Monday, September 25, 2017


I learned how to make stained glass windows as a young adult. The whole concept sounded adventurous and completely out of my comfort zone. I fell in love with the process. My teacher taught me a critical truth I will never forget. In order to develop the skills needed to create these pieces of art, I could not be afraid of the glass. I had to release any fears of being cut by sharp edges. I had to find a way to live comfortably with the slivers of glistening colors resting like splinters upon my hands.

I listened to my teacher and jumped in with both hands, unafraid. At times I would move my focus from the project at hand to my own skin. Hundreds of tiny pieces of color clung to my skin, and I marveled that none of them had injured me.

Remembering my days of stained glass windows prompted a powerful visual for me on my way to work this morning. Perhaps it was the colorful landscape that triggered the memories. In one of those rare a-ha moments, I caught a tiny glimpse of my Master's hands ~ working, chipping away, and fitting into place all the broken pieces of my life that had me scratching my head in confusion for so long. All those pieces, sharp and imposing, were covering my Savior's hands.

Sharp, deep red pieces of pains and sorrows that ran deep ~ too deep for words. Multiple shades of blues, some opalescent ~ those seasons when it all felt like too much and depression settled in. Greens, vibrant and life-affirming ~ when God had provided a timely word or person or experience to encourage me. Yellows ~ a representation of my soulsickness and his light barreling through it all. Purples, holy and unexplainable ~ when His presence changed everything, and life was never quite the same. Fiery oranges ~ when trials and desert seasons pushed my faith to new limits. And the clear glass ~ those moments when He embedded in my mind and heart and spirit a new truth that took my breath away. Glimpses of His glory always do!

I saw it for a second or two. All of the radiant, spell-binding colors swirling upon me like shards of splintery glass. Falling into just the right place. Forming a picture that tells a story. All coming together and being held by lead and soldered by the hand of God, forming a masterpiece only He could create. And the best part ~ it was beautiful.

We are His masterpiece. We are His story. We are a rich and stunning combination of reds, blues, greens, yellows and purples. We are made to be a stained glass window in which He can shine His light through. We are beautiful in His sight.

Nothing is wasted in His eyes. What's more, we don't have to fear getting cut and injured in the process. We can embrace it. All of it. Because in the end, He will use each and every shard and splinter. Every piece will come together. How do I know? He only makes masterpieces. And you, my friend, are one of them.

"You are a masterpiece. A painting. A poem. A song. A statue. A work of art. Think of yourself that way. Embrace yourself that way. Honor yourself that way. In doing so you are honoring Him who made you. You are a masterpiece whether you feel like it or not."  ~Tony Evans

copyright 2017 by Julie Cowell. All rights reserved.

Thursday, April 21, 2016


I have been thinking a lot about who I want to be as I grow older, with front row seats for our parents as the aging process is thrust upon them like an unwelcome heat wave. We watch as they slow down physically, cognitively, and emotionally. Filters fall away. Their truest, unmasked selves burst forth. The best and the worst of each go hand in hand. Like a rewinding of a clock, ticking all the way back to their years as young children. While another clock presses them further along. I catch glimpses of who they must have been in their earliest years, clinging to their mama's apron they cling to their failing memories.

My son sent me a message this week. He's been watching from a distance. Hearing how this has been playing out. Processing this season of our lives as we take this journey with our parents. His message was so tender, and it made me stop and think. If he walks this rugged path with us when we embark on ripe old ages, who will he encounter in me? Who will my truest self be?

I don't know. But I hope I can influence who I'll become when my filters fade away. I hope that intentional choices I make now and in the years to come will mold and shape me into someone who is easy to love and care for.

Because one day, God willing, I will be sitting with my son or daughter. All my filters will be gone. And my truest self will shine through, in all its glory and flaws. As my own outer clock ticks forward...while the the internal one flies backward, I want the best to shine through. This is the gift I want to give my children.

What will I be like if I just let nature take its course? Who might I be if I approach this process prayerfully and intentionally? Who do I want them to see in me? I want to age gracefully. I want to be someone my family will enjoy to the very end.

"Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art."
~Eleanor Roosevelt

Tuesday, March 29, 2016


It had been one of those days. Heart-racing, how-will-I-get-it-all-done days. One of many in a long strand of blurred calendar boxes jam-packed with important stuff that needed to get done.

I sat at work, forced to be quiet and still. Shuffling through paperwork, I noticed a word. One word. It kept appearing, practically jumping off the pages in my hands. One word, leaping off the print, waving its arms at me. One word almost shouting, "LOOK AT ME!"

I know from past experiences. Because I believe God gives me one word at a time ~ to focus on, to breathe in, to experience on a deeper level.

DANCE. Hmm. This word didn't look like my others. HOPE. TRUST. PRAY. THANK. LOVE. DANCE?  Did this one word really have a rightful place with my others?

Where are you going with this one, Lord? I prayed silently, trying to put a visual to this five letter word. What I heard in return was just one word. DANCE.

Later that same day, I sat in our "nest" (my name for our tinier-living experiment). I opened my devotional and read the verse at the top of the page. "You turned my wailing into dancing, you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever." (Psalm 30:11-12) The message that followed ended with this challenge ~ "Spend a minute thanking God for turning your mourning into dancing." (Shauna Niequist)

Oh! I began to see where He was going with this new word. DANCE!

It's time to take off the tattered sackcloth of mourning and be clothed in joy. I jumped up and quite literally did a happy dance. Though circumstances may not appear all that joyful, I will still sing His praises. I will not be silent. And yes, I will dance!

Because when you know God and do your best to keep in step with Him (much like a dance), the joy is always available, always waiting for us, beckoning us to grab hold of it. Regardless of circumstances and calendars bursting at the seams with stuff that needs to get done. We get to decide everyday if we will wear the sackcloth of mourning, or get all dressed up in joy. And go dancing.

Friday, November 13, 2015


The first time we met, he sat tall and quiet in our living room. Our initial hello was cloaked in smiles and a warm hug. I liked him instantly. He was soft-spoken, yet eager to connect. We covered the usual topics of conversation common to first encounters.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next. I can only say it felt like I was tiptoeing on rugged, holy ground.

Images ~ ugly visuals and tormenting vitriol ~ began to bombard my thoughts. I heard a man's voice scream cruel and injurious words. Not knowing what was happening, I took a deep breath and tried to push the painful thoughts away.

But they persisted, relentlessly screaming the same cutting words over and over. And somehow I knew. These horrible messages had been spoken over this young man. And now, they clung to him like an extra layer of skin.

My thoughts quieted down after he left. But there was much to process. And I wrestled. What did all of this mean? I had felt an instant connection with him. But those painful images haunted me. Try as I might, I couldn't shake them.

The next time I saw him, the same images and screaming words came rushing in. And I began to realize the long history of wounds this young man carried.

Write it down! I felt such a strong urge to put pen to paper. Eager to release all the toxic words and visuals, I did just that. Little did I know I'd be given the privilege to introduce him to my God. Or that I'd feel the pressing need to give him the paper littered with those ugly words tucked inside a card, and the domino effect it would have.

How did you know? Those were the exact words my dad used. Followed by gut-wrenching sobs and the release of emotions pent up far too long.

Because, along with the screaming words of a broken father, there were whispers from another. Bathed in agape love. And though it came from a gentle and quiet whisper, I knew it had to be God. I want him. I want to heal him.

How I marvel at the ways of God! Somehow, hearing and sharing what I heard with this young man, opened his heart and mind. And new words ~ affirming, loving, beautiful messages began to seep in and take root.

There's a long road of healing ahead for him. But I'm confident that God will not abandon the work of His hands. And this young man's heart? It will slowly heal, one loving whisper at a time.

"Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and your right hand delivers me. The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands." ~Psalm 138:7,8 ESV

Thursday, November 12, 2015


The photo, captured at a much higher altitude, jumped out at me. Mountains bathed in green flanked one small row of trees, bursting with autumn colors. The caption my son wrote underneath it struck home. "Think you know where the water runs through the canyon?" Of course. It was obvious when seen from a much higher location. And I realized, the further the ascent, the better the view. Truths we cannot see at ground level become obvious when we are given a loftier perspective.

I think about the photo he shared. This particular mountain range is planted in the high desert. At its base are cacti and mesquite trees, rattlers and javelinas. The contrast between the two is striking.

Oh, the desert! We've been talking about desert seasons in my small group. Boy, do I know all about them! When I'm there, I often feel as though they're a punishment...a consequence of my actions or inactions. But why? The desert has a beauty and power unique to its terrain. And just like the mountaintop experiences, it has its own gems to offer.

Desert seasons can be holy ground. It's there we learn to trust God more deeply and unconditionally. I have learned, when I press into Him during the stretches of barrenness, I encounter Him in ways I don't when I'm sitting high on the mountaintops.

Again, I look at those trees in the photo, bursting with fall foliage. "Think you know where the water runs through the canyon?" I see another truth. Even when we find ourselves walking the dry and dusty roads of a desert season, we can still thrive and flourish. If our roots are planted deeply along God's river of Living Water, He will sustain us in those parched places. We will stand out, glorifying Him in the midst of our rugged terrain.

I love how nature speaks to me, and how it so often reflects truths about our Creator. It can also teach us much about ourselves, the paths we walk, and the seasons we encounter. And this photo he shared? It reminds me. Stay firmly planted by the River of Life. Embrace each season, whether climbing new heights or camped in a dry desert. If I do, God will take even the barren chapters and create something beautiful. Like a tiny row of trees, bursting with autumn glory.

Copyright 2015 by Julie Cowell. All rights reserved.

"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." ~Isaiah 43:19 ESV

"Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, 'Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.'" ~John 7:38 ESV

Tuesday, November 10, 2015


The dirt was everywhere. I could feel the earthy residue in my nose as I breathed in deeply. Even my eyes were achy and itchy from the dust. I stood and stretched, then brushed myself off and headed for the bathroom.

I was startled when I caught a glance in the mirror. Little remnants of a long morning's work clung to my hair. Though I hadn't known it was possible, even my lips wore a gray, dusty hue.

Last year, I learned how to get over my need to always be clean. There were endless projects crying out to be completed quickly, and I slowly accepted the truth, it's okay to get dirty!

Just as I've learned to embrace the dirt, I am also grabbing hold of another truth. There are people  around me who are standing knee deep in disarray. They have had messy circumstances flung at them. And God is asking me to consider getting into the trenches with them. He's encouraging me to position myself in difficult places I've resisted in the past.

And I realize, by entering into the trenches, I'm bound to get a bit dirty, too. The deeper I go, the messier it's going to get. Jumping into someone else's pit experience can be very uncomfortable. It can even be grueling. Just like the work we did on our property.

I love the idea of a clean, polished appearance (though I've never really pulled it off). But I'm learning to let it go. Get dirty. Say yes to God and position myself in those messy places so He can use my hands, my feet, my voice. I can do NOTHING in my own strength. But I can show up. And let him do the work through me.

How about you? Has God been calling you into any trenches lately? Are you knee deep in your own messy circumstances? Let's encourage each other. And put aside the need to have a neat and tidy life.

"He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us." 2 Corinthians 1:4 The Message

Monday, November 9, 2015


It's a cold and cloudy morning. My cinnamon-vanilla cup of joe is nestled in my right hand, a warm welcome. But my mind keeps traveling to those little red cups, filled to the brim with tasty goodness. Peppermint mocha and pumpkin spice lattes woo me!

I suppose I can blame all the images bombarding social media right now. If I didn't take the time to read, I'd likely think Starbucks is going heavy on their holiday promos this year.

But the company doesn't need to do much in the way of advertising right now. The ranting of one man gone viral has done the job for them. The ridiculous (in my humble opinion) notion that we Christians are being slighted (and that Christ is being removed from Christmas) because the red cups no longer wear a WINTER emblem, has become a hot topic. And those innocent red cups have dominated much of social media's threads. Making it all the harder to put my temptations to rest. My budget cries NO! But nothing quite compares to a red cup of hot peppermint mocha latte piled high with whipped cream.

Honestly, I do not believe Starbucks is making a statement with this year's little red cups. If anything, they might be encouraging simplicity, a notion most of us can glean from. You know what I'm referring to here ~ slowing down the hectic pace, the mad rush to the malls, the spending frenzies, the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses mentality, the deck-the-halls-or-it-won't-be-Christmas mantra.

Because, really? As a Christian, this is NOT where I want my focus to be. I want it to be on a manger, and the babe who occupied it, then grew to be a man, who bore my sins and died for me so that I might live. This is the heart of Christmas as I understand it. This agape love of Christ is what we are called to show the world.

Starbucks, I don't want you thinking the rantings on social media in any way represent true Christianity. I am embarrassed at the thought of being lumped in the same category as this hyper-antagonistic young man. This is not what being a Christ-follower is all about.

Wouldn't it be a better witness (and a more pleasing one to God) if we stop criticizing businesses that don't even claim to be Christian? What if we were to set down our political correctness arguments, and start walking the walk? You know ~ feed the hungry, care for the sick and elderly, love the enemy across the street, and exemplify the love of Christ. (Let's not forget ~ faith without good works is like dead wood.)

This, I believe, is how we reach people ~ one loving act at a time. Not by throwing a tantrum over a simple red cup. As for me, please fill one with a peppermint mocha latte...extra whip, and put my name on it. Though my wallet screams no, all those red cups are calling me!

"What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and filled,' without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead." ~James 2:14-17 ESV

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." ~1 Corinthians 13:1 ESV