February has many significant dates for us as a family. It is a month that holds many Big Emotions, and 2015 did not disappoint. IF: Gathering was in the first week, and we had an beautiful time participating here in Stockholm, February 10 rolled around and I was ready to move on to the new, and then the new thing came to introduce itself to me and it looked a lot like writing and waiting. Big emotions, high intensity, lots of exhaustion, that was February. I’m ready to move forward deeper into 2015 – I think – but before I do that, here’s what I learned in the past 27 days.

1. My sister accidentally left behind A Long Obedience in the Same Direction by Eugene Peterson. Well, her loss is my very (very) great gain. It’s been my Sabbath reading on Sundays for several weeks now, and I can barely make it past the first two chapters. I’ve read and re-read those over and over again, jotting down notes, crying, writing. This book is working in a deep place in my soul. Highly recommend.

The title is taken from a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche, and as far as I’m concerned, a book about following Jesus that is based on a quote from an atheist is going to be a good one. 

“The essential thing ‘in heaven and earth’ is that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

This book is teaching me one layer at a time about the pilgrimage that makes life worth living.

2. We hosted IF: Stockholm on February 7. It was a beautiful day, full of familiar faces and new ones. The event invitation said that it started at 8am, and wouldn’t you know, the foyer was full of women by 8:15, and our first guest was there at 7:50. Only in Sweden (where punctuality is a religion).

3. Your Redeemer lives, and he buys back what you lost, whatever you losta line from Jo Saxton that I will never, ever, as long as I live forget. It was probably the most personal moment for me of IF, and a truth that has taken over the various corners of my heart.

4. Am I enough? Are we going to be safe? What is it going to cost? Three questions Jennie Allen posed for us at the start of IF, and I am still asking myself, Am I living my life out of this story? Or am I living it from the place of God is enough, we will be fine, we have everything we need? 

5. Calling, motherhood and family, these were some of the unspoken themes for me that came through at IF, even though it wasn’t mentioned specifically. I still don’t have answers or some sort of five-point plan, but it is deeply comforting to know that women all around the world wrestle with the same things.

6. She sees me as the man I’m becoming, Bob Goff on his wife, Maria. I loved this. How do I relate to Husband? As the man he was? As the man he is? Or the man he is becoming? The man he is destined to be? Come to think of it, how do I relate to anyone I know – my children, my friends, my family? I think it could transform the people in my life and my relationships if I treated them according to whom they are becoming.

(So that’s a lot from IF: Gathering; it was a huge day in my life, and there is still more to come. Probably a different blog post. And now we move on to other things.)

7. Whole30. I started it on the day after my birthday because I was going to have cake. Obviously. I’m on day 15 now, and it hasn’t been so hard to follow, but I can’t say I’m wowed so far. I was expecting to have lots more energy, but I don’t. I feel very tired – but this could be Swedish sun/no sun related as well – so let’s see how I feel on March 15, which should be the last day. The hardest part has been going without my Asian sauces like soy, oyster and fish. What I’ve learned so far? My grocery bill is a lot higher thanks to consuming more meat. In other words what I’ve learned is that Whole30, paleo etc. is the eating plan of highly entitled people who can afford it. Or maybe I’m eating too much meat and should be consuming more vegetables? More on this at a later date.

8. When Husband entered our lunch destination into our GPS on my birthday, I guessed immediately, IKEA!!!! So yes, I know the address of one of the Stockholm IKEA’s by heart. And if you’re thinking Husband messed up by taking me to IKEA for my birthday, well you don’t know me. IKEA was one of my most favourite places on earth before I ever thought about living in Sweden. IKEA in Sweden? The greatest thing ever. I had a wonderful lunch of meatballs and mashed potatoes with a gravalax salad on the side.

Now it’s your turn: What did you learn in February? How did you change? 


Two weeks ago on February 10, I wrote and published these words at 3pm in Stockholm:

Yes, today is Tuesday February 10 again, but I mark it in a different way. Today is the day I move forward, the day I turn my eyes to the new thing. Can you see how it springs up? There is a way that opens up in the wilderness, the renewing stream gushes in the dessert. My heart is ready, my pen is waiting. It’s time to write a new story. It’s time to sing a new song.

Two hours later we received some unexpected news. It seems like the new story I wrote about here was put in motion immediately. This is vague because I cannot write about the details (or the big picture) at the moment, but there were certainties that are now not certain, and there are many question marks. This post is written in process, I am not at the finish line, I have no bow with which to wrap this up neatly. We don’t even know what we are hoping for, but we are hoping. We are dreaming.

We talked that evening, we prayed, we allowed our hearts to open up.

Maybe you’re reading this as a man or a woman, older or younger, or perhaps you’re a teenager, and you are entering a transition time, you do not know what will happen tomorrow or the day after that. Consider this a dispatch from the field.

Write it down. Wait it out. 

Husband and I have been scribbling in our journals more, going back over our notes from the past weeks and years, looking for clues. How have we been led? What has God been speaking to us? What do we love? In which direction has he been turning our hearts?

And we are writing words down. The promises we hold in our hands. The visions he casts in our hearts. The longings of our souls. Writing down the process gives it life, value and importance. These are the stones we put down, we write down in the middle of life happening, before the beautiful package, when it is still a messy muddle, so we can look back and say: Yes, God is faithful. 

If I read over the archives of this blog, a lot of it would be chaotic and painful, blog posts written in the middle of life with a newborn, in between fights and making up, in between moving and settling down. There are unhappy, truthful words here, but there is a lot of holding-on-to-God here.

Whatever stage of life you are in, write down the promises, write down the visions, write down the dreams, and yes, write down the hurt and the anger and the pain as well. 

And wait it out. 

Waiting is an act of war in a culture that demands everything right now. The world tells us that we can have whatever we want, whenever we want it, that we deserve to have everything immediately, that we are so awesome we are entitled to our desires.


In the middle of the mess when everything inside of you craves a decision and a form of stability, wait it out. I reach across the table to myself and say these words, Devi, wait it out. A decision seems like stability, knowing what comes next, it seems like security, but this is the lie of the world, it is the deception of our culture. The more you see, the more you know. The more you know, the more stable you are. The more you know, the more you can plan. The more you can plan, your future can be secured.

These are lies, and we feed it with our wasted time, money, energy and life.

Security, stability, it comes from knowing who you are and to whom you belong.

I know who I am – I am loved and treasured by the God of the universe who has done everything for me and will continue to do everything for me. I know that nothing in my life is wasted, and that every evil thing that happens to me, God will turn it for good. I know this after the years of exhaustion and sadness and loss and fighting and confusion and anger. I know this because he found me in the wilderness, took my hand and led me out with chords of kindness. One step at a time.

I know to whom I belong. I am a child of God, I belong to him, and he is fierce in his love for me, he is devoted to protecting me and leading me. I belong to my husband and to my children, we are in this together, we are walking together, our lives are knitted together by a divine hand who put us together for a reason. It is not an accident, we are not lucky, this is not chance. Our lives together are part of the perfect plan set in motion before we were ever born. 

I know who I am, I know to whom I belong – these are two truths I can stand on, this is solid rock that cannot be shaken, these are truths on which I build my life because it can never be taken from me.  

I don’t know what our current puzzle is going to look like, you don’t know what your puzzle is going to look like. But hold on, my friend. Write it down. Wait it out.

One day when we see it in full, it will be beautiful, and this beauty is only available to the longing heart who waited, who believed it would be beautiful, who saw with eyes of the heart before it made sense. He is good. He is faithful. It is well with my soul. 

Now it’s your turn: What are you waiting for? What have you been writing down (if you feel comfortable sharing)? Can you look back and see the benefits of waiting? 

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and Meredith Bernard today. 


I see you there with the grey book on the floor, you’re buying tickets to see a movie in a few days, giggling nervously or excited, going with friends or boyfriend or husband.

And I want to tell you, stop. Put the book down. Don’t watch the movie. You were made for more than this. 

Daughter, you were woven together by the hand of God, uniquely crafted, individually made, specially designed. You are glorious, so glorious, can’t you see it? The brushstrokes of grace that perfectly coloured your skin, the handprint of love that shaped your face and your limbs and your hands and your hips.

Sister, your mind so full, so unique, you’re going to change the world with it, can’t you see that? You were made for books full of ideas, for stories that tug at the deepest part of you, the one that longs for redemption, the story that lifts you up and shows you a better way to a life of meaning, purpose and passion. The one where your hands create and build, the one where you repair the breach in the walls of your broken society. Where you stand firm at the gates and declare truth to the evil in the world, to the evil in yourself. Evil cannot stand in the face of truth. Sister, your voice will be heard on behalf of those who need it, but will you speak? Will you tell the truth?

Sister, will you turn your privilege into a voice for the abused and the oppressed? Put down the book. Don’t watch the movie. It’s only a privileged, bored woman who can hold to the notion that whips and beatings are desirable, but you, you are more than that. You know your innate worth, you shake when you see the glory inside of you, placed there by the hand of the divine, and you know – oh you know – that you were made for more than this.

Sister, what are we going to tell our daughters that we read? What are we going to tell them we watched? Will we chart a path for them among rich ideas and words and thoughts? Or do we lead them on a path of intellectual and emotional destruction?

She was made for more, your daughter, she deserves better. 

Wife, you love him, I know you do, the man on the other side of the bed, the one who is snoring or gassy or boring, and he takes out the trash and sometimes doesn’t. He cleans the kitchen, rubs your back, tells you that you’re beautiful. Or maybe he doesn’t. You’re restless, I can see that, maybe the life you have is not what you expected, perhaps time takes its toll on communication and intimacy. Maybe your imagination provides a safer resting place. A pretend woman’s life seems more attractive, her man is wealthy, powerful and knows what he wants. It feels good to you as you turn page after page. Connection is what you long for, intimacy is what you need, but I see you there, you’re alone turning page after twisted page, each sentence pushing you further away from the one who shares your heart, your love, your bed.

Stop. Put down the book. Don’t watch the movie. 

He didn’t manipulate or seduce you into a relationship. You’re an equal partner, not a naive work of fiction. Your life and your body isn’t for domination and control because you know you can choose and you’ve made your choice. Him. He is your choice. You have a covenant. A covenant made between equals, and his promises were made in public before God and before witnesses that he would love and cherish you until death, whatever would happen. And you make it work, don’t you? When it’s tough, when it’s low, when it’s good and when it’s great. You make it work. You keep telling him what you need, you say thank you, you listen, you cry, get angry, scream. This is what you were made for, this love that lasts because it gives and sacrifices and listens and lays down his life and works through the tough times and patiently puts one foot in front of the other one beautiful day at a time so that the only way to see the result is to wait until the quiet end when you can look back and see footprint after footprint of a covenant lived out over decades. 

Mother, I get it, I really do. The life of yoga pants and sippy cups and hormones left you wanting more. Your children used your breasts  and stretched out your midsection. You were a Venus once, rising, rising, and now all you see is a shell of the siren you once knew. Your trying to find your spark again, and the tawdry titillation takes you back to a place where you’re young, wanted, physically intact. But the way back isn’t through the imagination of a woman making millions off of your pain and boredom. Face your pain, Mother, count your costs, mourn the lost years, and then move on. Find your new groove – it’s out there waiting for you. There is yet beauty waiting for you, aching to inhabit your spirit, there is yet freedom and richness in life and experience at hand. It doesn’t come from a man who knows everything or demands everything, but it’s in the hands of a God who knows you, he will not take you back but he will move you forward, to a place where you know yourself and can love yourself again.  

Sister, what will they say about our generation? We were the ones who heralded My Freedom, My Consent, My Liberation. But freedom doesn’t come in chains. A whole woman, a strong woman, a woman so confident in her innate worth and intelligence consents to what is good, to what is noble, to what is honorable for her but also for her society. She knows that her liberation cannot be found in the hands of subversive slavery. She will be controlled by no one because she belongs to the One who knows her, who loves her, who fought for her and rejoices over her.

Daughter, sister, wife, mother, my friend. You were made for more than this. You were designed to thrive and to flourish under the tender touch of love, the hand of grace, the bonds of covenant. You were made to run free, you mind enriched, your body protected, your whole person completely, totally accepted and loved just as it is. And your soul? Your soul prospers. 

Stop. Throw away the book. Don’t watch the movie. 


It was Tuesday, February 10, 2009, and I walked into the living room of a stranger in an apartment in Geneva and sat across the room from a tall German man. It was my sixth day in Geneva, I had no idea why I was there, I had no idea why I was in that room. We must have stared at each other, but I don’t remember. I said things about loving people that tugged at his heart. He prayed at the end about people and God and other things, and it tugged at my heart. We didn’t speak to each other, we went our separate ways.

February 10, 2010 I am living in the apartment in Geneva of a now-friend and sitting on her low-to-the-ground black couch from Pakistan. The tall German man holds my hands and kneels and asks me to marry him. I say yes.

When we tell people the story, they get starry eyed, and for a long time I couldn’t see the magic in it. I kept wanting to make it all ordinary and normal. But I see it now. It was anything but ordinary.

Whatever way I try to add it up, I don’t know how Husband and I could have crossed our paths if we had even tried. He lived in Switzerland, I lived in Australia. Only living in New Zealand could have put us further apart. It took a trip around the world, it took radical obedience to God when he told me to go to Geneva, a place I would not have chosen on my own. It took walking out of my hostel on the evening of February 10 and walking into the doors on 25 Quay de Mont Blanc. It took saying yes to the date on the boat in May.

This morning Husband and I watched Little Bear – now nearing two – and Big Boy run around our living room, and we couldn’t believe that six years ago we were strangers sitting on opposite sides of a room.

February 13 is my birthday, February 15 the day when six years ago I ended up at not-then-my-Husband’s apartment to have lunch with friends. This week was one day after another of sweet memories and glorious celebrations.

And I cannot lie, in the years that followed 2010 I wanted to go back to those moments, what brought us together, what looked like the cement that held us together, the magic, the wonder. Every February, returning to those memories, to that apartment was all I could think about. 

Life began again for me on February 10, a new that bloomed with beauty and promise.


February 10, 2012, I put our firstborn son to sleep in Steinbach, Germany in Husband’s old room. The phone rings, and it is Husband, he is crying. Papa is dead, cancer eating his life away in a hospital bed.

You don’t know much about life until you see it taken away. We were not made for death, I know that now. Our relationships were not made to end, and it’s there on those freezing German days in February, grey and darkness all around us that darkness descends. The brutal reality that life is finite, that the beauty we can hold on earth can be taken away abruptly. The way he is forever frozen in time, no more birthdays, no more anniversaries, no more Opa, no more Papa. That you can have absolutely no say in the matter.

Monday February 13, it’s my 30th birthday, the first day after Papa’s death that the undertakers are open, and we plan a funeral. I wish I could tell you I handled this gracefully, but nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, I had some good moments, the kind of moments I hope that represent the best part of myself, but there were many others that were horrifyingly selfish.

Life ended for us on February 10, not just because an irreplaceable person and relationship was taken, but it was the crude and horrifying introduction to death, our lack of control, innocence gone. 

February 16 would have been Papa’s 64th birthday in 2012. The week that was once magic and destiny and grace and life turn into death and sadness and tragedy.

This is the sixth February since I met Husband. This is the third February since Papa died. We haven’t figured out how to navigate the different memories and milestones. There are the highs of thankfulness and the depths of sadness. It is beautiful and awkward and strange and sad all at once.

Last Saturday I heard Christine Caine say the words, Some of you have an unhealthy attachment to your past. It’s easy to see it when you’re looking at something bad in your past. Much harder to spot when the past you hold on to holds something good. Her words pierced me, and they are stirring in my soul today.

For the past six years, I thought February 10 held the best and the worst my life had to offer, and I could not move past it, the truth impossible to see. But I can see clearer now.

It was neither the best nor the worst. It was the past. It was life. Meeting Husband in Geneva opened a door to love, and it changed my life. Losing Papa opened a door to grief and finality, and it changed my life. But those two moments are gone. I can celebrate, I can grieve, I can remember. 

But I cannot go back. 

I can believe that there is something greater, something better, that I am putting one foot in the other and moving. Trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to your will, trusting that my life is in the hands of a Redeemer who buys back everything I lost and makes what was beautiful before even more beautiful with time. 

Yes, today is Tuesday February 10 again, but I mark it in a different way. Today is the day I move forward, the day I turn my eyes to the new thing. Can you see how it springs up? There is a way that opens up in the wilderness, the renewing stream gushes in the dessert. My heart is ready, my pen is waiting. It’s time to write a new story. It’s time to sing a new song.

Now it’s your turn: What are you holding on to in your past? What’s the new thing springing up before you? How can you move forward? 

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and the #TellHisStory community today.

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I am always thinking about ways that I can sit down and “just write” instead of the blog posts that take more thinking and writing time. I’ve been reading Emily Freeman’s “What I Learned” series for a while, and I’m hoping to participate this year. Here’s what I learned in January.

1. IKEA stands for the name and hometown of the store’s founder. It is Ingvar Kamprad, Elmtaryd (the town where he grew up), and Agunnaryd (the county or kommun where he grew up). But more importantly I found this information out via Swedish friends and not Wikipedia.  This makes me feel extremely Swedish. 

2. Swedes are a my favourite. This is a subject for a longer blog post, but what I learned about myself this month is that I am falling hard for this country and its beautiful people. I have lived in Sri Lanka, the Philippines, the United States, Australia, Switzerland and now Sweden, and easily Swedish people are my favourite people and culture.

3. Walking downhill on ice. Don’t do it. We had a thick layer of ice on the ground two weeks ago (and there is still a lot around), and I was walking down a sloping driveway, holding Little Bear, and we slipped and fell.

4. Buttermilk pancakes by Martha are stunning. Do not overmix the batter. Leave the lumps in. Gloriously fluffy pancakes.


5. I can keep amaryllis alive, said the woman who held dead mint and rosemary in her hands. This is the second round of blooms out of my amaryllis plant this winter, a gorgeous display of colour and life as winter takes most of it away from us.

6. Sabbath is life-giving but killer hard to maintain. I write for myself, so when these words come out, it is rarely to convince you of something, more because I need convincing, and the best way for me to do that is to speak to myself. I have never needed rest more than I need it right now, but every Sunday that rolls around, I have to fight off my inner desire to work on something, to check my phone, to keep my mind busy.

7. Let It Go, Let It Go. I’m late to this party, but I have two boys under three-and-a-half, so we’re partying, but with Thomas the Tank Engine, not an army of Elsas. But I do read, and by now I know that you, your little girls, adolescent girls, teenagers and everyone (and maybe even guys) in between, love Frozen, live Frozen, and received an Elsa dress for Christmas, etc. etc. etc. I went to a friend’s 40th birthday party two weekends ago, and during the dancing part, the DJ played, you guessed it, a certain song about snow glowing white on a mountain tonight, and the room paused, the vast majority of adults danced and belted the song out at the top of their lungs. Most of them have small kids, but it was still stunning to watch grown men and women with their arms flung to their sides, drama poses on, all Here I’ll stand, and here I’ll stay. 

I think Let It Go is more than the song of a generation of five-year-olds. It’s our generation’s song well.

8. Balance. We are organizing IF: Stockholm, part of IF: Gathering for next weekend. It has been a sweet, rewarding and fulfilling experience to launch into the unknown with this, and I am unspeakably excited about what will take place in February 7. But balancing life at home with life outside the home has done my head in. I didn’t figure out any answers in January, but I learned and was reminded daily that it is very, very difficult to maintain a rich life inside the home and a rich life outside of it. (And if you live in Stockholm and want to join us on February 7, we would love to have you. Register here.)

I’m linking up with Emily Freeman from the beautiful blog Chatting At The Sky.

What did you learn in January? Join us.