health & wellness the whole & simple gospel

Shame doesn’t belong to me.

In addition to fear of failure, I’ve also carried a lot of shame around for weird, twisty unknown reasons. I’m one of those annoyingly-quick-to-apologize types, even when something isn’t my fault. I must have asked Jesus to come into my heart forty or so times before I hit puberty. I even dealt with some obsessive-compulsive behaviors in middle school, showering multiple times a day and washing my hands until they bled. My parents almost didn’t know what to do with me. They’d done everything right and kept me safe. Why did I fret like this?

I naturally mellowed out as I grew up, but the painful awareness of sin and the feelings of shame still lingered. It didn’t matter that Jesus had died for me on the cross, apparently, because I lived life like a slave to my emotional baggage. I became obsessed with what people thought of me, in real life and online. I’d chase people down if I thought I’d been misunderstood or given someone a wrong impression. I’d rehash situations and scenarios in my head and in conversation with my people.

But after babies, when all hell broke loose and I hit rock bottom, I learned a little something about shame. I learned that as a follower of Jesus, shame actually doesn’t have to apply to me anymore. My best friend Jessi sent me a text during a particularly rough spell that really got my wheels turning. You can’t be found out. There is nothing that Jesus doesn’t already know about me, nothing that he didn’t already take with him to the cross. There are no skeletons, no dirty laundry. There is nothing that the world can find out about me that changes the fact that I am in Christ. To get to me, they have to come to Jesus. And that’s actually quite exhilarating.

Most people agree on the difference between shame and guilt, and that it’s the shame addresses identity where guilt addresses behavior. So if shame deals with who I am, then who I am is a daughter of the Most High and absolutely nothing can change that. I am free to experience guilt when I do something wrong. Guilt serves a purpose, to remind me of God’s kindness that leads to repentance. But shame? Shame doesn’t belong to me anymore. Because I belong to Jesus.

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health & wellness the whole & simple gospel

Freedom in failure.

Some days I blame it on my daddy issues, and some days I blame it on being a firstborn, and every day I blame it on my nature. It is in my nature to work hard and be successful. Not the best, but successful. I will finish, and I will finish strong. It is in my nature to please people and make them proud of me. I will not make them regret choosing me for ____. None of those desires are wrong, but somewhere along the way growing up, I placed them a little too high on my priority list. Like, higher than people and their feelings and my emotional and spiritual well being.

I’ve spent the last couple of decades living in fear of failure, and the last couple of years doing something about it. First things first, I acknowledged it on a counselor’s couch. He’s the one who slid that sheet across the desk and showed me the power I had allowed that fear in my life. Next, I began speaking about it to my husband. I brought it up all of the time, in all of the little examples that flew by without him noticing. This is why I don’t want to work out with you or sing with you. This is why I overreact when dinner is late, or when a homework assignment gets missed. This is why I’m so easily embarrassed when you and the boys pick on me. Being scared of being a bad wife, a bad mom, a bad friend, a bad leader… it paralyzed me. And then it made me bitter.

But over the last year or so, I’ve begun to heal and accept things for what they are. Regardless of the path my life takes, there will be failures along the way. It sounds silly to say that I had to practice acknowledging that, but it’s true. I’ve spent a lot of my life so far compensating, which is quite hilarious when you think about the work that Jesus did for me. Nothing I could ever do would be great enough to earn my way into a “right standing” with Him and the Father. Jesus took care of that on the cross. He paid for my salvation and then he gave it to me freely. So I’m not sure why I’ve tended to lean that way, feeling like I can overcome the negatives with a whole lot of positives. I will let my husband and kids down. I will screw up at work and in friendships. And every single time I do, I get to plead the blood of Jesus. I get to confess, repent, and move on. With this perspective, there is total freedom.

From now on, I want to really learn what it means to walk by the Spirit. I know that where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And I know from experience that where freedom is found, there is hope and there is joy. I am free to live a life without fear because I know the truth and the hope and the joy that lies on the other side of failure, thanks to Jesus.

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community

Coaching Calls

I don’t have fifty years’ worth of wisdom yet, but I’m honored and willing to pour out what the Lord’s given me thus far. After receiving a lot of the same questions over the years via the internet and face-to-face interactions, I’ve decided to start offering coaching calls!

During this sixty minute session, we’ll go over a little bit of your story and your current season of life. We’ll work together to put some of your questions through the filter of the gospel and develop some action steps for you to work towards over the next few months. I usually work with women about topics like family, identity, and goal setting but I’m happy to hear you out on any questions that you might have and go from there!

Sessions are $200 and include homework prep, my undivided attention for an hour via Zoom, and a follow-up email reviewing our meeting and action steps. To get started, email me! rachaelkincaid@gmail.com

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health & wellness

Rosemary for remembrance.

During my first week as a hospice nurse, I spent a few days up at one of our organization’s hospice houses. A hospice house is typically a small unit, sometimes in a free-standing building, that provides an environment for people to get their symptoms managed so they can return home OR an environment for people to pass away. It’s all up to patients and families, but you can imagine how difficult a job that could be for staff. Patients either arrive in crisis or in an actively dying state. The amenities are positively amazing, and the entire place is set up like a birth center. I always tell people being a hospice nurse is like being a midwife, just on the opposite end of the life spectrum. There’s a kitchen for families, and a suite attached to each room for loved ones to stay overnight. There are stone fireplaces and chapels and gardens for walking and clearing the head and catching a breath. My favorite part of the hospice house, though, is the postmortem experience.

Stay with me, folks. The staff at this hospice house understand how difficult it is for families and even themselves, dealing with death day in and day out. So they’ve developed a beautiful ritual, a processional, for each patient’s passing. After a patient dies, the nurse walks outside and cuts a handful of rosemary, the herb of remembrance, from the gardens. The rosemary is tied up with ribbon and placed on the patient after they have received a bath. The staff follows the rosemary with a handmade blanket from a volunteer. And then the unit’s lights are dimmed, music playing and candles lit, while the entire staff follows the body outside to meet the funeral home vehicle. Every available employee lines up, from the nurses to the janitor to the cook, and they do their own thing. Some pray out loud, some sing, some sway back and forth, some just bow their heads in silence.

This is what we mean when we talk about death with dignity. Lord, don’t ever let me forget that.

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motherhood

It’s not natural, and that’s okay.

When I realized I was going to marry my husband, I quickly warmed up to the idea of being a stepmom. I’ve always been great with kids and just assumed I’d be a mother at some point. Like a lot of girls, I’d always pictured my family looking somewhat like the one in which I’d grown up – two kids, maybe one of each, a few years apart. Stepmotherhood could easily blow that picture to bits, but I was good with it. I figured we’d have one more and be done. It might not always be easy, but it would be natural.

Ames was born just before our first wedding anniversary, and I was surprised to find that he was hard… for me at least. My husband and stepsons and family and friends all seemed to love him easily and naturally, but I felt empty most days when I looked at him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there – a dark, nagging voice in the back of my head that told me I wasn’t cut out for this. Just nine months after he came along, right when I felt like I might survive this newborn thing, we found out we were expecting again. And then came the anatomy scan at twenty weeks, when we learned we were expecting twins.

I remember lying flat on my back in that ultrasound room, looking at all of the boys in my life fist-pumping and yelling with excitement. I remember staring hard, squinting at them even, trying to figure out what they had that I didn’t. I remember looking back at the screen and asking God why. Why would He bless me this way, when I wasn’t even feeling accomplished at my current motherhood situation. Why, when there were women all around me longing for children? That dark, nagging voice came back again. I was terrible at this, and more was only going to make it all worse.

It wasn’t until my twins were over a year old and we found ourselves pregnant with Hadassah Lee that I heard God’s voice beat the dark, nagging one to that sweet spot where my heart meets my brain. I stared at that pregnancy test and laughed in the bathroom stall at a megachurch in Atlanta. This time, my Father’s voice showed up first. Either that or this time, I chose to hear it first. I’ve called you to this, and I won’t leave you alone in it.

And suddenly, things got easier. Not in a task-related way, but in an emotional way. Everything felt lighter. I found it easier to love my stepsons and toddlers and messy, chaotic life. My pregnancy was one of the worst to date and somehow I just sailed right through it. I had a beautifully redemptive birth and and a gracious newborn season with my tiny queen. Everything just started to make more sense when I accepted this new idea. Motherhood doesn’t have to be natural. To this day, it doesn’t feel that way for me. Walking with Jesus just makes it easier. His yoke is easy, his burden light.

I wasn’t created to be a master of motherhood. I was created to learn motherhood from the Master.

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community

The little blue car that barely ran.

My best friend in college drove a little blue car that barely ran. To this day, I’m still convinced there was a hole in the floorboard that we kept covered with a mat. But she had a car, and I didn’t, and she was my best friend. So her car was family. It was small and rusty and faithful. It took us everywhere, most often to hardcore shows. One weekend, we wanted to get to a show a few hours away but the little blue car needed an oil change. We did what all broke college students do and did it ourselves, with the little blue car up on the curb of our apartment building.

The little blue car that barely ran took us to visit boys we hoped might save us from ourselves, and it helped us escape when we learned we were terribly wrong. That car taught me how to take quick and efficient naps when others are driving around town, a skill for which I’m grateful now. The little blue car that barely ran taught me how to harmonize. I will never forget what it feels like to sing at the top of my lungs, windows down, heat blasting on a cold winter night. That’s when you know you’re living, when you look over at your best friend and she’s singing right along with you and the world could end right then and you’d never even notice. The little blue car that barely ran taught me about community, friendship, and generosity, and about all of the yummy late-night eateries in town.

My last memory of riding in the little blue car that barely ran is perhaps my fondest. I’d recently signed up for a six month missions trip and was planning to take a semester off of school. I had moved out of our apartment and back into my parent’s house to get ready. My best friend was leaving me behind in school, and I was leaving her behind to travel the world. I’d met a man I knew I wanted to marry, too. My best friend and I, we knew things were changing and they’d never be the same again. So one last trip we took, in the little blue car that barely ran. It was June, and it was hot. The windows were down and it was loud on the highway, so we didn’t speak. It was too loud and windy for music, even. Both of us leaned forward slightly, trying to keep the sweat from seeping through our clothes. Nearly two hours passed, and not a word was spoken. As I turned my head to pull window-whipped hair out of my mouth, I caught her eye. We cried together, in that little blue car that barely ran. She was the sister I never had, and our lives were about to change forever.

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life lately the whole & simple gospel

God doesn’t want you to be happy.

Okay, that was a bit of a clickbait title. But…

1. I don’t make money off of this blog.

2. I think it might actually be true.

For real, this idea has been running through my mind for over a week now.

What I heard: A whole lot of people, myself included, have somehow convinced ourselves that God wants us to be happy. This idea allows us to bend rules or take shortcuts or make poor decisions that we think might result in our own happiness. After all, if God wants us to be happy, shouldn’t He be okay with us doing what it takes to get there?

Where I landed: I cannot find anything in the Bible that says God wants us to be happy. I cannot find any wise counsel that says God wants us to be happy. I think Andy was right on in that message. I think we might have made it up.

It might be true! Maybe He does want us to be happy. And I think it’s certainly true God doesn’t want us to live unhappy lives. But in the end, I think we might have missed the mark a bit. I don’t think God necessarily cares about our happiness like we want Him to or like we think He does.

If I have learned anything over the last few years, it’s that God is out for one thing and one thing alone – His glory. I think it’s hard for us to swallow and digest that fully, because we associate glory with things like pride and selfishness. I think it’s also hard because we’ve never seen a perfect love lived out in an earthly person. But it doesn’t make the characteristics of the Father any less true.

God pursues us with a wild, relentless, miraculous, gracious love because it brings Him glory. He wants our hearts all to Himself because it brings Him glory. He wants us whole and healthy and wise because it brings Him glory. He wants us to love well and generously because it brings Him glory.

And y’all? When God gets His glory, His people reap the benefits. We stay healthy and whole, in our bodies and in our relationships with people. We make wise decisions, in our families and friendships and workplaces. We remain humble and honest, in our conversations and in our lifestyles. As a result, we live content and happy lives. We get happy when God gets His glory. And maybe, just maybe, that was His goal all along. Because He knows better.

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