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.
What Are Your Spiritual Ships Bringing Back?
Close your eyes for a moment and picture this: a grand harbor along the ancient Mediterranean coastline. The air smells of salt and cedar. Ropes are straining. Sails snap open like white flags of adventure. And there goes Solomon's navy, the ships of Tharshish, setting out on a voyage that will last three whole years.
Three years! I can barely commit to a three-week meal plan, and Solomon's men were heading out to sea for three years. And here's the best part: they weren't sailing all that way to bring back ordinary things. Oh, no. They returned with gold and silver, of course, but they also brought back ivory, and...wait for it...apes and peacocks.
Can you just imagine the scene when those ships finally returned to port?
Are You Adding More Flour: What Your Actions Reveal About Your Faith
Jason has been on a bread-making kick lately. Not content with simply buying a loaf at the shop like a normal person, he has become fascinated with grinding his own grain and making bread completely from scratch. So there we were one evening, the two of us snuggled in bed, watching a bread-making tutorial on YouTube.
That's when the real entertainment began.
The instructor was enthusiastic and clearly knew her way around a mixing bowl. But every few minutes, she would look straight into the camera and announce with great confidence, "Now, you really don't need to add any more flour here." And then, without missing a beat, she'd reach right into the flour bag and dump in another handful.
A few minutes later: "I'm going to add just a tiny bit more, but honestly, you really don't need to do this." In went another scoop.
When Life Gets Squishy
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
My husband and I had set out for a walk, a perfectly reasonable and wholesome activity. Somewhere along the way, we decided to take the shortcut across the pasture. How bad could it be? Famous last words. After all, we should have known better. We live in Wales, where the rain doesn't just fall; it moves in, unpacks its bags, and stays for weeks.
We hadn't taken more than a few steps into that field before the trouble started. The ground, which had looked solid a few steps away from the gate, was anything but. With every step across that field, our boots sank into the soft, saturated earth with a noise that can only be described as squishy. The mud grabbed at our feet like it had a personal vendetta.
Carrying Light, Not Load
Yesterday, during my Bible study on animals in Scripture, I was certain the donkey would teach me a lesson about stubbornness. After all, isn't that what donkeys are famous for? But God had something entirely different and far more beautiful in store for me.
As I studied the account of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, it hit me like a thunderbolt. That little donkey wasn't chosen because of what he could carry but because of who he would carry. He wasn't meant to haul heavy burdens. He was meant to carry the Light of the World. And here's where it gets personal: we're just like that donkey.
How many times have I trudged through my days feeling like a pack mule, weighed down by worry, responsibility, and those endless "what-ifs" that plague my thoughts? I've rounded my shoulders under the weight of "should-haves" and stumbled over obligations that were never mine to bear. I've been so busy carrying the load that I forgot I was meant to carry the Light.