“Blessed be the name of God forever and ever,
For wisdom and might are His.
21 And He changes the times and the seasons;
He removes kings and raises up kings;
He gives wisdom to the wise
And knowledge to those who have understanding.
22 He reveals deep and secret things;
He knows what is in the darkness,
And light dwells with Him.

~Daniel 2:20-22

Daniel–one of the wisest men we ever read about in the Bible. Daniel, who rose from captive slave to ruler of provinces. Daniel, who remained ever faithful to God. Daniel, who served king after king with his knowledge and wisdom and always remembered to point to the Giver of said knowledge and wisdom.

I’ve always loved this second chapter of Daniel, where Nebuchadnezzar calls all the wise men in to tell him what his dream was and then the interpretation. No one else could do it (duh), but Daniel, upon hearing that the king had ordered all his wise men killed in a fit of rage over their failure, begs for just a little time. He closes himself in his room with his friends and fellow God-followers. And he prays. He prays, and God reveals the secrets. God brings light to the darkness.

It was a literal life-or-death situation–one that affected not only Daniel and company, but hundreds if not thousands of other learned men who had been asked to do the humanly-impossible. It’s no surprise, then, that God provided. God saved not only Daniel, Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael–God saved all the wise men of Babylon through them. God made His might and power known to the king. God proved Himself not only faithful but omniscient and omnipotent in a land known for its value of things of learning.

We’re never surprised when God shows up on the grand scale. But if you’re like me, sometimes you forget that He shows up just as spectacularly when the secrets that need revealed are small.

Daniel needed God to move in a big, noticeable way that day–just as his friends needed Him to do when they were tossed into the fiery furnace. As Daniel needs later when he’s thrown into a den of hungry lions. But let’s not forget chapter one, shall we? From the moment they were brought to the palace, these four young men were determined to remain faithful to their God–and from that first moment, God answered by revealing His small secrets to them…which is to say, by filling them with wisdom and knowledge. They could out-think the Babylonian sages. They could out-perform the wise men in their own realm.

Because God gave this to them. God filled them. Their lives weren’t yet in danger…and if He hadn’t filled them with all knowledge and learning and wisdom, one could argue that they wouldn’t have been in positions to need His later intervention. But our God is one who sees far ahead…and into all the crevices.

We don’t know yet what Big Deals will be coming later in our lives, do we? We don’t know what moments of life-or-death will await us. We don’t know if or when we’ll be in a position where we need to cry out to Him for our very survival. But we do know this:

Our God doesn’t just move on the grand scale–He moves on the small.

Our God doesn’t just reveal the big secrets–He reveals the tiny.

Our God doesn’t just direct the movement of kings and prophets–He directs the faithful widow.

Our God doesn’t just heal the generals–He heals the servants.

My family’s in one of those places where our feet are pointing toward new, unknown paths. That’s stressful. Not life-or-death. But stressful. And as I contemplate Daniel this week, I’m reminded anew that we all find ourselves in those places, right? We all have been and will be there. But the God who foretold the rise and fall of the greatest kingdoms of the ancient world is the God of this too. If nothing’s too great for Him, then nothing’s too small either. He’s the God of the infinite…in both directions.

More, the God who holds us all in His hand will fill us when we ask. He’ll give us what we need to know to take the step He wants us to take. Now, He doesn’t usually reveal EVERYTHING, right? When Daniel prayed for revelation about Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, God didn’t show him that if he revealed this to the king, he’d be given a promotion, but that it would make him enemies so numerous that they’d start plotting ways to kill him and his friends so that, for the rest of his life, he’d be miraculously avoiding other death sentences. That may have been too much even for Daniel!

No, God told him what he needed right then. To save his life. To take the next step. And because he was faithful in that, more followed.

My friends, we don’t always have to know what our grand calling is. We just need to be willing to take one step with our hand in His. We just need to trust Him in this mystery, knowing that the rest will follow.

Whatever unknowns keep you up at night, know this: they’re not unknown to Him. He is the Revealer of Secrets. And, more importantly, He loves you.

We all know the story of Moses bringing water from the rock. We know it not only because it was another in a long line of miracles, but because it’s the one that he did wrong–the one that made God say Moses wouldn’t be allowed to enter the promised land. In case it’s been a while since you’ve studied the passage, here it is from Number 20:7-12.

I’ve read this countless times, but only recently did something new jump out at me. I think I’d always assumed–or perhaps heard taught–that it was because Moses got angry and struck the rock that he was punished. But that’s not what it says, right? And we happen to know that Moses has gotten angry before, and the Lord didn’t punish him…like when he broke the very tablets God had written on with His own finger. I’d have thought that would have earned a rebuke, but no mention of one is made. So what makes this time different?

When I looked at what God said to them in response here, it was like a light bulb moment for me. First, Moses did not believe Him. God gave specific instructions for what should be done, and what would happen. Moses had every reason to believe that God would be faithful–this was after far bigger miracles had already been done. So what happened? Did Moses doubt that God COULD? That He WOULD?

I’m not sure. But when we look at what Moses said to the people, I think the doubt wasn’t in God…but in their worthiness. Moses was so frustrated with the people that his entire speech was not at all about God–it was entirely about THEM.

Which leads to what really struck me. God doesn’t just tell Moses he failed to believe. He says “to hallow me in the eyes of the children of Israel.”

That, my friends, is the real sin here, I think. That here he was with another beautiful, miraculous moment when God is about to demonstrate His love and power–and what does Moses do? He berates them. He rebukes them. He calls them rebels. And he says WE (as in, he and Aaron) will bring the water from the rock.

Never once does he point the Israelites back to God. Never once does he address the rock, as he’s instructed, or even address the Lord. Never once does he direct either his own heart or theirs to their Lord.

But something else struck me here too. God was still faithful.

Moses screwed up–but God still delivered.

The people weren’t faithful–but God didn’t abandon them.

No one believed–but God still gave a miracle.

There were consequences for Moses’s disobedience, unbelief, and failure to point the people to God–but they were consequences for him alone. God still met the need that required the miracle to begin with.

I find that so encouraging. Because let’s face it–we all screw up. We all address the problems in our lives instead of trusting Him for the solution. We all fail to have perfect belief in the promises He’s made us.

But God still delivers.

God doesn’t abandon us.

God will still provide the miracles we need.

Sometimes it certainly feels like we’re surrounded by a rebellious, faithless people. But there’s a lesson here for us in those times, isn’t there?

Sometimes, when God’s about to move, we shouldn’t be addressing the problem at all. We should be addressing, looking to, focusing on the thing from which the miracle is going to come.

Don’t look to the masses, my friends.

Look to the Rock.

I’m in the midst of reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis . . . something I can’t believe I’ve never read before. And something I’ve already been nodding along with so much it’s a wonder my head hasn’t come loose. ? Given that the release of The Number of Love has also triggered several emails to me about this (in an awesome way!), I wanted to take some time to address the topic of [brace yourself] our faith backgrounds and denominations. (Still with me? LOL)

If you’ve read The Number of Love–or, frankly, A Song Unheard–then you know that these particular characters, being Belgian in the early 1900s, are Catholic. This wasn’t something that was debatable–at the time in question, something like 98% of Belgians were Catholic. When I realized that writing accurate characters would mean writing Catholic characters, I admit to a bit of fear. NOT because I have an issue with Catholicism. But because (1) I had no idea if it would fly with my publisher and (2) I didn’t want to mess anything up.

My background: I grew up in the United Methodist Church. When I was in high school, my dad, as a certified lay speaker, filled in as a pastor to 2 churches in a 3-church charge to relieve the burden on the actual pastor assigned to them, who was having medical issues. (Yes, this is important, LOL.) I attended St. John’s College, which has no religious affiliation, but which, in reading the “Great Books of Western Civilization,” spends an entire year studying the Bible and early Christian philosophers, all the way through Luther. (Sophomore year forever, woo!! LOL) 

During college, my husband and I began attending a Seventh Day Baptist church that my dad found and visited first–when he was filling in as a pastor, he preached a series on the Ten Commandments and felt a conviction about the Sabbath that soon spread to the rest of us. When we moved home after college, my family actually decided to plant an SDB church in our area, as the only Sabbath-keeping option was Adventist, which wasn’t what we were looking for. We’re still there. ?

So, here I am. I keep the Sabbath in a division of the Baptist church. I know that makes me weird, LOL. Pretty much all of my friends from college are Catholic (some were at the start, some converted during or after college). My background is UMC. I’ve read and studied about the history of the church, the Judeo-Christian world in general, and have read many of the early church fathers’ writers.

My conclusion? C.S. Lewis had it right: Christianity has a lot of rooms in it. But they’re all in the same house–whether Catholic or Protestant, Methodist or Baptist, no matter what day we worship. It’s important to pick a room because that becomes our community. But it’s also important to remember that there’s something common at our core that is MORE IMPORTANT than any of the differences.

I absolutely love that I’ve been getting emails from Catholic readers asking me if I’m also Catholic, because my treatment of the faith of Margot and the Eltons in The Number of Love is so authentic, so real to their own experience, and so different from what is usually portrayed in Christian fiction. The fact that I’m getting these questions means I did my job well, and that my immense respect is coming through. While I’m not Catholic, some of dearest friends are, and their faith is not only deep and genuine, it permeates every corner of their lives–and I love that. I had one of these dear friends from college read my manuscript while it was still in edits to make sure I didn’t get anything wrong. She had a few corrections to the scenes where they’re leaving mass, to my terminology, but I’m happy to report that the faith aspect itself met with her full approval.

I also think it reflects well on my publisher that never once did they even question this part of any of my books. While I’d heard stories (in years gone by) of publishers insisting that no denominations could be mentioned, certainly no Catholicism could be shown, this wasn’t at all my experience. In fact, when I said I had changes to make that aspect more authentic, based on the advice of my Catholic friend, they were excited I’d taken that step to make sure we were portraying this accurately.

My early fears, it seems, were unfounded. And isn’t that the way of fear? It tries to convince us not to do the hard thing, the unknown thing…the right thing. But I’m so glad I didn’t listen to it. Because I absolutely love that this book has opened up conversations about how, despite the differences, our faith rests on the SAME solid foundation–Christ. I love that I got to explore Catholicism more and have a series of amazing conversations with my friend Rhonda (who is also an amazing author–unpublished but on her way! You can check out her new website at www.RhondaFranklinBooks.com). I love that non-Catholic readers have commented in their reviews about how the portrayal of the faith of Margot and Dot and Drake made it approachable and relatable to them. 

We have differences, yes. We have to choose which room to settle in–and sometimes change rooms when we’re unsettled by something our chosen denomination has decided to do. We have to follow our conscience and find the place that makes our faith bloom and grow. But we also have to remember that we’re still in the same house. That we’re all Christian. That it’s our foundation–Christ–which matters most.

We have to remember that the unknown, the unfamiliar, the strange, the thing that makes us fear is something we should seek to understand, not something we should tear apart.

I love that I have, and hear from, readers of all sorts of backgrounds. I love that I have friends in those backgrounds too. I love that I have the opportunity to explore how faith looks through each of those lenses. And I love that one of the things my husband and I are passionate about–community and unity among and between the different rooms in God’s house–has found a voice in these stories. I honestly didn’t intend it. I was just writing the story, LOL. But then, that’s what makes it all the more fun. And, I think, all the more authentic.

What are you thoughts on the divisions between us? On ecumenism? Do you enjoy reading stories that show characters in a different side of our shared faith?

Over the weekend, a summer storm raged. The wind blew, the rain lashed down, lightning pierced the sky. Monday morning, I went for my usual morning jog, and I saw something that made me pause.

Two birds’ nests, blown out of the trees and deposited on different parts of the driveway.

It may not have grabbed my attention so much had it just been one–but two? That struck me. Especially because they both looked the same. A typical robin’s nest, woven from dried grass. Average size. Clearly empty, as the latest eggs have hatched and the babies have flown away.

Sometimes no doubt we feel like those birds’ nests, knocked about by the winds. Lashed by the rain. Pierced by the lightning. Sometimes when we think we’re safe and secure in our cozy life, we find ourselves cast down.

But do you know what struck me most about those nests? That three days later, after being driven over a dozen times, they still looked like nests. Maybe not perfect–a little flat–but they were unmistakable. The grass hadn’t pulled apart and scattered. Those little, temporary houses, abandoned as soon as the fledglings fly away, were cast down…but they were not destroyed. Because they’d been built well. For a purpose.

My friends, we are built by Someone far more skillful than a robin. And we were built to last more than a few weeks, one season. We were woven with love and purpose.

Yes, sometimes the storms come. Sometimes we fall. Sometimes we’re cast down.

But we are not destroyed. We are not forsaken. Whatever wounds people inflict, our God is bigger. He can heal us. He can pick us up. He can mold us and shape us, broken pieces and all, into something even stronger. Ordained for His purpose.

Pride.

It’s something I’ve struggled with a lot over the years. Something I’m continually learning to keep in check. Something I’ve needed to learn to master so that it’s not master of me. Something I’ve therefore given a lot of thought to and explored in my writing from various angles.

I think often we assume that the opposite of pride is humility. This seems correct, right? Until I pause to realize that just as there are both good and bad forms of pride, there are also true and false forms of humility. And when not done right, what we say is humility can, in fact, be a form of pride.

So what is the opposite of pride?

Truth.

This is something I’d already been exploring a bit with Margot in The Number of Love, and something people have commented on a few times since its release. Just last week, someone said to me that they were a bit disturbed at the apparent pride Margot displays. She’s a Christian woman–she shouldn’t be exulting in her own abilities.

I nod along to these observations. Because, yes, of course, Christians shouldn’t exult in their own abilities.

But here’s the thing: Christians should still know their own abilities. Otherwise, we’re not glorifying God for His creation, for His gifts.

C. S. Lewis has a brilliant observation of this in The Screwtape Letters. His demonic character, Screwtape, is observing to his nephew Wormwood that they’ve really done a number on humanity, making us think that embracing humility and denying pride looks like this: A beautiful woman saying she’s ugly; a talented architect claiming he has no skill.

When put so bluntly, we can see the lie in it…though even then, on the “beautiful” question we tend to think, “Well…” But pause to really let that sink in for a moment.

What do we accomplish by denying the things we’re good at? Do we really achieve humility? Or do we simply lie about what God has done? Do we convince ourselves of it? If not, then there’s more deceit. And if we do, then we’ve effectively bought into a lie.

Because there IS good in each of us. There are God-given talents and skills and abilities. There is beauty. He made us like this so that we can glorify Him through it and with it.

As Lewis puts it, true humility is in recognizing your talent/skill/ability/gift, using it for Him, acknowledging the thing you’ve done as being good–maybe even the best–and then thinking no more of it than you would if someone else had done it. True humility is in always striving to improve while at the same recognizing where God’s already brought you.

In Margot’s case, it would be ridiculous for her not to think she’s smarter than most people around her. She simply IS. This is fact, not opinion. It would be like one of the tallest people in the world never noticing that those around him seem to be shorter than he is. Humility isn’t that tall man saying, “Oh, I’m not that tall.” Humility is in him saying, “Yes, of course, I’m tall. But it doesn’t make me better. And unless I use it for God’s purposes, does it even matter?”

This can be hard for us–it’s a balance. We can’t tip over into thinking what we have makes us more important than someone else. But we also can’t just dismiss who we are.

Humility, joy, and glorifying our Lord lies in the truth. The truth of the world. The truth of His love. The truth of us.

Because we all have strengths, and we all have weaknesses. We all excel at one thing and fail at another. It’s okay to recognize where we’re strong–and to try to fix where we’re weak. It’s okay even to recognize that you’re stronger in one thing than someone else…depending on what you do with it. Do you come alongside them and help them? Lend your strength to them? Do you use it to make their lives better? Or do you just lord over them?

I’m a writer. I’d never say I’m the best or anything like that–for one thing, it’s entirely subjective. And for another, I know I have plenty of room for improvement. But I’m a writer. I’m good at it. It’s what God has given me. It’s one of the tools He’s put in my box for doing the work He’s called me to do. I’m a writer, and a good one. That’s the truth. A truth I’ve had to learn over a lot of years to hold only as tightly as I need to in order to keep doing what He wants me to do, and no tighter. It’s a truth that could change at any moment. It’s a truth that only matters insofar as I’m using it correctly. Beyond that, it doesn’t matter at all. Because being a good writer doesn’t make me a good person, doesn’t make me a child of God.

But if I can use it for Him, then I’m honoring His gift. I’m glorifying Him with it.

The truth of me would include these things:

I’m a decent musician.

I’m intelligent.

I’m a good writer.

I’m a talented designer.

And that list is great, as long as I’m using my music to praise Him. I’m using my brain to draw closer to Him and try to understand Him and the world He’s put me in and help others do the same. I use my words to share His message of love, and I honor Him by putting a lot of work into them and making them Shine for Him. I use my designing skills to help others get their stories into the world and make a good first impression.

I could list my failings too. Those are also part of my truth, part of what I need to work on. And the working on them should be part of that continual journey in Him, trying to become the person He wants me to be.

The truth of me doesn’t lie in denial. It lies is recognition of what He’s made me and what He expects of me. Because that’s just as important as the gift, right? What we DO with it.

There’s a lie you believe today about yourself. Just as there are lies I believe. Maybe there’s a truth you’ve been told you ought to downplay or deny, and you’ve been doing that instead of using it to bring glory and praise to our Lord.

But true humility does not deceive. It elucidates. Then and only then, when humility is paired with Truth, is it really the opposite of pride.

Do you ever stop to wonder how different our lives might look if, instead of searching for the most expedient way, we looked for the most meaningful?

The word shortcut has existed in English since the 1500s…and I’m sure the idea of it has been around long before that. Because generally speaking, no matter what we might say about joy being found in the journey, we’re all about the destination. And our goal is to get there as quickly as possible.

I readily admit I do this. I’ve found the quickest path to the mailbox. I’ve experimented to find the quickest route to places I go regularly. I’ve even developed a method for the quickest way to dry off when I get out of the shower (without missing any spots, of course). In my brain, this was just reasonable–the less time I spend getting there, the more time I can spend being there. Right?

But a couple weeks ago I got a Garmin Forerunner watch, which counts my steps and sets my activity goals for the day. And suddenly, my math changed. When I stepped outside to get the mail, I had this moment of debate: if I go the quick way, I’ll get the mail faster and be back inside working in no time…but if I take the long way around, I’ll get a couple hundred more steps toward my daily goal.

That first day, I took the sort of longer way–around the garden plot rather than through the woods. But as the weeks went on, I started looking for longer and longer routes to the mailbox. Now I find myself walking all along the driveway loop rather than cutting through the yard at all. Because my metric has changed. My goal shifted. I realized that the two minutes I might save in time was worth trading for the extra movement.

The other day, as I walked that longer path and meandered by the wind chimes hanging from a tree, the melody, chaotic but beautiful, spoke something to my soul. Sometimes, it seemed to say, you just need to take the long way.

The words stayed with me. I knew I wanted to ponder it and write about it, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. After all, a longer route to the mailbox for the sake of fitness isn’t exactly a deep spiritual epiphany, you know? But then I started to wonder if Jesus ever gave us this example. And I think He did.

There are several times in the Gospels where Jesus sends the disciples on ahead, and He goes off by himself to pray. The earliest example is in Matthew 14, after He feeds the five thousand. The disciples all get in a boat and go directly across the water to their next destination–the quickest route. But Jesus opts for a different path. He dismisses the multitude and then goes up the mountain to pray. Talk about the long way!

I’d noticed this before, of course, and thought it really cool that Jesus took a bit of a retreat to renew himself in the Father. But I’d never really paused to consider that He did this–knew He should do this–because getting to the other side as quickly as possible was not His goal. 

Of course, it’s also worth noting that the disciples didn’t get there ahead of him. They ended up storm-tossed, and He caught up with them, walking on the water. Another great example of how life often works, isn’t it? We think we’re on the quickest path…but then the storms arise. All our carefully laid plans get washed away, and there we are, out on the sea with the tempest roaring around us. Maybe we’re tempted to think, “Why, God? Why didn’t You warn me? Why didn’t You tell me to take the other way?” And maybe sometimes He says in reply, “You never listen if I tell you to take the long way. So sometimes, I just have to slow you down like this.”

Because I think it’s on that longer path that we often find Him. That we can hear His voice in the music of a wind chime. That we can feel the brush of His fingers in the touch of the wind. It’s when we slow down and shift our focus that we learn the lessons He’s been trying to whisper into our ear.

How often did Jesus answer a direct question with a long, wandering answer in the form a parable? More often than not, right? Even there, He took the long way around. He could have just answered directly–but there was a reason He didn’t. He knew, even in conversation, that directness may have been what we think we want, but it isn’t what we need. When we really need to dwell deeply on a topic, He forces us to do so by taking us on a little journey to the answer.

Ezra (5) and his brother, Judah (6) You can find more about Ezra’s story HERE

Last week in my first tea party book club, my VA Rachel caught my attention when she used this same phrase. She’d been talking about her son Ezra and the trial they went through when he was a baby, born without an immune system. She said, “We wanted God to heal him right now, with a big miracle. But God made us take the long way.” Today, Ezra has a fully functional immune system and is a healthy, happy boy. As a mama, I know Rachel would have preferred he get there all at once–and we tend to think, “Just think of the testimony we’d have if you gave us a miracle, God!”

But sometimes God says, “And think of the glory you get to give me every day through this when I take you on the long way. Think of all the opportunities you have to praise and trust Me when every day you have a reminder of how dependent on Me you are. Think of how much more miraculous it is that I protect you every day from the worst.”

We see things through linear, chronological, twenty-four-seven eyes. But God sees things through the lens of eternity. To Him, I don’t think “the long way” is any less expedient than “right now.” We may see it as having to wait, as languishing in misery or pain, as waiting for a healing, for a miracle, for God to move.

But He sees it, I think, as prepping the soil for the life that will grow there. As showing us something we need to learn first. As being made ready for what He’s going to do.

When the man blind from birth was healed, Jesus says his blindness wasn’t because of any sin, but for the glory of God. Still, he was a grown man–how long was he out on the streets, begging, before Jesus came along? He could have come sooner, you know. He could have sought this man out before. But He didn’t. He waited for the perfect time in His grand plan. And you’ll notice that this man doesn’t say, “Why did you take the long way, Jesus? Why didn’t you find me years ago?”

No. He says, “I know this: I once was blind, but now I see.” A vision he wouldn’t have appreciated without those years of darkness first.

So maybe it isn’t even that it should be more about the journey than the destination…maybe the truth is, we can’t always even appreciate arriving at the destination if we don’t live through a few detours first. And maybe it’s because when we can’t shift our focus off of our goals, we miss what His are for us.

Maybe we need to make it a point sometimes to take the long way…and see what music He sends our spirits when we do.