Heaven’s Hotline
I'm not one of those people who has to have the latest, greatest phone. In fact, half the time, I forget to carry my phone with me. That being said, for my birthday, Jason surprised me with a nice new phone. The main reason for this change was because my old phone had been acting wonky for some time now. On several occasions, people claimed I didn't answer their call when the truth is, my phone never rang. Messages didn't always go through. And recently, it took me five tries or more to even make a call.
The frustration of an unreliable connection is maddening. You need to make an important call, but your device decides it's the perfect time for a technological tantrum. We've all been there, haven't we?
But as I finally gave up on my rebellious phone that day, a beautiful thought struck me: aren't you glad our "phone line" to Heaven doesn't work like that?
When Hope Disappoints
For the past few months, I've been seeing a homoeopath in hopes of finding a natural remedy to cure all my ills. When you live each day in pain that affects your mood, energy levels, and focus, you grow desperate for answers. So, I reached out to a local homoeopath.
The first treatment she prescribed did wonders. I felt like a different person. My pain was drastically lessened. My mood was greatly improved. My energy level wasn't exactly through the roof, but it was far better than it had been in a long time. Yup, for about two weeks, I felt like I was on Cloud Nine.
But, slowly, my symptoms began to return. We tried adjusting the dosage, but that seemed to only cause issues with my sleep patterns. From there, we tried a different treatment that not only didn't help but seemed to send me back to where I was from the very beginning.
The Other Half of the Prayer
Most mornings before I leave my devotion time, I close my eyes and whisper, "Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer" (Psalm 19:14). It's a prayer that has become as natural to me as breathing. The first part makes perfect sense. I want the actual words coming out of my mouth to honor God. Simple enough.
But recently, as I sat on my beanbag in my office, I paused mid-prayer. What exactly am I asking when I pray for the "meditation of my heart" to be acceptable?
The word "meditation" in Hebrew (hagion) refers to our innermost thoughts, ponderings, and even mutterings. It's what we chew on mentally throughout the day, the internal dialogue constantly running through our minds.
Religion Vs. Relationship
As we minister in mid-Wales, we're discovering a heartbreaking trend that has emptied many chapels across this beautiful country—religion itself.
I can't tell you how many adults have shared nearly identical stories with us. As children, they were bundled off to church or chapel every Sunday without explanation, marched down the aisle in uncomfortable clothes, and told to sit still and be quiet. They memorized prayers and recited responses without understanding why. They were taught how to act but never why it mattered.
"We just did it because we had to," one elderly gentleman told me, his weathered face creasing with the memory. "Mam would've had our hides if we'd refused."
Church services were as dry as month-old scones—formal, repetitive, and utterly devoid of life. The ministers droned on about the stories of the Bible without ever bringing about an application to the people or helping them understand how and why the Bible is still relevant today.
Beauty and Bands
As I mentioned before, with our upcoming ladies' meetings on the horizon, I've been knee-deep in fairy tale themes and decorations. I confess that even during my quiet time with the Lord this morning, my mind was still swirling with images of glass slippers and enchanted roses. So when I opened my Bible to Zechariah 11 and read about Beauty and Bands, I couldn't help but smile at God's sense of humor.
"And I took unto me two staves; the one I called Beauty, and the other I called Bands; and I fed the flock." (Zechariah 11:7)
Beauty and Bands. It immediately transported me to the beloved tale of Beauty and the Beast. You know the story—a beautiful young woman, a cursed prince, a magical rose, and the power of true love. But as I continued reading, I realized God wasn't telling me a fairy tale. He was revealing something far more profound.
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 Sweet Fragrance of Worship
Have you ever noticed how certain scents can transport you back in time? The aroma of freshly baked chocolate cake reminds me of my grandmother's kitchen, while the scent of pine needles whisks me away to my favorite childhood spot—the Big Rock. But one fragrance mentioned in Scripture particularly captivates me –the spikenard Mary poured out.
Picture the scene with me: Jesus is dining at Simon the leper's house in Bethany. The room buzzes with conversation when suddenly, Mary enters with an alabaster box of precious ointment. Without hesitation, she breaks the container and pours its contents over Jesus's head and feet. The Bible tells us, "Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment" (John 12:3).
Finding God in Lost Things
Have you ever lost something and searched everywhere, only to come up empty-handed? That's exactly what happened with my dog's favorite toy, Robby the Robot. This wasn't just any toy. It was a clever little contraption that would roll and wobble around, dispensing treats as it went. Tess adored it, probably because it combined two of her greatest loves: play and food.
But one day, Robby mysteriously vanished. At first, I wasn't too concerned. Tess has a habit of rolling and batting her toys into the oddest places, so I assumed he'd turn up eventually. However, as days turned into weeks, I became increasingly determined to solve the mystery of the missing robot.
I crawled on my hands and knees, peering under every piece of furniture. I checked behind bookcases, inside cupboards, and even among the many boots and shoes by the door.
Hidden Treasures
My husband knows me well. When he suggested we take a short break before our busy spring schedule, he knew exactly where I wanted to go—Hay-on-Wye, the booktown of Wales. Just 45 minutes from our home, this quaint village houses over twenty bookshops, each one more enchanting than the last.
From the outside, these shops appear modest—simple storefronts with basic displays. But step inside, and you'll discover a bibliophile's paradise. What begins as a single room lined with books transforms into a labyrinth of literary wonder. Through doorways and up staircases, around corners and down narrow corridors, each shop reveals hidden chamber after hidden chamber, each filled with countless volumes waiting to be discovered.
Jason, Tess, and I spent three days exploring these magical spaces. Between browsing sessions, we sampled local treats (the donuts were divine!) and took long walks around the town and on local trails.
Making Our Story Count
For we spend our years as a tale that is told. - Psalm 90:9
As we wrap up our series on "Once Upon a Time," we've discovered that real life has both similarities and differences to fairy tales. We've explored how God writes better stories than the Grimm Brothers and how our struggles aren't always resolved with a wave of a magic wand. But today, let's focus on making our life story worth telling. After all, according to our verse, we spend our years as a tale that is told. The question is, what kind of tale are we telling?
Like any good story, our lives have a beginning, middle, and end. But unlike fictional tales, we're writing ours in real time, and we don't get to edit the previous chapters. So, how do we ensure our story is worth telling?