By Kristen Entwistle

It’s easy for many of us to become worn down by the things of this life – the things that are hard, unfair, difficult, and exhausting (physically and mentally).

Right now I am just worn down.  Listen to this and tell me it doesn’t ring some bells in your life, now or in the past.

My life is broken, and I need to know that good can come of it.  I’ve seen it time and time again, but sometimes I lose hope that this is all worth it.  That it is worth it to let people into the deepest parts of my life and let them see that I am not perfect, that I struggle just like anyone else.

I know I need to lift my eyes up But I’m too weak Life just won’t let up

I can’t do any of this in my own strength – I have to rely on God to get through not only each day, but each hour.

So, heaven come and flood my eyes 

Let me see that there is a light in the dark world, that in some small way, my light can join with others to shine brightly, no matter how dim my light feels right now.  Give me a glimpse here on this earth that something better is coming.  Help me to trust You, no matter what life throws my way.  For I know that you are my Rock eternal, and that you are working in my life for your glory, even if it’s hard to see right now.  Even though I’m worn right now, I trust You to give me strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other, day after day.
Take heart, my friends, for He is the everlasting God, the one in whom we trust, who will sustain us even in the most difficult of times.

You will keep in perfect peace
those whose minds are steadfast,
because they trust in you.
Trust in the Lord forever,
for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.

Isaiah 26:3-4

By Kristen Entwistle

One Sunday, we were looking in Sunday School at a passage in 2 Corinthians.  

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many.

2 Corinthians 1:3-11

The way that we talked about this passage that Sunday centered around God delivering us from situations that were uncomfortable so that we would be comfortable and able to comfort others, that God makes everything turn out “good”, comfortable, and perfect.  I’d like to challenge that premise.

Let me throw a scenario out there to you.  A friend has been recently diagnosed with cancer.  What do you think is going to comfort him or her more?  A) A friend who has never had medical problems of any sort telling them that God will heal them because He has promised to comfort us so that we can comfort others.  B) A friend who has a child with cancer who says that everything happens for a reason and we just have to trust that God knows what He’s doing.  C) A friend who has cancer, undergoing treatment, who says that God has promised to comfort us in everything; that doesn’t mean he’s going to take away the cancer and heal you, but that He will hold you up through all of it, such that someday, you’ll look back and see why.

I’ll let you decide who you’d rather hear from, but I’m going to throw my two cents in there.  I’d rather hear option C.  It’s real.  It’s honest.  And it’s comforting to know that someone else is going through this too.  I don’t think that the comfort Paul is talking about here equals complete healing (emotionally, physically, or otherwise).  Yes, I believe that God can heal every affliction, soften every heart, and cure every cancer.  But He doesn’t.  Because sometimes the comfort that others need, comes from a life just as broken, just as frayed at the edges, and hurting in the same way that they are.  I don’t think Paul is saying that everything is going to turn out good and that we will have to be physically or emotionally comfortable in order to be able to comfort others (pretty sure that thorn in his side prevented that for him).  I think the most helpful comfort comes from sincerity, love, and mutual brokenness.  You don’t have to have cancer to comfort someone with cancer.  But you do have to be human.  You have to be willing to listen and feel and love and help in any way you can.  That’s comforting.

And here’s the other thing that’s definitely true in my life:  God uses ALL things for His glory.  Not just the good things.  He uses the broken, the hurting, the sinning, the sick, the less fortunate – all for HIS glory.  He’s used my sickness in more ways that I can count, and in more magnitude than I ever could have imagined.  And my testimony would not be the same if He had chosen to heal me.  It would still be a testimony to His glory, but I think that the comfort I have received from Christ and His instruments here on earth have enabled me to be able to comfort others in many more situations and places than otherwise.

By Kristen Entwistle

As a kid, I wanted what every kid wants – to be normal.  I didn’t tell anyone about my disease.  I didn’t want anyone to see me differently, to pity me.  I didn’t want to answer all of the questions about the twenty to thirty pills I took every day or the treatments I did at home or why I saw the doctor so much more often than my healthy friends or why I was in the nurse’s office every day.  I wanted to be able to go over to a friend’s house without dragging medical equipment with me.  I wanted to be able to run around with my friends without coughing so much it sounded like I was hacking up a lung.  And so, for me, it was easier to just not talk about it.

Because it did make me different.  I had to grow up really fast.  I had to learn to take care of myself and my health.  I had to reconcile with a life expectancy nearly half of that of my friends and family.  I learned the science and the medicine, to be my own advocate in my health.  I learned to begin trusting God at the ripe young age of 5.  My friends thought I was the mature one, that I had it all figured out, that I got it.  But I was afraid of things just like they were, I had insecurities just like they did.  But I didn’t want their pity, I didn’t want to be different.  I didn’t talk about my CF.  I hid it under the rug as much as I could.  Because I’d seen the bad reactions to my disease: the people who turned and ran away from me because they didn’t want to understand, or couldn’t.  The people who I thought cared about me but really couldn’t see past the sickness.  The people who saw me differently, who made fun of me because of my disease.  The people who told me I couldn’t amount to anything because I was going to die young.  The ones who told me they couldn’t be my friend because I was just going to die and leave them here.  The ones who told me they could never love me because I was unlovable.

And so my comfort zone was not telling people.  My safety net was not letting anyone potentially be able to hurt me.  My very comfortable little wooden boat, with some holes, but it floated.  But then God called me out of it.

Remember the passage in Matthew 14 where Jesus is walking on the water and Peter steps out on the water to walk to him?

The Gospels do not record any hesitation on Peter’s part.  There was no, “Really, Jesus?  I don’t think I want to get out of the boat any more” or “Um, I think I’ve changed my mind.  I know who you are now.” or “How about just a toe, and I’ll hang on to the boat?”

Just like Peter, I was called out of my boat.  But I didn’t just step out of it.  It took God many, many times to get me to step out in faith, in boldness, and trust that He could use my story for good.

Because I didn’t think that I had a story.  I didn’t think that I had a testimony.  Because what could God have possibly done through a life so broken, so sick, with someone who had something wrong with them?  I heard other people’s testimonies in church – the drug addict who had been called out of addiction to become a pastor.  The woman who was led out of prostitution to become a missionary to those still in prostitution.  The ones who God had done amazing things through, the testimonies that made you want to lift up your hands in praise.

I didn’t have a testimony like that.  I was just a person with an early expiration date that couldn’t do anything for the Kingdom.  I thought that my struggles, my insecurities were my own and that no one else struggled with them too.  I thought that God could never use a person so broken as me.

But He does.  He uses broken pots of clay for His glory.  

My CF and the struggles it has brought have always been a part of my story.  But now it is so much more because I’ve seen God work through it.  I’ve seen him bring a mother to tears, accepting that the healing for her son she wanted was not coming, but that life was possible even when the healing doesn’t come.  I’ve seen him change the hearts of my co-workers, letting them see patients as people, not just diseases.  I’ve seen him encourage women who have been rejected, as I have, by a man, told I was not good enough to ever be loved because I was going to die young.  That no one could ever love me.  But that His love is so much greater.  I’ve seen Him use my words in so many ways that I could never have imagined, use me in many more ways that I ever expected.    

I can tell you this with certainty today: God is calling you out of your boat, out of your comfort zone.  I don’t know what your comfort zone is.  And I don’t know where God is calling you – to ministry, to reconciliation with a friend or with family, to sharing your story, to boldly going where you never thought you would.  But I do know that He is calling you out of your boat.  “Take courage!” He says.  “Don’t be afraid!”  Because God wouldn’t be calling you out of your boat unless He was going to be with you every step of the way.  Remember when Peter stepped out of the boat?  He kept His eyes on Jesus.  And when the wind and the waves frightened him and he thought he was going to drown, who was there to take his hand?  Jesus.

So, when you step out of your boat, whether it’s with all the gusto of a new adventure and no looking back or kicking and screaming all the way, look to the One who calms our fears, who is the author and perfecter of our faith, who commands even the wind and the waves, the One who died so that we might live.  Keep your eyes on Jesus, and boldly walk out in faith where He has called you.  And He will be there.  Right beside you, all the time.

When you step out of your boat, you’re stepping out into the great unknown, where feet may fail, where fear surrounds you.

So this is my prayer today, as I pray it is yours as well:

Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever you would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my savior

So I will call upon your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours

And you are mine

By Kristen Entwistle

I came across this post from the Boston Marathon Bombings two years ago, and thought I might share it again today.

It may be time for bed, but I can’t turn my mind off.  As I watch the explosion that rocked the finish line of the Boston Marathon over and over on the television screen, I am reminded of the hurt that is in this world, the evil that is allowed to endure.  But as I browse my Facebook news feed, I am also reminded of hope.

The bombs that went off today, no matter who set it up, no matter who carried it out, no matter why it happened, it is wrong.  Wrong to take innocent lives, wrong to change forever others, wrong on a day which is so triumphant for so many people.  The horrific events of today are lined right now by confusion, chaos, unanswered questions, sadness, and so much more.

But throughout my newsfeed, there is post after post about praying for Boston, from those who are Christians and those who are not.  There are links upon links to stories about the bombs, pictures of people carrying the wounded, treating the wounded, helping those who could not help themselves.  And there are links to massive posts on a Craigslist-like site, offering free housing to those visiting Boston tonight – couches, beds, food for those who have nothing today.  This is the hope I speak of – in the wake of the unspeakable tragedy today, the race dedicated to the victims of the Newtown shootings – there are people who are opening their homes, their wallets, their hearts to those in need.  There are the skilled hands of the doctors and surgeons who have been working tirelessly to help those who are hurt.  There are the psychologists who are talking with people, counseling them through this time.  There are runners who continued running from the finish line to Mass General to give blood.  There are the firefighters, policemen, and race volunteers who have been working to keep people safe.  There are thousands, dare I say millions, of people who are praying.

Psalm 46

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
³ though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.^[c]

By Kristen Entwistle

When my Bible study co-leader, April, and I sat down one week near the end of March last year, we thought it might be a good idea to send out short devotionals to our group every week during the summer when we were not meeting together regularly.  We threw around some ideas of devotionals that we could use, but it wasn’t until I suggested that I write the devotionals that we really started to have an idea take place.

A few weeks before we started sending out the devotionals, I began writing and every week I sent out the devotional on a different fruit of the Spirit to our group.  After the study had concluded for the summer, some of the members of my Bible study group encouraged me to publish the series of devotionals.  After many months of prayer, I finally took the plunge and began editing the devotionals into a somewhat cohesive study.  And that, dear reader, is how this book ended up in your hands.

I am a sinner, saved by grace, just as you are.  I am a child of God, just as you are.  And I, just like you, am striving to walk this life by the Spirit.  What a blessing that we are able to do that side by side and encourage each other in it.

I pray that this study would encourage and challenge you, as it did me.  I pray that you will continue to allow God to cultivate His character in you, growing the fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control in your life.

Now available in print and Kindle editions at Amazon