Leaderboard

Some people puff themselves up so tall you can’t get near them. Ever try talking to someone who’s all ego? You feel small. You hesitate. You walk away. But what if the Almighty were like that? What if the Creator held you at arm’s length? He doesn’t. He leans down. He says: “Pour out your hearts before him. God is a refuge for us” (Psalm 62:8, NWT). So why do we still sometimes freeze up, feeling too unworthy to speak? Picture this: a little girl comes flying around the corner on her bike. Gravel skids, spokes twist, her knees are raw with scrapes. She limps home expecting anger, maybe even shame. Instead, her father drops to his knees in the driveway, brushes away the dirt, and says gently, “I’m just glad you’re safe.” Doesn’t that tell the story? Jehovah meets us the same way. He doesn’t pounce on failure. He sees the wounds first. He listens. He cares. The Bible holds echoes of that tenderness. Hannah’s brokenhearted prayer. Joshua’s bold cry for the sun to halt in the sky (1 Samuel 1:10-18; Joshua 10:12-14). Jehovah preserved those moments so we’d know: I want your voice too. But what about the times guilt presses down, making us whisper, I don’t deserve his ear? Jesus answered with a story. A son trudged home in shame. But before he reached the door, his father ran — not strolled, not delayed — ran. He hugged him tight, kissed him, welcomed him home (Luke 15:20, NWT). Isn’t that Jehovah? Doesn’t he sprint toward you the moment you turn your face toward him (Lamentations 3:19-20; Isaiah 57:15)? And today — how does he run? Through an elder’s visit when the house feels empty. Through a believing spouse who whispers prayer into the night. Through a brother or sister whose text lands at the exact moment you felt forgotten (James 5:14-15). Coincidence? Or is that Jehovah’s mercy arriving on time? So ask yourself: what if you spoke right now, halting words, tear-choked voice? Would he pull back? Or would he bend down, listen close, and run to hold you? He would run. He is running.

Why is it comforting to remember that Jehovah notices even the smallest good? Because as his servants, we are often painfully aware of our flaws. We see the mistakes. We feel the failures. Some days, the weight of what we are not doing presses heavier than what we are. In those moments, how kind to recall that Jehovah is not only watching for faults. He is watching for the good — to correct, to help, and to bless. Think of Baruch. He was a decent man, loyal to Jeremiah, faithfully writing out Jehovah’s messages of judgment to a nation that would not listen. But under the strain, his heart drifted. He started reaching for “great things” at a time when Jehovah was warning of collapse. How gentle, then, that Jehovah stepped in — not with thunder, but with fatherly concern: “Do not keep on seeking great things for yourself” (Jeremiah 45:5). That correction saved him. What if Jehovah had looked away? What if He had let Baruch’s ambition swell unseen? Would we even remember his name? Or think of Cornelius. A soldier. A Gentile. A man who might have wondered if Israel’s God would ever listen to him. And yet his prayers rose. His gifts to the poor were remembered. An angel told him: “Your prayers and gifts of mercy have ascended as a remembrance before God” (Acts 10:4). Cornelius did not know he was about to open the door for all nations, becoming the first uncircumcised Gentile to be spirit-begotten. He was simply doing good as he knew how — and Jehovah noticed. Then there was a widow. Poor. Overlooked. Her hand may have trembled as she dropped in two small coins. To her, it was everything. To others, it was nothing. But Jesus said she had given more than all the rest, because she gave her whole life in that moment (Luke 21:1-4). The crowd missed it. Jehovah did not. And what about a house drenched in rebellion? Jeroboam’s dynasty was stained with idolatry and apostasy. His young son Abijah grew sick, and Jehovah’s judgment against that house was certain. Yet Jehovah said of this boy: “Something good toward Jehovah the God of Israel has been found in him” (1 Kings 14:13). He was the only descendant of Jeroboam to receive an honorable burial. We aren’t told what Jehovah saw. Perhaps a private act of courage. Perhaps a quiet faith in a home that had none. Whatever it was, Jehovah saw it. He marked it. He remembered it. What about us? What if Jehovah is watching for the small spark — not just the blazing fire? What if He counts every whispered prayer, every weary act of kindness, every quiet sacrifice, already on record before Him? The good is not swallowed by the noise. It is seen. It is remembered. It is safe with Him. Tags: Baruch, Cornelius, widow’s mite, Jeroboam, divine notice, encouragement

If your fingertip were the size of Earth, you could run it over a city and know whether you’d just brushed past a house or a car. That’s how sensitive Jehovah made your sense of touch. In 2013, researchers at KTH Royal Institute of Technology in Sweden discovered that the human fingertip can detect surface differences as small as 13 nanometers—about the size of a large molecule. Imagine that: something invisible to the naked eye, smaller than a single wavelength of light, yet your body registers it. No engineer has ever built a sensor that rivals this combination of speed, precision, and gentleness. Why give humans such sensitivity? Our fingertips are not just tools to manipulate objects—they are extensions of our connection to life, to each other, and to Him. A parent brushing a child’s cheek, a surgeon’s careful incision, a craftsman’s steady hand—all of these are made possible because Jehovah wired us with miraculous detail. And fingerprints? They’re not only patterns for identification. The ridges amplify vibrations so that our touch receptors can “hear” textures more clearly, much like a violin string resonates with sound. Jehovah designed us to experience the world in detail so fine, even the unseen becomes tangible. The psalmist exclaimed: “I praise you because in an awe-inspiring way I am wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful; I know this very well” (Psalm 139:14, NWT). Those words come alive when we realize that every ridge on our fingertip testifies to his craftsmanship. But the wonder of touch goes beyond physical sensation. Jehovah uses his Word to reach our hearts with the same delicacy. The prophet Isaiah wrote: “Jehovah will comfort you as a mother comforts her son” (Isaiah 66:13, NWT). Just as a tender hand soothes through contact, his inspired words press gently but firmly into our spirit, reminding us of his nearness. So the next time you run your fingers across fabric, feel the smoothness of a polished stone, or trace the bark of a tree, pause. Beneath that simple action is a divine gift—Jehovah’s fingerprint on your very being.

The Atlantic heaves, rolling out big green walls of water, and riding one of them is a hippo—yes, a hippo—perched as if on a surfboard too small for its bulk. Ears flick like rudders, nostrils flare, and for one glorious instant this half-ton river horse leans forward just right, catching the curl like a pro from a Saturday morning cartoon. Spray arcs around it like confetti, and the sight is so absurd you almost expect it to throw a shaka sign with one stubby leg. By the time your grin settles, the frame sharpens. This isn’t an animator’s doodle—it’s Loango National Park in Gabon, one of the few places where hippos actually wander into the Atlantic surf. By day they’re usually sunk in rivers and ponds, their backs slick with mud and their eyes just above the waterline, dozing through the worst of the heat. When evening comes, they haul out, great shadows grazing across the savanna under starlight. But here, uniquely, some take a detour: they leave the lagoons, step onto the beach, and lumber straight into the ocean, as if the day’s commute includes a stop at the shoreline. In the saltwater, everything shifts. The ocean is denser than freshwater, lifting them higher, making them bob like corks instead of plowing like barges. For a few minutes, these unlikely surfers roll with the swells, rocking and tilting in a dance no zoologist ever thought to choreograph. Why do they do it? Researchers who study Loango’s biodiversity suggest it might be relief from biting flies, or the geography of rivers that spill directly onto the beach, blurring the line between pond and surf. Maybe it’s simply comfort—another way to cool skin that dries too fast under Africa’s punishing sun. But whatever the reason, the ocean is only a cameo. Hippos can’t stay there. Their skin needs shade and humidity, their stomachs crave grass, not kelp. So by nightfall, they turn back inland. Mouths sweep fields, heavy bellies sway in the dark, and the ocean’s froth fades behind them like a half-remembered dream. The surf may be a thrill, but the rivers and plains are home. Doesn’t that echo something about us? We can flirt with places not truly meant for us. We can dip into waters that feel thrilling, even liberating, but in the end our strength and nourishment come from where we belong. Just as Jehovah fixed boundaries for hippos—freshwater creatures with rare saltwater detours—he’s set boundaries for us, too. And when we respect those, we thrive. Job 26:14 (NWT) reminds us: “Look! These are just the fringes of his ways; Only a whisper has been heard of him!” Hippos riding the Atlantic surf remind us that every new discovery in creation is only the edge of Jehovah’s wisdom. What we’ve seen so far—no matter how wondrous—is just a whisper. There is always more to learn, more to marvel at, more to stir us to awe.

* I will also be posting these stories under the creative writing section as well (I have spent the last four or five months working on a deeply personal research topic. Now, somehow, it has metamorphized several times...until finally it has turned into a short story about a real biblical account. Even after I wrote it, I wasn't satisfied with it. I broke it down, started over...and did more research...more digging. Finally I reassembled it only to then break it into five separate sections...each one building upon the previous...each one propelling the reader forward. I am finally ready to share it with everyone here...but I will do so section by section. Thank you in advance for reading it, and I pray that you draw as much encouragement from reading...as I have from preparing it.) One Heart A Journey Beyond Borders to Worship Jehovah Part One--The Invitation Nobody Expected Research Note: This account is drawn from 2 Chronicles 30:1 27, when King Hezekiah invited all Judah...and even the surviving tribes of the northern kingdom...to come to Jerusalem for the Passover. For deeper background, see the NWT Study Bible notes on 2 Chronicles 30 and Insight on the Scriptures under “Hezekiah” and “Passover.” The Bible Encyclopedia entry for “Chronicles, Books of” also gives historical context for Hezekiah’s reign and the political tensions of the time. These resources help us picture the courage it took to cross political borders and the unity Jehovah blessed with “one heart” (lev echad). “Sometimes the most dangerous road you can take is the one that leads you back to Jehovah.” The spring air in Manasseh carried the scent of barley and the faint tang of sheep pens. Eliab knelt in the courtyard, mending a cracked water jar, when the sound of hoofbeats broke the afternoon stillness. Two men rode into the village, their tunics dusty, scrolls tucked under their arms. They dismounted and began reading aloud in the marketplace: “Return to Jehovah… come to His sanctuary in Jerusalem… He will not turn His face away if you return to Him.” The words hung in the air for a heartbeat...then the crowd erupted. “Jerusalem?” a man barked. “That’s their city, not ours!” “They think we’ll bow to their king?” another scoffed. A woman muttered, “We have our own altars. We don’t need theirs.” Eliab’s neighbor, Hador, spat on the ground. “You’d have to be a fool to go. You’ll be branded a traitor before you reach the border.” But Eliab’s mind drifted to his grandfather’s voice, telling of Solomon’s temple...the gold, the singing, the smoke rising like a pillar to heaven. He remembered the way his grandfather’s eyes would shine when he spoke of the festivals, of the unity of all Israel before the split. That night, Eliab sat by the fire with his wife Tirzah. Their children, Asa and little Noa, slept nearby. “They’ve invited us to Jerusalem,” he said quietly. Tirzah looked up sharply. “You’re not thinking...” “I am.” Her brow furrowed. “Eliab, you know what they’ll say. You know what they’ll do. And what if the Assyrians see us crossing south? They’ll think we’re plotting with Judah.” He stared into the flames. “Maybe they will. But this isn’t about Judah. It’s about Jehovah.” The next morning, as they packed bread, figs, and water skins, Hador appeared at the gate. “You’re really going?” he asked, incredulous. Eliab tightened the strap on his pack. “Yes.” Hador shook his head. “Then may your God protect you...because your neighbors won’t.” As they stepped onto the road south, Eliab didn’t know that the first challenge to their unity wouldn’t come from Judah...it would come from someone walking beside them.

Part Two – Crossing the Divide Research Note: Still in 2 Chronicles 30, verses 10 11 highlight that many mocked the invitation, but “some from Asher, Manasseh, and Zebulun humbled themselves and came.” The Hebrew for “humbled themselves” (yekhniʿu) implies bending the will...a deliberate act of submission to Jehovah. For more, see the Insight entry on “Humility” and the NWT Study Bible note on verse 11. These help us appreciate the personal cost of leaving political loyalties behind. “Unity doesn’t wait for the politics to settle...it walks anyway.” The road wound through hills dotted with olive trees. They weren’t alone. A fisherman from Asher trudged ahead, nets slung over his back. A widow from Zebulun led a donkey piled high with flatbread wrapped in linen. At first, conversation was cautious. Some still muttered about politics. “I don’t trust Hezekiah,” one man said. “Kings always have an angle.” A Levite traveling with them replied, “Maybe. But this isn’t about Hezekiah. It’s about Jehovah’s Passover.” The words hung in the air like a challenge. That night, they camped under the stars, sharing dried dates and roasted chickpeas. Children from different tribes played together, their laughter echoing in the dark. But the next day, tension flared. A young man from Manasseh accused the fisherman of being “too friendly” with Judahites they’d met on the road. Voices rose. Eliab stepped between them. “We left our homes for the same reason,” he said. “If we can’t walk together now, how will we stand together in Jerusalem?” The group fell silent. The Levite nodded slowly. “The road is our first test.” The next morning, as the sun lit the horizon, the walls of Jerusalem came into view...and with them, a choice that would silence every political argument they’d ever had.

As the Supreme Lawgiver, Jehovah has consistently conveyed clear laws to his people (Isaiah 33:22). One of the clearest is his demand for exclusive devotion. “You must never have any other gods besides me” (Deuteronomy 5:7, NWT). That command protects us, guarding our hearts from the slow drift of misplaced loyalty. For many today, the test does not come with statues or shrines. It comes in subtler, quieter ways. Consider the pull of the workplace. An employer’s approval can feel like oxygen, his displeasure like suffocation. A promotion, a raise, even job security — all of it can tempt us to place human favor above divine devotion. The chest tightens. The thought creeps in: If I just bend this once, I’ll be safe. But in that moment, whom are we really serving? The Devil tried to plant that very thought in Jesus’ mind, offering him dazzling kingdoms in exchange for a bow. Jesus’ reply was steady: “It is Jehovah your God you must worship, and it is to him alone you must render sacred service” (Matthew 4:10, NWT). Those words steady us, too, when we are pressed to value an employer, a leader, or any human figure as if they held the keys to our survival. Governments promise solutions, even an end to war. Employers promise stability. Celebrities promise belonging. But none can keep those promises. Only Jehovah, “the one who created all things” (Revelation 4:11, NWT), deserves such trust. So we ask: when my decisions are weighed, whose smile am I seeking most — my boss’s or Jehovah’s? Whose approval loosens the knot in my chest? When those questions are answered honestly, our course becomes clear. Jehovah does not want fragments of us. He asks for undivided hearts. And when we give Him ours, we find peace no employer can grant, security no ruler can enforce, and love no idol can ever return. Undivided hearts belong to Jehovah. And in His hands, they are safe forever. ⸻ Reference: w23.07 14 ¶3-4