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.

Need some dinner inspiration? I’ve got 6 easy dinner ideas that only require a few ingredients—many of which you probably already have in your pantry! And there are recipes for every diet, including keto, vegan, or Whole30!

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.

I walked into the restaurant, my pregnant belly arriving minutes before the rest of me. “Multiples group?” I asked the hostess. She led me toward the corner where a few tables were pushed together and about ten moms sat around chatting.

It was my first time meeting most of the women there. I had just joined the group shortly after finding out I had two little ones on the way. A few other twin mamas I knew suggested getting plugged into a moms of multiples group, and, to be honest, I was skeptical. I had a strong community around me, family who lived nearby, and plenty of other mom friends. But I agreed to check it out.

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.

I'm not really sure what to do, how to think, or what to say these days. But if nothing else, this season of chaos has pushed me to my knees. And that's a really good place to be.

I wrote down some things I've been praying for this week, and as long as my list has gotten, I know it's still not comprehensive. But I'm offering what I can in this post today.

Lord, have mercy.

We were homebound with sickness, quarantined from pretty much everyone except our pediatrician. The kids had double ear infections, and I had the flu—or some other demon virus intent on making us all miserable. I was also five months pregnant, but I looked and felt like a full-term mama whale. And aren’t whales pregnant for like a year?

Did I mention it was the twins’ second birthday? The day almost passed us by, if not for the family and friends who wished them a happy birthday from a distance. We traded forkfuls of cake for syringes filled with medicine, and I never got around to getting their gifts. They’re only two, I reminded myself. They won’t remember.

They won’t remember we canceled their party and saved the tiger-striped plates and zebra-print napkins for next year. They probably wouldn’t have noticed the adorable zoo-themed party decor I ordered, anyway. The flour, sugar, and butter sat unused. I hope they won’t remember the unfulfilled promise of cake, because the only meals consumed involved dry crackers and chicken soup.

I remember a couple years ago, I made a batch of soup for a friend who had a baby. She returned my plastic containers to me not long after. Side note: when you bring a meal to someone, if possible bring it in a container that doesn’t need to be returned. The last thing someone who’s sick, stressed, or caring for a newborn needs is to keep track of Tupperware.

I should have taken my own advice, of course, but this particular time that faux pas turned out well for me. My friend returned those containers stocked with her own homemade soup. It was an unnecessary but delightful surprise.

The poet, Christian Wiman, writes, “Lord, suffer me to sing these wounds by which I am made and marred.”

****

Only a few days remain in the year, and I stand singing on a Sunday morning.

This world is a weary place, brokenness marks every face.
Dear ones are lost and bodies languish, divisions drive our souls to anguish.
Injustice mingles with the soil, we eat the bread of anxious toil.
Hear our cries, show us favor, we need hope, we need a Savior.

My voice trembles, and I feel my jaw tighten. The notes ring in my ear, but not as loudly as the words. Weary. Brokenness. Injustice. Anxious. I hear those words scrape at my soul, tearing away at the armor I clothed it in when I stepped into the church.

We need hope. I fumble through that last line and try to blink back the emotion flooding my face. The voices around me carry the lyrics I can’t seem to say. It seems a fitting way to end a hard year—a song of desperation sung with a shaking voice, a few tears, and a community who cries out with me.

More input. Less output.

That’s the phrase I repeated to myself this past month. Maybe it sounds selfish, I suppose, especially coming off a season when I’d taken steps back and said no more than a few times already. 

But somehow, as the decade wound down, so did the strength of my soul. I felt dry and worn and hungry. That’s the only way I can describe it. Putting my words out into the world felt like giving those last few crumbs of bread away. I had nothing to say, nothing of substance to offer. I needed, well, nourishment for my soul—the thing I talk about as the tagline for my own work.

If you love some good fungi, you’ll enjoy this recipe for Balsamic Sautéed Mushrooms. It brings out the rich, deep flavor of mushrooms in the best way. The sweetness of the balsamic complements the earthiness of the mushrooms. The recipe only takes a few minutes to make, so you can even whip it up at the last minute if you feel like whatever protein you're serving needs a little something extra.