NIKI FLORICA

trodden: walked on . . . crush[ed] or flatten[ed] with the feet . . . pressed down into the ground. (Google) Who's feeling pressed down today? How about crushed? Flattened? Walked all over? Is your hand up? Hey, no shame. Mine is, too. Satan has been hard at work in me this week, stirring up struggles I just want to be done with but can't seem to shake, especially when I'm too tired to fight back. Relating? Jesus talks about the downtrodden in the parable of the sower, Luke 8

Yesterday I turned the last page of C.S. Lewis', Miracles. Maybe it's an English major thing, but trudging through Lewis' spiritual musings just gets me going, tickles my fancy, turns my crank if you would. Here's one I dog-eared (which is only acceptable in books of this nature: I'd NEVER do it to a novel): "But behind all asceticism (*basically just severe self-denial—think puritans*) the thought should be . . . Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control ev

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,

Good ol' I Corinthians 13. Short and sweet and sharp as a dagger. Love is patient, love is kind, love doesn't envy, think highly of itself, think badly of others, seek its own welfare, misbehave, and here's the best part: every good work or spiritual skill is pretty much worthless without it. Let's be honest. It's a nice chapter and everything, but it's also a bit . . . overwhelming? I mean, who does all that? Who is patient and kind all the time, never envies or thinks highl

When you stop to count them, a TON of spiritual traits boil down to good ol' fashioned acts of will. Prayerfulness. Forgiveness. Thankfulness. Selflessness. Love. Even faith. We love to think of being inherently forgiving or prayerful or full of faith as if it just happens when we've been believers long enough. We look at those around us who excel in certain areas and say, "Well, So-and-So is just naturally forgiving. It's easy for her, much harder for me." We might even let

Some people have the gift of giving gifts. One of my O&Ds (oldest and dearest) has proved it time and time again, most recently when she gave me the beautiful **Cinder-themed** candle featured in this post's photo. Chatting about it, we both agreed that gift-giving should be a thoughtful art. A gift for the sake of a gift means very little, while a gift given with thought for the recipient's personality is almost always meaningful. The same rules apply to our intangible gifts

Perspective is a gift. God knew we couldn't handle the full, grandiose scope of everything He's doing in our lives, so he gave us limited sight. A piece of the puzzle—our small, incomplete, but seemingly all-consuming perspectives of life. They're a gift in that we are not crushed by the overwhelming weight of the big picture, but Satan can use that gift and twist it to his advantage as well. C.S. Lewis' Screwtape talks about time as a spiritual thing. The present is where ti

Life threw me for a loop this week, y'all. One minute I'm rolling along, feeling reasonably in-control of my routine, and the next I'm buying a car, job-hunting, preparing for my driver's test, and frantically trying to ready my latest manuscript for this year's #PitMad event—just to name a few of the surprises that, of course, had to fall within the same seven days out of 365. Naturally. At various points in this week, I felt absolutely out of control. Even now, I'm not too

One thing I've been awful at since day one—discerning God's will when I don't know how to move forward. Especially in the publishing world, there are so many avenues an aspiring author can take, each with its own pros and cons. There are gazillions of advice websites, how-to-publish books, and social media accounts to get totally lost in. There are horrible, horrible odds of success when it comes to traditional publishing, specifically. And there are stakes, too—high ones, in

The 39 books of the Old Testament paint a picture of what C.S. Lewis calls the "hammering process—" centuries of God's hard-line training program to show Israel just what kind of God had chosen them and what He expected of them. "Hammering" seems like the right word. I mean, I'd be the first to admit that the Old Testament account, while bound together with the theme of God's tireless mercy and lovingkindness toward sinners, can also seem pretty, well . . . harsh. Those of us

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

Jeremiah—what a book. I mean, really, what a story. Like so many of God's prophets, he was thrown into a role he felt ill-equipped for, only withstanding the hostility and depravity of his people by God's supernatural provision. I can't imagine being given a job knowing that 90% of it will feel like a waste of time. To be tasked with proclaiming a message daily that no one (almost literally) will listen to. Jeremiah was known as the Weeping Prophet. Considering the emotional

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

Since making the spontaneous decision to start a brand new project for National Novel Writing Month, I've been thinking a lot about constellations. And relationships. And family. And how they all connect. It's a project I've been mentally preparing for months, but didn't think I was anywhere close to actually drafting. See, I'm the type of gal who likes to have her ducks in a row before the cursor hits the Google Doc—and I mean all in a row. I usually wait for months before I

It's National Novel Writing Month, and I'm a roiling blend of nerves and excitement and dreams of a finished product by the end of one month. And "dreams" is probably the right word—the chances of me actually writing a 50 000-word manuscript in 30 days are slim, but all the same, it's an exciting time of year, and my first time doing a November NaNoWriMo project. Over the past few months, writing has been difficult for me. My WIP series has hit some roadblocks I didn't antici

Sometimes we prefer our messages minced—into soft little bite-sized pieces that go down without much thought or pain or conviction. Painless. Isn't that just the human way? To crave the sense of virtue that comes from hearing the Word preached, but shy from any obligation to be changed by it? To be convicted? This world and Satan have a grip on us, even if we're free of their condemning chains. This world and Satan nurture a love of the wrong things in us, an aversion to the

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

If there's one message I've heard God whispering to my heart this summer, it has been to slow down, rest in Him, and wait—a difficult instruction in light of my perpetual compulsion to be perpetually productive. On vacation, I made the decision to take a break from writing, which meant going an entire week without plotstorming, character sketching, or story-weaving of any kind. I thought it would be painful, but I was amazed by how absolutely liberating it was. So much so tha

God is so much bigger than I've always known, and He's beginning to show Himself to me in ways I hadn't imagined before. I and people in my life are seeing miracles, feeling true Spirit-filled convictions, hearing God's will with a clarity I'd only groped for before. God hasn't changed, so I know it must be me. My perception of God's power has grown, and the more I believe He can do, the more He does. Yesterday, I needed to make a choice—a choice between acting or waiting. I

I don't know where it came from—ask my family, and they won't know either—but growing up has always been a terrifying concept to me. Trading in childhood's imagination and freedom and wonder for responsibility, stress, and decision-making seems like a lousy deal. Peter Pan would agree. But that's what makes visiting with my little nieces and nephew so incredible: all of that wonder and freedom and imagination is right there in front of me, sparkly-new and beautiful as ever. I