As I write these words, our Lhasa apso dog, Winston, lies curled up at my feet. He’d watched me move from where I had been—the chair next to him—to the dining room table. That extra ten feet had been too far away from me.

I’ve been traveling for work a lot lately, and I think it’s getting to him. If I even hint that I’m leaving, or use the word “go,” he’s right on top of me. Practically clinging to me.

In human relationships, someone being “clingy” isn’t normally a compliment. But I see in my dog’s clinginess a vivid portrait of trusting dependence—one that’s mirrored in Psalm 63.

Here, David paints a picture of loving dependence upon God: “You, God, are my God,” he begins in verse 1. “Earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you.” In verse 3, he adds, “Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.” Near the end, we read, “I cling to you; your right hand upholds me” (v. 8).

Like David—and maybe even a bit like my dog depends on me—I want to depend on God with my whole being, earnestly seeking Him. Sometimes, I do. Other times, my heart may be cooler, less trusting. But when I repent of my fickle mistrust and return to Him, I remember that He alone fills me. He alone is the one who will leave me “fully satisfied as with the richest of foods” (v. 5).

Sometimes a bit of wisdom drops in when we least expect it. That happened recently as I was reading an article about American football player Travis Kelce. A frustrated coach once told him, “Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.” You can probably figure out which one Kelce was being!

Perhaps all of us have a bit of both elements in us. But at any given moment, we’re likely behaving one way or the other. And our call to follow Jesus means becoming more fountain, less drain.

I hear a similar idea in Philippians 2, where Paul challenges us to imitate Jesus’ humility and focus on others. Paul contrasts what drains life from others with what fills them up: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others” (vv. 3-4). A bit later in this chapter, he adds bluntly, “Do everything without grumbling or arguing” (v. 14).

What does it look like to be a drain? Being self-focused and arrogant; complaining and arguing. And being a fountain? Paul says of Timothy, “I have no one else like him, who will show genuine concern for your welfare” (v. 20).

Are we being more like a fountain or a drain? That’s a question worth pondering as we seek to bless others.  

In 1997, Iowa State University named its football stadium after the school’s first black athlete: Jack Trice. Tragically, Trice never even played in Ames, Iowa—he died from internal injuries sustained during a play in his second college game, played in Minneapolis, Minnesota on October 6, 1923. Trice wrote a note to himself the night before, bearing witness to his determination:

“The honor of my race, family, and self are at stake. Everyone is expecting me to do big things. I will! My whole body and soul are to be thrown recklessly about on the field tomorrow. Every time the ball is snapped, I will be trying to do more than my part.” Trice profoundly understood that what he did flowed from the honor and dignity of who he was, infusing his character with courage. 

The apostle Paul says something similar in Ephesians, challenging believers to let who they were in Christ influence every decision: “As a prisoner of the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received” (Ephesians 4:1). Paul challenges us to embrace a way of living shaped by Jesus’ work for us, in us, and through us, which yields humility, gentleness, patience, unity, love and peace (vv. 2-3) as we use our God-given gifts to serve one another (vv. 15-16). 

Sometimes surprisingly spiritual messages turn up in unexpected places, like in a comic book, for example. Marvel Comics publisher Stan Lee passed away in 2018, leaving behind a legacy of such iconic heroes as Spider-Man, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four, the Hulk and many others.

The famously smiling man with sunglasses had a personal catchphrase that he used to sign off in monthly columns in Marvel comics for decades—the Latin word excelsior. In a 2010 tweet, Lee explained its meaning: “‘Upward and onward to greater glory!’ That’s what I wish you whenever I finish tweeting! Excelsior!”

I like that. Whether Stan Lee realized it or not, his use of this unusual Latin phrase certainly resonates with what Paul wrote in Philippians as he admonished believers to look not behind, but ahead—and up: “But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (vv. 13–14 esv).

We can easily become entangled in regrets or second-guessing past decisions. But in Christ, we’re invited to relinquish regrets and a crippling focus on our failures to press upward and onward to God’s greater glory through embracing the forgiveness and purpose He so graciously gives us! Excelsior!

“Dad, can I spend the night with my friend?” my daughter asked, getting into the car after practice. “Honey, you know the answer,” I said. “I’m just the driver. I don’t know what’s happening. Let’s talk with Mom.”  

“I’m just the driver” has become a joke in our home. Daily, I ask my organized wife where I need to be, when, and whom I’m taking where. With three teens, my “moonlighting” as a “taxi driver” sometimes feels like a second job. Often I don’t know what I don’t know. So I have to check in with the master calendar keeper.

In Matthew 8, Jesus encountered a man who also knew something about taking and giving instruction. A Roman centurion, this man understood that Jesus had the authority to heal, just as he had authority to issue commands to those under him. “Just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me” (vv. 8–9). Christ commended the man’s faith (vv. 10,13), amazed that he understood what His authority looked like in action.

So what about us? What does it look like to trust Jesus with our daily assignments from Him? Because even if we think we’re “just the driver,” each assignment has kingdom meaning and purpose.

“Are. You. KIDDING?!” I yelled, digging through our dryer looking for my shirt. I found it. And . . . something else.

My white shirt had an ink spot on it. In fact, it looked like a jaguar pelt: blacks splotches coated everything. I clearly hadn’t checked my pockets, and a leaky pen had stained the entire load.

Scripture often uses the word stain to describe sin. A stain permeates the fabric of something, ruining it. And that’s how God, speaking through the prophet Jeremiah, described sin, reminding His people that its stain was beyond their ability to cleanse: “Although you wash yourself with soap and use an abundance of cleansing powder, the stain of your guilt is still before me” (Jeremiah 2:22).

Thankfully, sin doesn’t get the last word. In Isaiah 1:18, we hear God’s promise that He can cleanse us from sin’s stain: “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”

I couldn’t get the ink stain out of my shirt. Neither can I undo the stain of my sin. Thankfully, God cleanses us in Christ, just as 1 John 1:9 promises: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

It feels like “likes”—you know, that little thumbs-up on Facebook—have always been with us. But it turns out that this virtual symbol of affirmation has only been around since 2009.    

The “like” designer, Justin Rosenstein, said he wanted to help create “a world in which people uplift each other rather than tear each other down.” But Rosenstein came to lament how his invention might have enabled users’ unhealthy addiction to social media.  

I think Rosenstein’s creation speaks to our hard-wired need for affirmation and connection. We want to know that others know us, notice us—and, yes, like us. The “like” is fairly new. But our hunger to know and be known is as old as creation.

Still, the like button doesn’t quite get the job done, does it? Thankfully, we serve a God whose love goes so much deeper than a digital nod. In Jeremiah 1:5, we witness His profoundly purposeful connection with a prophet whom He called to Himself. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.”

God knew the prophet even before conception and designed him for a life of meaning and mission (vv. 8-10). And He invites us too into a purposeful life as we come to know this Father who so intimately knows, loves, and likes us.

Decades ago, I went to a college retreat where everyone was talking about a personality test. “I’m an ISTJ!” one said. “I’m an ENFP,” another chirped. I was mystified. “I’m an ABCXYZ,” I joked.  

Since then, I’ve learned a lot about that test (the Myers-Briggs) and others such as the DiSC. I find them fascinating, because they can help us understand ourselves and others in helpful, revealing ways—shedding light on our preferences, strengths, and weaknesses. Provided we don’t overuse them, they can be a useful tool God uses to help us grow.

Scripture doesn’t offer us personality tests. But it does affirm each person’s uniqueness in God’s eyes (see Psalm 139:14-16; Jeremiah 1:5), and it shows us how God equips all of us with a unique personality and unique gifts to serve others in His kingdom. In Romans 12:6, Paul unpacks this idea, writing, “We have different gifts, according to the grace given each of us.”

Those gifts, Paul explains, are not for us alone, but for the purpose of serving God’s people, Christ’s body (v. 5). They’re an expression of His grace and goodness, working in and through all of us. They invite each of us to be a unique vessel in God’s service.

“Where is my faith?—even deep down, right in, there is nothing but emptiness & darkness. . . . If there be God, please forgive me.”

The author of those words might surprise you: Mother Teresa. Beloved and renowned as a tireless servant of the poor in Calcutta, India, Mother Teresa quietly waged a desperate war for her faith over five decades. After her 1997 death, that struggle came to light when portions of her journal were published in the book Come Be My Light.

What do we do with our doubts or feelings of God’s absence? Those moments may plague some believers more than others. But many faithful believers in Jesus may, at some point in their lives, experience moments or seasons of such doubts.

I’m thankful that Scripture has given us a beautiful, paradoxical prayer that expresses both faith and the lack thereof. In Mark 9, Jesus encounters a father whose son has been demonically tormented since childhood (v. 21). When Jesus says that the man must have faith (“Everything is possible for one who believes” v. 23), the man responds, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (v. 24).

This honest, heartfelt plea invites those of us who struggle with doubt to give it to God, trusting that He can fortify our faith and hold on to us firmly amid the deepest, darkest valleys we will ever traverse.  

I didn’t notice him at first.

I’d come down for breakfast at my hotel. Everything in the dining room was clean. The buffet table was filled. The refrigerator was stocked, the utensil container packed tight. Everything was perfect.

Then I saw him. An unassuming man refilled this, wiped that. He didn’t draw attention to himself. But the longer I sat, the more I was amazed. The man was working very fast, noticing everything, and refilling everything before anyone might need something. As a food service veteran, I noticed his constant attention to detail. Everything was perfect because this man was working faithfully—even if few noticed.

Watching this man work so meticulously, I recalled Paul’s words to the Thessalonians: “Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands . . . so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders” (1 Thessalonians 4:11–12).  Paul understood how a faithful worker might win others’ respect—offering a quiet testimony to how the gospel can infuse even seemingly small acts of service for others with dignity and purpose.

I don’t know if the man I saw that day was a believer in Jesus. But I’m grateful his quiet diligence reminded me to rely on God to live out a quiet faithfulness that reflects His faithful ways.