Mimicking the Master
On a recent walk through town, Jason, Tess, and I encountered another dog walker along our usual route. In typical terrier fashion, Tess approached the other dog, exchanged the customary sniffs (you know, the canine equivalent of "How do you do?"), and then bounded over to the man. But before he could even reach down to pet her, she'd already turned tail and continued her journey, clearly satisfied that she'd fulfilled her social obligations for the moment.
Jason burst out laughing, nudging me with his elbow. "She gets that from you," he teased, and I couldn't help but chuckle because, well, he wasn't wrong. Like my furry friend, I too prefer to keep my social interactions brief and purposeful. Give me my quiet office with its book-lined walls or my peaceful garden over a crowded social gathering any day!
Beyond the Noise
Have you ever played the "telephone game" where everyone sits in a circle and whispers a message from person to person? By the time it reaches the last person, the message has usually transformed into something hilariously different from the original.
I was thinking about this recently while reading about Elijah in 1 Kings 19. Poor Elijah was having what we might call a spiritual breakdown. After his magnificent victory over the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, Queen Jezebel threatened his life, and suddenly our brave prophet was running for the hills—literally.
He ended up at Mount Horeb (also known as Sinai), exhausted, depressed, and feeling completely alone. "I, even I only, am left," he lamented to God, "and they seek my life, to take it away" (1 Kings 19:10).
Thou Art the Man!
I once watched a little boy on the playground point accusingly at another child who had pushed someone down. "That's not nice!" he shouted, his face twisted with righteous indignation. Not five minutes later, I observed this same boy shove another child who wouldn't share the slide. The irony wasn't lost on me. How often are we like that little boy—quick to condemn in others what we tolerate in ourselves?
This reminds me of one of the most powerful confrontations in Scripture: when Nathan the prophet faced King David after his sin with Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah.
David had everything—the kingdom, wealth, multiple wives and concubines. Yet he coveted another man's wife, took her, and then orchestrated her husband's death on the battlefield to cover his tracks. For nearly a year, David lived with this sin festering in his soul, apparently unbothered by his own wickedness.
Questions Welcome
I've always been a question-asker. As a child, I would barrage my parents with an endless stream of "why" and "how" inquiries that would make even the most patient adult want to hide in a cupboard. In school, my hand shot up so frequently that I'm surprised my arm didn't develop special muscles. Even now, just a couple of weeks from my 48th birthday, I find myself peppering conversations with questions, sometimes to the point where I wonder if I'm being annoying.
This week during my morning devotions, I discovered something that made my inquisitive heart leap with joy. I've been reading through Zechariah, and I noticed something remarkable: Zechariah asked ten different questions in just the first six chapters! Throughout his prophetic visions, he continually sought clarification:
The Tale of Two Left Feet
I stared down at my feet this morning and burst out laughing. Something wasn't quite right. Both of my cozy new socks—a lovely Christmas gift from my husband—were marked with an "L." In my haste to match up the laundry, I'd managed to give myself two left feet!
I raced down the length of the house to share my predicament with Jason. "Look!" I exclaimed, pointing to my feet. "I've got two left feet!"
Without missing a beat, he quipped, "That's appropriate." Cheeky man!
As I giggled back to my office, I couldn't help but ponder the spiritual parallel. Just as these socks were specifically designed as left and right pairs to function optimally, God has uniquely designed each of us with specific purposes within the body of Christ.