Every Drawing has a Story…
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Waiting
I found myself back in the boat this week. Well, at least my chalk pens and Sharpie markers seemed bent on exploring more uncharted waters. This week, I contemplated the concept of waiting.
A sunflower seed can lie dormant in the soil for up to five years before finally sprouting. Most emerge within weeks, but some fall or are placed in spots that delay germination. Possibly sheltered by a rock, surrounded by hard, dry soil, or simply starved of moisture, they remain hidden beneath the surface, waiting.
Back to the drawing. Two responses to life's seasons of delay came to mind: one of quiet contemplation and one of nervous energy and action. I personally tend to lean toward the latter.
This journey, specifically the man sitting tied to the dock, made me think of one of my Bible heroes, Daniel. Likely in his 80s, he found himself in the place between the promise and the deliverance. His faith was tested to the limit, and his only weapon was a steadfast trust in the Lord.
He did not scurry about. He did not yell or scream. He simply sat and trusted. I imagine the first few hours were intense, but as time went on, it became apparent that God was keeping the jaws of the lions shut.
Today, I ask myself a simple question: How has God asked me to remain patient in a season of delay, and how do I muster a Daniel-like faith?
Daniel 6:22 (ESV)
"My God sent his angel and shut the lions' mouths, and they have not harmed me, because I was found blameless before him; and also before you, O king, I have done no harm."
Daniel demonstrated faith that was built over the course of 80-plus years. The night he spent in the lions' den was not his first encounter with uncertainty, nor would it be his last. The trust that carried him through that dark night had been forged through decades of walking faithfully with God.
What about the guy on the ladder? That is a story that will have to wait.
To be continued...
Every Drawing has a Story…
NEW Drawings drop on Friday
Response
Heliotropism is the movement of a plant in response to the sun. Young sunflowers are one of the best examples, facing east at sunrise, following the sun westward until sunset, then slowly resetting overnight to face east again.
The word heliotropism comes from: “helio” = sun and “tropism” = turning or response.
Chalk pens in hand, I began drawing this week with no particular destination in mind. My initial sunflower patch gradually transformed into something more fluid, making room for a sailing vessel. I slowly sketched out the boat, sails filled with purpose, taut with anticipation.
I considered my own daily routines and pondered the question: How often do I sit in the light of the “Son”? How much of my day is spent responding by turning toward Him?
This hit a bit harder when I learned that, as sunflowers mature, most stop turning. They simply face east, content to soak in the morning rays.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.”
Lamentations 3:22–23 (ESV)
I pray today that I would continue turning toward the God who sustains me, never growing content with yesterday’s light.
Who’s Driving
This week I asked myself the question: How often are you allowing fear to drive you?
My artistic brain turned this into a fun and thought-provoking pen-to-paper exercise, the results of which may make you laugh, cringe a bit, or possibly reflect on how often you hand the keys to fear.
A perceived threat, whether physical danger, social rejection, anxiety, or even a painful memory, activates the amygdala, which in turn signals the hypothalamus, autonomic nervous system, and adrenal glands, letting them know that “something may be wrong.” This happens fast, often before rational thinking catches up. We quickly find ourselves in one of three modes: fight, flight, or freeze.
The fear response, by design, kicks us into action and helps us avert danger, but we were never meant to live in, or even camp out in, fear.
We are reminded in John 4:18 (ESV) that:
“Perfect love casts out fear.”
Love has been shown to reduce stress hormones, improve immune function, increase confidence, and help with emotional regulation. But the love that John speaks of is deeper still. It is the steadfast love of God, a love that sustains, refreshes, and never stops. It carries within it the very explanation for why we love at all:
“We love because he first loved us.” (1 John 4:19, ESV)
Today I am reminded that when I find myself in the passenger seat of fear’s van, all I need to do is look to my Heavenly Father and remember: His perfect love casts out fear.
The Hebrew word “hevel” means vapor, mist, or smoke, and is most famously used in Ecclesiastes, where it is translated into the English word “vanity.” It represents something temporary, fleeting, and difficult to hold onto.
This week, I drew myself drawing my younger self. In the process, I was reminded that the dandelions I once scattered freely with puffed-up cheeks are now the very weeds I try to remove from my yard.
Solomon captures this tension beautifully in Ecclesiastes:
“Light is sweet, and it is pleasant for the eyes to see the sun.
So if a person lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember that the days of darkness will be many. All that comes is vanity.”
Ecclesiastes 11:7–8 (ESV)
Take a moment today to remember the unencumbered joy of your younger self. Maybe even pick a dandelion or two, recapture a moment of childlike abandon, puff up your cheeks, and set the tiny seeds free.
If time could pause long enough for ink to remember it.
In the Beginning
The ink from my pen took me on a journey all the way back, well, at least as far back as my mind can imagine, to a time before our world as we know it existed.
Before there was anything we now recognize, there was no form, no structure, no light. To our untrained eyes, it would have appeared as a vast nothingness.
Yet even there, God was present.
There was purpose.
There was vision.
There was a design known only to the Architect Himself.
A canvas not yet formed, yet filled with potential.
A universe envisioned, yet still unseen.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”
— Genesis 1:1–3 (ESV)
His tool of creation: the Word.
Imagine, for a moment, speaking the very universe into existence.
Not built, not assembled,
but simply spoken.
Not something my mind can quite wrap around,
yet something that draws us in,
into contemplation,
into reverence,
into wonder.
The scale.
The order.
The precision.
What we attempt to describe through math, astronomy, and physics
is completely beyond us.
Yet to the Architect, it is not complex.
It is not distant.
It is simply an expression of who He is.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
— John 1:1 (ESV)
Thermodynamics
This week I was dealing with a fast-draining battery on my iPhone. It sent me down a path I didn’t expect, thinking about thermodynamics and my battery’s steady drift toward entropy.
The First Law of Thermodynamics reminds us that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred or transformed. I charged my phone, but the energy didn’t stay put. It turned into heat, leaving me with a hot pocket and a dead battery.
The Second Law of Thermodynamics tells us that energy spreads out and systems move toward disorder. Batteries fail, tires wear out, rooms get messy, and things fall apart.
Here’s what stuck with me: we live in a world full of energy, yet we cannot hold on to it. We can recharge, repair, and replace, but everything we touch eventually runs down.
Nothing we build sustains itself. Nothing we manage stays in order on its own.
And yet, in the universe, we see design, structure, order, and purpose.
That tension points to something far greater.
“He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”
Colossians 1:17 (ESV)
Everything I touch runs down, but everything He holds together does not.
Not Just a Rock
Step outside and, more than likely, like me, you’ll see only a small slice of the world: a patch of dirt, a few trees, maybe a mountain or two. Zoom out, and a larger canvas appears, one made up of deeply interconnected systems. Recent images from the Artemis II crew remind us just how breathtaking our planet truly is.
As I worked on this week’s drawing, I was reminded that the Earth is not a static rock. It is an interconnected, symbiotic collection of systems so dependent upon one another that life can only be described as miraculous.
I was reminded again on a trail run with my dog, Knox. As we moved down the trail, we exhaled CO₂, the very thing trees need. In turn, trees take in CO₂, combine it with sunlight, and through photosynthesis release O₂, the very thing we need to breathe.
Zoom back out, and the Earth is in constant motion. The geosphere recycles rock. The hydrosphere drives the water cycle. The atmosphere produces weather and forms an invisible, yet very real, protective layer. The biosphere overflows with life, so much so that we are still discovering it.
Life is not an accident. Design, order, and purpose can be seen all around us. Sometimes we simply need to zoom out.
Today, I am in awe of the Designer. I am speechless at His creation, and I shiver in reverence and stand in awe as I consider His command and power.
“By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and by the breath of his mouth all their host. He gathers the waters of the sea as a heap; he puts the deeps in storehouses. Let all the earth fear the Lord; let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him! For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.”
Psalm 33:6-9 ESV
Identity
As you look at this drawing, which character do you identify with most?
The weathered cowboy—hard stock, quick to act, rough around the edges, yet tender toward a friend in need.
The astronaut—driven, a whiz at troubleshooting, prepared for harsh environments, with an undeniable desire to explore.
The trusty dog—rain or shine, like it or lump it, you’re along for the ride.
If you’re like me, you may feel like the cowboy today, the astronaut tomorrow, and the dog somewhere in between. In fact, you may have experienced all three before the day is done.
Our circumstances often shape how we feel and how we respond. The reality is this: living, working, and interacting with others brings constant change. Different moments will pull different parts of you to the surface.
Question #2: In a sea of personalities, opportunities, experiences, problems, and decisions, how do you stay grounded?
For me, it starts and ends with time in the Word. God is the only One who truly knows who He created me to be, so I return to Him morning and evening for guidance and for a peace that not only surpasses understanding, but steadies me as I navigate this wild and wonderful world.
1 Corinthians 15:58 (ESV)
“Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.”
Stay grounded!
Keep your eyes on the prize
Grasshoppers jump like living compound bows: they cock their hind legs, load elastic energy into their bodies, lock it in with a built-in latch, and release it in a split second, launching themselves into motion at roughly 10–20 times the force of gravity. They are designed to move forward.
In comparison, their backward jumps are short and inefficient, lacking power and control. The movement is more like a misfire than a true leap.
I suppose this is the very reason I selected a grasshopper riding cowboy for this week’s drawing. My mind often longs to go back, but lacking a proper time machine, I must focus on what is before me.
I take a subtle nudge from Isaac Newton and remember that an object in motion tends to continue in a straight line unless another force intervenes. There are always forces that try to redirect us, so I must stay intentional about the direction I’m moving.
So I fix my eyes on the prize and persevere, just as it says in Hebrews 12:2 (ESV):
“Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”
Lord, just as a grasshopper releases stored strength into each leap, help me release what is behind me and move into what You are calling me toward. Keep my eyes fixed on You, steady my steps, and give me the courage to move forward with purpose. Amen.
Imagination
I remember, at a very young age, riding in the back of a pickup truck with my mom and two sisters on a drive over Snoqualmie Pass. This was the age of metal dashboards, no seatbelts, and trucks that had yet to be introduced to the extended cab. The car was broken down, so we laid sleeping bags in the bed of the truck and headed out. What makes this memory so vivid is a game my mom taught me. She told us to look up at the clouds and tell her what we saw. In doing so, she opened my eyes to the ever-changing shapes within them.
This memory came flooding back during a quiet walk along a gravel road earlier this week. I looked up and saw the hint of a dolphin in the clouds. That image inspired this week’s drawing. The gravel path became fluid, the dolphins more defined, and the two worlds collided into a collage of reality and imagination.
Our ability to imagine, dream, ideate, and express is remarkable. It is one of the things that sets us apart, yet it remains something science cannot fully explain. We can observe it, but we cannot account for its origin.
Scripture gives us insight:
“So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.”
— Genesis 1:27 (ESV)
We are made in the image of a creative God. The same God who formed the heavens and shaped the clouds has given us the ability to see beyond what is and imagine what could be.
Our creativity is not accidental. It is a gift, and in it, we reflect the very nature of our Creator.
A bearer of precious seed went out to plant.
A bearer of precious seed went out to plant. He scattered it freely and generously, paying little attention to the condition of the soil. Some seed fell on hard places. Some landed on dry, moisture-starved ground. Some fell among weeds and thorns. And some settled into deep, rich, fertile soil.
Every seed carried extraordinary promise. Each one was capable of producing an incredible harvest. It could even be said that no finer seed has ever been scattered.
As time passed, the seeds that fell into good soil produced remarkable crops. The rest, even if they sprouted for a moment, withered under harsh conditions.
All except one.
One seed slipped into a narrow crack in the ground and disappeared from sight. Hidden away, it lay dormant for a time. Then the spring rains came. Water found its way into the crack, softening the soil around the seed and awakening the life within. Slowly, roots pushed downward until they reached the richer soil below.
What began quietly eventually grew strong.
In time, that single seed yielded a hundredfold, producing the very seed the bearer would scatter again the next season.
I wrote this after reading Matthew 13:1–43 in the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus shares several Parables of Sowing.
At first glance, the lesson seems simple: be good soil. But the longer I sat with the parable, the more I realized that most of us have spent time in difficult ground. There are seasons when our hearts feel hard, dry, or crowded by the worries of this world.
Perhaps that is why the sower scatters his seed so generously.
He knows that sometimes we find ourselves in barren places.
And sometimes
we are hidden in the cracks.
Yet the seed is still alive,
still filled with promise.
His rain has a way of finding us.
Matchbox Adventure…
NEW Drawings drop on Friday
Jack Odell created a tiny road roller in 1952 for his daughter Anne, small enough to fit inside a matchbox. When her classmates saw it, they all wanted one. That simple moment sparked an idea, and Lesney Products soon launched the Matchbox line of miniature vehicles.
A young Patrick discovered Matchbox cars in the late 1970s and spent countless hours racing them through obstacle courses, loops, and yards of bright orange track. In my imagination, I was never just watching the cars. I was driving them. Every launch down the track felt like the start of a real adventure.
Fast forward to 2026, and Matchbox is still going strong, producing 100 million toy cars each year. Yet when I see them today on the shelf at the grocery store, something has changed. I no longer imagine myself behind the wheel.
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, imagination often gets packed away. Creativity gets traded for schedules, responsibilities, and the practical demands of life. The sense of wonder that once came so naturally can slowly fade into the background.
This week, I decided to unlock that childlike imagination again and sketch a Matchbox-style adventure.
As I was drawing, I was reminded of a verse that points us back to something simple but profound: childlike faith.
Children trust easily. They imagine freely. They believe without overthinking. Jesus tells us that this posture of humility and trust is exactly what the kingdom of heaven requires.
Challenge: Pause for a moment today and remember what it felt like to imagine and believe like a child.
“At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, ‘Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.’” Matthew 18: 1-4 (ESV)
Space & Time
Newton: Objects curve because a force pulls them.
Einstein: Objects follow straight paths within a curved spacetime.
Both descriptions work, but Einstein’s is deeper and more accurate, especially at large scales, such as planets following curved orbits, light bending near stars, spacecraft trajectories deviating, and clocks in orbit running faster than clocks on Earth.
Like a ship sailing along the fabric of spacetime, the voyage would always feel straight in the moment. Yet over great distances, its course would slowly curve, not because it is being steered, but because it is following the natural geometry of spacetime shaped by nearby mass and energy.
Pause for a moment and consider: God exists outside of space and time. He sees the entire voyage laid out before Him, every horizon, every current, every bend and turn you will experience along this journey of life. His power is so great that, regardless of the direction in which we begin, He continually draws us back toward Himself. He has revealed Himself in the very fabric of space and time, displaying order, purpose, and masterful design.
“Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”
Psalm 139:16 ESV
Pneuma
The Greek word “pneuma” can mean wind, breath, or spirit.
Jesus poetically explains,
“The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
— John 3:8 (ESV)
Wind can only be observed by the things it interacts with: rustling leaves in a tree, blowing sand on a beach, or a sailboat skipping across the bay. Harnessing the wind is less about brute force and more about alignment. If you want to move forward, the direction of your sail often matters more than the strength of the wind.
This holds true in our walk with God. We cannot see the wind of His Spirit that breathes upon us, yet with proper alignment we are carried forward. Just as a sailor trusts the wind and weather he cannot command, I strive to trust the Spirit of God to guide me through all that this life brings. And when I get off course, I make corrections and tack back into His breeze.
Germination begins quietly, unseen beneath the soil. A seed takes in water. The dry husk softens, and what once looked lifeless awakens. Inside, enzymes stir and begin their work, turning stored starch into sugar and setting metabolism back into motion. A hidden treasure hums to life.
Science can trace each step. It can chart the chemistry, map the DNA, and measure the heat units needed to bring a crop to maturity. It can explain dormancy in terms of hormones and environmental cues, and describe how certain seeds can rest for decades, even centuries, waiting for the right conditions.
But sitting here, I am aware that description is not the same as meaning.
Science tells me how the seed wakes. It does not tell me why life stirs at all. It can model hypotheses about how life may have begun, sketch pathways from chemistry to biology, and simulate ancient oceans under lightning-lit skies. Yet the deeper question lingers: why is there life instead of dust alone?
Through observation, science systematically describes how the universe behaves. It measures rainfall and sunlight, predicts yield, and calculates growth curves. But it does not weigh purpose. Meaning is not something you can load into an equation.
And maybe that is fitting.
Because true meaning, like the life tucked inside a seed, is not something we manufacture. It is a gift received, awakening awe and wonder deep within the soul. It is the realization that life is not a series of fortunate accidents, but intentional design.
“And he said, “The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how. The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.”
Mark 4:26-29 ESV
Seeds for Thought from a Tractor Seat
A Dream that Endures…
As a small child, my mind was easily swayed by the promise of a prize at the bottom of a cereal box. A plastic rocket could ignite my imagination, turning a simple toy into daydreams of becoming an astronaut.
As I sketched this drawing, I found myself thinking of a young Joseph. He too was a boy with a dream. But his dream would need to age, tested by time and hardship, for more than twenty years before it came to life. At seventeen, Joseph was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. He rose to a place of trust in Potiphar’s house, only to be cast into prison for a crime he did not commit. Even there, God was at work, lifting him once again into a position of responsibility.
At thirty, Joseph was suddenly pulled from prison when Pharaoh’s cupbearer remembered the man who had once interpreted his dream. Brought before Pharaoh, Joseph trusted God for wisdom and explained pharaoh’s troubling dream. The seven fat cows and seven thin cows foretold seven years of abundance followed by seven years of famine. Pharaoh, recognizing God’s hand upon him, placed Joseph in charge of preparing the nation for what was to come.
Fast forward 8 years with storehouses full, the famine had spread across the land, and the very brothers who had betrayed Joseph stood unknowingly before him, desperate for help. The full account is found in Genesis 37–50.
In the end, Joseph saw clearly that God had used every twist of his story to position him exactly where he needed to be, not only to save his family, but countless others as well. My takeaway is simple. A dream without direction fades as quickly as the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. But a dream from God, paired with faith, ambition, patience, and hope, will endure —and has the power to change everything.
A Little While…
A typical winter day on the Oregon coast is cold and rain-soaked. This winter in the PNW has been anything but typical. That is how I found myself walking barefoot along the beach, trailing behind my wife and dog, carried off by the daydream of an unusually warm midwinter afternoon. In that quiet moment, it struck me that every day is a gift. Some simply arrive wrapped a little more beautifully than others.
Over the past few weeks, I have been spending time in the book of 1 Peter. I am drawn to the firsthand perspective and unfiltered honesty from which Peter writes. He speaks of heart-deep promises and hard-edged realities. He reminds us that life will hold both joy and suffering, peaks and valleys alike. Most of all, he presses home this truth: life is meant to be lived with purpose and intention, whether we stand on the mountaintop, walk through the valley, or find ourselves barefoot on the sand.
“In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”
1 Peter 1:6-7 ESV
Can Nothing Even Exist?
ZOOM OUT to the scale of the entire universe, galaxies, stars, planets, black holes, gas clouds, satellites, and debris, and the amount of matter that actually takes up space is astonishingly small. The universe is 99.9999999999999999999999999999% empty, sometimes containing as little as one atom per cubic meter. Empty… but not nothing.
It made me ask the question: Can “nothing” even exist?
If “nothing” means no space, no time, no energy, no laws, and no potential, then “nothing” could never produce anything. It couldn’t spark reactions, form stars, or even be, because “being” is itself a property. True “nothingness” is impossible.
Quantum physics shows that even the vacuum of space is something, full of energy, bending, rippling, and capable of hosting particles. And even if every atom disappeared, spacetime itself would remain. You can’t remove space without removing the entire universe.
All of this reminds me how limited our understanding truly is. Science reveals wonder through observation, but also points us to mysteries too deep for us to grasp. And those mysteries point to a God far beyond our understanding, One who not only shapes stars, but speaks the very fabric of creation into existence. He is the One whose heart drives the very pulse of the universe.
“He stretches out the north over the void
and hangs the earth on nothing.”
Job 26:7 (ESV)
“Behold, these are but the outskirts of his ways,
and how small a whisper do we hear of him!
But the thunder of his power who can understand?”
Job 26:14 (ESV)
What is tied to your bumper?
The image of an elephant in the room has long been used to describe something obvious that people deliberately ignore. Versions of this idea appear as early as an 1814 Russian fable penned by Ivan Krylov, and later writers, including Mark Twain, used similar imagery to expose willful blindness. Over time, “the elephant in the room” became a common phrase, now woven into everyday conversation, publications, and even sermon titles.
In a similar vein, I have sketched a T-Rex on the bumper, a heavy, intimidating burden that I carry wherever I go. Just like the elephant in the room, it is impossible to ignore, yet I often pretend it does not exist. How often do we carry such burdens, heavy and potentially dangerous, yet do everything we can to convince everyone that we have it all under control?
Today, I pause and reflect on the burdens I carry. I take note of the things I have tied to my bumper, and I acknowledge that I have hauled many of them around for far too long. As is my practice, I turn to Scripture and pray through the following verses, thanking God for His willingness to take on my burdens and carry me through another day.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you,
casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:6–7 (ESV)
“Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.”
Matthew 11:28–30 (ESV)
In these verses, God invites us to lay down the T-Rex we have tied to our bumper. He invites us into His peace, a peace that surpasses all understanding. He invites us into rest so complete that we feel it in our very soul.
What are you made of?
This week my imagination and Sharpie markers went down the atomic rabbit hole, asking a simple question: what are you made of? The human body is built from unimaginably small pieces, assembled with astonishing precision. The average human body contains roughly 7 octillion atoms. By mass, we are composed of about 65% oxygen, 18% carbon, 10% hydrogen, 3% nitrogen, with the remaining 4% made up of calcium, phosphorus, and other trace elements.
At the atomic level, we begin to see just how finely tuned our design truly is. Take carbon, the element that provides the backbone of biological life. With six protons, carbon has exactly four valence electrons, allowing it to form four stable covalent bonds. These bonds are strong enough to endure, yet flexible enough to rearrange into complex molecules. If carbon had three or five valence electrons, the chemistry required for life would not be possible. Atoms themselves exist in a delicate balance between collapse, where everything fuses or decays, and chaos, where nothing binds. Even the electromagnetic force must be precisely calibrated. If it were slightly stronger, electrons would bind too tightly and chemistry would fail. If it were slightly weaker, electrons would not remain bound at all.
Life is not an accident. The more I learn, the more I stand in awe of just how finely tuned creation truly is. One day I will meet my Maker, and I suspect that when that day comes, my awe and wonder will increase beyond measure.
“For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities. All things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”
Colossians 1:16–17 (ESV)
What are you chasing
What are you chasing?
I found myself this week asking the question, What are you chasing? It emerged from a conversation with my wife and lingered in my heart. Our brains naturally measure experiences against whatever we value most. What receives our attention becomes the lens through which everything else is evaluated.
Over the years, I have chased many things, enlisted others in the pursuit, climbed and descended many ladders, and even caught a few, only to discover they did not satisfy.
Ecclesiastes 5:10 (ESV)
“He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income; this also is vanity.”
My prayer today is that my focus would center on the things that do not perish, the things that cannot be lost, and the things that cannot be bought, sold, or traded. I pray that I would train my eyes and focus on the things that are above.
Colossians 3:1–2 (ESV)
If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.
Listening to Learn
Listening to Learn:
I was reminded this week of the importance of listening while working through a few things with my family. Intentional listening is a muscle that requires regular exercise and, in my case, constant attention in order to be effective.
Let’s just say my usual knee-jerk reaction to trouble or conflict is to take on the role of a fixer—i.e., “Let me tell you how we’re going to solve this issue in five bullet points or less.” That typically works about as well as a zebra attempting to give directions to a fish!
This week, I intentionally paused, took time to pray, listened to God, and then listened to my family. I asked questions and found myself learning, understanding, and eventually reaching common ground. Who says you can’t teach an old zebra new tricks?
Listening—truly listening—creates space for understanding and healing. It reminds us that wisdom begins not with words, but with humility and patience.
James 1:19 (ESV) “Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.”
Proverbs 18:13 (ESV) “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is folly and shame.”s
In every life a little rain must fall (B. G. De Sylva, 1921)
The Pacific Northwest has been under an atmospheric river alert for weeks. My imagination pictures clouds so heavy with water I could sail across them. Yet even the thickest clouds are still 99.9% air, quietly carrying what they will one day release.
Clouds gather water slowly and let it go only when droplets grow too heavy to remain suspended. Atmospheric rivers can drop inches of rain. One inch equals 17.4 million gallons per square mile. Trillions of gallons have fallen one small drop at a time, covering the PNW in a steady, patient release.
Rain requires waiting. It does not fall where or how we would choose.
Ecclesiastes 11:3 (ESV)
“If the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves on the earth,
and if a tree falls to the south or to the north,
in the place where the tree falls, there it will lie.”
Waiting on God’s timing invites us to trust not only when something happens, but how it happens. We may pray for breakthrough in one place, yet it arrives in another. Faith rests in the belief that God’s timing and ways are better than our own.
In life, a little rain, and a little discomfort, will fall. Yet it is the rain that draws flowers from the ground, and it is often the struggle that stretches us and allows us to grow.
Tale of Two Pumps
If you have spent much time in an old truck, you have probably had a run-in with a failing fuel pump. It does not matter how strong the engine is; you are not going anywhere without a working pump. Most old-truck pumps last around 100,000 miles. At ten miles per gallon, that is about 10,000 gallons of fuel pushed through before it finally gives out.
That simple thought sent me down a math trail about my own internal fuel pump. With an active childhood and decades of running, swimming, and biking, my heart has pumped and circulated about 2,100 gallons of blood every single day. Over 52 years that adds up to roughly 40 million gallons, enough to fill 111 Olympic-sized swimming pools.
When I sit with that, I am reminded how easy it is to overlook the quiet miracles God built into our bodies. The heart is one of His masterpieces, faithfully pulsing moment after moment, beating 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Today I pause with my hand on my chest, feeling that steady rhythm. And I thank God for His unmatched craftsmanship, for this hidden gem of a pump that keeps my lifeblood flowing.
Deuteronomy 29:29 (ESV)
“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law.”
