When the Thorn Remains
The garden outside our Welsh cottage is small but lovely. However, interspersed among the beauty are thorns. Nasty, prickly thorns that seem to appear from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
A few days ago, Tess came bounding into the house from her garden adventures, but instead of her usual exuberance, she limped across the floor, frantically licking her front paw. Jason scooped her up immediately, cradling her like a baby to examine the source of her distress.
"There it is," he announced, pointing to an enormous thorn embedded deeply in the pad of her paw. "This is going to hurt, girl."
As if understanding his words, Tess began to squirm and whimper, but Jason held her firmly. With one swift movement, he extracted the thorn. Tess yelped, then immediately relaxed in his arms.
Planting the Seeds of Peace
I have a brown thumb. Actually, that's being generous. It's more like a thumb of death when it comes to plants. I've given up trying to grow anything because no matter how carefully I follow the instructions or how diligently I water and tend, most plants barely last a week before keeling over. My friends and family have learned not to gift me plants anymore, having witnessed too many botanical tragedies. Even my attempt at growing a supposedly unkillable miniature rosebush ended in disaster. (Who knew they could actually shrivel up and die from too much attention?)
Yet, despite my gardening failures, James 3:18 has been lingering in my thoughts lately: "And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace."
The imagery here is powerful. Peace isn't described as something we manufacture in a crisis.
Are You a Bummer Lamb?
I was watching an interview with Christian author Sheila Walsh the other day when she began talking about "bummer lambs." Having lived in rural Wales for a few years, I've learned quite a bit about sheep farming, but this particular term was new to me.
A bummer lamb, as it turns out, is a lamb that has been rejected by its mother. Sometimes, the ewe has twins and can only feed one. Sometimes, the mother dies during birth. And sometimes, for reasons only the sheep know, a mother simply refuses to accept her baby.
When this happens, the shepherd steps in. He takes the rejected lamb into his home and hand-feeds it. He keeps it warm by the fire, wraps it in blankets, and tends to its every need. The shepherd essentially becomes the lamb's parent, giving extraordinary care and attention to this tiny creature.
Mimicking the Master
On a recent walk through town, Jason, Tess, and I encountered another dog walker along our usual route. In typical terrier fashion, Tess approached the other dog, exchanged the customary sniffs (you know, the canine equivalent of "How do you do?"), and then bounded over to the man. But before he could even reach down to pet her, she'd already turned tail and continued her journey, clearly satisfied that she'd fulfilled her social obligations for the moment.
Jason burst out laughing, nudging me with his elbow. "She gets that from you," he teased, and I couldn't help but chuckle because, well, he wasn't wrong. Like my furry friend, I too prefer to keep my social interactions brief and purposeful. Give me my quiet office with its book-lined walls or my peaceful garden over a crowded social gathering any day!
Just an Ordinary Day…Until It Wasn’t
In our Bible Study last night, I had the opportunity to teach the story of a woman seldom discussed in Sunday School. Her name barely fills a few verses, yet her courage changed Israel's history!
The story begins with Israel under severe oppression from Jabin, a Canaanite king, whose army was led by the fearsome Sisera. God raised up Deborah, a prophetess, who summoned Barak to lead Israel's army into battle. Though Barak agreed, he insisted on Deborah's company, to which she replied, "I will surely go with thee: notwithstanding the journey that thou takest shall not be for thine honour; for the LORD shall sell Sisera into the hand of a woman" (Judges 4:9).
When the battle turned against Sisera, he fled on foot and sought refuge in the tent of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite.
Beyond the Noise
Have you ever played the "telephone game" where everyone sits in a circle and whispers a message from person to person? By the time it reaches the last person, the message has usually transformed into something hilariously different from the original.
I was thinking about this recently while reading about Elijah in 1 Kings 19. Poor Elijah was having what we might call a spiritual breakdown. After his magnificent victory over the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, Queen Jezebel threatened his life, and suddenly our brave prophet was running for the hills—literally.
He ended up at Mount Horeb (also known as Sinai), exhausted, depressed, and feeling completely alone. "I, even I only, am left," he lamented to God, "and they seek my life, to take it away" (1 Kings 19:10).
Thou Art the Man!
I once watched a little boy on the playground point accusingly at another child who had pushed someone down. "That's not nice!" he shouted, his face twisted with righteous indignation. Not five minutes later, I observed this same boy shove another child who wouldn't share the slide. The irony wasn't lost on me. How often are we like that little boy—quick to condemn in others what we tolerate in ourselves?
This reminds me of one of the most powerful confrontations in Scripture: when Nathan the prophet faced King David after his sin with Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah.
David had everything—the kingdom, wealth, multiple wives and concubines. Yet he coveted another man's wife, took her, and then orchestrated her husband's death on the battlefield to cover his tracks. For nearly a year, David lived with this sin festering in his soul, apparently unbothered by his own wickedness.
Daily Bread Vs. Special Treats
I couldn't help but laugh at my clever canine yesterday as she demonstrated both her intelligence and her rottenness. Tess adores her wobble Kong—a treat-dispensing toy that rolls and tumbles with each nudge. Usually, I fill it with her regular kibble, but yesterday, I decided to add a few special treats to make it more exciting.
What followed was nothing short of comical. Like a furry tornado, Tess batted that Kong from room to room, leaving a trail of perfectly good kibble in her wake. She had one mission: extract only the special treats. The regular food? Not worth her time, at least not initially. I watched in amazement as she meticulously picked out every single treat, ignoring the "boring" kibble scattered throughout the house.
Eventually, hunger won out over pickiness, and she returned to clean up the trail of regular food she'd previously deemed unworthy. As I watched her methodically clean up her mess, I couldn't help but see a spiritual parallel.
Finding Joy in the Digital Dance
Have you ever felt like you were caught in an endless loop of frustration? Recently, Jason and I found ourselves trapped in what I like to call the "customer service carousel." We were attempting what should have been a simple task—moving our music service from the US platform to the UK platform. Sounds straightforward, right?
Oh, how wrong we were! The app cheerfully directed us to contact customer service for this transition. Three representatives later, we were told it wasn't possible despite the app's clear instructions suggesting otherwise. When we questioned this contradiction, we'd get shuffled to yet another representative faster than a hot potato at a church picnic.
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?