Core Teaching: Three types of communication needs that often get mismatched

Why We Keep Getting It Wrong: We give what we're comfortable giving, not what's needed. We give what we would want, not what they need. And we're too proud or impatient to ask which one they actually need.

Ernst shares a painful personal story of failing Lindy years ago. When she tried to tell him how an employer's unkind words had affected her emotionally, he jumped to "fix-it mode" with "You just need to forgive him, honey." It was exactly the wrong response. He didn't understand that she didn't need him to fix it—she needed him to hear how it had affected her.

"This is incarnational love. Meeting people where they are. Like Jesus did. It's slow work. Patient work. Costly work. You will get it wrong, and that's fine. Pay attention. Ask the question. Track the shifts. Try again."

This week's seminar created space for honest conversation about the kind of weariness that isn't fixed by taking a nap—the emotional and spiritual exhaustion that seeps into your bones and makes even simple things laborious.

Ernst opened with Isaiah 40:28-31—God's promise that "the ones waiting for Jehovah shall renew strength. They shall go up with wings as the eagles." He spoke vulnerably about seasons of weight after losing their son, during ministry transitions, and learning that God choreographs the day according to His will. Sometimes grace shows up quietly in morning walks, in Lindy's laugh, in listening to Scripture.

Lindy shared her family's generational story of weariness—ancestors who survived tornadoes, fires, the death of children, back-breaking labor, economic depression—all sustained through turning to prayer and Scripture daily. She spoke of her recent health diagnosis and using the Mercy Journal to connect her medical protocol to Scripture, writing down fears and creating a healing plan while waiting on the Lord. "We have the same everlasting God who does not grow faint or weary."

Charlie reflected on Martha and Mary from Luke 10—how we exhaust ourselves working for God instead of sitting with Him. "I've learned not to put the cart before the horse," he said. He spoke of caring for a friend with ALS, recognizing that intimacy with Christ sustains us more than just doing things for Him. Mark from the UK contributed via text: "I always try to find the Savior in everything I read. Even in chapters that make no sense, you can see God's hand in everything."

The conversation circled back repeatedly to one truth: we're not alone in whatever we're facing. What keeps us going isn't always something big or a spiritual revelation. Sometimes it's the music of Scripture washing over a weary soul. Sometimes it's recognizing we're inherently weak, and that's okay—because He's our strength. God gives strength to the faint, and to those with no vigor, He increases power.

Few things pierce a person's heart more deeply than watching a child walk away—from you, from truth, from God. This week's study explored the long heartache of parenting through two biblical portraits: the father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-24) who exemplifies love that waits, and Hannah in 1 Samuel 1-2 who shows us love that surrenders.

The father in Jesus' parable lets go—not out of indifference, but out of love that respects freedom. He scans the horizon daily. And when the son returns, the father does something culturally shocking: he runs. Older men didn't run, but love does what dignity won't. The father couldn't control the son's heart, but he could control his own—keeping it open.

Ernst shared vulnerably from his own family's story: a son who cut off contact for a year (they didn't know where he was or how he was doing), their daughter living with schizophrenia through eight months when they couldn't reach her, and another son's journey that led him home after years of wandering. He spoke of Rembrandt's painting of the Prodigal Son—created in 1669 after Rembrandt had buried his wife and four children—as an image that speaks to every parent who has ever watched the horizon, hoping.

Hannah's story (1 Samuel 1-2) adds another dimension: love that surrenders what it most treasures. She prayed desperately for a son, and when God answered, she gave him back—not out of obligation but worship. Sometimes parenting means letting go not because the child is wandering, but because God is calling them elsewhere.

The study reminded us: parenting isn't theoretical. It's lived, and sometimes it's lived with tears. But through it all, God's mercy holds us. "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" (Psalm 34:18).

Paul's letter to the Ephesians culminates in this powerful chapter—practical wisdom for family relationships followed by the call to spiritual warfare. This musical setting captures both the tender instruction to children and parents, and the warrior's cry to stand firm in God's armor.

Your child is melting down. Or withdrawing. Or defiant. You want to respond well, but you're not sure what they actually need. This interactive tool helps you move past the surface behavior to discern whether your child needs Help (practical solutions), a Hug (comfort and validation), or to be Heard (space to process)—and guides you with biblical wisdom for your next step.

"Unless Jehovah builds the house, they labor in vain who build it." – Psalm 127:1 (KJ3)

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May you learn to pause before responding—to ask "What do they actually need?" May you discover that rushing to fix can keep you at a distance, but presence—even when it's uncomfortable—draws you close. May you extend grace to yourself when you misread people, and may you find that incarnational love—meeting people where they are, like Jesus did—is slow work, patient work, costly work. And may you trust that in your weakness, God's wisdom shows up when you ask.

"So then, my beloved brothers, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." – James 1:19 (KJ3)