Before there were books for either of us, we were simply two heart-sisters who had a lot in common. We loved words and Jesus. And we were both farm wives married to men who raised crops and pigs. I once grabbed Jennifer Dukes Lee’s hand and told her I believed in God’s gifts in her, and I prayed for His words through her to keep coming. She’s a pure-hearted, soul-encouraging woman after God’s own heart, and reading her always makes me read more of Christ everywhere. Her newest book, How to Love Your Morning, is maybe what we all need in a world that is sometimes hard to wake up to. It’s a humbling grace to have Jennifer step off her farm porch and straight onto ours…
Guest Post by Jennifer Dukes Lee
I woke up this morning and felt the too-much-ness of life, burdened by the demands piling up all at once: work to do, people to care for, decisions to make, responsibilities waiting in line for me before my feet even hit the floor.
Still lying in bed, eyes barely open, I did what I often do first thing in the morning: I told God what was weighing heavy on my heart. I whispered into the quiet, “It all feels overwhelming right now, Lord.”
Overwhelming.
After the word spilled out, a small smile formed at the edges of my mouth. I closed my eyes.
And I thought of my dad.
Dad loved that word, overwhelming. He used it regularly.
But it wasn’t in the way that many of us use it.
Dad used that word to describe the very best things in life, the most beautiful, rapturous things. He used that word when we stood together at the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, with their rugged rock faces rising from the sea. And when we sat side by side on his old fishing boat, as the waves gently rocked us on the lake.
When a waiter set a perfect ribeye in front of Dad, he would brighten, his eyes widening like dinner plates. “It’s overwhelming!” he would say.
Even something as simple as a Dairy Queen Snickers Blizzard would receive the honor of “overwhelming,” due to Dad’s apparent belief in its culinary genius.
Good overwhelm happens when you wake up to the day’s first light leaking through the curtains, and you suddenly remember that God is your steady companion. “Oh, hello again! There You are!”
Generally speaking, overwhelmed is a word we use when life seems too much and our strength seems too little.
But by definition, overwhelmed can also be a word used to convey extreme joy or awe.
I’m a total word nerd, and I find it fascinating that a single word can have two contradictory meanings. This linguistic phenomenon is called a “contronym.” That’s how you can be “overwhelmed” by your to-do list one day and then “overwhelmed” by God’s goodness the next.
Modern usage of the word leans heavily toward the negative: being overwhelmed by the too-much-ness of life.
This type of overwhelm can occur immediately upon waking. It’s as if we are starting our day backwards, anticipating all the stress ahead. That kind of mental time travel is so common that we don’t think twice about it—it’s just a part of life that we see as unavoidable.
But what if I told you that it didn’t have to be that way?
Because it’s true: When you dwell on the good kind of overwhelm, you actually flush out the bad kind of overwhelm—an assertion backed by both science and Scripture.
The Bible says God’s mercies are “new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23). Maybe part of receiving those mercies is learning to notice them—the overwhelming kindnesses hidden in plain sight.
“Before you even opened your eyes, God devised a plan to overwhelm you with His care and kindness“
And the good overwhelm … it’s here, right now.
Sometimes, good overwhelm greets you when you find yourself watching the sun rise. Or when you bear witness to a lone hawk sailing overhead. Or when you smell the metallic sharpness in the air the moment before rain falls to dampen dry ground.
Good overwhelm happens when you wake up to the day’s first light leaking through the curtains, and you suddenly remember that God is your steady companion. “Oh, hello again! There You are!”
Good overwhelm happens when your pen flows along the page of your gratitude journal as you record the overwhelmingly good gifts of your overwhelmingly precious life: an answered prayer, the satisfying crack of ice in a cold drink, finding a book that feels like it was written just for you.
These are moments that God built into your day, even as you slept. Before you even opened your eyes, God devised a plan to overwhelm you with His care and kindness—turning your maple tree the perfect shade of scarlet outside your kitchen window, sending birds to sing you a song first thing in the morning. If we don’t take time to thank God for these private moments of joy delivered straight to our own backyards, who else will?
The good kind of overwhelm isn’t reserved only for your happiest mornings. Remarkably, good overwhelm is hidden in plain sight on your hardest days, too, if you learn to look for it.
“The good kind of overwhelm isn’t reserved only for your happiest mornings. Remarkably, good overwhelm is hidden in plain sight on your hardest days, too, if you learn to look for it.“
It’s the kind of overwhelm Dad practiced his whole earthly life, even when he was at the end of it.
One afternoon, six days before he passed away, I sat beside Dad on his bed. He was staring off into a corner. Just then, a small ribbon of words spilled out, words he’d said a thousand times before:
“It’s overwhelming.”
His words hung in the air, halfway between his oxygen mask and the ceiling.
I asked him, “Dad, is it overwhelming in a good way, or in a bad way?” Dad had every right to say, “overwhelming in a bad way.” Life on hospice is no picnic.
But he responded, simply: “Overwhelming in a good way.”
Right then, his trademark smile spread all the way up into his eyes, creasing them at the edges. It was as if the sun could rise and set on his countenance.
“God is overwhelmingly loving, overwhelmingly kind, overwhelmingly holy, and overwhelmingly present—in the best way possible.“
I don’t know what Dad saw that day, or exactly what he was pondering, but in my way of thinking, my heavenly Father was giving my earthly father a sense of what was to come—maybe a little bit of heaven on Earth, maybe a little reminder that when life on Earth feels overwhelming in a bad way, God is overwhelmingly loving, overwhelmingly kind, overwhelmingly holy, and overwhelmingly present—in the best way possible.
Maybe you need that reminder today, too: that when life feels overwhelming in the hardest ways, God remains overwhelmingly good.
And perhaps, if you look closely enough, you might find a little good overwhelm waiting for you, too.
Jennifer Dukes Lee lives on a fifth-generation family farm in Iowa, where she and her husband, Scott, have spent their lives raising crops, two beautiful daughters, and an enduring faith. A self-proclaimed “morning evangelist,” Jennifer helps people everywhere discover that mornings really can be worth waking up for. She speaks across North America, sharing messages of hope, spiritual renewal, and what happens when we finally stop hitting snooze on our souls.
I absolutely love this woman and every word I read of hers has loaned me ridiculous joy and courage for more than a decade!
In How to Love Your Morning, Jennifer helps you wake up with hope, joy, and purpose, believing that God’s mercies really are new every morning. Drawing on every morning described in the Bible (yep, she’s studied every single one!), she helps you discover your morning archetype, create meaningful rhythms, and build a life-giving morning practice rooted in God’s presence.
If you’ve been longing to wake up differently—not earlier, but with more hope—grab a copy of How to Love Your Morning and wake up to the goodness God has waiting for you. You can also explore the companion How to Love Your Morning Bible Study.
Find Jennifer at jenniferdukeslee.com and on Instagram at @jenniferdukeslee.
{Our humble thanks to Baker Publishing Group for their partnership in today’s devotional.}
