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 Change Seems Impossible
Have you ever heard the story of the frog in the kettle? Place a frog in boiling water, and it will immediately jump out. But place it in room-temperature water and gradually increase the heat, and the frog will stay put until it's too late. While this analogy may be more folklore than science, it illustrates a profound truth about human nature.
In Jesus' day, the religious system had gradually shifted from God's original intent. Like that proverbial frog, the people didn't notice the slow drift from true worship to ritualistic religion. The Pharisees had added layer upon layer of rules and traditions until the heart of God's law was nearly unrecognizable. As Jesus said, "Making the word of God of none effect through your tradition, which ye have delivered" (Mark 7:13).
I wonder how many of those sincere worshippers realized something was amiss?
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.