Amy Medina | Amy Medina

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On November 9, 2022

At first I didn’t want to give in to the hype around Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund because I figured I already knew God loved me and I didn’t need more reminders. But this book won me ever and brought me to tears with its exploration of the depth of the riches of the love of Christ. It was good for my soul.

I highly recommend Write Better: A Lifelong Editor on Craft, Art, and Spirituality by Andrew LePeau for anyone who loves to write for God’s glory. It’s both practical and inspiring. Your Future Self Will Thank You by Drew Dyck was a helpful discussion of self-control according to both the Bible and brain science. The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer should be read by every busy American. The Culture Code: The Secrets of Highly Successful Groups by Daniel Coyle should be read by every person in a leadership position. I wish I had read it before becoming a principal, but still found a ton of fascinating insights about improving any relationship, including in marriage and family life.

Speaking of fascinating, The Brain That Changes Itself by Norman Doidge takes the cake. In a world where we believe things like intelligence, sexuality, and personality are fixed (Enneagram, anyone?), this book proves otherwise. It’s a secular book but sounds awfully like sanctification.

My Love/Hate Relationship With Living on Support

By Amy Medina

On November 7, 2022

In A Life Overseas, Thoughts on Missions

This piece was originally published at A Life Overseas.

Lois was only a few weeks away from death when I visited her in a nursing home. Lois was a widow, and she supported our ministry in Tanzania at $200 a month as a widow. By the time I could visit her, she had developed cancer. I told her how grateful we were that she supported our family so generously for so many years.

“It’s my pleasure,” she told me, her eyes bright with the energy her body lacked. “You know, I discussed this with my kids. They agreed that they didn’t need a big inheritance. They are okay with me giving away my money to missionaries.” I sat there dumbfounded, tears in my eyes.

In Tanzania, we attended a church where we were often the only non-Africans present. One Sunday, the preacher spoke passionately about God’s call to cross-cultural missions. Afterward, an African woman I had never met approached me. She smiled and said, “Thank you for serving as missionaries!” She handed me an envelope containing about $75 – a considerable amount for many Tanzanians. My eyes gaped. My mouth gaped. I’m sure I looked like a codfish. All I could think was, She probably needs this more than I do. Yet I knew it would insult her to refuse, so I sputtered out my thanks and hugged her.

Our mission organization keeps a database of every donation we’ve received since we first moved overseas in 2001. Sometimes I look at the cumulative totals our donors have given us, some going back 20 years. They could have gone on a nice vacation with that money, I think to myself. Maybe an Alaskan cruise. That family could have remodeled their kitchen or bought a car with these donations. And in one case, They could have bought another house with that money. Not kidding. A whole house.

Astray

By Amy Medina

On October 20, 2022

In Adoption, Parenting

Last night my stomach tightened as I pulled Johnny’s red jacket out of the dryer. This is the jacket I described to the police officer. Will I ever be able to look at it the same way again?

*

This past Sunday morning at 8, I holler at the kids to get moving. Johnny isn’t in bed, but that is normal. As the youngest, he usually is out of bed before anyone else on weekends. Routine bedlam ensues, with teenagers jostling for the bathroom and grumbling over who ate the last piece of banana bread. At 8:40, Gil and I bellow for all to get into the car.

Only when everyone is clambering out the door do we realize Johnny isn’t in the house. I huff, questioning why he would go out to play when he knows we are heading to church.

Johnny is my independent, curious one. He’s the child most likely to make himself a spinach and mushroom omelet for breakfast, experimenting with spices. The night before, he was obsessed with conquering a new Rubik’s Cube. He told me recently that he is too old for hugs and kisses now, and I conceded on the kisses but declared that I will hug him for as long as I live, so too bad for him.

His three teenage siblings are often too busy for him, and Johnny doesn’t like playing by himself. His screen time had been confiscated for this weekend, so that’s likely what drove him outside. He loves roaming the neighborhood on his bike or hoverboard, but today both of those things are still in our garage. Plus, he knows there are three rules: Don’t leave the house without telling a parent. Don’t leave the neighborhood. Don’t go inside anyone’s house.

People Pleasing is a Shapeshifter

By Amy Medina

On September 23, 2022

In Fear, What I'm Learning

Several years ago, it dawned on me that I was no longer obsessed with other people’s approval.

I had grown strong enough in my identity as an image-bearer of God that I no longer craved constant affirmation. Of course, it was still nice when I got it, but I didn’t need it to validate my worth. I had attained the unattainable: I was no longer a People Pleaser. It felt freeing. I must be a pretty mature Christian. To God be the glory and all that good stuff.

I did have a nagging problem though. From time to time, I found myself consumed with worries about how I might have offended or hurt someone. My brain has the knack of remembering exact conversations, some of which went back ten or twenty years.

All Night, Wrestling

By Amy Medina

On September 2, 2022

In Fear

Some nights I am Jacob, wrestling with God.

On the edge of fear and despair, at the end of himself, alone, desperate, he realizes the shadowy figure he is wrestling with is God Himself. I feel Jacob’s desperation: I won’t let you go unless you bless me!

Such a strange story, yet I peer into it and see my reflection. I lay awake for hours, blood raging, pounding on the chest of the One who has the power to act, but isn’t. Why aren’t you doing something? Why aren’t you changing this? How many prayers do I have to pray before something happens?

Enough is enough. A God with power wouldn’t allow this injustice to continue. A God who cares would take this burden off my friend. A God who sees would heal that wound in my child.

The unanswered prayers linger large in the room, their weight keeping me awake. I threaten God: Answer! If you don’t come through on this one, it will weaken my faith. And it will be your fault.

Somebody on Twitter wrote something like, “Am I depressed or just having an appropriate response to all the horrible things happening in the world?” If I knew the person who tweeted that, I would give her a fist bump. If I was the sort of person who gave fist bumps.

I watch those tossing their faith over their shoulder and think about how easy that seems. What if I chose not to believe anymore? To give up on prayers, to take the darkness at face value? I gingerly pick up the idea, hold it at arm’s length, examine it from all angles. What is the point of this wrestling? Wouldn’t it be easier just to give in, walk away?

Author: Amy Medina Page 11 of 229

Read These Books

My Love/Hate Relationship With Living on Support

Astray

People Pleasing is a Shapeshifter

All Night, Wrestling