The Final Word
I've always been fascinated by book endings. Some conclude with a dramatic flourish, while others drift quietly to their final page. There's something powerful about those last few words that linger after the cover closes. While some readers savor the journey page by page, I find myself eagerly anticipating how the author will tie everything together. After all, conclusions matter. They leave a lasting impression long after the story ends.
Recently, while preparing for a Bible study, I stumbled upon something remarkable about God's conclusions. Amid judgment pronouncements and difficult prophetic warnings, God rarely leaves His people without hope. Even in the darkest passages, a glimmer of promise often appears at the end.
Take the book of Joel, for instance.
Just Turn the Page
I recently finished the rough draft of my newest Christian fantasy novel—a milestone worth celebrating, especially considering the brain fog I often battle. As I worked through the manuscript, I became increasingly aware of one particular writing technique that keeps readers engaged: the chapter-ending hook.
You know what I'm talking about. That dramatic moment where the protagonist discovers something shocking, finds himself in peril, or makes a heart-stopping decision... and then—the chapter ends. Just like that!
It's delightfully devious, really. I've deliberately placed my readers in emotional suspense. Sometimes they're worried for a character's safety. Other times, they're frustrated by a character's poor choice. Occasionally, they're heartbroken by an unexpected betrayal. But regardless of the emotion, the effect is the same. They simply must turn the page to discover what happens next.
Hidden in Plain Sight
Several months ago, I wrote a devotion about the disappearance of Tess' beloved toy, Robby the Robot. The poor pup was beside herself with worry over her missing companion, and despite our thorough searches, Robby remained elusive. We eventually concluded she must have taken it outside and lost it in the bushes and bramble.
A couple of days ago, I was sitting in the dining room when Tess came in and began pawing frantically under the bookshelf. She stretched and reached as if trying desperately to recover something trapped beneath. My first thought? Kibble. If you've ever seen a terrier play with a treat-dispensing toy, you know food goes flying in all directions.
I grabbed my duster with the extended handle and poked under the bookshelf. Yes, there was kibble under there, but that wasn't all.
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.
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.
Sweetness From the Stone
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.
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!
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.