly to today?

Are there areas of your life that you are holding onto for dear life? That you are white-knuckling? What might need to die, so that God can bring new life into your life?

May we trust in the God of Abraham.

May we trust that He knows what He’s doing.

That He has our best interests at heart.

May we open our hands in surrender and rest in His faithfulness.

An Anchor to our Soul.

I feel most like myself here.

The thought came to me from seemingly out of nowhere. The words raced through my mind, but I am unsure of what they actually meant.

I’ve had that thought before over the years, but I’ve never examined it fully. This time I slow down, I hold it up to the light, looking at the different facets, the pieces of my heart and soul that feel missing when I am not here.

What does it mean to feel most like myself?
If I am not wholly me in other places, who am I?

I’ve always believed that wherever you go, there you are. I thought you would take all of you when you leave a place. I never knew that a part of you might get stuck or decide not to come or be tied so tightly to a community that you don’t bring all of yourself to the new place.

If I had known, could I have prepared?
If I had known, could I have figured it out?
Could I have somehow packed more of me?

And if I left pieces of me behind, what part have I been living with for these last months? The portion of me that feels deeply known, valued, seen, and respected are the parts that have been left behind.

The remainder feels untethered, floating, waiting to be seen and to be known and to have a history and most of all to feel at home. I’ve been here, in this new place physically, but perhaps not completely.

What does it take to make a life whole? What does it take to make a soul whole? How can I mostly feel like myself no matter where I go?

The words come to me suddenly as though they have been waiting for me to ask the question,

“We have this hope as an anchor to the soul”.
Hebrews 6:19

And what is an anchor, but something that grounds an object? Something that is used to moor a vessel to the sea bottom.

And so, when I feel unmoored, I can anchor myself to the One hope that is unchanging, never-ending, never giving up, and always available.

Even if I don’t feel like myself, Jesus is always Himself. And He always gives of Himself no matter where we are physically or emotionally. He is the anchor of our soul.

Although our lives and our addresses and our circumstances may change, He will never change. He provides the stability we desperately need. We can anchor ourselves to Him. We can attach our souls to Him, the only one who knows us better than we know ourselves. He created us after all.

Today, may we choose to lift our eyes from our circumstances. May we choose to trust Jesus as the hope and anchor of our lives. And may we experience the grounding and mooring that only He can provide.

The Whole Earth is Full of His Glory

The content expresses the author’s experiences of witnessing God’s work around the world, from Nepal to Kolkata, and the decision to move to Sydney. They reflect on moments where they felt God’s clear guidance and the beauty of experiencing God’s glory in different places. The author cherishes the opportunity to show their children the vastness of God’s world.

Isaiah 6:3
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

Psalm 24:1-2
The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it;
for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers.

There have been hundreds of moments that have led us to where we are today. So many little moments and experiences and opportunities that lead us to step confidently through the door that God was opening. And it didn’t feel forced, but it also felt as though God had so clearly swung wide the door that to not go would have felt disobedient.

That time during worship at a conference where the Lord whispered to me, “The entire earth is mine. It’s more than what you’ve seen with your eyes. I am going to show you more of my earth”.

The time I backpacked into the foothills of the Himalayas and gave out radios so the Nosu people could hear stories about Jesus come across the radio waves. In the days before our trip, God gave me a picture of people from every nation bowing down and worshiping God – including the faces of the Nosu people. And I clearly heard, “If you don’t go, who will”?

When my parents decided to take their 7 and 13-year-olds to the U.K. for the first time. Even as a 13-year-old, I remember stepping out of the train station in Bath, staring in wonder at how small everything seemed compared to the United States, and feeling as though I might be seeing the world as it truly was for the first time.

I remember volunteering at one of Mother Teresa’s homes for the sick and dying in Kolkata, singing the same worship song over the ladies there that nearly 10 years later I would sing over my own children at bedtime. I saw true poverty in Kolkata for the first time and heard the Lord whisper, “Even this is mine”.

That time God gave me a prophetic word for our guide in Germany. I nervously prayed with her and was suddenly filled with a tangible sense of God’s joy and pleasure as a woman I didn’t really know, heard that she was known and loved and had not been forgotten by God. I marveled that God was at work halfway across the world and I got to be a part of it.

From across the United States to Jamaica to Mexico, from Nicaragua to Uganda, to China, from Great Britain and Ireland to Germany, Australia, Switzerland, from Spain to India and Costa Rica, I have learned that God is at work all over the earth. As the Psalmist says, “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it”. We don’t go to bring God to these places, but we do get the joy of bearing witness to what God is doing in these corners of the world.

It might sound different, it might smell different, it might even feel different. But the beauty of our Father is that he is Lord over all, always at work, redeeming, creating, and breathing life into unexpected places. And we get to witness it.

And so, when the opportunity came for us to move to Sydney, Australia for a season, it felt as though for many years, God had been laying the foundation for the decision to be “yes!”.

It felt like God was breathing life into our family’s value of travel and adventure and that we were about to be able to show our kids that God’s world is bigger than we can see as never before. And when we saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time at the famous Bondi Beach, the kids danced with joyful abandon and Psalmist’s words came to mind, “The whole earth is full of your glory, Lord”.