NIKI FLORICA

For the past few weeks, sitting down to blog has felt like staring at a solid wall and trying to see through it. And no, I'm not referring to writer's block, though I've certainly experienced enough of that. The wall I have in mind is worse—taller, thicker, uglier, and stationed squarely between me and God. We often think of Satan as a master destroyer, but in many ways, he's a master craftsman as well. He carves beautiful idols for us to worship, forges weapons to use agains

Yesterday marked my first trip to campus in a few weeks, and I was reluctant to go. Having mostly online classes allows me to stay within the precious comfort zone (population: 1) but it also means that when I do need to venture into the unknown, every time feels like the first time. Maybe I should move to the moon. As I parked my car and prepared for the trek across campus, I kept one train of thought in a loop on my head, a rolling tape of a conversation I'd had the night b

It's a bad time to have a cold. Not that there's ever a great time, but, well . . . y'all know what I mean. I don't get sick often, but when I do, apparently my body doesn't mess around. I spent the night with a kleenex nose-ring (bull-style) and got up at four to do some early morning reading when my bed made it clear that we were mortal enemies. We've all been there, right? It's not fun, but there are worse things. It gives me pause to consider the people in the world, in t

Crazy week, folks. Craaaazy week. Second-year has just begun and already there just aren't enough hours in the day; writing and AuthorTube and the blog are still vying for attention; my TBR is rapidly growing and my time for pleasure-reading is rapidly shrinking, and you know what the worst part is? My God-time is under attack. I'm probably not the only one fighting this constant battle against busyness in which God-time is usually one of the first casualties. I dedicate the

The moment I saw this Hebrew phrase on the page of Mark 7, I knew I had to blog about it. I knew because I felt called out by it. Challenged. Convicted. Commanded. Compelled. Eph'pha-tha. That is, Be opened. (Mark 7:34). The past year and a half has been a time of closed stores and closed doors, and many people have struggled with feeling closed-off because of it. I must confess, I can't relate. Lockdown has been, to me, permission to stay in my comfort zone without interrupt

Want to hear a secret? Just kidding—it's not really a secret. I'm a smidge of a pessimist. Just kidding—it's more than a smidge. I think it stems from my fear of being caught unprepared for an emotional blow; I hate having hopes dashed or high expectations crushed. I hate being let down, so my subconscious coping mechanism is to lower my expectations on all fronts so I can't be disappointed. The problem? It also makes it much, much harder to get excited. School starts tomorro

"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one and despise the other." Matthew 7:24. I always thought this verse was a bit redundant—a case of saying the exact same thing twice. The message seems clear enough: only serve God. But why frame it this way? Why the repetition? One of my favourite things about the Word of God is how very alive it is. I've read this verse countless times in my life and never dug an

Ideas. Why is that such a scary word? Don't get any ideas. She's been filling her head with ideas. I think sometimes we forget that life is a process—a never-ending progression of ideas—and that living in this world means exposure to all kinds of them, just as living with Christ means being changed by the ideas he brought into the world when he came. I've lived most of my Christian life on the defensive. I knew what I believed and when I came against something that contradict

I can't imagine a bleaker point in history than the days between Christ's death and resurrection. If I were with Cleopas and his fellow traveler on the road to Emmaus that first Easter Sunday, they'd probably agree. I've never been to Emmaus. I couldn't tell you where to find it. It could have been a main road, a bustling place with lots of traffic where people could always be found, but I tend to imagine it on a more quiet scale. A less-traveled road to a backwater village,

"This was done for you." Season 2, Episode 2, The Chosen. Nathaniel sits under a fig tree with a stack of failed dreams in his hands—plans for a synagogue he'll never get to build (to know why, watch the show. Seriously). He turns his gaze to the radiant sky and directs a broken-hearted prayer to heaven. But even as he recites words of faith, the tears streaking his face as he burns the designs say what he's truly thinking, what he's feeling. "This was done for you. . . . Do

I can happily say that my new favourite show is officially The Chosen—not only marked by quality acting, sweet costumes, killer screenwriting, and loveable characters, but also featuring Jesus. Yeah, that's right. Jesus. Need I say more? As far as cinematic Jesus depictions go, The Chosen paints my favourite picture. Unlike in the original Ben-Hur film, he is not a faceless figure who floats through scenes on strings of otherworldly music. And, unlike in the film version of T

It's remarkably easy to give someone the impression that we care about them. We all know the proper protocol: paint our faces in the right shade of empathy with just a stroke of melancholy, give hugs when the moment demands it, promise prayers, leave our friend with that oh-so-vague offer of, "If you ever need anything . . ." before going about our lives and promptly forgetting. I know, it sounds callous when worded that way. Maybe it is. Or maybe it's true. This phenomenon h

So, I could write an entire post on the ups and downs of 2020 and its multiple dimensions of weird/difficult/sobering/painful/illuminating, but I think we've got that topic pretty much covered, haven't we? The trials of 2020 aren't over, and we must continue to be in prayer for those who are suffering, grieving, struggling to make ends meet, or physically/mentally/spiritually burdened as a result of those ongoing trials. But, though the difficulties may be ongoing, one thing

God's was the first voice I heard when I woke up this morning. He didn't speak through words, but He was among the first thoughts in my head, and as I threw back the covers, I felt joy bubbling close to the surface, risen from the deep place in me where it normally simmers under my other emotions. I have things to say today and I'm not sure what they are yet. I'm just pounding on my keys and asking God to speak through me, asking you to follow where it goes. Joy is a beautifu

I had a beautiful weekend. My brother gave his life to Christ, my other brother from a couple of provinces away was here to witness it, and God is always and ever good. One line from the sermon clung like a burr, though, a blog post waiting to happen. "God is glorifying Himself today." If I step out of my upbringing and personal relationship with Christ, I can see how words like these might send a confusing message to those who don't know God. I mean, among human beings, glor

We think of progress as something linear—an arrow from present to future, improving all the time, always a step ahead of where we were before. We think of progress as the "new" and regress as the "old." And in the world's eyes, that paints a bad picture for the Word of God. I mean, how many times have we heard Christianity pegged as something "old-fashioned?" Something that worked for the pioneers, maybe—but society has moved past that now. We've grown. We've improved. We don

I've done it! Finally! After too many years of eyeing it on my shelf, I have completed The Pilgrim's Progress and checked it off my mental TBR. Interestingly, having now read both Part I and Part II, I can say that both pilgrimages are profound works of spiritual allegory, but Part II—Christiana's journey—struck me most deeply. The Pilgrim's Progress is the allegorical journey of a Christian on the road to Heaven, leaving all behind (including his family) to pursue the Celest

I'm sitting on the wooden swing in my backyard, under an aquamarine sky, the wooden slats warm and familiar against my back. Everywhere I look, there is movement—leaves swaying, colours changing, clouds drifting, wind dancing, my shadow rocking back and forth with the slow arc of the swing. I'm alone, and yet, I know I'm not. It's an exhilarating feeling. God is here with me. He always is, but sometimes it takes a slow swing on a sunny day to remember how close He is, how muc

I feel like I've spent way too much of my life watching the clock. Despite my early enthusiasm for it, I realized quickly as a six-year-old that school was not my favourite place to be, and as soon as I learned to tell time, I imagine I spent a lot of classes doing just that. Watching that minute hand tick slowly, slowly toward the next period, the next bell, the next end of the day. It's a nasty habit that's followed me through all of elementary and high school, and now with

There are some stories we fancy we know so well that we don't bother to pick up the book—and for a long time, for me, that was The Pilgrim's Progress. It wasn't until a recent book thrifting excursion, when I found a stunning cloth-bound edition, that I finally set out to follow Christian on his pilgrimage to the Celestial City from beginning to end, once and for all! I'd been putting it off for years, and having experienced different versions of it (from storybook renditions