I recently had a conversation with a teenager about driving on the interstate. He mentioned that it made the most sense to match the speed of the cars in front of him, even if that meant he went over the posted speed limit. I conceded his argument, but only to a point. “So, how fast do you normally go?” I asked him. After some hemming and hawing, he admitted to driving way too fast. I decided that was a great metaphor for the sticky matter we call peer pressure. As a parent of one teen, as well as three former teens, along with the fact that I was once a teen myself (though some might consider it happened a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away), I do have some insight into the precarious nature of those teen years. (Side note: our 15 year old asked my husband and me the other day if we had TV’s when we were growing up. We told him that the television was most definitely invented before our births in the mid-1970’s. Then my husband remarked that the internet was a different story and that he didn’t use the world wide web until after he was out of college, to which our son responded, “Well, you might not have used it, but the internet has always been there…like the moon.”) I spend a lot of time on the road (mostly driving that “the internet is as old as the moon” kid), so I think a lot about those pesky speed signs. There are times that driving on the interstate can feel a bit like a video game—pass that slow car, anticipate this 18-wheeler’s next move, get in the right lane before my exit—and the speed limit I’m supposed to aim for mostly stays a constant as I maneuver around other drivers. As much as we don’t like it (especially when we’re getting a ticket!), those limitations are there to keep us safe. So if I get pulled over and I give the excuse that I was just matching my pace to the fastest fella drag-racing down the highway, the police officer probably isn’t going to let me off the hook. Speed limit signs may be the best case scenario in making choices because they’re so black and white (both literally and figuratively), but life is full of situations cast in various gray tones. The job of the parent is to help our kids understand that there are actually right and wrong choices to be made. Just like there are rewards and consequences, chutes and ladders, to mix in a different metaphor. Too often, the choices for them (and for adults, too, if I’m being honest) are less about right and wrong and more about hard vs. easy, cool vs. dorky, invited vs. all alone, can-I-get-away-with-this vs. busted. These are tricky forks in the road to navigate, which is why it’s important to have trusted guides, firm leaders, and policies based on experience. I’m the first to tell you that I don’t have all the answers, but I will say that we shouldn’t be afraid to tell our kids what they don’t want to hear. “Rules” and “Authority” can sound like bad words to a teen’s ears, but they are essential for the safety of their bodies, minds, and souls. We could talk about how their prefrontal cortex—the part of our brain where we solve problems and weigh choices—won’t fully develop until they’re around 25 years old, but you don’t have to understand anatomy to see that if they don’t know the speed limit or its value and importance, then they will follow the fastest, flashiest car out there and often to their detriment.

When my husband Brent and I went on an Alaskan cruise, one of our excursions took us out to Betton Island via a motorized ocean raft. This island is a part of the Tongass National Forest—America’s largest national forest, in case you were wondering. Once we had left the choppy waters of the Clover Passage and shed our life jackets and bulky rain slickers, we found ourselves on an island where we felt like we’d been dropped in the middle of a fairy tale. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above our heads as it streamed down onto unfurled ferns and mossy logs below. It was enchanting. The Tongass is an old growth temperate rainforest which means it’s incredibly lush with varying shades of green. We walked atop a wooden boardwalk zigzagging through the forest so we wouldn’t disturb the flora or fauna blanketing every inch of precious space. (One type of “fauna” we saw was a banana slug, a gooey looking critter that could render a person numb if he touched it. Our guide told us that dentists used to instruct their patients to chew the gelatinous slug before a procedure to ease their tooth pain.) Our group was led by two guides, one in front and one behind us. Since we were at the back of the group, Brent and I got extra commentary from the guide bringing up the rear. She gave us all kinds of information and answered our questions as we marveled at the views around us. One of the tidbits we learned during our leisurely hike was about the very tall and (mostly) very old trees. We were surrounded by Sitka Spruce, Western Hemlock, and Red Cedar. What made these towering trees so interesting is that the soil on the island is incredibly shallow. The ground is rocky and compacted, but the roots have learned to adapt, staying fixed within the top layer of soil. They send their roots out instead of down, so over time, they form a woven mat across the forest floor. These roots stretch and curl and reach out to each other to become stable so they can weather the harsh winters together. They even incorporate the decaying logs that have fallen around them into their network of tree roots. These fallen trees are called nurse logs, and they create their own little nursery for baby seedlings and new growth. Maybe it’s because the world around me way too often looks like a dumpster fire, reminding me less of God’s beautiful kingdom where mercy and goodness reigns and more of the gloomy predictions from the prophets at the end of the Old Testament, but I really liked the idea of those tree roots grabbing hold of each other. I like the notion that nature gives us an example of what we read in Ecclesiastes 4: “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” For Heaven’s sake, let’s reach out and help each other up.

Our youngest son Ezra was born in Africa and came to America when he was five years old. That being said, his ability to communicate in English had to catch up with his thoughts and needs and wishes so we could figure out what in the world he was saying. The more he added to his vocabulary the more we could understand each other, for the most part… Those first few years, I tried my best to write down the things he said, because they were often oh-so hilarious. Looking back on those notes, I recently found this phrase: “It’s more funner, like a cat eating a pickle.” Unfortunately, the entry lacked context, so I have no clue what this refers to. Pretty soon after he was home, we began taking Ezra to speech therapy a couple times a week. I would sit behind the one-way mirror and watch him work with a therapist. After one session, I asked about my role in his speech progression. “I feel like I’m constantly correcting him—his word choices and pronunciation,” I told her. “I don’t want him to feel like that’s all I do.” I didn’t want to be the maternal equivalent of a giant red pen, always drawing slash marks through his words like a teacher grading an essay. She suggested that instead of telling him that he said it wrong, I should just repeat what he said correctly. That sounded like a good plan, so later that day when he said, “Mama, me hungry,” I countered by saying, “I am hungry,” emphasizing the correct pronoun at the beginning of the sentence. He just looked at me matter-of-factly and replied, “Then eat something.” When Ezra started kindergarten, I would go and volunteer in his classroom once a week and stay for lunch. On one such occasion, as I sat at the cafeteria table and attempted to field the many questions and stories being flung at me from all directions by his classmates in that raucous room, Ezra tapped my arm and said, “I feel sorry for Jonathan.” (He actually said John-a-fun, because that’s how he would always pronounce it. He had two Jonathans in his class that year: “John-a-fun with hair like Knox” and “John-a-fun who speak-a da Pannish.” In other words, Blond Jonathan and Hispanic Jonathan.) I glanced at Jonathan—the adorable, smiling boy sitting across the table and looking up at me through his fringe of brown bangs as he rested his chin on top of his empty, zipped up lunchbox—and I asked Ezra why he felt sorry for him. “Nobody talk to him,” he replied, “because he only speak-a da Pannish.” “Well, then you talk to him,” I suggested. Ezra grinned and turned to his friend. Then, in a loud and exaggerated voice, he said, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.” “Ezra!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?” “I speak-a da Pannish!” “That was not Spanish! Those were made up words!” I looked back at Jonathan who seemed to tickled by his silly friend’s antics. “Oh,” Ezra answered honestly, “Me not know dat.” All of us have to start at ground level and hopefully grow towards understanding, and not just the people who move continents and drastically change families and cultures like our son did. More times than I’d like to admit, I’ve been ignorant about someone or something, and I had to fess up and say to myself, “Oh! Me not know dat!” But once I know, it’s time to act differently. Author Maya Angelou poignantly said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” And that all begins by humbly claiming where we’ve been wrong.

kwcourtreporting.com One of the most impressive things about sitting on a jury is watching the court reporter. I’d like to think that I am someone who can fully focus when the need arises, but I will admit my mind’s propensity to wander. (For example, after typing the word propensity, I took a 30-second detour, considering if I should use a different word, such as predilection or tendency or proclivity, which led me to think about how all those words sound kind of similar, and I asked myself, Are any of these words made from combining two other words? Then I went to ask Google if that’s a thing and read about portmanteaus, which don’t relate to any of the words I originally typed, but is the category heading for words like smog and hangry and spork. So anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yes. My amazing ability to focus…) In the courtroom, the reporter’s fingers were typing away with superhuman speed while she maintained a neutral expression on her face. A few times she asked the lawyers and witnesses not to speak over each other or to speak more clearly, but she never seemed flustered. She continued to listen carefully. She was in the zone. I was amazed at her ability to work for hours at a time, recording all the details for future use. All of us jurors were given pads and pens to make our own notes, but my jots and doodles were nothing in comparison to her verified account of what was said and presented in the trial, including the conversations that only the judge and attorneys were privy to. So what made her account of the trial so accurate? There’s an intentionality to her work—she’s been trained, has had years of experience, and completely concentrates, dialing in to her role in that courtroom each time she sits at her desk. That court reporter wasn’t a witness to the events which resulted in the trial, but she took down the words of those who were so there would be a record. Her intentionality made me think of the frequent inaccuracy of many eyewitnesses. I read a staggering statistic the other day: The false identification of a suspect is the greatest cause of wrongful conviction in the U.S. According to the Innocence Project at the Cardozo School of Law, “eyewitness misidentification has played a significant role in over 75% of the more than 230 exonerations that have occurred to date based on DNA evidence.” That blew me away, but once I started thinking more about it, I realized that it made sense. An eyewitness most likely doesn’t know he’s going to be present for a crime until the thing is happening right in front of him. Sure, he may give incorrect information for nefarious purposes, or he may panic. His brain may misinterpret and misremember the details, possibly to shield him from trauma. But he still feels convinced that what he’s saying is what really happened. Conversely, the court reporter is prepared for what she’s going to hear. She drank her coffee or Diet Coke. She’s cracked her knuckles like Bugs Bunny sitting down at a baby grand piano. Now her fingers hover over the keys, ready to begin. Even if I’m never called to give testimony in a trial (which I hope I never will), I am called to be a witness. And the more dialed in and intentional I am, the better my testimony will be. In his most famous sermon recorded in Scripture, Jesus told the people, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” We have a powerful, light-shining, God-glorifying testimony to share if only we are willing to pay attention to what has happened in our lives.

My youngest son practices with a soccer team an hour away from my house. He’s starting his 4th year with this particular team, so the drive and location aren’t new for me, but apparently that doesn’t mean I know everything about the area. Searching for a place to stretch my legs on these hot summer mornings while the team has training, I stumbled upon a picturesque walking trail only a mile from the soccer fields. Though it’s in a very nice neighborhood, it was a new spot for me, and a girl can’t be too careful. The first time I trekked a few laps around the elliptical trail under the shade of tons of trees with a babbling stream cheering me on, I armed myself with a stick just in case someone jumped out of the foliage. I’m happy to report that I didn’t have to smack anyone. Now that I’m used to the place, I no longer carry a weapon. The main reason for this change is because now that I’ve been doing this for almost a month, I have begun to see the same people (and dogs) over and over. The couple with the Collie. The man with the two tiny Shih Tzu. The family of four with two small kids in a stroller. The husband carefully walking with his wife who displays the familiar signs of dementia as he holds her hand and guides her slow steps. Then there are the two friends who I pass regularly as they walk counter-clockwise (as a rule, I’m a clockwise walker). Their conversation is peppered with phrases like “Jesus does that…” and “Pray about this…” I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but their gracious words are “seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6) and you know how a thirsty person needs those salty electrolytes! Living in the South, we’re expected to greet one another as we pass by. Whether it’s “good morning” or “hey” or “how you doing,” it would be rude to ignore each other. But the question arises: Do I continue to say hello if we pass each other multiple times? What’s the protocol here? This is where I’ve landed—I usually just smile after the initial hello. That just feels right. I acknowledge them without forcing them to repeat themselves. Since I’m a solo walker, I wonder if I will ever get into an actual conversation with these strangers. I’m an introvert who likes to have one-on-one exchanges with people. I’m not a fan of crowds or parties, but I do like to meet people and get their stories. If I got to meet you for the first time today, I know I would find you absolutely fascinating. Small talk is okay as an introduction, but I really enjoy getting down to the nitty-gritty. I love this quote from Dr. Martin Luther King: “People fail to get along because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don't know each other; they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other.” So, so true! It’s a lot harder to despise people once you get to know where they come from and what makes them tick. What are their likes and dislikes? What are their fears? And it can all start with a simple “Hey. I like your dog.”

Summertime is often the season for vacations and traveling to exotic locations. In that same spirit, my husband Brent and I boarded a cruise ship and sailed to Alaska this month. It was all that we had hoped for—whale sightings, cooler temperatures, and quality time for just the two of us. (A fellow guest we met on the cruise referred to us as “the lovebirds.” I was totally fine with his assessment of our situation.) Our second day on the ship was a Sunday, so we decided to join 30 or so other believers for a church service in one of the meeting rooms. After sitting and chatting quietly for a few minutes as we waited for the service to begin, a woman sitting at a piano near the back of the room finally spoke up. “It doesn’t look like the person who was supposed to lead us is coming,” she said. “I’m a worship pastor at my church, so I’d be happy to read a passage and lead a few songs.” Everyone agreed with her plan, so she read from the Sermon on the Mount—reminding us not to be anxious—and accompanied us with the chords for 4 or 5 worship songs. Those of us in the room held various postures of worship—standing or sitting, hands raised or clasped in our laps—as we sang songs we recognized from Christian radio. Next, a lanky older man stood and asked permission to share his testimony. Again, we all agreed with his request, then we listened to his story of a baby son born more than 50 years ago who died as a toddler. He shared how this defining moment shaped his faith and prayer life. Then another man told us how we could all be a light for Jesus while we were on the ship, and a third man closed the brief service with a prayer. Brent and I were both moved by the simplicity of our shared experience. We walked away from that uplifting half hour with an appreciation for finding common ground with other believers. There was no discussion of denominations or song service preferences or leadership roles. It was just a gathering of people who love Jesus and know the benefit of time spent praising Him. I was reminded of the camaraderie of that church service later in the week when we were with a different group of shipmates on an excursion to see a glacier. While on a smaller ship slicing through an icy fjord, we saw several whales shooting water into the sky to reveal their location before we saw their bodies and eventually their giant tails slapping the water. Each time the whales surfaced, everyone lucky enough to see them would cry out simultaneously with an “Oh!” It was as if we were one soul, instead of a group of strangers. One of the themes of the trip for me was the word awesome. I definitely overuse this word, but there are times and places where it is the most fitting description of an experience, and this was one of those times. For example, I was in awe as I tried to comprehend the scale of those blue glaciers cutting paths through giant mountains. In his book Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis gave us a location for those moments alone in nature or in shared times of worship or some other place where we experience wonder. He called it the “region of awe.” He wrote, “For I thus understood that in deepest solitude there is a road right out of the self.” I don’t know that in my fallible, self-centered humanity I could live every moment in the region of awe, but I will try to be open to it and ask God to reveal it to me even when I’m not on vacation.

I recently had a brand new experience—jury duty. Without getting into a lot of details, I’ll just say that it was mostly interesting, and the process had the overall effect of making me appreciate our American legal system. One of the key players of that week was the judge, a mild-mannered man who we only saw from the torso and up until he came into the jury room after we delivered our verdict. He had the job of presiding over the arguments made by the opposing counsels and giving us our directions. Honestly, I can’t imagine carrying around the mental and emotional weight of being a judge. It has to be exhausting. Though I know next to nothing about the law (other than what I’ve learned from TV and movies), I do have the Scriptures to tell me about our Ultimate Judge and Final Authority. For instance, Isaiah 33:22 says, “For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; it is He who will save us.” It helps to get a little context about this statement from the prophet Isaiah. This was an incredibly difficult time. God’s people were experiencing bleak living conditions. For years, the land had been divided—Israel in the north and Judah in the south. When God gave the prophet Isaiah these words, the Northern Kingdom was losing to the Assyrians, but enemy nations were wreaking havoc on both kingdoms. Even though Judah was ruled by one of the better kings, Hezekiah, the Southern Kingdom would also eventually collapse once Hezekiah was gone. So Isaiah was called on to prophesy about the defeat that was coming. He delivers a lot of “woe to yous” about how bad it was going to be, not only for God’s people, but also for the surrounding nations who God would use to punish His people. You have to wonder if people would head the other direction when they saw Isaiah walking down the street. “Uh-oh. Here comes Mr. Bad News!” But God didn’t just give Isaiah negative headlines to report. God also gave him words of hope, and a reminder that God keeps all His promises—the ones that benefit us and the ones that sting us. So when Isaiah says in verse 22 (as The Message paraphrases it)… “For God makes all the decisions here. God is our king. God runs this place and he’ll keep us safe…” it’s like Isaiah is giving them a little pep talk. He’s saying “It’s going to get really bad…even worse than it already is…but God is always the one who calls the shots. He’s in control.” And just as true as it was 700 years before Christ was born, it’s still true today. Those three job descriptions for God—judge, lawgiver, and king—are the answer to so many questions we may face. Questions like “Why is it wrong to steal?” and “Why should I talk to God first before I make decisions?” and “Why does that evil person keep getting richer/more powerful?” are answered by this verse. As the Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end, God has the final say in every situation. And we are blessed by this reality! We could do no good thing without Him!

As an author, one of my favorite things to do (other than actually writing) is go to schools and talk to kids about books. When they pepper me with interesting questions and exhibit the kind of enthusiasm only seen in the classrooms of an elementary school, I feel ready to go home and fire up my laptop so I can create something new for readers. Over the years, I’ve heard them ask everything from “Do you have to write your books in cursive?” to “Do you know J.K. Rowling?” (In case you’re curious, the answer to both questions is no.) They often want to know how long it takes to write a book and how difficult it is to get published. Another common question is “How do you get started writing a book?” That one is a little harder to articulate. With each of my novels and children’s books, there’s been a different spark to inspire a new story, character, or fictional place. The true tales of real life people or an afternoon with nothing going on have both been the catalyst for creating fictional towns and new best friends. Even still, my imagination is just too mysterious to plot on a timeline or break up into a flowchart. I mostly always know what’s going to happen on the last page before I ever start writing page one, but, to a certain extent, I’m on a similar journey with the reader, finding out what’s going to happen as I advance through the story. I came upon this quote from acclaimed author John Irving, “I write the last line, and then I write the line before that. I find myself writing backwards for a while, until I have a solid sense of how that ending sounds and feels. You have to know what your voice sounds like at the end of the story, because it tells you how to sound when you begin.” That definitely has a ring of truth in it for me. The twists and turns of my plots may seem willy-nilly at times, meandering a bit into what seems like unimportant territory, but there’s always a reason for that side trip. Everything is leading toward the big conclusion. Maybe I’ve grown more introspective since I passed the half-century mark, but I’ve begun to wonder if I should be living my life with the “last line” in mind. I realize that I have about as much control of what happens to me as a person strapped onto a roller coaster, but would I speak and act differently if I considered what words might be said at my funeral. I suppose that sounds fairly gloomy, but it could be a challenging exercise: Figure out how to live your life backwards. The Apostle Paul had a lot to say about setting spiritual goals, especially in his letters to the Corinthians and to his friend Timothy. In 1 Corinthians 9, he said, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly.” There’s the real challenge. Instead of looking only at what’s right in front of me, I should set my sights on something ahead. Something greater, better. Something eternal. One thing I expect will be said at my funeral is that my ending is actually a brand new beginning, the start of an incredible story beyond anything I could ever imagine.

Do you remember going to the school nurse when you fell off the monkey bars or skinned your knee on the sidewalk, and she covered your scrape with medicine? She would put iodine or mercurochrome (if you’re old enough to remember that stuff) on the spot and you would think, “This medicine actually hurts worse than banging up my leg!” But she did it to fight off possible infection. That medicine was burning away germs for our own good. Sometimes the thing that’s best for us is actually painful, which is a helpful mindset as we read Isaiah 12:4 – “In that day you will say: ‘Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name; make known among the nations what he has done, and proclaim that his name is exalted.’” As I read this verse, my first question is, “What does in that day mean?” In the chapters before this one, the prophet Isaiah talks about Israel’s sins and how God would use foreign nations to punish them. But God’s punishment isn’t from a hatred of His people. It’s actually the opposite! Chapter 10 gives us the image of trees being cut down and destroyed. Then chapter 11 talks about a shoot, a little surviving piece of a tree which he calls the stump of Jesse. That’s the father of David and a person in the lineage of Christ. It’s here we start seeing that phrase: “in that day,” like “In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples…” Isaiah warns that the punishment is coming because that’s the only way to bring God’s children back to Him, but in that day God will restore His people. It’s a reminder to remain hopeful and trust God through hard times. This may seem like a stretch, but this verse speaks to me about the long journey of parenting. Sometimes as parents we need to be told that it’s just part of the job description for our kids to be mad at us. I’m guessing it’s a rare occurrence for any kid to initially receive correction and admonishment in a positive way. Most likely, we won’t hear them say, “Thank you for fussing at me, mom, you’re doing a great job holding me to a higher standard.” But I’m here to tell you that you’ve got to do the hard work of being consistent and persistent when you’re raising your kids. You don’t want to exasperate them, like Ephesians 6 warns us about, but don’t be afraid to make them mad at you. When I read this verse, I also see a call to praise God. We talk a lot about what God does for us and how our sins affect us, but starting each day in a position of praise is not only good for our souls and an honest reaction to what He’s done for us, but it’s a command. Like in Psalm 150: “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” If you’re reading this right now, that means you. So, like Isaiah said…”Give praise to the Lord. Proclaim his name. Make known among the nations what he has done.”

As we wrap up the busy month of May, I’ve noticed a popular verse frequently appearing around this time of year. Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” This is one of those verses that a lot of us cling to. We recite it to each other and write it on post-it notes to put on our mirrors. Graduating seniors often choose it as their favorite verse…and for good reason! When you’re at the beginning of a new season, you want to know that God has good things planned for you. But this is also a verse that can be quoted to suit our own situation, possibly ignoring what we’re called to do here and also forgetting the context of what’s happening at this moment in history. Here’s a little insight into what was going on when Jeremiah wrote this. The Book of Jeremiah was written to the people of Judah during the reign of their final five kings and on into the time after the fall of Judah when they were taken into captivity in Babylon. So Jeremiah, the prophet, was given the job of warning the people of Judah that their bad decisions would ultimately bring them into ruin. But of course, they didn’t seem to listen. So when we get to chapter 29, it starts off by saying, “This is the text of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to…all the other people Nebuchadnezzar had carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.” What God had promised would happen as a result of their idol-worshipping and general disobedience has happened. So the people must’ve been thinking: “Now what??” We have the advantage of knowing how this story ends, but you can imagine that God’s people were wondering if they had finally done enough damage to their relationship with God that maybe He decided to give up on them and break His covenant with them. But that’s not what happened. God’s faithfulness is beyond what we can even begin to comprehend! Through Jeremiah, God tells the people, “Go ahead and settle down in Babylon. Build houses, plant gardens, get married, have kids. But beware of false prophets who tell you what’s happening. Because here’s what’s actually going on: When 70 years are completed for your exile in Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you back to this place.” That’s when we come to verse 11: “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” God is encouraging them by saying, “Sure, 70 years is a long time. In fact, a lot of you won’t see the fulfillment of what comes next, but hang on. I’m working even if you can’t see me.” God is also saying “I know the plans I have for you…” The I is God. He’s the one who knows what’s coming, even though they have no clue! But Jeremiah’s letter goes on to say: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity…I will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.” There are some promises in Scripture that are specifically for the Israelites at that time, like I’m not necessarily expecting God to release me from captivity in 70 years. But this is a promise we read again and again in God’s Word: If we seek Him, we’ll find Him. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, it’s in the seeking—not the finding—that we grow! Like we read in Acts 17:27 – “God did this so that they would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from any one of us.” He’s not hiding! He wants to be found! Ask God where you might be stuck in spiritual captivity. Then ask Him to free you from that place. He’s waiting for you!

I can’t claim anything close to genius status. I’ve never been asked to join Mensa or any other high IQ society. I’m just your regular, run-of-the-mill, average intelligence kind of girl, but I do like to solve a good puzzle from time to time. Nothing really difficult and nothing that requires me solving mathematical equations, just simple head-scratchers. Here are a few examples: “What has to be broken before you can use it?” An egg. “What is at the end of a rainbow?” The letter 'w'. “A man shaves every day, but his beard stays the same.” He’s a barber. And one of my go-to number-related jokes: “What did the zero say to the eight?” Nice belt! There’s not much to these riddles, but if you like paradoxes as literary devices designed to make you think, the Bible is a great source. Riddles were used a lot by Jewish rabbis and wise men. They were supposed to cause the listener to think more deeply and critically. Jesus, the Best Rabbi Ever, was always dropping truth bombs and asking head-scratchers to anyone who would listen—from big crowds to his 12 closest friends. Maybe that’s where John, the Apostle Jesus loved, picked up his affinity for riddles. In his gospel, John loves to lay down a paradox, like when he discusses Jesus’ full divinity and full humanity. And he uses them in his letters of encouragement to the early churches, too. Take 1 John 2:1 for example. “My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.” John says “I write this so you won’t sin” then he says “but if anybody does sin…” So what is he promoting here? In this letter, John is teaching the believers whom he loves (he calls them “my dear children”) how and why to avoid sin, but he’s not naïve. He knows that we all still sin. In the chapter before this, John just wrote: “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” Unfortunately, sin is part of our daily lives. That’s why we need Jesus. Which is why John also writes: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” He provides a way out! And that way out is Jesus as our advocate, our lawyer. John says, “We have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.” While this idea of having a supernatural lawyer may sound like the most boring comic book hero ever—Super Lawyer to the rescue!—it’s actually part of Christ’s beautiful job description. The ancient Israelites had been taught to think of God in this way for generations—someone to plead for them. Like in Jeremiah where it says: “Yet their Redeemer is strong; the Lord Almighty is his name. He will vigorously defend their cause so that he may bring rest to their land” and “the Lord says: ‘See, I will defend your cause and avenge you.’” God has always been just, and through Jesus and the Holy Spirit we get access and sponsorship. And it’s personal. I get to see an example of someone standing for justice, but also someone willing to stand up for me. There are plenty of lawyers who would do almost anything for their clients, but I doubt they would do what our Advocate did for us. 1 John 2:2 says “He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.” He died for us! So let’s live for Him today!

Library of Congress In 1884, a woman named Belva Lockwood ran for president of the United States. Seeing as how you’ve probably never heard of her, you already know that she didn’t win. Her first campaign for the presidency (she would run again in 1888) came more than 30 years before women received the right to vote, so we can assume the majority of the voting public was not enthralled with the idea of a female president. Just from reading a short article about Belva (I hope it’s okay for me to call her Belva…I wish we were close friends on a first-name basis) in Norah O’Donnell’s book We the Women, you can’t help but be impressed by this woman. She defied the norms of the day in so many ways. She was a teacher at age 14. Then she married, gave birth to a daughter and was widowed soon after. To support herself and her daughter she went back to school, and eventually became a lawyer, though she faced many naysayers during the pursuit of her law degree. And the opposition continued after she passed the bar exam. While in Washington, D.C., Belva saw male lawyers getting around town quickly on bicycles so she purchased a tricycle to level the advantage, but her cycling was met with horror since it wasn’t considered a very ladylike activity. Though she wouldn’t become the first female US President, Belva was the first woman to argue before the Supreme Court. Years later, in the final case she’d argue before the highest court in the land—she was 75 years old, by the way, and still fighting for justice for marginalized people—she won $5 million for the Cherokee nation from the federal government. It was one of the highest settlements awarded to Native Americans at the time. When I think of Belva Lockwood, I think of the word gumption. According to etymonline.com, this word originally meant "common sense, shrewdness, acuteness of practical understanding." Over time, the meaning of gumption shifted to imply “drive, initiative, spirit.” Belva’s life displayed all of these virtues. Her story reminds me of the parable of the Persistent Widow in Luke 18. Here we read about a judge who wasn’t a fair and benevolent man. He “neither feared God nor cared what people thought.” A widow in the town came before the judge to ask for justice in a problem with her enemy. The judge was dismissive, but the woman kept coming back. Eventually, the judge gave in to her persistence, even though it was for the wrong reasons—just so she’d leave him alone. As parables go, this one seems a little odd. Fortunately, Jesus gives the listeners an explanation. He says, “And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly.” If you needed a sign not to give up on a godly pursuit, this is it. God sees your persistence in the face of difficulty. He’s aware of each time you get back up (maybe on a tricycle?) and keep going. So take Jesus’ advice to “always pray and not give up.”