When God Says “No” to Plan B
Have you ever reached for your backup plan before seeking God's direction? I certainly have. It's a struggle as old as faith itself, and we see it vividly illustrated in the lives of the patriarchs.
When famine struck Canaan, Abraham, the father of faith, immediately packed for Egypt. No prayer. No seeking God's counsel. Just a practical solution to a pressing problem: "And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land" (Genesis 12:10).
Egypt, with its Nile-watered fields and abundant storehouses, represented a visible solution. But Abraham's self-directed detour led to compromise. Fearing for his life, he instructed Sarah: "Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake; and my soul shall live because of thee" (Genesis 12:13).
Abiding in Christ
I've always been fascinated by Jesus' words in John 15:5: "I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing."
What does it truly mean to abide in Christ? It's far more than religious activity or spiritual box-ticking. Abiding is about maintaining a constant connection with Jesus, like a branch naturally draws life from the vine.
Think about it: branches don't strain to produce fruit. They simply stay connected to their life source. The branch doesn't wake up each morning with a to-do list: "Must make three grapes by noon!" No, fruit emerges organically when the branch remains attached to the vine.
Similarly, our spiritual fruit—love, joy, peace, patience, etc.—isn't manufactured through human effort.
Why We Want God’s Help But Not His Rule
My new book, Hope Reset, is a Christian historical fiction/fantasy novel that follows the legendary advisor Merlin as he embarks on an extraordinary journey through time alongside Jesus. In this story, Jesus guides Merlin through the life of David—the shepherd-warrior who became Israel's greatest king—to prepare him with the wisdom he'll need when he returns to Camelot to help Arthur become the king he's destined to be.
In one particularly powerful scene, Merlin witnesses young David serving under King Saul, who was, frankly, a wreck. Saul was plagued by deep paranoia and violent, unpredictable rages. David, renowned for his skill with the harp, would often play music that brought peace to the king's troubled mind. David had also saved Israel by defeating the giant Goliath.
But even though David was loyal and provided the king with both peace and protection, Saul's jealousy over David's popularity curdled into a murderous rage.
Are You Forgetting the Main Thing?
Jason's bowls tournament was approaching quickly, and my kitchen had transformed into what resembled a professional bakery. Every surface was dusted with flour, mixing bowls were stacked in the sink, and the sweet smell of baking filled our cottage. My husband had volunteered to handle all the refreshments for the event, bless him, which meant he had been baking all day. (By the way, he's a VERY good cook!)
I was in my office, fingers flying across the keyboard as I worked on my latest book, when I heard a groan from the kitchen that could only mean disaster.
"Oh, for crying out loud!"
The frustration in Jason's voice pulled me from my writing zone. I found him staring at a tray of unbaked scones, his flour-covered hands on his hips.
"What's wrong?"
He pointed at the offending dough. "I forgot the cheese."
Marble Troubles, Sandy Blessings
Have you ever noticed how we tend to remember the negative far more vividly than the positive? I certainly have. Last week, while chatting with a friend about our past year, I found myself dwelling on the challenges like health flare-ups, ministry disappointments, and frustrating conversations. My list of troubles flowed effortlessly, while I struggled to recall specific blessings.
It struck me later that I’d been etching my trials in marble while letting my blessings wash away like footprints in the sand.
This peculiar human tendency reminds me of Joseph in the Bible. Talk about someone who could have clung to bitterness! Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, and forgotten in prison by the cupbearer, Joseph had a mental museum of grievances he could have displayed.
Instead, when naming his sons, Joseph made a remarkable choice.