Hidden Cobwebs
Cleaning the chapels here in Wales is no easy feat. Honestly, it's downright frustrating at times! These old buildings seem to be home to a multitude of spiders that spin their webs day after day, resulting in a scene that resembles something from a scary movie, with elaborate cobwebs stretched across every surface. Every. Single. Surface.
The trickiest part about cleaning is that you can only see the webs when the light hits them just right. And since we have so little sunlight in Wales (let me tell you, the sun is a rare and precious commodity here), you can think you've gotten them all, only to have a ray of sunshine stream through the window and illuminate an elaborate web in the very area you just cleaned. I was literally standing there with my duster, feeling quite proud of myself, when suddenly the sun decided to make an appearance and reveal my failure. There, right where I'd just cleaned, was a massive cobweb I'd completely missed.
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.
Basking Like a Coney: Why Christians Need Time in the Son
I think I’ve discovered a new favorite animal, and surprisingly, it’s not a dog. It’s the coney, also known as the rock badger or rock hyrax. Picture a chubby, rabbit-sized creature with short legs, a round body, and a constant expression of “I wasn’t ready for this photo.” Not exactly fierce or intimidating. In fact, the Bible describes it this way: “The conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the rocks” (Proverbs 30:26).
“Feeble folk” is a pretty accurate description. Rock hyraxes struggle to regulate their body temperature and rely heavily on their environment to survive. They can’t handle extreme heat or cold for long, so what do they do? They bask. A lot.
The Undistracted Palm
I recently delved into the fascinating world of Leonardo Da Vinci's mind. Did you know he had hundreds of notebooks bursting with ideas for inventions, studies, paintings, and sculptures? The remarkable thing about Da Vinci wasn't just his genius but his peculiar habit of rarely finishing one project before jumping to another. His brilliant mind constantly churned with new concepts, leaving a trail of half-completed masterpieces.
Oh, how I feel a kinship with Leonardo! My desk drawer contains a notebook that's practically bursting with ideas for devotions, children's picture books, stories, and other literary ventures. Some mornings I wake with such clarity about a new book or story concept that I can hardly wait to scribble it down before it evaporates like morning dew.
"I'll finish my current project first," I tell myself firmly. Yet two hours later, I'm sketching outlines for the new idea while my half-edited manuscript sits neglected on my computer.
Finding Hope in Our Weakness
One of my favorite parts of the story of David is the cave of Adullam. I don't know why, but I've always been drawn to a place that became a refuge for the broken and distraught. So, naturally, I found a way to work it into my newest novel, Hope Reset. Here's a short excerpt from that chapter:
The merchant's arrival was just the beginning. More came in the following days. A farmer, his calloused hands empty of the crops Saul's men had seized. Three brothers, their eyes hollow with shame, fleeing debts they couldn't pay. Each carried a story of desperation, of having nowhere else to turn. Some had heard rumors in taverns, others from travelers on the road. All spoke of David's reputation for justice and mercy.
"In distress," Jesus spoke softly to Merlin. "In debt. In bitterness of soul. Watch how they come to him."