Do You Want To Learn To Fish?
Welcome back, friends. Today's devotion is a little different—less of a devotion and more of a confession. A holy, Spirit-prompted, middle-of-Bible-study conviction. Bear with me, because I think this one matters.
Last Wednesday night, I was teaching our ladies' Bible study on the life of Gideon. We had reached the tragic, sobering, heartbreaking end. And let me tell you, it is not a pretty ending. Despite an absolutely stunning, God-orchestrated string of victories, Gideon made a golden ephod. Though he denied the title of "king," he set himself up as one. He became the one the people leaned on, rather than pointing them straight to God.
And the devastating result? The moment Gideon died, the Israelites tumbled headlong back into idolatry. Just like that. Because no one had ever taught them to stand on their own two spiritual feet and worship God for themselves, they went right back to what was comfortable.
Where Do You Think You’re Going?
I have a confession to make: my dog is more socially determined than I am.
Let me set the scene. Jason's parents were visiting, and we were all gathered in the living room, food trays in front of us, enjoying dinner together. Meanwhile, Tess had been served her meal in the adjoining room, close enough to hear the laughter and smell the good food, but not quite with us. Well, apparently, Tess had a thing or two to say about that.
That crazy dog picked up her food bowl (without spilling a single bite, mind you), carried it across the floor, and set it down right in the middle of the living room. Then she looked up at us as if to say, "There. That's better," and went right back to eating. No drama. No apology. Just a dog who knew exactly where she wanted to be and did what it took to get there.
Are You Walking Past Your Miracle?
Picture this: a room full of lovely ladies, a painting lesson in full swing, and a punch table front and center. My dear ministry partner had worked hard to create not one, but two delightful punch options for our Community Ladies' Luncheon last Saturday. She blended, stirred, and taste-tested with the dedication of a seasoned chef. And the result? One punch turned the most gorgeous shade of coral you've ever seen. It was bright, cheerful, and practically hollering, "Come drink me!" Every woman in the room floated toward it like a bee to a flower.
The other punch? Oh, bless its heart. Somewhere in the blending process, the colors had a disagreement, and what emerged was a murky, grayish concoction that looked—and I say this with all the tenderness I can muster—exactly like dirty mop water. Nobody wanted anything to do with it.
When You’ve Done Everything Right and Still Feel Like You Failed
I stared into the bathroom mirror and asked myself a very important question: How many people out there can tell I'm faking it?
Not exactly the inspirational pre-event pep talk I was hoping for.
I had done everything right. Really, I had. I'd lined up another speaker to carry most of the load. I'd purchased the decorations and gifts weeks in advance. I'd even managed to say "no," which, if you know me, is practically an Olympic sport, to several things threatening to crowd my calendar. When the back tweak hit, I rested. When the newsletter deadline loomed, I pushed it back without guilt. When the company arrived, I graciously excused myself when needed.
I had managed my time, my energy, and my expectations. I was practically a wellness guru.
And yet, there I stood, more tired than when the week began, staring at a reflection that told the whole unvarnished truth.
Are You a Visitor or a Resident?
I have a confession to make.
For years, I treated my relationship with Christ like most people treat a vacation rental. I'd show up when I needed something, enjoy the warmth for a bit, maybe leave a nice note on the counter, and then go back to my regular life. I called it faith. I called it prayer. I called it being a Christian.
What I didn't call it was visiting.
And there is a world of difference between visiting a place and living there.
Think about it. When you visit somewhere, you pack a bag. You're a guest. You're on your best behavior, you use the nice towels, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you're going home eventually. But when you live somewhere? That's different. You know where the creaky floorboard is. You leave your shoes by the door. You don't have to knock. It's home.