In Deuteronomy 32:13, we find a fascinating image where God speaks of making His people "suck honey out of the rock." This same imagery appears again in Psalm 81:16: "He should have fed them also with the finest of the wheat: and with honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee." At first glance, it seems like an odd combination. After all, honey comes from bees, not rocks. Yet, there's profound meaning in this divine metaphor.

The imagery makes perfect sense when we consider how wild bees often build their hives in rocky places like crevices, caves, and cliff faces. These natural fortresses protect the colonies and their precious honey. When someone discovers such a treasure hidden within the rocks, accessing it requires effort and persistence. Breaking through the rocky barrier to reach the sweet reward within isn't easy, but the result is worth the work.

Living in Wales has taught me a thing or two about unpredictable weather. This past week has been a perfect example of nature's indecisiveness. One moment, pristine white snow blankets our driveway, transforming our little corner of Wales into a winter wonderland. The next, the sun peeks through the clouds, and I think, "Finally! Back to normal!" But before I can even grab my walking shoes for an afternoon stroll with Tess, another flurry descends, and we're right back where we started.

This morning, as I watched yet another wave of snowflakes dance their way to earth, I couldn't help but see a parallel to my spiritual journey. You see, I often expect my walk with the Lord to be a straight path of constant improvement. One prayer, one sermon, one revelation, and boom, I should be transformed into the perfect Christian, right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong!

Living in rural Wales has its challenges, and one of them is grocery shopping. Thankfully, we live in an age where I can order my groceries online and have them delivered right to my door. What a blessing! No more trudging through the aisles with my wonky joints or trying to manage heavy bags with my fibro-weary muscles.

But there's one quirky aspect of online shopping that never fails to amuse (and sometimes befuddle) me—the substitutions. When an item is out of stock, the store attempts to provide a suitable replacement. Sometimes these swaps make perfect sense, like exchanging one brand of butter for another. However, there are times when I'm left scratching my head and wondering if perhaps the substitution algorithm has gone rogue.

The Christmas gifts are now put away, and the New Year is in full swing, but I can't seem to shake the melody of "O Come, All Ye Faithful" from my mind. More specifically, the phrase "O come, let us adore Him" keeps repeating like a stuck record in my thoughts. As I sit here in my cozy Welsh cottage, watching the snow in my driveway sparkle in the rising sun, I find myself pondering what it truly means to adore Christ.

You see, we sing these carols year after year, often without giving much thought to their deeper meaning. We know the tunes by heart, and the words roll off our tongues with practiced ease, but do we really understand what we're declaring when we sing about adoring Christ?

I used to be the queen of New Year's resolutions. You name it, I resolved it: exercise more, eat less chocolate (though why anyone would want to do that is beyond me), read through the Bible in a year, and keep a cleaner house. The list went on and on. But come February, those resolutions were nothing more than guilt-inducing reminders of my failures scribbled in my journal.

Recently, when someone asked if I still made New Year's resolutions, I had to chuckle. "No," I replied, "I've given up on giving up things." The irony wasn't lost on either of us.

But here's what I've discovered in my journey away from resolution-making: God isn't interested in our annual goal-setting nearly as much as He's interested in our daily surrender.

I'm convinced my neck will be sore tomorrow. No, I haven't been doing any strange exercises or sleeping in an awkward position. I've simply been doing what most of us do this time of year—looking backwards and forward so much that I'm starting to feel like an owl!

The transition between years always seems to trigger this response in us, doesn't it? We find ourselves simultaneously reflecting on the past year's events while peering anxiously into the unknown future. It's like trying to watch two tennis matches at once. It's exhausting but somehow impossible to resist.

As I look back over 2024, I can't help but smile at God's faithfulness. Sure, there were trials. My health issues didn't suddenly disappear, and our ministry in Wales continues to be challenging. But nestled between those difficulties were countless blessings: new friendships formed at the chapel, breakthrough moments in Bible study, and even Tess learning not to bark at every dog that passes our bungalow (well, almost).

Have you ever watched a tightrope walker? It's fascinating how they maintain their balance, shifting their weight ever so slightly from one side to the other. One wrong move could spell disaster. I often feel like that tightrope walker in my spiritual life, especially when it comes to finding the balance between doing and waiting.

Just yesterday, I sat at my desk, staring at a blank document on my computer screen. I had a Bible study to prepare, several blog posts due, and ministry correspondence waiting for responses. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on my shoulders. Should I forge ahead with my plans, or was God trying to tell me to wait? Was my drive to complete these tasks stemming from my perfectionist nature, or was it truly God's leading?

I never thought I'd say this, but last night, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer gave me nightmares. No, I'm not kidding! Jason and I were exploring different Christmas playlists on YouTube, seeking some festive background music while we worked. We stumbled upon what promised to be "Epic Christmas Arrangements," and wow, what a mixed bag that turned out to be!

Some of them were breathtaking, like the gorgeous orchestral version of "O Holy Night" that gave me goosebumps. But then things took a turn. Picture, if you will, "Jingle Bells" transformed into something that sounds like it belongs in a horror movie. The tune clicked and whirred like a broken music box from some abandoned Victorian nursery. The jolly "ho-ho-ho" became a sinister echo, and those cheerful jingling bells morphed into an ominous warning of impending doom.

A couple of weeks ago, Jason and I bundled up against the Welsh winter and headed to our favorite Christmas tree farm. For the past few years, we've made the journey to this quaint spot where the elderly owner greets us with his warm smile and fascinating stories.

This year was no different. As we wandered through the rows of fragrant evergreens, he shuffled alongside us, sharing his observations about his customers' varied preferences. "You know," he said, adjusting his woolen cap, "it's quite remarkable how everyone has their own idea of the perfect tree."

He gestured toward a towering specimen that must have been at least eight feet tall. "Some families," he said, "want the tallest tree they can possibly fit in their house. But then," he chuckled, "others prefer the smaller ones they can place on a tabletop."

I smiled, thinking of our Tess and her enthusiastic tail.

Have you ever noticed how quickly we can go from feeling blessed to feeling stressed? Take, for instance, our recent adventure with the fierce storm that wreaked havoc on our area. It not only knocked out our power but also damaged a water pump somewhere along our line. And just like that—no water!

The water company, bless their hearts, sent out a message early Saturday morning explaining the situation and promising to have everything sorted by afternoon. Spoiler alert: it wasn't. Then they assured us it would be fixed by evening. Again, no dice. This merry-go-round of promises continued through Sunday and into Monday, leaving us feeling rather like contestants on a survival reality show.

You don't truly appreciate the miracle of indoor plumbing until you're hauling buckets of borrowed water just to flush the toilet!