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.
When Progress Looks Like Snow
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!
The Joy (and Confusion) of Substitutions
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.
Staying Connected When Life Goes Dark
As a missionary in the beautiful, yet often rainy and windy, country of Wales, I've become quite the expert at walking into rooms and flipping light switches that I know full well won't work. I've also mastered the art of trying to wash my hands with water that isn't flowing, followed by the classic "Oh, right!" moment of realization. It's amazing how many times in a single day a person can forget there's no power or water!
Last week's storm brought a special kind of challenge. Instead of one prolonged power outage (which I could have handled with dignity and grace... maybe), we experienced what I like to call the "disco light special" – power flickering on and off throughout the day. Each time the power returned, I'd dash around the house like a contestant on a game show, resetting clocks, checking the heating, and most importantly, coaxing our temperamental internet router back to life.
Lessons From a Midnight Mouse
I jolted awake to the sound of scratching and scampering, followed by an excited "Woof!" from our terrier, Tess. I turned on the bedside lamp, revealing our pup's intense focus on something beneath our dresser. That's when I spotted it—a tiny grey mouse darting across our bedroom floor.
Talk about a rude awakening! Living in rural Wales, backed up against sheep pastures and woodlands, I suppose we should have expected such visitors sooner. But after two years without any uninvited guests, we'd grown complacent. Now, here we were, at midnight, watching our typically sweet-natured terrier transform into a determined hunter.
Needless to say, sleep proved elusive that night. Between Tess's vigilant guard duty and my heightened awareness of every little sound, morning couldn't come soon enough.
Strategies for Overcoming the Chaos of Over-Commitment
As I sit here, typing away, I can't help but chuckle at the irony. Here I am, writing about the dangers of over-commitment while my to-do list threatens to topple off my desk and bury me alive. It's a bit like a drowning man giving swimming lessons, right?
But let's be honest, we've all been there. We've all felt the weight of too many responsibilities pressing down on our shoulders, threatening to crush us under their collective mass. It's as if we're trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle on a tightrope. Over a pit of hungry alligators. In a hurricane.
The physical toll of over-commitment is no laughing matter, though. Our bodies weren't designed for constant stress and activity. We need rest, rejuvenation, and the occasional nap (preferably not during the pastor's sermon, but I won't judge). When we push ourselves too hard for too long, our bodies start to rebel.
Headaches become our constant companions. Our backs ache like we've been lugging around boulders instead of grocery bags. Our eyes develop a twitch that makes us look like we're constantly winking at everyone (which can lead to some awkward situations, let me tell you). And don't even get me started on the joys of stress-induced acid reflux. Nothing says, "I'm living my best life," like feeling like you've swallowed a flamethrower after every meal.
Rekindling Our Zeal
Have you ever stopped to think about the word "enthusiasm"? It's a word we use often to describe our passion or excitement for something, but did you know that its etymology has a fascinating link to the divine? The word "enthusiasm" comes from the Greek "enthousiasmos" (ἐνθουσιασμός), which can be broken down into two parts: "en" (ἐν) meaning "in" or "within," and "theos" (θεός) meaning "god." In ancient Greek, "enthousiasmos" referred to a state of divine inspiration or possession by a god.
Isn't it fascinating how language evolves? While the original concept of "enthusiasm" was related to being filled with or inspired by a divine presence, the meaning has evolved over time to describe intense excitement or zeal for any cause or interest. But as Christians, I believe we should reclaim the original meaning of enthusiasm and apply it to our relationship with God.
The Odd Flower Out
I was out in the garden the other day, hanging up some laundry and enjoying the sun's warmth on my face, when I noticed something unusual. A single daisy-like flower bloomed tall and steady in the middle of one of my backyard bushes. I had seen it before—last year, in fact—and it had struck me as odd then, too. It seemed so out of place, protruding from the bush all alone in its uniqueness.
As I stood there, admiring the flower, I couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with it. Indeed, we've all had moments where we've felt like the proverbial square peg trying to fit into a round hole. We've all experienced that sense of not quite belonging, even among those we consider to be our closest friends and family. It's a feeling of isolation, being different, and standing out like a sore thumb.
Mindfulness in Christian Living
This morning, Jason decided to treat us to homemade scones for breakfast. It was a lovely gesture, to be sure, but one that didn't quite go according to plan.
You see, our oven is a bit of a peculiar beast. It's got two knobs: one for temperature and another for the various oven controls. You can turn up the temperature without turning on the oven or turn on the oven without adjusting the temperature. We typically leave the temperature set and only fiddle with the control knob, as we're creatures of habit when it comes to baking temperatures.
Jason went about his merry way, mixing the ingredients and shaping the scones with the precision of a master baker. He popped them in the oven, set the timer, and waited for the magic to happen. But when the timer went off, he opened the oven door to find... raw dough. The scones looked exactly as they had when he'd put them in!