From the book of
The Grump in the Sun
tells Jonah: go to . That's the enemy's city, and Jonah doesn't feel like it. So he heads in exactly the opposite direction.
A storm comes. He gets thrown overboard, an enormous fish swallows him, and three days later spits him out onto the beach.
Then he walks to Nineveh after all. He says one sentence. And to his utter astonishment, the whole city listens. Everyone says sorry and changes their ways.
So it turns out brilliantly. And Jonah is furious.
He goes and sulks on a hill outside the city. A plant grows over his head and gives him shade, and he's thrilled about that. But the next morning a little worm chews through the stem. The plant dries up, the sun burns down, and Jonah doesn't want to go on.
Then God asks him one last question: you're devastated over a little plant you didn't even plant yourself. And what about those thousands of people?
The book stops there. We never hear what Jonah answered.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
There's a kid in your class who's been annoying all year. You know exactly who he is. That's the troublemaker. Case closed.
And then one day he apologises, and the teacher says he can join in again. Everyone's happy. And you're standing there feeling something odd: you're annoyed. Part of you is almost hoping he messes it up again.
That's not because you're mean. It's because you'd already given him a fixed spot in your head, and that spot doesn't fit anymore.
Be happy for him? Forget it. I'm quietly hoping he messes it up again, right when things were finally going his way!
Take a look in the mirror:
- Who has a fixed spot in your head? Does that spot still fit?
- When were you annoyed by something good happening to someone else?
- What made you angriest this week? Was that also the most important thing that happened that week?
Mirror line
I'd love to hope he messes it up again, but I've learned that means I'm still keeping him stuck in the spot I once gave him — even if he stopped fitting there long ago.
From 4
The Fast Way
is alone in the desert for forty days. No food, no people, only sand and his own thoughts. He's exhausted and starving.
And then the devil comes walking alongside him. He sounds friendly and he has three suggestions. The clever thing is: all three sound perfectly reasonable.
*You're hungry. Look, stones everywhere. Turn them into bread.*
*Go stand on the highest point of the temple and jump. Angels will catch you, and the whole city will see. Then everyone will know at once who you are.*
*Look at all the countries of the world. Yours, today. All you have to do is bow down for a moment.*
Three times he says no. Not because food, or being seen, or having something to say are bad things. But because he doesn't want to get them this way.
Then the devil is gone. And he's still standing there. Hungry. And he just has to start walking.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
You've been stuck on the same level for days and it just won't work. In the app you see: buy this upgrade and you'll have it instantly. You buy it. You win. But within a couple of minutes the fun's gone, because you haven't really won anything — and you're out some money too.
Or you're writing a project on volcanoes and you paste in a chunk of text you don't even understand yourself. You get a great mark. And when someone asks you a question about your own project afterwards, you don't quite know where to look.
The shortcut works, almost every time. Only you know how you got there.
Earn it properly? Why would I. I'll just buy it and act like I pulled it off myself!
Take a look in the mirror:
- When did you last take the shortcut? What did it get you, and what did it cost you?
- What would you love to be able to do without ever having to practise for it?
- If you knew for certain no one would ever find out — would you cheat? Really think about it before you say no.
Mirror line
I'd love to just buy it, but I've learned a shortcut never gives you the satisfaction of something you actually earned.
From 5
Hitting the Brakes
sits on a hillside with a big crowd around him. He starts talking about a rule everyone knows: an eye for an eye. If someone hurts you, you're allowed to hurt them back exactly as much. Neatly measured out.
And then he says something strange. Someone slaps your one cheek? Turn the other cheek towards him.
He gives another example like it. Back then a soldier was allowed to force you to carry his bag for a . Jesus says: carry it two miles.
That's not weak surrender. It's something else. As long as you automatically hit back, the other person decides what you do. The moment you do something he didn't see coming, you're the one choosing again.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
Your little brother pokes you in the side. You poke back. Within a minute it's war in the back seat.
Do absolutely nothing just once — no sighing, no looking, nothing — and something strange happens. He pokes you again. And then it stops. The fun was your reaction.
But this doesn't always work. With teasing, almost always. With real bullying, day after day, it doesn't work, and it's also not your job to solve that on your own. Then the strongest move isn't your other cheek, but getting someone else involved.
That's not tattling and it's not weakness. You're bringing in someone bigger than the problem.
Stay calm? Not a chance. I'm hitting back as hard as I can — with interest!
Take a look in the mirror:
- When did doing nothing back help, and when did it just make things worse?
- When were you the one who kept poking until the other person got angry?
- Who would you bring in if you couldn't handle it alone anymore?
Mirror line
I'd love to hit back as hard as I could, but I've learned that whoever hits back automatically is still doing exactly what the other person wanted.
