Why We Want God’s Help But Not His Rule
My new book, Hope Reset, is a Christian historical fiction/fantasy novel that follows the legendary advisor Merlin as he embarks on an extraordinary journey through time alongside Jesus. In this story, Jesus guides Merlin through the life of David—the shepherd-warrior who became Israel's greatest king—to prepare him with the wisdom he'll need when he returns to Camelot to help Arthur become the king he's destined to be.
In one particularly powerful scene, Merlin witnesses young David serving under King Saul, who was, frankly, a wreck. Saul was plagued by deep paranoia and violent, unpredictable rages. David, renowned for his skill with the harp, would often play music that brought peace to the king's troubled mind. David had also saved Israel by defeating the giant Goliath.
But even though David was loyal and provided the king with both peace and protection, Saul's jealousy over David's popularity curdled into a murderous rage.
Are You Forgetting the Main Thing?
Jason's bowls tournament was approaching quickly, and my kitchen had transformed into what resembled a professional bakery. Every surface was dusted with flour, mixing bowls were stacked in the sink, and the sweet smell of baking filled our cottage. My husband had volunteered to handle all the refreshments for the event, bless him, which meant he had been baking all day. (By the way, he's a VERY good cook!)
I was in my office, fingers flying across the keyboard as I worked on my latest book, when I heard a groan from the kitchen that could only mean disaster.
"Oh, for crying out loud!"
The frustration in Jason's voice pulled me from my writing zone. I found him staring at a tray of unbaked scones, his flour-covered hands on his hips.
"What's wrong?"
He pointed at the offending dough. "I forgot the cheese."
Marble Troubles, Sandy Blessings
Have you ever noticed how we tend to remember the negative far more vividly than the positive? I certainly have. Last week, while chatting with a friend about our past year, I found myself dwelling on the challenges like health flare-ups, ministry disappointments, and frustrating conversations. My list of troubles flowed effortlessly, while I struggled to recall specific blessings.
It struck me later that I’d been etching my trials in marble while letting my blessings wash away like footprints in the sand.
This peculiar human tendency reminds me of Joseph in the Bible. Talk about someone who could have clung to bitterness! Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, and forgotten in prison by the cupbearer, Joseph had a mental museum of grievances he could have displayed.
Instead, when naming his sons, Joseph made a remarkable choice.
Lord, Is That You?
The other day, I mentioned I was watching old Looney Tunes cartoons. Well, the very next day, another Looney Tunes video popped up in our feed, and this time it was Jason who indulged in some animated nostalgia. While I busied myself in our kitchen, the sound of his hearty laughter echoed from our bedroom.
At one point, I paused my dinner preparations, tilting my head to identify which character was speaking. Was that Foghorn Leghorn's boisterous southern drawl or Yosemite Sam's gruff, fiery outbursts? The more I listened, the more perplexed I became. Could it be the same voice actor behind both iconic characters? (As I later discovered, indeed it was, as the talented Mel Blanc voiced them both!)
What struck me as peculiar was how I'd never noticed the similarity before.
Learning to Unload Before We Overload
Life in rural Wales comes with its own peculiar challenges, not the least of which is grocery shopping. When the nearest proper supermarket is a good thirty minutes away, online ordering becomes less of a convenience and more of a necessity. Jason and I have our system down to a science. The delivery arrives in stackable plastic crates, we unload everything, and then return the empty crates to the driver.
We even have our division of labor sorted. Jason tackles the refrigerated and frozen items while I handle the pantry goods. It works seamlessly... well, most of the time.
During our most recent delivery, Jason gestured toward what appeared to be a single crate sitting on our kitchen table. "That's all pantry stuff," he said casually, already turning his attention to the cold goods.
I nodded, reaching for the handles of what I presumed was one solitary crate. I'd taken precisely two steps when physics delivered a painful lesson.