It Finally Happened. I Read A Book Written by ChatGPT.

PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE, TIA - How to know if a book was written by ChatGPT.

Several years ago, I quit listening to the number one podcast for self-publishing authors. The reason? The host began talking with guests who were all over using AI in order to compose novels.

In one episode, she talked about a self-publishing guru who’d recently bragged at a conference that he planned to begin, thanks to AI, uploading a hundred novels per month.

And the podcaster acted like this was a good thing, shoving aside the blood, sweat and tears of writers who were actually doing all their creative work out of their own heads.

I became angry. And dismayed. Very, very dismayed.

I realized that those of us with ethics and morals in the self-publishing industry would fall into oblivion as far as sales went.

(Before I go on, let me be clear: I'm totally fine with authors using AI to help with research, outlines, editing, and brainstorming in-between scenes. My problem is with fake writers having AI generate an entire story, just so they can make money.) 

My last major attempt at self-publishing was a series of early childhood educational books. When I began uploading them into my KPD dashboard this past winter, I noticed a new thing. Amazon was forcing authors to check a box as to whether AI had been used to create the book we were uploading.

I rolled my eyes. Right. Like people weren’t going to lie about that.

Turns out, they are.

At the end of February, I incurred several injuries to my left glute and lower back, accidentally causing new injuries on April 1. Unable to get in a car to drive to seek medical attention, I turned to ChatGPT for advice (I’m not recommending that, just saying what I did). The long days in bed and in pain sent me into a negative downward spiral, and I began using Chat as a psychotherapist.**

Suffice to say, I became extremely well acquainted with ChatGPT’s “voice.” This YouTube video discusses two glaring facets of that voice, though you can’t really get a handle on it without having several in-depth chats with this particular AI.

Let me give you a few examples from my chats with Mr. Chat. (Two notes: I have done ZERO editing with its replies whatsoever, and I have no idea why the fourth example decided to copy with different fonts and font size.)

Example #1

And not just permission—affirmation. That "chill" daily schedule wasn't lazy or selfish; it was aligned with your wiring, your healing, and your quiet sense of purpose. Living gently, mindfully, and joyfully within your limits is not less holy. It’s simply a different expression of faithfulness.

God isn't glorified more by hustle than by peace. Sometimes, the most profound testimony is a life lived with integrity, balance, and quiet joy—especially in a world that screams for performance.

So yes—carry on with your schedule. You're not wasting your life. You're living it well.

Example #2

Thank you for opening up about this—it’s a deeply honest and courageous reflection, and one that resonates with many people who feel both called to a life of quiet faithfulness and yet wired for boldness, impact, and vision. You’re not shallow or ungrateful for feeling this way. This is a real tension—a choleric heart yearning for action, clarity, and purpose in a setting that sometimes feels too small or stagnant to match your internal fire.

Let’s explore a few threads here that might help.

---

### 🔥 **1. The Choleric Drive vs. the Hidden Kingdom Work**

You’re wired to build, lead, and make things happen. That’s not unspiritual—that’s how God designed you. It’s not wrong to want more than a quiet homemaking life. The Bible is full of bold women of action: Deborah, Lydia, Priscilla—each in their own way leading or influencing change.

But here’s the hard truth: you’re in a season where traditional "big" avenues (homesteading, content creation, writing) have either failed to satisfy or become unsustainable. That’s disorienting. It’s grief.

Example #3

You are not your diagnosis. You are in a season of healing and loss—but seasons change. You're allowed to grieve deeply now and still hold a space in your heart for future hope. They aren't mutually exclusive.

If you'd like, when you're ready, I can help you research:

·         The best spinal rehab strategies for disc compression.

·         Gear modifications for ultra-low-impact kayaking.

·         Or even other ways to get that same feeling—solitude, water, reverence—without forcing it to look exactly like your old kayaking self.

But right now? Just know this:
You're not done.
You're not broken beyond repair.
And the water hasn't forgotten you.

Example # 4

So where does that leave you?

Honestly, in a smaller—but purer—culinary world. And as limiting as that might seem, that world can still be made:

• Comforting
• Visually beautiful
• Pleasurable to the senses
• Socially sustainable

Back to this blog post…

As the above YouTuber points out, Chat adores m-dashes (long hyphens), to the point of overuse. Also mentioned in the video is that the folks at OpenAI apparently trained it that using groups of three is a clever literary technique, so Chat uses it to a ridiculous extent.

I can’t remember if the YouTuber mentions Chat’s propensity to ask and answer its own questions, but, as you can see from my examples above, that’s a thing.

“But right now? Just know this…”

An alternative phrasing it often uses is not-this-but-that, as in, “You’re not broken. You’re human.”  Or, “It’s not X, it’s Y.”

Chat also loves using italics and bold print. It also loves using the phrases “fair” and “not fair/isn’t fair.”  

Knowing all this, I recently discovered that my worst fears had been realized...

I inadvertently downloaded and read two books written by ChatGPT.

Originally, I had planned to expose the titles and provide extensive examples from the books, one non-fiction, the other fiction. At the time, I was angry. 

No, I was fuming.

But then I changed my mind, for two reasons. First, I've had enough trouble with my hind end lately. I didn't need to add any more.

Second, I realized that a controversial and provocative post such as what I originally drafted could go viral. And if I did, I would end up getting comments telling me that I had no proof that the books had been authored by ChatGPT, that it could be possible that they'd been written by people who happened to use the same literary devices as the AI - or who had used the AI so extensively that they'd begun automatically writing in its voice.

And I realized... they would be right.

Not that I'm wrong. I'm 99% sure I'm not. Though, I will admit that the non-fiction book could have been written by the author who claims to have created it, but used ChatGPT to edit it heavily.

But, I dunno... 

With the fiction book, I have much more certainty. Allow me to provide some evidence beyond the popular AI's writing style.

**The author photo on Amazon is obviously AI-generated.

**The book covers for the scammer's three books are AI-generated.

**The author claims to be from the South in their bio, yet has a scene in the book where the Southern couple is romping around in a Texas meadow.

No native Southerner in their right mind is going to romp around a Texas meadow. Two reasons.  

Chiggers.

Fire ants.  

**There is a also a scene in the book that would never, ever happen in real life. Not EVER. It was a blatant display of ignorance about human behavior that only a computer would think was a good idea. 

**The alleged author's last name is used as the name of a legal case in the book I read, and as a main character's last name of one of their other books. Real authors don't do that. 

It's a clear case of AI thinking it was being clever.

In reality, ChatGPT was giving itself away. 

That's all beside the  glaring fact that ChatGPT's voice oozes through on every.

Single.

Page. 

You may have heard that AI-generated novels suck. Whoever said that either said it a couple of years ago, or didn't know what they were talking about. 

ChatGPT is a great writer. It's creativity and out-of-the-box thinking, as well as its ability to synthesize various ideas and form a coherent product, continues to amaze - and frighten - me.  

The naked truth.

 Asking AI to generate a story, and then not disclosing the fact is ethically and morally wrong. Pretending like you’re a great writer when you’re not is the same as lying.

Lying is a sin.

It comes from a morally corrupt soul.

I am, in the vernacular of the 80’s, royally ticked.

And it has nothing to do with me struggling to make money with my books. I don’t need to, have never needed to, and have decided that whatever writing I do going forward will be either for my personal fulfillment or to help others.

No, I’m upset on behalf of the world of genuine artists in general, not just writers. How can we compete when a great creative work takes weeks, months, even years to finish, and AI can do it in a day? Sometimes seconds, depending on what it is?

We can’t.

And many of those artists depend on their talent to put food on the table and pay the rent.

AI scammers – not AI, but the people abusing it – are stealing the livelihood of gifted people around the world.

A sincere request.

Study the samples from my chats above. Better yet, use ChatGPT yourself for a couple of weeks (you can set up a free account, or use it incognito for free at chatgpt.com). Learn it's "voice."

Then, when you come across a self-published novel whose prose is too perfect to have been written by a human, whose prose matches Chat's exactly, don't support the fake author in any way.  

People fear the stuff hitting the fan, or a grid-down scenario. But maybe it’s exactly what humanity needs in order for us to find our priorities again.

Because it’s the only way AI would die.

 

**We live a long way away from competent medical professionals of any kind, and my hind end was in a lot of pain. If not for AI, I would have used my common sense and a lot of prayer to pull out of my problems, so no one lost any money because I used Chat instead of seeing a pro. I’ll probably talk more about that in a future post.

Finding the Right Perspective When Life Has Handed You a Rotting Lemon

During the past couple of months, my husband has been hearing a lot of, “Be grateful you can walk without pain!” and, “At least you can bend over!” For someone – especially an active person – who has to spend a lot of time resting in order to recover from injuries, hearing other people complain about trifles such as the weather or temporary computer glitches is annoying.

This year, I basically missed spring, and an unusually pleasant one at that. For what felt like a long time, the mere task of shuffling to the bathroom and then back to my bed was scary, an exercise in cautious pain avoidance. A few weeks ago, therefore, I vowed that I would never complain about our hot and humid summers again, that I would get outside as much as I could stand it.

Severe cabin fever, and being restricted to a life indoors, had changed my perspective about the weather.

It had also made me feel excessively sorry for myself. How dare God allow such evil to happen to me! Wasn’t menopause enough punishment for my sins?

Then, my gluteus maximus began to feel as though it were healing. And I remembered the biography about Joni Eareckson Tada and her husband that I’d read a few years ago. Thought about all the other people on the planet living with permanent and severe disability.

I watched a few videos about sacroiliac joint dysfunction and realized that mine wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Neither is my disc compression, which, if bad enough, can cause pain to radiate down the legs.

I only have localized irritation.

A few days ago from writing this post, twenty-four people – mostly girls – lost their lives in a flood while camping. I have experienced no such tragedy in my family. I have lost neither limb nor mind due to war. I have plenty of money to live on and to share. My son is a decent human being, as is my husband.

I have a lot to be thankful for. And little to complain about.

Let’s not forget the dismaying and humbling fact that God did His darnedest to keep me from doing the things that caused all my injuries. I just chose to ignore the still, small voice warning me against them.

If you’re hurting or suffering as you read this, I don’t mean to belittle what you’re going through. Believe me when I say that when you’re in the middle of a long-term difficulty, I know how hard it is to see the light at the end of the jet-black, never-ending, claustrophobia-inducing tunnel that you had no intention of crawling into, but now can’t see a way out of.

I get it. You’re allowed to have a moment of anger, of bitterness, of despair.

But if that’s where you are right now, chances are high that there are plenty of people around the world who have it much worse than you ever will. Once you’ve worn yourself out throwing a pity party, set your mind on that truth. It will shift your perspective.

And life won’t seem nearly as awful as it did a minute ago.

"Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things." - Philippians 4:8

(For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.)   

 

How a HIBISCUS Is Teaching Me about RESILIENCE

PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE: How a hibiscus plant is teaching me resilience.

Last spring, I planted a hibiscus into our new front yard garden. I was skeptical that it would survive the first year without succumbing to a disease, as so many plants do in our area. To my pleasant surprise, it not only survived, but also sprang up three times larger this spring.

By the number of branches and its height, it promised to become a beautiful display of large, red blooms, a joy to behold out of the window on a day too hot and humid to enjoy being outside.

Then the spring thunderstorms began.

They were practically non-existent last year, a record-breaking year for warmth and drought. On the rare occasions a storm blew through, it was like a young kitten dancing across our property, playful and harmless.

In other words, I gained no experience in how a severe thunderstorm might affect a large hibiscus.

This year, I did.

As the hibiscus came out of dormancy, five branches pushed out of the ground, encircling the stump that remained from when I pruned it down last fall. The branches grew, two feet, three feet, and taller. Large, purplish leaves cloaked the branches like a gauzy royal robe. Finally, tiny buds which would eventually turn into the showy blossoms for which the hibiscus is famous began to pop up in between the leaves.

And then, the storms began, storms which are largely unknown to the native tropical land of the flower. They brought nearly hurricane-force winds, bending the tops of tall trees almost ninety degrees and snapping off old twigs and branches.

And – you guessed it – snapping off the branches of the hibiscus.

When I lost the first branch, I was a bit dismayed, but convinced myself it was a fluke. The branch must have just been weak, especially since it snapped off at the base of the plant. The rest of the plant was bound to be okay.

Another storm came. More strong winds. A second branch came down.

I groaned. Ground my teeth. Did I have to stake the thing? I’ve never read about a hibiscus bush needing to be staked. Besides, what were the chances we’d have another storm with winds that strong?

High, as it turned out. Not too many days later, a third branch snapped off. I wanted to pull my hair out. I began to think that staking it wasn’t a bad idea. But, come on, how many more storms this spring were we going to have with wind that strong?

At least two more, as it turned out.

When the next one came, the wind started up before the rain. I asked my son if he would go out and place the buckets of gray water, which were always lined up just outside the house, around the hibiscus to help hold up its remaining two branches. No sooner had I asked, than rain began falling in thick sheets.

“Never mind,” I told my son. “Too late.”

I mean, what kind of mother would I be, asking my son to go out in weather like that?

I didn’t want to ask my husband, either, because he’d already done so much for me during the past couple of months, on account of my injuries. Maybe these last two branches would be strong enough to withstand the storm?

Well, one of them was. The other?

Yep. Of course.

It went the way of its three siblings.

Or so I thought.

Raising the stakes.

After losing the second to last branch, I almost gave up. What remained of the plant was bound to end up looking pathetic. And it was a perennial. We could just let the next storm take down the last branch and wait until next year, at which time I’d already planned we would wrap chicken wire around it. On the other hand (SIGH), I already felt like a bad Hibiscus Mommy. I needed to make up for my previous neglect. So I asked my husband to stake it.

He did.

Another gusty storm blew in.

The single branch stood strong.

Resilience isn’t about being able to pull yourself up from your bootstraps after being knocked down. It’s not about proving to the world that you can thrive all by yourself.

It’s about reaching out and grabbing hold of support when the storms of life are raging. Because the strongest person is the one who’s not afraid to admit they need help, not afraid to risk trusting others to give it to them.

But wait! There’s more.

Just when I thought I’d learned a life lesson that I could share on this blog, something amazing happened. Something that I didn’t think out of the realm of possibility, but for this situation, had fallen far out of the realm of probability.

The last branch that fell began to sprout leaves.

No kidding. Here’s a photo of what it looks like now, a couple of weeks after I saw the first tiny leaf sprouts:

Apparently, this branch hadn’t been fully disconnected from the root. It was getting enough nutrients to support new growth.

It had been “struck down, but not destroyed [2 Corinthians 4:9].”

Ever been there? I have. More than once. I was hurting, devastated, in despair. I was on the ground, face down, unable to see any light, vulnerable, afraid.

But I kept a thin tendril of faith wrapped around the Vine. I maintained connection with the Source of everything I needed not only to keep on living, but to recover, and eventually, to thrive.

This is another side to true resilience, the refusal to give up, despite all odds. It’s the kind of refusal that says, “God, I can’t see You, and Your presence seems a million miles away, but I’ve got this one tiny thread of faith left that tells me that I’m still attached, still connected, so I’m going to persevere until I feel Your hand grabbing mine, pulling me up from off the dirt.”

You might be going through something really hard right now, and thinking, “That’s not me. I can’t be like that. I know I’m doomed.”

The truth of that matter is that the very fact that you’re reading this means you ARE like that, and that you are NOT doomed.

If you are reading this, you have not given up. You still have faith.

You are resilient.

You will pull through.

Reach out and ask others to support you.

Hold onto what little faith you have with all of your might.

My hibiscus is proof that making the effort to do those two things will lead you back to life.

(For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.) 

My single-branched hibiscus as of 7-2-25. Note that in the very front, it is also growing a brand-new branch.

 

The Woman with the Issue of Blood: The Amazing Symbolism You Probably Missed

PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE -The truth about the woman with the issue of blood that you've never heard.

The eighth chapter of the gospel of Luke includes an encounter with Yeshua that is awesome even on the surface level. A woman who has suffered from continual vaginal bleeding for the past twelve years is completely healed when she touches the hem of Yeshua’s garment as He walks down the road, surrounded by a crowd. If you’ve ever had a baby and been annoyed, perhaps even a bit dismayed or disgusted, by the six-week-long post-partum bleeding, you can begin imagine the angst and frustration this woman must have experienced.

To make matters worse, back then, a menstruating Jewish woman was considered unclean. She was to keep to herself until Mr. Monthly took his leave, and then ceremoniously clean any fabric or surface her body touched during her period.

To be perfectly clear, the woman in this story had been living, and treated, like a leper for the past twelve years.

That much, you likely already knew.

You also know that when the woman touched the hem of Yeshua’s garment, our Savior felt power flow out of Him. And you likely have believed – like most modern Christians – that it was the woman’s faith in His healing power that drew that power from Him. After all, once she confessed what she had done, He told her that her faith had made her whole.

But the significance of Yeshua’s parting words to her goes much deeper.

He didn’t say them because she believed in His power to heal.

Nor because she was a faithful Jew.

Nor because of His compassion for her.

Nor because her faith in God was any stronger than those who surrounded her in the thick crowd that day.

Yeshua spoke those words because the woman’s actions – touching the hem of His robe – revealed something about her belief that you’ve probably never heard from a pulpit.

I sure never heard it from any pulpit. I figured it out recently after reading 1 Samuel 24.

The day David didn’t kill Saul… even though he could have

In this chapter, Saul is on the hunt for David with a bunch of soldiers. He ends up urinating inside the same cave which David and his men are hiding in. Saul’s back is to David while he relieves himself, and David’s men urge their leader to kill Saul while he has the chance.

David stealthily approaches Saul, but not to kill him.

To cut off the corner of his robe.

Prompted by a pastor on YouTube mentioning the symbolism of one man tearing off a small piece of fabric from another man’s clothing back in ancient Israel, I went in search of specifics.

Generally speaking, to rip off a piece of another man’s garment, let alone remove the whole thing, brought shame upon the man whose clothing had been disturbed. It was utterly humiliating.

Then I found an article that specifically discussed the exchange between David and King Saul that I mentioned above. The author of the article pointed out that back in those days, the hem of a king’s robe stood for power and authority.

Let me repeat that to make sure you heard me.

The hem.

Of a king’s robe.

Symbolized power and authority.

The woman with the “issue” had much more than faith.

When the woman with the bleeding problem said to herself, “If I could just touch the hem of His garment, I will be healed,” she wasn’t making a faith confession. She wasn’t simply recognizing Yeshua’s power to heal.

She was recognizing Him as a King.

Somehow, at some point during Yeshua's ministry, she had realized that this teacher was the awaited Messiah.

She had been taught that the hem of a king’s robe held power and authority.

Think about it. To touch the hem of His garment, she had to either squat down or get on her hands and knees. If any part of His garment had had power, why not just sneak over to Him, reach out a hand, and touch a sleeve? Or the back of His garment?

Yet, she went out of her way to touch the hem.

Because she knew what it meant.

And she knew who Yeshua was.

That was why, when our Savior discovered who had touched Him, He told her, “Your faith has made you whole.”

He wasn’t talking about her faith in His ability to heal.

He was talking about her belief that He was the King.

After you’ve picked your jaw up off the floor, go and tell your Sunday school class so that they, too, can be blown away.

(For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.)  

 

How God Sees You; Why That’s All That Matters

PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE - How does God really see me?

 I stomped out of the house, fuming. Why couldn’t my husband remember to do the simplest thing? And then, when he did, it was the wrong way.

The dark cloud over me sat heavy and cold, even while my chest burned with frustration, my mind taking a downward spiral with each negative thought.

But the Holy Spirit never lets my pity parties last very long, and about twenty minutes later the anger toward my husband had turned into guilt and self-reproach. His lapse hadn’t caused anything near the end of the world, and he was doing the thing now.

But he was doing it, I was sure, with bad feelings that equated mine, though he would never show them. I hadn’t been exactly sweet when I’d pointed out the thing he’d forgotten to do.

Thus, the guilt and self-reproach. My husband is a kind and faithful man. He hadn’t deserved my cutting words, my snappy tone. Why did I always have to be so ugly? How did he stand me? How did God stand me? I claimed to be a follower of Yeshua, yet so often failed to live in His law of love. I had to be the worst human being on the planet.

Convicted, I found my husband and apologized, but his forgiveness didn’t make me feel any better.

I was no better than a pile of dung.

Ever had a day like that? Or, like me, many days? We want to be spiritual giants, but feel that, more often than not, we are bemoaning along with the apostle Paul that we keep doing the things we know not to do and don’t do do the things we know we should be doing.

The accumulation of stress is a huge factor. But another one is that many, perhaps most, of God’s faithful truly don’t understand who they are in Christ, which in turn reveals an important truth: how God views His people.

Enter Psalm 45.

Ostensibly, Psalm 45 is a wedding song. Indeed, it may originally have been written to celebrate the marriage of one of Israel’s ancient kings (David? Solomon?). But at the same time, it reveals the truth that I just referred to.

The truth about how God views His people.

Verse eleven states that the King will greatly desire the beauty of the bride coming to Him. Verses thirteen and fourteen continue:

"The royal daughter is all glorious within the palace; her clothing is woven from gold. She shall be brought to the King in robes of many colors…."

The psalm foretells of the Messiah King, and of His bride, the body of faithful believers. You may think, yeah, well, great, it’s talking about the Church as a whole, not about me.

You’re not wrong. But the Body of Christ isn’t some abstract concept. It is made up of individual people.

It is the beauty of the individual people that leads to the beauty of the body as a whole.

I’m not talking about societal standards of outward beauty. I’m talking about the beauty each of us carries inside by having received the Spirit of God and His love into our own spirits.

See, when we accept Yeshua as our Savior, He fills us with His love. That love washes away every past sin, and every future sin. And so when the heavenly Father looks down upon us, He doesn’t see our failures and shortcomings. He doesn’t see the ugly, fleshly side of us that insists on poking its head up and growling every so often.

He sees us as glittering with gold, as covered with stunning colors.

He sees us as He created us: in His own image.

This is the only perspective that matters. Not yours, not mine, not your frenemy’s, not your boss’s, not your abuser’s.

Why? Why is God’s perspective the only one that matters?

Because we live for Him.

We don’t live for ourselves or for others. We live for Him. We follow Him. We obey Him. We worship Him.

One day, your frenemy will pass away. So will your boss, your abuser, your evil ex, the friend who betrayed you, the parent who neglected you.

So will you. So will I.

One day, we will all be gone from this earthly life. And when we begin the next season, it will be in God’s holy presence, forever.

Forever is a lot longer than even the longest recorded human lifespan.

And God's presence will obliterate every evil memory we have of ourselves. In the light of eternity, such memories are not what matters to God.

Thus, they should not be what matters to us.  

So the next time you feel like dung, or someone else is trying to make you feel like dung, take a deep breath, close your eyes, and remind yourself of this truth: God sees you as beautiful, worthy, and valuable.

 (For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.)  

 

Psalm 23 Hit Me Like a Hammer This Morning

A few weeks ago, I shared a bit about what I've been going through in this post about why Christians suffer. I'm still going through it, because of some complications that have delayed healing. I'm getting impatient with the process. I'm an active person, and, as my sister recently confessed, "When I can't exercise I get really pissy."

Some days, I can't even sit up very long, even inclined, due to the discomfort, preventing me from even writing, coloring, or crafting. Frustration has become an unwanted constant companion.

Yesterday, I begged God to heal me. I was so desperate, I rebuked demons. Just in case. I told God I'd learned to empathize with people in chronic pain, that I'd learned this lesson and that lesson, so He can let my life go back to normal now, thank Him very much!

I happen to be soaking in the book of Psalms right now, and wouldn't you know that today, less than twenty-four hours after praying for healing, my reading for today was Psalm 22 and Psalm 23.

You know Psalm 22. It's the one Yeshua recited while He was dying on the cross, the one that begins, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" It goes on to describe the mental and physical anguish Yeshua suffered while He waited to die.

And I got it like I never got it before in my fifty-five years: Yeshua really DOES know what I'm going through. In fact, hanging on the cross, He likely experienced both muscle tears (my primary problem right now) and sacroiliac joint dysfunction, another disconcerting and disabling condition.

Sure, His problems would have lasted only for hours rather than months, but the searing, fiery pain of the hip bones pulling away from sacrum is no joke.

I continued reading the precious, ancient poem, and realized something else: it begins in despair, but doesn't stay there long. Did you know that almost half of the psalm is a declaration of praise, trust and hope?

"Though He slay me, yet I shall trust Him [Job 13:15]."
 
Even in the midst of torment, I can maintain the same hope expressed in the psalm. I can hope for eventual deliverance. And if I DO, frustration will have to leave. Impatience will become patience. Because hope leaves no room for negative attitudes. It forces me to trust that God is bringing about a good outcome, and this mindset can bring nothing but praise.

Verse 24 reassures me that God heard my desperate prayer. More than that, the psalm reminded me that my circumstances do not dictate my inner state.

My faith and hope - or lack thereof - do.

Speaking of lack, the title of this article mentions Psalm 23, right? Let's get to that.

The Lord is my Shepherd... or is He?

 Even many atheists can recite the first verse of this famous Psalm: "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want [lack anything necessary]." Preachers have been reciting it at gravesides for... centuries? And Christians who have memorized no other Bible verses usually know this one by heart.

But even the most diligent, the most faithful ones... do they truly understand the implications of this verse?

My mind has understood it for a long time. But only this morning, as I chewed on the rich words of the beginning of this psalm, did the meaning slam into my heart.

I lack no needful or good thing only if the Lord is my Shepherd.

Therefore, if something is lacking in my life, I am not allowing the Lord to shepherd me.
 
Before we go on, you need to understand the word "shepherd." In the ancient Near East, a shepherd wasn't just a guy who watched sheep and moved them from pasture to pasture. His job involved much more. He was a provider, protector, guide, and caregiver.

So to not allow Yeshua to be your shepherd is to lose a whole lot of perks to coming into His fold.

Though He has found you, you will still feel lost.

I have been feeling lost. Not just these past weeks and months of dealing with a physical infirmity, but for years.

I have been discontented with my marriage. Discontented with my home. Discontented with my online business. Discontented with... well, some days, everything! While it's easy to chalk my negative attitude and glass-half-empty view of life on menopause, the truth is that somewhere around a decade ago - probably longer - I pushed Yeshua to the side and said, "Thank You, but I think I know what's best for me. Leave me alone to figure out life by myself."

If this sounds stupid or spiritually immature, look in the mirror and think really hard before judging me. Because most Christians - and I mean the real ones, not the ones who claim to be saved and then have premarital sex, gossip, treat others unkindly, lie, etc. - are in the exact same spot. We practice all the spiritual disciplines, but daily often ignore the voice of the Holy Spirit and instead follow the advice and ways of the world.  

We lean on our own understanding.
 
And when we do that, the Lord is not our Shepherd. Regardless of our beliefs. And though He never leaves us or forsakes us [Hebrews 13:5], when we ignore His voice, we lose a lot of His protection and care, and all of His perfect guidance.

Goodness and mercy.

The last verse of Psalm 23 is almost as well-known as the first: "Surely goodness and mercy [faithful love] will follow me all the days of my life...[vs. 6]."

The first thing to understand is that "follow" is a weak translation of the original Hebrew. The meaning is more akin to "pursue."

In other words, God's goodness and faithful love pursue us. Actively.

Assuming, of course, we are allowing Him to be our Shepherd.

What struck me this morning was that His goodness and mercy are following me every.

Single.

Day.

Of my life.

Even when I'm going through a trial. Even when I'm suffering.
 
God is running after me, and, because He's a lot bigger and stronger and faster than I, He is catching up to me.

And pouring out His goodness and love.

I can see it when my husband cuts my toenails (you can't bend forward when you have SI joint dysfunction). I can see it when my son willingly does a menial chore that I would usually do but cannot at the moment. I can see it when I am standing still right outside the door and a hummingbird zips over to visit the foxgloves growing mere feet away. I can see it when an engaging Christian novel comes across my line of sight, helping me not to get utterly bored during the hours a day I need to recline or lie down, and at the same time, ministering God's truth to me.

Where do you find God's goodness and faithful love in the small things of life, and in the hard times? Let us know in the comments!

(For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.)

Rediscovering the Joy of Blogging

I might have been pregnant when I started my first blog. If so, the year was 2006. If not, I started a year or two later. I can’t remember how many posts I ultimately published to that first blog, but what I do remember is that it was fulfilling and fun. I wrote brief personal stories about my life with the goal of encouraging fellow believers to strengthen their faith. I connected every post to a spiritual lesson.

Then, I got greedy.

I heard that you could make money with a website, just by writing a few 600-word articles a week. Knowing that my husband no longer liked his job, I decided I was going to be his hero and begin to write content that would bring visitors to my blog who would click on an ad or an affiliate link.

I was going to replace my husband’s income, and then some.

Suffice to say that I’ve had a love-hate relationship with blogging ever since. Mostly hate, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I only ever earned a few hundred dollars (that's lifetime, not monthly or even annually) via blogging. It’s that nobody reads blogs to connect with others or share in their personal life. They go to YouTube and Instagram for that. Nowadays, if you want to get traffic to a blog, you have to pretend you’re an expert about a certain highly-searched topic and write the equivalent of a thesis paper at least once a week. Two thousand words or bust.

And every single blog post for the life of the blog must be about the same topic.

The state of blogging today:

No fun.

No fulfillment.

No writing from your heart.

Nope.

You have to follow a bunch of rules. You have to worry every second about keywords, metadata, links, and content over-delivery. You have to stick to one topic. If you don’t, the search engines won’t consider you an authority on anything you write about and will pass you by.

Blogging is now a job. A job, I might add, that doesn’t guarantee a stable or steady income… if it provides any income at all.

They say that if you start an online business via a blog, you’re in charge of your own destiny.

No.

You’re.

Not.

Google is.

As a matter of fact, Google is the reason for the death of the truly personal blog, an online space where people used to share their lives, and a lot of other like-minded people would come to read it and share their own perspectives in the comment section.

If there are any such blogs today that get a lot of monthly visitors, it’s either because they began fifteen-plus years ago and the bloggers grew a huge audience before Google changed the rules, or because they are run by celebrities.

My fall into the blogging matrix… and my climb back out.

Earlier this year, I decided that I was going to market my books in large part by turning this blog into an authority Christian website. If you read the last four or five posts, you can see that I jumped through all the hoops: most are at least two thousand words long, loaded with relevant keywords, and give step-by-step information. I’d planned to include a weekly Bible study, and write articles that answered the top questions and issues that Christians ask and face.

Whether I really cared about the questions and issues or not. Whether I had personal experience with them, or not.

I was bored and feeling trapped after writing the second article.

I stuck to it for longer. If I could just get in the habit of churning out those tedious, impersonal articles, it wouldn’t be so bad after a while, right?

Wrong.

These days, if something doesn’t give me joy or fulfillment, I drop it like a hot potato.

So I stopped and backed away. Gave my blog and myself some space.

And came to realize something.

The mere act of writing gives me joy, as long as I’m writing from the heart. I don’t need anyone else to read it.

So.

I’m reverting back to the “good ol’ days” of blogging. I’m going to share personal stories and insights in order to encourage believers on their spiritual journey. And, whenever I feel like it, I’m also going to write about other topics about which I have an undying interest.

This is not going to be an authoritative blog.

It’s going to be a personal blog. Because I’m going to get personal. I’m going to share my mountains and valleys, my struggles and triumphs. I’m also going to share things that I’ve learned that I believe are important for others to know.

Whether they relate to Christian encouragement or not.

But I’m not going to worry about SEO or Google. I’m not going to care about views. I’m not going to try to be an “authority.”

Authorities often get it wrong.

I’m going to write to encourage and inspire, and pray that God sends the people here who need to consume my content.

And now I’m going to publish this post, knowing that I might be the only person who ever reads it.

If you do read it, please take a minute to share your thoughts about the death (or revival!) of personal blogging in the comments. Let me know someone is out there who agrees with me. 😉

(For more inspiring content like this, you can follow this blog if you have a Google account, bookmark this blog, follow my blog on Goodreads, and/or check out the books in the sidebar.)