Some of the greatest narrative moments are arrivals. Han Solo says, “You’re all clear, kid.” Aslan storms the field with the White Witch’s prisoners quickened. Gandalf arrives at Helm’s Deep with the Rohirrim (or the men of Westfold, if you’re a purist). As portals fill the sky, the Avengers hear a voice say, “On your left.”

Arrivals like these bring change. The story turns with their appearing — and even more poignantly — they turn not simply on power, but power arrives on the wings of these relationships.

“Nothing lasts forever,” we say when a relationship ends, or a long-standing institution closes its doors. I’ve said it to children when beloved toys wear out or a sibling “ruins” another’s artistic masterpiece of the moment. This wisdom is echoed several times over by the teacher of Ecclesiastes:

Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 2:11)

I read about anxiety a lot. Anxiety comes up, it seems, in all sorts of places. That alone is enough to say that we probably live in an anxious age. Anxiety, in the broadest sense, describes a condition of the human heart regarding the future. In older usage, anxious could be synonymous with eagerness — a positive relation to the future. Today, it largely refers to negative movements of the inner man guessing about what’s next.

It was over. David’s line had ended. Not only had the king died, but Ahaziah’s enraged, power-hungry mother, Athaliah, slew all of the royal household of Judah. David’s Judah would be no different from Jeroboam’s Israel — idolatrous, disordered, and doomed to exile. Worse — God’s promises seemed unreliable. For he had promised David an eternal throne for his Son.

There’s a profound difference between art that wants to reflect what you would see if you were standing there, and art that is more stylistic-abstract. Art theorists call the difference perspective.

You can learn a lot about yourself by examining your motivations. “What motivates you?” can be a tough question, though, because it’s hard to see inside our own heads sometimes. Here’s one way to get a clearer picture: ask yourself,

What am I willing to put up with to get what I want?

Are you willing to slave away at that driveway after a snowfall? Why?

Motivation shows through where patience cracks. If your doctor’s office is running late, you’ll sit in that waiting room a lot longer to receive a biopsy result than you would to have them check a bunion, wouldn’t you?

What are you willing to put up with? Why?

Brussels sprouts — the most diminutive cabbage in the brassica patch — have a terrible reputation. They don’t deserve their negative street cred. These little marbles of chlorophyllic joy can carry flavor and deep caramelization, but they’re an acquired taste. With time, experimentation, repeated exposure, a determination for healthier eating, and a touch of bravery, those who used to loathe the little-cabbage-who-could can grow to love the nooks and crannies of subtle bitterness and crunch.

Ever since the Lord came down at Babel, words have been funny things. We often make jokes from homonyms. Consider this one that always gets a laugh from the preschoolers I know:

Q: Where does a shark keep his money? A: In a SAND BANK! hilarity ensues

We could list many examples, couldn’t we? Imagine confusing a bat with a bat! Sometimes, when we come to the Scriptures, we have to reason carefully with the words the Holy Spirit inspired to understand what the human author intended by the word he chose. If we’re careful, we can find profound insights into God’s ways.

People are fascinatingly observant at airports. Everybody is keyed in to micro cues and mannerisms around the gate, in the boarding process, or, even more noticeably, the deboarding process. Everybody is striving, in some way, to hurry without being rude. To avoid offense while getting a good spot in line, you have to know which boarding group was just called and which small pockets of people go together.

A warning from the beginning of a well-known televised sports program recently caught my eye:

The following program is a collection of stooges talking about happenings in the sports world. It is meant to be comedic [sic] informative. … There may be some “cuss” words because that’s how humans in the real world talk. … p.s. Don’t sue us.

It’s almost as American as baseball or apple pie — in a world where the dream is white picket fences on a green lawn, simmering resentment for another’s success, and bragging about our achievements pack out the stereotypical suburb better than charcoal grills on the fourth of July.

We are so very quick to see another’s success and want it for ourselves.

Some biblical phrases are worth building a life around. “The Lord is My Shepherd” (Psalm 23:1) or “God loved us and sent His Son” (1 John 4:10) come to mind. Because salvation in Christ is so central, verses like John 3:16 or Romans 5:8 have become life-defining for many. Others find purpose and direction in phrases like, “Do all to the glory of God” or “Preach the Word!”

Justification by faith! The phrase rolls easily off our tongues, but when did we last seriously considered its meaning and what’s involved! Through the centuries, multiple books of great length have plumbed the depths of this central truth and doctrine of the true Christian faith.

Church life in first-century Corinth had a lasting impact. Paul met Aquila and Priscilla there and taught there for eighteen months. Persecution and Roman ambivalence marred those early days. Yet, the Corinthian church’s strength to endure persecution fostered a fatherly affection in Paul (1 Cor 4:14-16).

Like many biblical ideals, contentment is a “narrow way” ethic. On one side of the path, contentment dies when it falls into the ditch of apathy. Lazy, unimaginative complacency isn’t biblical contentment, no matter how pleased such a person is with himself.

In “Zoe’s Hiding Place,” author David Powlison spins a tale about a little mouse named Zoe who gets anxious about field trips at school. It’s a fun little story, a fantastic model for wise and godly parenting, a helpful picture of real-world anxiety, and a clear outline of a gracious-biblical response to anxious thoughts.

Let me tell you, the expression “no use crying over spilled milk” is true, helpful, and challenging. It’s not that easy! Sometimes, grown men have to remind themselves not to freak out over a quarter cup of spilled milk (no matter how much preschool folly toppled the beverage!). We often make a fuss when we don’t need to, don’t we?

Many of us can tell stories of friends who aren’t believers anymore. Maybe they walked with us as friends on the pilgrim road toward Heaven’s gates for years. Then, it all unraveled one day, or maybe over several weeks, as a pattern of sin, a lack of repentance, a confession of unbelief, or an outright denial of Christ leaked out in tragic detail.

Is God really always good? As believers, it's easy for us to think about the great truths of the Gospel and sing of God's goodness together on a Sunday morning or when things in life are smooth sailing. But what about when times are dark—when things don't go the way we expect or when extreme hardships occur in our lives?

An old country love song from my childhood rattles off a string of “better than” pictures to describe the singer’s love. It goes like this,

My love is deeper than the holler, stronger than the river, Higher than the pine trees growin’ tall upon the hill My love is purer than the snowflakes That fall in late December And honest as a robin on a springtime window sill And longer than the song of a whippoorwill