Since getting married, a lot of things have shifted within me. It’s like the tide has ushered in a new assortment of shells, sparkly, iridescent glass left behind on the shore. It’s a fresh collection. It’s new. It’s brilliant and beautiful.

I think a combination of things led to this wistful, peaceful observation, inventory, and awe. 

I think it’s God’s grace. I think it’s the joy of marriage and stepping into my role as wife so eagerly in a handcrafted and handwritten marriage just for me and Mitch. I think it’s that we’re no longer planning a wedding or moving or settling in. We’ve established healthy rhythms and pillars of our home—physically, spiritually, and emotionally. And there’s one more thing that’s anchored me—an unexpected delight—that I have the feeling will mark me forever.

We’ve joined the prayer team at our church. It’s a sweet, genuine, gutsy, familiar-feeling congregation of 125 people on any given Sunday. The pastors had been advertising their need for volunteers on just about every team (see, advertising starts at church/with the Gospel!), and the prayer team jumped out at us. We emailed to share our interest, and the rest is history. 

A few days later, the hundred-year-old stairs creaked as we tiptoed up to the church office. A few faithful faces greeted us, and we could immediately tell they had been praying diligently for this church body and for us to join this team. Prayer seemed to coat the surface of every sentence lingering in the air, like a layer of pixie dust covering every square inch of the building. 

We were welcomed like family, cut from the same cloth as the royal family of God. We knew we shared the DNA of the King, and from that first Sunday, we joined the steady flow of intimate, bold, fiery, honest prayer for the church and every person in it. I have so much to share about what I’ve learned and how God has moved in my heart through this team, but today, I want to focus on one profound moment. 

Christi, one of the ladies committed to serving our church, prayed something I’m still peeling back the layers of, not unlike an onion that keeps unraveling, and unraveling, and unraveling. Her words were so rich, the meaning and implications so deep that I’m still considering how they impact me. 

On that bright Sunday morning, when it was her turn to pray, Christi pleaded and interceded for many people and situations. And then followed up with this:

“Lord, as I’ve spent time in your Word this week, in the Psalms, I’ve been reminded time and time again of your righteous right hand. How it’s right there, waiting for us, reaching for us. All we have to do is reach out and grab it, yet so often we don’t. Father, help us change that; help us grab for your hand over and over and over again.”

Whoof. 

Those words hit me right in the gut. They are powerful and true. God’s strong, perfect, consistent hand is right next to me, extended in my direction, and yet so often I blow Him off. Not intentionally, but in the subtle ways. In the many times I inadvertently think my way is better. When I think I’ve got things under control. When I think I know best, and most horribly when I think I don’t need to talk to Him at all. 

Instead, all I have to do in a moment of uncertainty, fear, doubt, insecurity, confusion—in any moment in any state—is reach out to my good and faithful Father, who is already at my side before I even utter a word. I don’t have to do anything fancy or complicated; I just get to lift my face to meet His gaze. Because, after all, if His hand is right there, so is His radiant, glorious face. 

God, may we be people who turn to you in every pang of anxiety, every sign of danger, hurt, sadness, anger, shock, and pain, knowing that not only can you take it all, but you want to take it all. You want to carry it with us, for us. You want to walk beside us in conversation, in relationship, in processing and sorting out the daily details, emotions, and options we face. You wanted that close-knit relationship so fiercely that you sent your only Son to die on the Cross for us. To cover our sins and restore right relationship with you. 

May we be people who truly believe that “The Lord is at hand” (Philippians 4:5). And may we reach out to grab it before we reach for anything or anyone else. We love you, Father. Thank you for your constant, steady, outstretched hand.