“Seek & Find” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!
My wife has a remarkable superpower for finding hearts in nature, hiding in clouds, flowers, and even her sourdough bread.
One day, we walked along a pier in Lake Michigan. We talked about our business, kids, and future. We lingered at the end of the pier, then walked back, resuming our conversation. Kim casually mentioned seeing fifteen hearts during our walk.
I had seen exactly none.
I marveled at her talent.
But is there such a thing as talent for seeing hearts in nature? I’m not so sure. It’s not like having a beautiful singing voice, exceptional sprinting speed, or a penchant for math.
Kim has a knack for spotting hearts because she spends a lot of time looking for them.
What seems magical to others is often the result of lots of practice.
I once wrote a book about seeing. In it, I talked about storms, the metaphorical kind that blow through our lives. I also wrote about one of our most underrated superpowers: the ability to choose what we look for in the midst of those storms.
Yes, the storms will come. Scary, devastating, faith-shaking storms. They are a given, right up there with death and taxes and missing socks.
But those who see the silver linings are usually the ones looking for them.
It’s not a talent; it’s a practice.
The more you practice, the better you get.
This is true with finding hearts in nature as it is with anything.
So, will this year be worse than last year? Or will it be your best year ever?
Here’s the secret: You don’t have to wait to find out.
The trap is letting external circumstances dictate our answers: the news headlines, the outrage du jour on social media, the ups and downs of life.
It’s hard to view a year of hardship as anything but negative. However, a decade might offer perspective, transforming it into a valuable gift. A little time and practice might turn up a whole host of hidden blessings.
I’m not suggesting you pretend that the tough or terrible moments don’t suck. Being sad, mad, or angry is part of the human experience. We don’t have to bury those emotions under some false blanket of positivity.
Just remember that storms are part of life. The best year isn’t one without failure, conflict, tragedy, or loss.
Kim took the photo that inspired this painting. She saw a heart in the sky near the lighthouse. I enhanced it slightly and added dozens more. I can’t count them all, and you might find some I didn’t add.
That is how it is with cloud watching and wonderhunting and the counting of blessings.
The more you practice, the more you’ll see.
Those who seek shall find.
☕ How would you assess your ability to spot the “hearts” in your life? What’s one way you could practice getting better?
“Kintsugi Tortoise” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 30. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD. 🔴 Shop this art!
All dreamers start out delusional.
But perhaps that’s an essential ingredient.
The feeling that their idea is “genius” and the perception of their inevitability of success provide the enthusiasm and energy to get started. After all, no one found the fuel to begin chasing a dream by focusing on all the reasons it could never work.
The critical moment is how the dreamer responds when he or she first encounters adversity.
Or as philosopher Mike Tyson put it, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
If a dream is big enough and you pursue it long enough, it will break you.
Your confidence will be shattered. Doubt will creep in. Hope will be lost.
Then what?
I’m sad to say that’s often where it ends. The dream dissolves into an emaciated wish, a thin, pale shadow of its former glorious self.
For twenty-five years, Kim and I dreamed of having a lake home. We talked about it on our first date. We spent hundreds and hundreds of hours talking about it, trying to figure out the most efficient way to make it happen while still doing the work we love and feel called to. We tried on dozens of scenarios in our minds, calculating what was possible and what sacrifices might be required.
In the early days, it seemed like just a matter of time before we made it happen. We had pure motives, a little bit of talent, and a desire to work hard. I could see it, clear as day. On the hard days, the steadfast belief that it would come true kept me going. In my naiveté, I figured it would take a year, maybe three at most. (Ha!)
As months turned to years, and our kids got older, doubts crept in. I wondered if I was wasting my time. I wondered if I was only holding on in desperation, and that my death grip on my dream life was keeping me from living my real one.
It was exhausting and soul-crushing at times. While on a family vacation in Florida, and with the kids asleep in bed, I was sitting on the balcony of our rental. Although it was too dark to see them, I could hear the Gulf’s waves pound the shoreline. My heart was broken, and I wished that I’d never had the dream at all. I was overcome by the desire to throw it back into the sea.
I considered that maybe giving it up would give me relief and freedom. I yearned for someone from a Harry Potter book to cast a Memory Charm upon me, to obliviate the dream from my memory.
That night on the balcony in Florida was February 3, 2020. A little over a month later, a pandemic began, and all hell broke loose in our lives.
Yet somehow, just eleven months later, our family moved into our dream home on Lake Michigan. (Never in a million years did I think it would be one of the Great ones!)
Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold (or other precious metals). Instead of disguising the damage, kintsugi highlights the repairs, transforming the broken object into a unique and beautiful piece. It’s a philosophy that embraces imperfections and impermanence, finding beauty in flaws and celebrating the history of an object.
It’s true that if a vessel breaks, it can never be made to look new again.
But kintsugi makes it better than new, because it’s even more beautiful than it was before.
Our brokenness makes us humble. Humility is the most beautiful virtue because it allows our other good qualities to shine fully and be most helpful to ourselves and the world.
These broken places within us are not defects. They are the places where light can shine through. Those golden scars embody a soul that is stronger and a story that’s more beautiful because of the trial.
This painting represents the slow patience that’s required of a person trying to achieve something great. It’s a reminder that we will experience the storms of struggle and brokenness. But it’s also a beacon of hope for brighter days ahead waiting for us if we persist.
The journey may be harder than you expected, but the you that emerges will be better for it.
“Ghost in the Road” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
It was like driving through a sea of black ink.
The trip back to our hotel from the Lamar Valley was harrowing. It being Yellowstone, the specter of animals hanging out on the road is always a possibility. We’d reveled in the wildlife of the North American Serengeti, but now the sun was gone and darkness blanketed the winding way home. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Kim’s clear anxiety was less than helpful.
We snaked around curve after curve, my eyes peeled for any signs of movement. Then we saw it: a small coyote trotting down the middle of the road. As we came upon him, I slowed to a stop. He turned his head and stood frozen in the bright beam of our headlights. Time stood still. He looked at us, and we looked at him, and for a brief moment, we connected.
Kim snuck a quick photo before he turned away and disappeared into the darkness.
It felt like we encountered a ghost in the road.
Sometimes we encounter people in a similar way. Their life intersects with ours and we make a brief connection. They show up to guide us through difficulty, supporting us emotionally, physically, or spiritually. When the time to move on comes, they disappear from our lives, like a ghost in the road
Have you had encounters like that, a limited interaction with someone that greatly impacted your life?
Years ago, I had lunch with Phil Vischer, the co-creator of Veggie Tales. I was trying to get my Kim & Jason comic strip off the ground. He gave me a lot of great advice, but one of the most notable things he said was, “Assume that your life two years from now will be nothing like you imagine it will be. Be open to where God is leading. If God calls you or Kim to a different role or a different job, be open.”
His advice left me unsettled, but it stuck with me.
Around that same time, Kim and I encountered a woman named Mary Jo who worked for a local Catholic Church. She told us about a growing movement within the Church to educate children and adults together and assured us that if I could create a program that held the attention and spoke to both groups, I’d definitely be in demand as a speaker. She was right, and that’s how my now twenty-year career as a professional speaker began.
It required me to retire the comic strip, but Phil Vischer’s prophetic words helped give me an open heart and comfort when I saw God lead us in a new direction.
It’s been said that people are in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Phil and Mary Jo are people who came into my life for a reason. They were fellow travelers who crossed my path, and for a brief moment in time, our souls connected. In their own way, they illuminated my path, let me know that I was seen, that what I was doing mattered, and to keep going.
We are called to do that for others.
I’ll never forget a time I was a ghost in someone else’s road.
Waiting for everyone else to leave, she appeared at my product table at the back of the room after my second and final presentation of the day. She seemed hesitant, engaged in an internal debate on whether to approach or retreat. I noticed from her badge that her name was Jennifer. I assumed she was trying to decide if she wanted to buy something. Instead, she hesitantly exclaimed, “I want to trade you something, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
“I won’t think you’re crazy,” I promised, not knowing what I was in for.
Apparently I was convincing enough, as she began digging around in her purse. She pulled out a small black velvet box and placed it on the table between us. She said not a word. Perplexed, I determined that it looked like a ring box and deduced that her silence meant that I was supposed to pick it up. I opened it. I was right there were two simple rings inside, one band was rimmed across the top with a row of tiny diamonds; the other was shiny and plain.
They were wedding rings.
“Ok…” I stumbled. “It looks like there is a story here…”
She began, “Six months ago today, my husband left me while I was at work.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She offered no further details, but it was clear that it was as surprising as it was devastating. She continued, “After he left, on a whim, I decided to apply for my dream job, the one I never went for while we were together. And I got it. And it was amazing.”
She began sobbing, and it suddenly felt that the table between us was two miles wide. She apologized for breaking down, while I debated jumping across the table to hug her right then and there.
She regained her composure and said, “Sitting in your two sessions today…you just said so many things that hit me. For a long time, I had given up on love. I had given up on me. I told myself that this job — my career — was my new love now and that this would be the focus of my life. But you helped me to see that I can’t give up on love.”
She motioned to the rings, and, looking at the last Adultitis First Aid Kit I had left, said, “If you’d be willing, I’d like to trade these for a new beginning. I don’t need them anymore.”
I gave her a Kit and a big hug and mumbled something that I don’t remember, but was probably stupid.
I don’t remember what I said that struck a chord. I don’t know whatever came of her, although it’s possible she’s still following our stuff all these years later.
I was a ghost in the road of her story, and she was a ghost in the road of mine.
Something I said to her on that day helped her to see with new eyes and gave her the confidence to bravely move forward. Meanwhile, Jennifer’s courage and her gift serve as an everlasting reminder of the privilege of what I get to do. When I get discouraged that the crowd I’m speaking to is too small, or not engaged enough, or that I am too tired, I think of Jennifer, a ghost in the road who crossed my path so many years ago, and I am reminded that every single day is an opportunity to change someone’s world.
Never underestimate your role in helping to heal our world. As it has been said many times, “Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person.”
I hope this reflection opens your eyes and gives you an appreciation for the ghosts in your own road.
And I hope it will inspire you to be a fellow traveler who crosses someone else’s, taking the time to look them in the eye and say, “I see you. You matter. You’re doing great. Keep going.”
“Chocolate Moose” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
Our family didn’t go to Yellowstone to see moose, specifically. We went for the scenery, and we did want to see as much wildlife as possible.
One afternoon, we settled into a nice spot in the shadow of the Grand Tetons called Schwabacher Landing, and waited for moose. We’d heard the odds of seeing them there were good. Very quietly, we waited, and waited, and waited. It felt like any moment one might emerge from the brush to steal a drink from the pond.
We sat for two hours before admitting defeat and heading back to the hotel, disappointed.
The next day, while in Jackson, we wandered into the gallery of a photographer who told us about a side road to check out if we really wanted to see moose. The sun was about to set, but the spot was only a few miles away. We were skeptical, but two minutes after parking our car, we saw three moose.
It was as if our patience the day before had been rewarded in some strange way. Our persistence earned us a small prize after all, like a sweet dessert at the end of a meal.
In life, there is a lot of waiting. Long periods where nothing seems to go right. Tiresome stretches where we sit with patient expectations to see a dream come true.
This sometimes confounds us, because somewhere along the line, we got the idea that life is supposed to be easy. We chase comfort and good feelings and grow frustrated when we encounter struggle and pain.
But the truth is that a life in which you expect nothing but nummy treats and comforts will leave you disappointed. That’s not what this life is for.
As Pope Benedict XVI implored, “You are not made for comfort, you are made for greatness.”
But to paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, chocolate is proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy. That’s probably why he rewards us with little treats along the way. They are there to reward our efforts, keep us on the right track, and motivate us to keep going in pursuit of true greatness.
And yet, it is not healthy to develop a spiritual sweet tooth. Perhaps heaven will flow with rivers of decadent chocolate, but chocolate is not meant to be our entire diet here on earth. Life is a training ground for relying on faith instead of feelings.
The small desserts we encounter on our journey are only a foretaste of what’s ahead.
Enjoy them. Delight in them. Savor them so that you may persevere during the difficult times.
“Sunshine In My Soul” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
I do not know how people survive without faith in this dark world.
Perhaps it’s why our rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide are at all-time highs. My faith is like having sunshine in my soul. No matter how heavy the storm or dark the night, there is a joy that never dissipates, giving me hope.
I did not always have this faith. Like many, my perception of God came from the reflection of Him I saw in others. Often, it was a pretty distorted version.
But there were people I encountered who were in alignment with the merciful, mighty, and loving Father I have come to know and love.
This is the God whose light I pray shines forth from my work, so that others may see, believe, and experience this sunshine in their soul.
“What Does The Fox Say?” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
Have you ever texted someone a question and then those three little dots pop up as they formulate their reply?
You know the three dots.
Depending on how consequential their response is, that delay can feel like an eternity, right?
We want answers now, but sometimes they take a while to come.
From the very beginning of our relationship, Kim and I talked about living in a lake home one day, surrounded by tall pine trees. It took over twenty years to come true, which was approximately nineteen more than I expected.
Over that prolongated waiting period, I asked God what was taking so long many times. I never got a concrete answer. (At least not one that kept me from asking it again, three months later.)
When we grow impatient waiting for an answer, we are prone to make up our own.
I figured maybe God didn’t hear me. Maybe He was hard of hearing. Maybe He was waiting for me to pray harder. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe He didn’t think I deserved it.
The thing is, I never got the sense that God was saying no. Sometimes I wished he would, because the waiting was so difficult, as He wasn’t exactly responding with an obvious yes. Just twenty years of three dots.
After the dream home materialized, in the middle of a global pandemic, when we thought we might lose everything, so did the answer. It became clear that He was doing important work in me that mattered more to Him than the dream home, and that kind of work takes time.
Eighteen months after moving in, a storm rolled into Sheboygan, and a terrible straight-line wind ripped through our backyard. It destroyed 150 trees, uprooting our forest oasis and plunging us into debilitating debt.
Again, I came to God with a question: Why?
This time, my faith was stronger than the roots of the pine trees that couldn’t stand up to the storm. I knew something good would come from the nightmare, but the three dots lingered for longer than I would have liked. I leaned on a question that got us through the pandemic, and one I share almost every time I’m on stage:
“Now that this has happened, what does this make possible?”
A week after the storm, I took my family to breakfast. After we ordered, I turned to a blank page in a journal and asked my wife and kids to dream with me. What was possible now that the storm had taken all our trees? One by one, we built our list as we envisioned a bright future.
It took a few months for the professional lumberjacks to clear the trees, level our property, and for the new grass to take root. But now we have a stunning, unobstructed view of Lake Michigan and a vast stretch of green to play baseball and bocce, and frisbee. We’ve hosted several Moonrise Movie Nights with friends and family. We installed a fire pit, a bird bath, and other whimsical touches that make our hearts sing. We recently planted fruit trees that we hope will yield ingredients for homemade pies, and we hope to add some legacy trees that will look gorgeous in the fall.
When people who knew our old backyard see our new one, they often lower their voices to a whisper and say, “I hate to say it, but I think it’s even better now!”
And you know what? They are right. We do miss the trees, but we like this version of our backyard even better. And never in a million years would we have had the gall to cut down 150 perfectly good trees to get it.
Meanwhile, even though insurance didn’t pay for any of the backyard cleanup or restoration, it did give us a new roof, which was due to be replaced. And the debt, which is steadily being paid down, has drawn me even closer to God, which is right where He wants me.
So what about you?
Are you in a spot where you are waiting for answers, and all you’ve received so far are the three dots?
I can’t tell you when the answers will come, but they will. Maybe not till the next life, but maybe sooner than you think.
As you wait for answers, don’t be so quick to make up your own.
“To Sheboygan with Love” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
On our very first date, Kim and I agreed to live on a lake.
As we began the process of getting to know each other, we got talking about our ideal place to live. For some reason, Idaho was mentioned. (When you grow up in a small town in Illinois surrounded by cornfields, almost everywhere feels more exotic.) We talked of mountains and potatoes (obviously), but pine trees and lakes took precedence.
We both agreed that living on a lake surrounded by tall pine trees would be an ideal place to settle down. (We didn’t necessarily know it would be together.)
The two of us dated for five years before getting married, and that vision of lake living stayed with us. We never lived on any of the four lakes that make up the heart and soul of Madison, Wisconsin, in the twenty years we called it home. We did spend hours and hours walking along those lakes, dreaming and scheming together, trying our best to figure out how to make it happen.
We were also open to other lakes in other locations. We just knew it needed to be bigger than a pond, something large enough to accommodate a pontoon boat. We tried on lots of places, including Idaho, where we finally visited for the first time while celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. After all those years, we couldn’t shake the dream of living on a lake.
We never anticipated it would be a Great one.
Sheboygan didn’t hit our radar until one day during the height of the pandemic. A friend of ours knew our dream. He took note of the fact that we often took vacations near the ocean because we loved the sound of the waves, and suggested we check out Lake Michigan (which looks a lot like an ocean when you’re standing on the shore, unable to see the other side).
The idea had never occurred to us. We pulled up a map and surveyed the cities east coast of Wisconsin. What about Sheboygan? I had spoken there once, and remember enjoying a few moments I had to spend sitting by the lake. We googled it, and learned it was known as the Bratwurst Capitol of the World and the Malibu of the Midwest because of its unique geographical qualities that provide ideal surfing conditions.
That kicked off a magical and miraculous journey, a long story made short by saying we now live in Sheboygan. On a lake.
This painting celebrates Sheboygan, the funny-sounding city on the shores of Lake Michigan, known for brats and surfing. But it also represents our prayers.
Saying a prayer is like launching a message in a bottle into the ocean. Once a prayer leaves your heart, you lose all control. You hope it reaches God, but once it floats out of sight, it’s easy for doubt to creep in: Did it get lost? Swallowed by a shark? Did it reach its destination only to be rejected or forgotten? You might be tempted to wonder how you could have been so foolish to trust in such an uncontrollable, unpredictable, mysterious method. Did you think this would actually work?
Our prayer to live on a lake was a message in a bottle. It floated out there for two decades.
The dream felt more and more foolish as the years wore on and our business took longer to grow than we’d expected. There were times I thought the dream was lost at sea. There were moments I wished it really was, because I was so weary from wondering what happened to it. I figured it would be easier, and less painful, to have never dreamed the dream or prayed the prayer at all.
Maybe you have a prayer like that, a message in a bottle that you’re certain is lost. I can’t tell you how your prayer will be answered, but I know for sure it’s not lost. It’s definitely not forgotten.
Somehow, our prayers find our way back, with answers washing up on unexpected shores at unexpected times. But it’s always at exactly the right time and delivers exactly what we need, even if it looks different than we imagined.
God will not let you miss your future.
It takes faith to release a prayer into the great unknown, and that faith is always rewarded.
“How Many Watermelons?” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🔴 Shop this art!
What do motivational posters, charismatic preachers, and embroidered pillows have in common?
They regularly tell us to count our blessings.
If we’re in the midst of a good day, we’d probably admit it would take a long time to count all our blessings. Maybe even longer than it would take to count all the seeds in a watermelon. But theoretically, both could be done.
This painting was inspired by the saying “Anyone can count the number of seeds in a watermelon, but only God can count the number of watermelons in a seed.”
Today is the second anniversary of the day I needed a chainsaw-wielding neighbor to help me clear trees from my driveway so I could drive to the airport for a speaking engagement. The night before, a storm descended upon our home with a terrible straight-line wind that damaged our home and devastated our property. I had to leave my wife behind in a home with no power to push aside the grief to begin the clean-up and call insurance companies.
I can assure you, it did not feel like a blessing.
That storm turned our trees into kindling and destroyed our finances. It wrought great debt and fear, and uncertainty. It brought trauma to our family and nightmares to my kids.
But it was also a seed.
A seed that has since produced many blessings…
It connected us to some amazing people.
It taught us how to receive generosity from others with humility.
It provided us with the insurance money to buy a new roof which needed to be replaced.
It opened the door to a new space to play ball and badminton and frisbee together.
It inspired us to be even more hospitable, ushering in Moonrise Movie Nights and the Wonder & Whimsy Society Family Reunion.
It gave us a new view, one that many agree is even more breathtaking than the one we had before.
It strengthened our family and bolstered our faith, bringing us even closer to God.
I suspect that dark forces were pretty happy about the storm, hoping it would destroy us. But I believe God allowed it because even though it brought a great deal of pain, he also knew just how many blessings would spring forth.
I share this not to minimize the pain any of us has experienced, but to offer a reminder that in life, pain and joy can co-exist.
Today is also Father’s Day. My experiences have led me to believe that God is a good father. He wants to hold you in his arms and give you a big, all-encompassing hug, especially if you are struggling with some great trauma of your own. I want to let you know that he is bringing forth fruit from the ashes, perhaps some of which you may already be able to perceive.
I can assure you, the full bounty goes beyond what you can ever imagine.
I’ve just shared many blessings we’ve identified from the storm we experienced. But the thing is, we’re only two years removed from it. How many more blessings have yet to be revealed?
Only God knows how many games of catch I’ll have with my son.
Only God knows all the conversations that will be had around our new fire pit.
Only God knows how many pies will be baked from the fruit trees we just planted.
Only God knows how many photos Kim will take of the wonder that will bloom there.
Only God knows how many family dinners will be shared from our deck overlooking the lake.
Only God knows how many people will be blessed and healed in some way by their time there.
Only God knows what opportunities and relationships will arise from this new space.
The storm was a seed that produced a multitude of watermelons.
And those watermelons are filled with seeds that will usher forth even more.
Only God knows all the things that will be made possible because of a brief moment in time when a hurricane-force wind whooshed through our lives one summer day.
Only God knows the number of watermelons in a seed.
“Not a Morning Person” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
Do elk have the choice of being a morning person?
Are there some elk, hidden away in the woods, “sleeping in?” Some who stayed up late contemplating the universe, or were up all night partying with other woodland creatures?
Alas, I assume that elk are wired the way they are wired, and they don’t have the choice of whether they are a night elk or a morning elk.
No, but we do.
I used to be a night person. I rolled my eyes at the people who annoyingly championed the virtue of early rising. I loved staying up to work on art when the world was quiet. I’d go to bed way past midnight and somehow only need a few hours to tackle the next day with a full supply of energy.
That, of course, was before kids. Nowadays, when nine o’clock rolls around I am dragging like a wet, rolled-up area rug. If I do summon the energy to stay up a smidge past midnight, my next few days are completely wrecked.
A few years back, I read the book “Miracle Morning” and developed a new habit. Nowadays, I am up before 6 am (unthinkable back in my youth).
I guess that makes me a morning person.
The war rages on between the pious morning people and the obstinate night owls. Although typically vehemently opposed to one another, both sides seem to talk about liking the quiet, which is, of course, present both very early in the morning and very late at night.
Our souls crave solitude from the noise that dominates our daily lives.
We all need to carve out some quiet time. The when probably isn’t as important as what we do with it.
My life transformed when I became a morning person, and not because I decided to get up early in the morning, but because of what I did with that time.
Back in the day, I used the silence to work, read, or endlessly scurry down internet rabbit holes.
These days, my routine looks different.
I pour a fresh cup of coffee, light a candle, and plant myself in my prayer chair, which once served as the place where I rocked all three of my kids. I read the Bible. I journal. I pray. Sometimes I listen to music or read from a devotional. Other times, I just sit there, in the quiet, before the kids are up and the world turns on for the day, listening for the still, small voice of God. It is bliss. I never thought I’d ever actually enjoy getting up this early, but now I wouldn’t miss it.
It’s a little oasis in a desert filled with an endless parade of noisy marching bands and riled-up slot machines blinking and begging us to pull their lever. The marching bands are all the outside forces trying to distract us. The slot machines are the illuminated rectangles in our purses and pockets that we constantly refresh, lured in by the promise of that oh-so-gratifying hit of dopamine when we see something that surprises us, delights us, entertains us, or enrages us.
This is a challenge to examine our habits.
Do we get up early merely to have a longer treadmill on which to sprint, attacking a to-do list that never ends?
Do we stay up late bingeing content that temporarily satisfies but does nothing to uplift our souls or make us better humans?
Do we subconsciously avoid silence because it makes us feel anxious in the immediate gratification era in which we live?
Silence feels weird.
Silence feels unproductive.
Silence feels boring.
And yet, maybe the elk are up early to bask in silence.
I’ve always been a believer. I’ve not always been a morning person.
But spending an hour a day in silence with God changed everything.
“Horse & Hummingbird” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 30. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
I compare myself to other people all the time. Friends, colleagues, neighbors, and the people I went to high school with.
According to the Bible, God made hummingbirds on the 5th day. He made horses on the 6th. It seems obvious that He made a horse because He wanted something different than a hummingbird. I don’t expect he chastises horses for not being able to fly or expects hummingbirds to hang their tiny heads in shame for all the times they don’t win the Kentucky Derby.
Quite frankly it’s kind of ridiculous to compare the two. So why do we do it with one another? It’s no less ridiculous.
But it’s a great way to waste time we could be spending to improve our lives and make the world better by embracing and sharing our own unique gifts.
Later on in the Bible, we learn that “God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well.” (Rom 12:6) You are not like anyone else. You are supposed to do what you’re made for. And no one else has the same mission as you do.
We don’t need you to be a horse. We don’t need you to be a hummingbird. We don’t need you to be a better version of that girl you went to high school with.
