In its best moments, I believe something rather sacred lives in these spaces. After all, Father God created out of nothing. He worked and built and fashioned humanity out of dust. Work isn’t our curse or burden to bear. I believe it’s a gift. Creating, making, contributing, building something wonderful is a gift.

But in its worst moments, all this working and striving and hustling can be broken and damaging. It’s exhausting and can leave you ragged and breathless in the cruelest of ways. We have a way of twisting what was made for our good. Work—I believe—is one of those things we bend and shift in so many ways.

We aren't Machines

And I am one of the worst offenders. Recently in a meeting with our wedding officiant, our pastor asked my fiancé and me how things were coming along for the wedding.

“Are you getting stuff done? How’s it coming together?”

These are the questions we’re getting asked almost weekly because in approximately one month, we’ll stand in front of family and friends and the Father and commit to forever. But in this meeting, Luke spoke up before I could.

“Kate is a machine,” he said with wide eyes filled with both awe and a little concern. At the same time, I saw our pastor nod his head. Having worked with me full-time in the church office, he knows enough about me to know the truth.

I had to tell my pride to take a back seat. We weren’t always made to be machines. The Father didn’t design us to work and produce and spit out lives of meaning through our doing and creating. More and more, I believe He invites us to create alongside Him, relying on Him, depending on Him—all for the joy of reflecting His image through our work.

You and I have limits and margins and capacities, and while I’m a firm believer that the Father can and does increase our capacity in every season, I have to remind myself that I’ve experienced this in the healthiest ways when I’ve relied on Him, depended on Him.

Invited to the Breakfast on the Beach

There’s this beautiful story in John 21 that moves me to tears and to my knees. After Jesus had risen from the dead and appeared to the disciples, they seemed to be in a wandering state. Their life went from the chaos and joy and excitement of following Jesus to a quiet, question-filled existence. I bet that had to feel jarring to say the least.

One night as they stood on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Peter said, “I’m going fishing.”

I love Peter. I get Him. He gives me hope. In a moment of questions and maybe feeling antsy and wondering what was next, Peter decided to do something, to work. So he and his friends fished all night but caught nothing. Nothing. All that work—casting and recasting the nets—for nothing.

As the sun began to rise, they saw a man and a small fire on the shore. They didn’t know who He was, but He told them to throw in their nets once again. When they did, they caught over 150 fish. And their hearts suddenly remembered. This had happened before with Jesus.

Peter immediately jumped out of the boat and swam to shore. I imagine He laughed and wept and clung to Jesus. And out of the corner of his eyes, I bet he saw it then—fish roasting on the fire.

Jesus made breakfast for them on the beach with the very thing they couldn’t catch all night. No amount of working or striving or hustling made a single fish swim into their nets. But with one word, Jesus filled their nets to their breaking point. And on the shore, in the place of rest with Him, Jesus already had what their bodies so longed for—food, fish roasting on the fire.

The Invitation Still Stands

Whew. Maybe I’m the only one who needs this reminder today, but I doubt it. In our hustle culture, it’s easy to twist working and striving. I am all for working hard and building something beautiful out of nothing. After all, this is what the Father did, and we were made in His image.

But these days, I need the reminder of this story—that no matter how many times they threw their nets into the sea, the disciples didn’t catch anything. No amount of work brought what they so desperately wanted until they listened to Jesus and let Him do what they could not.

Friends, the same is true for us. Yes, go fishing and cast your net again and again. Show up and do the work, the things God has called you to do. But don’t give into hustle culture. Resist the temptation to rely on yourself. We serve a God who longs to make us breakfast on the beach and serve us there.

Today, maybe He longs for you to experience more rest even in your working. The disciples still cast their net one more time. They still rowed hard to keep their boats from sinking, but it was all because of Jesus’ work.

May we do the same.

And may we look up and see the beauty of a God who has already made us breakfast and longs to serve us.

The post You’re Invited to Breakfast on the Beach with jesus appeared first on Kate Berkey.

It’s why I need to remember that I don’t make the trees grow. I don’t make the sun rise or cause the seasons to change. On my own, I don’t say much of significance—the kind of eternal echoes that last past my final breath.

This striver, this prover, this stamp on my skin that I wear like a badge of honor pushes the Father away, makes me the hero of the story. Oh how I wish this was a new conversation, new prayers of repentance, but it’s not. It’s as old as I am—26 years of letting go of the idol called proving. 

About a year ago, I sat with the Father in my Mae Sot home. On that day He whispered to my heart, “Ask me what your name is.” 

The beauty and sacredness of this deeply personal invitation still takes my breath away. On that day, I asked, hoping against all the doubts in my mind that He would answer. Isn’t it funny that even when we’ve been invited into a conversation with the Father, our heart still wonders if we’ll encounter Him? 

“What’s my name?”

Beloved.

The word came almost immediately, as if the Father had been waiting every day of my life for me to finally hear this name. I believe this wasn’t the first time this name had left His lips. It was just the first time I’d heard it—the first time it had broken through the noise, the working, the proving, the doubts.

Beloved.

It’s the name the Father sung over the Son before His ministry had really begun. It was a name based not on performance but on family. He was the Beloved because he was the Son. And I am the Beloved because I am the daughter—a name, a calling, an identity based not on my track record, my tireless work, my endless striving, but on family.

And, friend, He calls you Beloved too.

This truth catches me off guard every time. It captivates me and reminds me, once again, of the truth. Time and again, the Father tells me to rest in this name, in His love and delight. Day after day He tells me to start here—rested in the name He’s given me. This name, this family, this identity is enough because He is enough. 

Friends, our culture values numbers and efficiency. Success is defined by how many people we influence, how much money we make, how many likes and shares and retweets we boast. We reach greater status by the number of notches on our belt—the people we know, our instagram-worthy house, name brand anything. So we work and we strive and we prove that we are good enough. We are capable. We have arrived. 

But if you’re like me, sooner or later you begin to understand that you control nothing. You are here today and gone tomorrow. You are trending right now but will be old news in an instant. People value and praise you until next comes along—and it always comes quicker than we expect. 

Today, I am humbled by my own humanness, but more than that, I am humbled by my Father’s delight in me. I’m humbled by the name He’s given me—Beloved. This place of family, this belonging in relationship moves me to gratitude. I hold my empty hands and beg my good Father to fill them up. I am reminded that until I can rest—find “enough” in the name the Father gives me—I will never find the exit ramp for this thing called proving and neither will you. 

So friend—brother and sister, father and mother, aunt and uncle in Christ—put down your striving. Put down your need to prove—whatever that looks like for you. Throw down these idols, and call on the Father. I believe that He’s not far—that my experience with Him in the middle of Thailand is not unique to our relationship. 

He waits beside you, begging you to ask, “What’s the name You call me?”

Believe—in spite of all doubt—that He wants to answer you, and remember that this name isn’t new. It’s been sung over you from the beginning of time. It’s time for us to rest in the name the Father gives us. 

The post One of the Most Important Questions We Can Ask the Father appeared first on Kate Berkey.

And now it is time for a season of no.

In the last couple of weeks as the final commitments of this past year have finished, I have found the state of my soul bruised and blistered and worn, showing the wounds of a battle well fought. It’s been alarming but not in the immediate action sort of way, because if my soul is battered, my mind is in a fog. And I’ve found myself pushing back the cobwebs of a life that was frantically lived day to day.

Just make it to tomorrow. Just make it to tomorrow. Just make it to tomorrow. And some days the mantra was just make it to tonight, the afternoon, the next hour.

It’s been a whirlwind of crazy without a Sabbath, a disaster I was keenly aware of at the time yet felt trapped to do anything about. And as I rushed and hustled and hurried, I became reacquainted with a glaring, ugly idol that took over my heart and my mind and my soul. It was at the very center of my schedule—busy.

We love that word. Americans love to worship this word, this lifestyle. Christians especially tend to equate busyness with godliness, especially if they are busy with Christian things.

But then somewhere in the midst of the crazy, if we are brave enough to look at the state of our souls, we may just find a self that is battered and worn and hanging on by a thread. We may find exhaustion and numbness. At least that’s what I found. I found a heart that was investing in everything and nothing all at once. I found a soul that longed to rest. I found a mind that couldn’t focus on what was right in front of it. I found exhaustion in the worst kinds of ways.

And that still small voice, the one that calls me back to the core of who I am and what I believe whispered, “It’s time to say no.” The Father so graciously wrapped me in his arms and told me to rest. He told me that his burden was light, that I could find rest in him, and I wept with relief and with gratitude and with joy. And then I practiced saying that simple word—no.

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself eating breakfast with a high school student I mentor. It was an early-morning start to a day that would stretch well into the evening, but it was the only time that worked in our schedules. We sat at our tall table, sipping coffee and munching on pastries, and then she asked me if I was going as a leader to my church’s summer camp.

In that moment, my heart sank to my toes, but that still, small voice gave me grace.

It’s time to say no.

It’s not a no simply to say no. It’s a well-thought-out no. It’s the kind of no that makes way for a greater yes. It’s a no to rushing and a yes to connecting. It’s a no to proving and a yes to being. It’s a no to investing in all things and a yes to investing in a few. It’s a no to constantly giving my best self to strangers and a yes to giving the whole of who I am to the ones I love dearly.

And so as this student asked this question, I knew my answer would disappoint her. I knew that I would be saying no to a very good thing. In that moment, I wondered if I could get away with telling a half-truth, finding an excuse that might seem more “legitimate.” And in that moment, the ugly idol of busy began to knock at the door of my heart.

And so I breathed deeply and said no. I told her that I was trying to say no more often, that the pace of my life and the busyness I had allowed to take over had left me feeling hallow and shallow and awful. I explained to her that I was going to say no to whatever I could this summer so that I could say yes to other things that were just as important to me. I shared with her that those closest to me—my family and my dearest friends—had gotten the leftovers of Kate for months on end. I told her that I was drawing a line in the sand and because of that, I wasn’t going to camp.

It’s unheard of—saying no—especially in the Christian world. We rush and hustle and prove ourselves by what we are “investing” in. But sooner or later, we find ourselves scrapping the bottom of our soul, our spirit, our joy. “No” becomes harder and harder to say as we bury deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast.

There are seasons of yes, most certainly, and there are seasons of no. And I’m learning to be less afraid of both because they walk hand in hand. There is simply a tension between the two to be managed during each season of life, and this truth is freeing and frightening. Sometimes it leaves me feeling insecure and sometimes empowered. I am sometimes anxious that I’m missing out by saying no, and other times, when I finally have the chance to rest and be, I find myself grateful and healthy and whole.

And I’m learning that this is a daily choice. It’s a mindset decision. So each morning, I try to leave behind the mindset of rushing and proving and hustling. Each morning, I try as hard as I can to rest and trust and seek out the very best thing.

And I try so very hard to say that simple word—no.

The post On Saying No appeared first on Kate Berkey.