It’s not the jealousy or the murder that I connect with; rather it’s that self-justifying question he tosses back to God that jumps off the page and often echoes in my own thoughts: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9, NIV).

Cain’s motivations in this defiant interchange with the Almighty are as complicated as any twisting and turning modern-day crime novel.

When I have this attitude, on the other hand, my motivation is pretty simple: I’m aiming to justify a self-focused life.

Let me be honest: There are plenty of days when just “keeping” my own life running—and “keeping” my beloved family—are about all I feel I can handle!

In Facebook-land, as in real life, it can be difficult to pin down what a friend really is. Among my Facebook “friends” are summer camp buddies, elementary-school playground pals, college gospel choir friends, former and current coworkers, and even a few people I honestly don’t like very much (but who I didn’t have the heart to reject when they “friended” me!). Yet in the crowd of all these “friends,” there are only a few real soul sisters.

There are friends...and then there are friends: the women in our lives who walk with us on our spiritual journey and help us grow closer to Christ.

Gloria (not her real name) was such a person. She’d come from an extremely dysfunctional background and as a result suffered from severe depression and almost daily anxiety attacks. After becoming a mom, these symptoms increased. When I met her, she’d become a Christian but was floundering in how to raise this new baby who was entrusted to her. She could barely manage her life, let alone guide someone else’s.

But at this crucial time, God brought her into my life. We moved into her neighborhood and I, too, was a new mom. As we connected over our children, we began to get to know each other, and I discovered that I had just what Gloria needed—daily guidance from a mature believer and immersion in the Scriptures.

It was Sunday, after church, and our family was grabbing a bite to eat at a local Mexican restaurant. We were sitting outside, trying to enjoy the sunshine, but Chick-fil-a was looming large right in front of us—literally across the street.

“Mom, I really, really, really want Chick-fil-a!” (Can you hear the high-pitched whining?)

“I love Chick-fil-a. Why can’t we go there?!” (Can you hear it yet? Add to your mental image: crossed arms, bottom lips stuck out.)

“Chick-fil-a is closed on Sundays,” I pronounced. “So just eat your quesadilla and stop whining, okay?”

Over this past Easter holiday, I spent time reading from the Book of John. Jesus’ prayer in John 17, in which he prayed for us, the church, really convicted me: “I am praying not only for these disciples but also for all who will ever believe in me through their message. I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one—as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me. I have given them the glory you gave me, so they may be one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me” (vs. 20–23).

This isn’t a unique experience for me. In fact, it’s happened at least three times in the past 40 days. Oops.

You see, about 40 days ago I committed myself to spending at least one full, uninterrupted hour with God each day during Lent. I picked one hour because it sounded like enough time to force me to rearrange my schedule. I needed to shake things up, and this “radical” commitment was, I thought, the perfect way to do it. It would look like . . . well, like my other, non-biblical reading turned out looking.

And so the Cross—the mind-numbingly painful and brutal reality of it all—well, it’s hard for me to swallow.

Several years back when The Passion of the Christ came out on DVD, we bought a copy. My bright idea was to watch it every Good Friday as an aid in contemplating Christ’s suffering and death.

It literally took me four years to follow up on that idea. For four Good Fridays in a row, despite my determination to go through with it, I just couldn’t bring myself to watch it. (I’d seen it in the theater, so I knew—very distinctly—what I was avoiding.)

In high school, I had a tight-knit group of Christian friends. We encouraged one another through the pressures and struggles of teenage life. One of my best friends was Thomas (name has been changed).

Thomas and I were in several leadership positions together in our youth group. He and his mom became Christians two years before I met him. His dad wasn’t a believer. I remember sitting with him late one night at a big youth rally listening to him cry about how broken he was over his lost father. He told me he’d spend the rest of his life living in his car if it meant his dad would come to Christ.

I always thought there was something beautiful about a kid who would give up everything he owned to have his dad find the love of Jesus. I wondered what kind of crazy things God would do with his life, with that kind of passion for the Lord.

Thomas went to college, started learning things that made him question his faith, prayed for God to get him through the loneliness and hurt he felt as he went through his freshman year...and heard no answer. And he stepped away from God. Completely.

We didn’t talk for six years.

You pull up to the quaint house with a nicely manicured lawn, you walk to the front door, and ring the door bell. Within a few moments your friend answers. Her face is red and splotchy. It’s clear she’s been crying.

As you step into her house you immediately notice how dark and smelly it is. All the shades are drawn and a single lamp lights her large living room. Mildew and dust mix in the air and flood your nostrils with stench. Once your eyes adjust you notice piles of books, newspapers, and magazines stacked up along each wall. The end table near the couch is covered with used tissues. A bowl of moldy food sits on the floor.

What stirs up inside you?

A few weeks ago, I got together with my old college roommates. We do this every few months, and have ever since we graduated four years ago. The odd part about this particular weekend was that this time around I felt like an odd duckling.

You see, my friends are all married now—and I’m single. They’re looking into buying houses with their husbands; I’m just trying to pay my rent every month. They’ve made the leap to adopt dogs and cats; I’m still nervous about killing my new office plant, Alan (yes, that is his name). And soon, they’ll start having babies, and I will be not one, not two, not three, but four steps away from the path their lives have taken them down.

In the hallways of Kyria.com you’ll often hear our staff chatting about what they’re reading. There’s always someone who will give you a recommendation, whether you ask for it or not. (I would know since I’m the biggest culprit.)

So it didn’t surprise me that after Christmas, I heard a different type of conversation. “What kind of eReader do you have?” “What eBooks have you been reading?” “Do you know how to lend a book on the Kindle?” You may have had some of these same conversations yourself.

We’re very excited about offering some of our bestselling Kyria resources in eBook format. They’re available for Kindle, Nook, and iPad. They provide the convenience of being easy to download and to use, and you can take them wherever you go. You can also lend these resources to others with eReaders. (If you don’t have an eReader but would like to download these resources in eBook format, you can download free eBook reader software to your personal computer here and here.)

So read my friend’s Facebook status last spring...for about two weeks...until she started using Facebook again.

Ah, the perils of announcing one’s Lenten fast!

I’ve only been giving up things for Lent for the past few years. As a dyed-in-the-wool evangelical, I never heard about Lent growing up—I didn’t even really know what it was until high school when I spent the night at the home of a Catholic friend. During dinner, her dad enthusiastically passed the broccoli. He then conspiratorially whispered to me: “I gave up broccoli for Lent!”

“Broccoli?” I asked.

“Yes, I hate it.”

It turns out boys (and maybe this is true for men too) do love adventure. But they like it best when there’s a safe harbor to return to. Like the kind a home provides. And by that I mean a home built on a foundation, not the floating kind.

I discovered this truth in the course of house hunting after our live-aboard year had ended. When we asked our sons which house they liked best of the ones we were considering, Jackson, then 12, sighed and said, “I just want a place that stays a place.”

I stared at the question in my devotional journal, a grin creeping across my face. Some days I have trouble answering the stretching questions posed in this devotional, but this one drew an immediate answer: patterns and repetition. I’m not sure if I need to hear the same message over and over in different ways and places because I’m stubborn or because I need to think about things for a while, but this is the way God speaks to me. Over and over again he’s made his will clear to me through patterns and repetition.

There was the time I was being called to career ministry. I had many people from all walks of life suddenly suggest this career to me, even though I hold an education degree. Then a spiritual gifts inventory pointed me that way. Then a pastor. And then a position in my hometown opened. I took it without hesitating. The experience taught me so much.