Home - JennieGScott.com
paged,page-template,page-template-blog-compound,page-template-blog-compound-php,page,page-id-265,paged-6,page-paged-6,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,qode-title-hidden,qode_grid_1300,qode-content-sidebar-responsive,qode-child-theme-ver-1.0.0,qode-theme-ver-9.5,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.6,vc_responsive
I agree to have my personal information transfered to MailChimp ( more information )
Join the hundreds of people who receive encouragement for their everyday lives. You'll also get a FREE gift just for signing up!
We hate spam. Your email address will not be sold or shared with anyone else.

  Satan taunts me through images. I've learned this about him over the years. Very distinct, very clear, very haunting images. He worms his way into my thought life by first showing me images of what he wants me to think about. He did so this morning. And because he is so cunning, he always does this when I'm vulnerable. This morning I was feeling sad about a situation that is part of my norm, a natural part of our rhythm. I don't like it but can't change it, so I pray each time it comes up for the strength to endure it. I was sad, but sad isn't sinful. Sad is, though, for me, a portal to destructive thoughts. A pathway to sin. Any time my emotions are front and center, my enemy tries to use them to distract me and destroy me. So this morning, in my sadness, he played connect the dots. He took my initial sadness that was not sinful and connected it to images he knew would hurt me. He showed me pictures of realities connected to this morning's sadness, connecting one feeling I had to multiple pictures he wanted me to see. He literally showed me images to...


  I know. I know that what looks easy in your life takes great planning and coordination and a whole lot of work plus a little bit of luck.  I know that your body may be still right now, but your mind is on overdrive. You’re thinking about your to-do list and your grocery list and that thing you wish you hadn’t said and that person from middle school who still has no idea how much they hurt you. I know your brain never stops. I know you need a break but can’t seem to find the time, and I know you perform a million little tasks that aren’t noticed unless they’re not done. I know, from one woman to another, the invisible weight you always carry. I might not know all of your specifics, but I think I know how you feel. I know you wonder sometimes if any of it matters at all, if the details of your days add up together to equal anything that’s making a difference. I know you wonder if anybody really sees you -- the real you, behind the put-together facade you show the world. I know you’re afraid that you’re messing it all up, and I know you regret what you...


  The words that stopped me cold weren't shouted or even spoken angrily. They were gentle, coming through the speakers of my laptop. One sentence, spoken sweetly, as part of a longer podcast episode. One sentence that gave me chills: "Never believe anything bad about God." Emily P. Freeman spoke these words in her episode "Remember the Real Art," and my heart stopped for a split second. "Never believe anything bad about God." I was pierced to my core because I have done just what she said not to do. I've believed bad things about my good God. I've believed He was indifferent to my broken heart, seeing my tears as evidence of my weakness and hearing my questions as proof of my unworthiness. I've believed He favors other people over me, giving them opportunities and advantages He doesn't think I deserve. I've believed He regrets the way He made me, looking at me and thinking, "What a disaster." I've believed He has ignored my cries for help. I've believed He loves His other children more than me. I've believed He couldn't love someone like me. I've believed the worst in my mind. But I've confessed His goodness with my mouth. My private thoughts and public confessions have disagreed. And while I may feel...


  "Did you see where kids were Snapchatting during the shooting?" my sister asked. "They showed the bodies on the ground." No, I didn't. Thank goodness. But I am not surprised. In a world where anyone with a phone is a news source and where everyone with social media can become a pseudo-celebrity, it is no shock that what was once sacred is snapped instead. The norm these days is sharing it all. We don't think twice about sharing pictures of our anniversary gifts on Facebook, and we share our worship services in 30 second Instagram story snippets. Our emotions spill out on our social media, and what ought to remain private is posted for public consumption. I am guilty, too -- don't think I'm condemning anyone. Just today, I wanted to screenshot what I read in my Bible and post it for my followers to see. I felt the need to show what God was teaching me personally to people who are called my followers. (Let's just analyze that sentence for a second, friends.) My instinct was to take private revelations and make them public. What does sacred really mean, and is anything sacred anymore? It's a question I keep asking. What in my life is worthy...