Feathered Friends and a Faithful Father
The sound of hedge trimmers filled the air as workers buzzed about our property, giving our shrubs their annual haircut. While the trimming certainly improved the appearance of our garden, not everyone was thrilled with the landscape makeover. Our feathered friends, who had made these hedges their temporary homes, were notably disturbed by this disruption to their peaceful existence.
Day after day, I gazed out my bedroom window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar birds that usually frequented our feeder. The garden seemed eerily quiet without their cheerful chirping and playful acrobatics. My heart sank a little each time I noticed the untouched birdseed on the driveway outside my office.
When I expressed my concern to Jason, he offered a suggestion that was both practical and profound. "Why don't we make an extra effort to show them we still care? Let's put out more food than usual, maybe even some special treats."
Tiny Treasures
I thought we had won. After weeks of setting traps and securing every nook and cranny of our Welsh cottage, the unwelcome mouse that had taken up residence seemed to have moved on. The victory was ours! Or so I thought until the other morning when I opened the pantry door.
There he sat, bold as brass, perched atop the shelf with my favorite chocolates. The little thief had gnawed through the wrappers and was helping himself to my precious stash! We locked eyes for a moment—me in horror, him in what I'm pretty sure was smug satisfaction—before we both fled in opposite directions. He scurried into his hidden passage while I slammed the door and retreated to the safety of my office, mourning the loss of my chocolate comfort.
Behind the Scenes
The comment stung like a paper cut—small but surprisingly painful. "Now, we just have to get Dana out there doing something," my coworker had quipped, presumably in jest. Though meant to be humorous, the words settled heavily in my spirit, and I found myself mentally cataloging my daily responsibilities.
From my home office, I design promotional materials, organize events, prepare music and Bible studies, create floral arrangements, and handle correspondence for our ministry. Yet because most of this work happens behind the scenes rather than in the public eye, it's easy for others to overlook these contributions.
As I nursed my wounded pride, the Lord gently reminded me that I often treat Him the same way.
When Your Best Efforts Fall Short
I stared at my computer screen, scratching my head in confusion. The tutorial for the new publishing software had seemed straightforward enough: Import your manuscript, format the chapters, add the front matter, and voilà – a perfectly formatted book would emerge. Yet here I sat, staring at a mess of misaligned text and wonky page numbers that looked nothing like the polished example in the tutorial video.
"I followed every step!" I muttered to myself, replaying the tutorial for the dozenth time. But something was clearly missing, and my frustration level was rising faster than bread dough in a warm kitchen.
It reminded me of so many areas in life where we diligently follow the "instruction manual" but still end up scratching our heads at the results.
The Fine Art of Forgetting
Have you ever noticed how some people seem to have an uncanny ability to remember every wrong committed against them? They can recall with perfect clarity the exact moment someone cut them off in traffic three years ago or precisely what their spouse said during an argument in 1987. It's like they have a steel trap for memories, but only the unpleasant ones.
I confess, I can be that person from time to time. My mental filing cabinet remains stuffed with folders labeled "Times People Have Wronged Me," complete with cross-references and color-coding. It's exhausting being the keeper of such detailed records, yet I often can't seem to help myself.
Recently, while reading my Bible, I stumbled across a verse that convicted my record-keeping heart: