Listen to the Bells of Hope

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Psalms 31:7-8 — I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me in a safe place.

The fire consumed everything. His wife’s screams still haunted Henry’s mind. That was two years ago, but grief has no calendar. Sitting in his study on Christmas morning, Henry’s world still felt like ash.

War raged across the nation, and his eldest son, Charles, was recovering from a near-fatal bullet wound. The bells outside chimed peace on earth, goodwill to men, but they only deepened his bitterness. How could those words ring true in a world like this?

Yet the bells refused to stop. They tolled relentlessly, refusing to be ignored. Listening, he felt it—a faint, rebellious hope.

That morning, he took up a pen—not because he had answers, but because he had to confront the questions. As he wrote, the words to the now famous carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Morning” came slowly, painfully:

“Then rang the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.’”

This Christmastime, may those same bells find you too. When grief feels endless and joy feels far away, listen. Hope has a sound—it’s faint at first, but it grows stronger the longer you lean in.

The psalmist once wrote, “I will be glad and rejoice in Your unfailing love, for You have seen my troubles, and You care about the anguish of my soul.”

Maybe that’s what Henry heard that morning—the reminder that God had seen it all. And maybe this Christmas, it’s time for us to believe it again. To let hope keep ringing, not because the pain has ended, but because it hasn’t taken us under.

Because even now, hope will not let us go.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can you recognize God’s care in moments of grief or hardship?
  • In what ways can hope grow even when circumstances feel overwhelming?
  • How might you share encouragement with someone facing a difficult season, inspired by Henry’s story?

Heard The Bells On Christmas

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
In my heart I hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on Earth, ” I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir singing (peace on Earth)
Does anybody hear them? (Peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
(Peace on Earth)
(Peace on Earth)
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on Earth, good will to men

Then ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells, they’re ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
And with our hearts, we’ll hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells, they’re ringing? (Peace on Earth)
The light, the angels singing (peace on Earth)
Open up your heart and hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth, good will to men

 

TRADITIONAL VERSION:

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Love and a Cup of Cocoa

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Romans 12:13 — When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.

We just love our teachers. Don’t you. They work so hard. They are so awesome. I say that often—but sometimes, I meet someone who reminds me exactly why I mean it.

There is a teacher I know who started noticing one of her sixth graders lingering in the hallway after school. Every day, she would see him there—quiet, backpack hanging off one shoulder, tracing circles on the tile with his shoe while the building emptied.

At first, she figured he was just killing time. But then she learned his mother worked late, leaving him with nowhere to go, no snacks, and no one to help with homework.

It would have been easy to send him to the office or tell him to wait outside. But she did something small that turned out to be extraordinary. She opened her classroom, made a mug of hot cocoa from her own kitchen, and invited him in. They sat side by side, working through math problems that once felt impossible to him.

Soon, the word spread.

Two kids became five. Five became a dozen. Parents started dropping off snacks. Local businesses sent supplies. And the laughter of children began spilling out into the hallway where silence used to be.

That empty room transformed into a safe place for students to learn, belong, and feel loved. They called it the Homework and Hot Chocolate Club.

I watched that story unfold and thought, “This is what love looks like in motion. It is not grand or complicated. It starts with a single open door, and a simple ‘you can hang out here.’”

It reminds me of the verse in Romans 12, “When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.”

That’s exactly what this teacher did. She didn’t wait for a program or a plan. She just opened her hands to what God placed right in front of her.

And it leaves me asking myself—what if the simplest way to show love is to offer what is already in our hands, trusting God to turn a cup of cocoa into someone else’s miracle?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can you show hospitality or care in small, practical ways this week?
  • Are there people in your community who may need a safe space or simple encouragement that you could provide?
  • How does this story challenge your understanding of what it means to “practice hospitality” in everyday life?
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Beauty That Does Not Fade

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Joshua 21:45 — Not a single one of all the good promises the Lord had given to the family of Israel was left unfulfilled; everything he had spoken came true.

I am steering my cart down that aisle—you know the one. The aisle that always catches your eye no matter how focused you think you are. For me, it’s the skincare section.

It’s Black Friday, and sure, I should be looking for the next gift on my list right now. But there’s something about this aisle.

I lean over and pick up a box that claims to lift, smooth, and firm—basically a miracle in moisturizer form. I laugh under my breath. “I’ve got more serums than sense,” I tell myself.

Still, I reread the label.

The truth is, I’ve been struggling with this whole “gravity” thing, and every new product feels like a promise to win back what time has taken. Honestly, I could probably pay a car note with what I’ve spent chasing that fountain of youth.

But then, quietly, something in me resists. I’ve been praying about this—about learning to age gracefully, about not letting the mirror dictate my peace. And right there, I realize I don’t need it.

So, for the first time in a long time, I put the box back. Just like that. It seems small, but it feels like a big victory.

As I push my cart toward the next aisle, I think about how all of this—the sales, the shimmer, and the temporary glow—fades so fast. God’s promises are better. They don’t peel or expire. They hold true and stand the test of time.

And maybe that’s the reminder I needed most today: that “not one of all the good promises the Lord made has failed” (Joshua 21:45).

Every word He has spoken stands. So while the world may chase what fades, let’s hold onto the real beauty is found in contentment and trust. Because if I know one thing is true, God’s promises will never run out.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • In what areas of your life are you tempted to chase temporary solutions instead of trusting God’s lasting promises?
  • How can remembering God’s faithfulness help you make everyday decisions with more peace and contentment?
  • Which promises of God have you seen come true in your own life, and how do they encourage your faith today?
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Thankful for the Long Road

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Psalms 139:5-6 — You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!

The road out of town stretches ahead, lined with pines that never seem to end.

My husband drives steady. One hand rests on the wheel, the other taps to a song playing on the radio. I glance back at our baby girl, sound asleep in her car seat. We’re headed to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving lunch.

It’s not a long drive—forty-five minutes or so. But as the miles wind on, my thoughts take an unexpected detour down memory lane.

Growing up in a blended family, this was all I knew—lunch at one house, supper at another, pie somewhere in between. There was always a plan scribbled on the back of an envelope, and by the end of the day, I felt like I’d run a marathon fueled by turkey and dressing.

It started in Monroe, wound through Crowville, looped back through Calhoun, and somehow we’d make it home before bedtime.

It used to wear me out. But now? It just makes me grateful.

The trees flash by—gold, red, fading green. Somewhere, a cousin is smoking a turkey. Somewhere else, a table is being set by grandparents with plastic plates and old stories. I can almost smell the ham roasting in the oven, the sweet potatoes bubbling under toasted marshmallows, and the sound of laughter spilling through screen doors.

Back then, I never stopped long enough to see it. I only saw the hurry. But now, I see the love underneath the rush. Parents, step-parents, and kin just wanted us close. They opened their doors even when we could only stay a little while.

They still do.

No pressure. No guilt. Just warmth.

Though we’re pulled in a million directions, they make room in their hearts for our crazy schedule—because they understand.

I smile, watching the road twist ahead of us. This long, winding road called life is filled with people God has placed along the way—people to love, and who love us back in their own imperfect, beautiful ways. It hits me how blessed I am.

And maybe that’s what gratitude really is—seeing the fingerprints of God in the middle of our everyday miles. Just like the psalmist tells us, God places His hand of blessing all along our lives. He goes before us and follows behind. It is too wonderful and too great to even understand. (Psalm 139:5–6)

So, wherever the road takes you this Thanksgiving—whether it’s across town or just across the table—I want to encourage you to do one thing today. Try to notice the many blessings along the way.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How have you noticed God’s hand guiding or blessing you in the everyday moments of life?
  • Are there relationships or small acts of love around you that reveal God’s presence?
  • How might practicing gratitude for the ordinary moments change your perspective today?
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Faith that Puts on Work Boots

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1 John 3:18 – Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.

The things you do for the people you love often cost you something. If you have ever worked in a school, you know exactly what that means. Those kids—your students—they become yours, too.

Henry Darby understood that personally. He loved his student body but he also saw a reality that could not be ignored. Many of them came from homes with unpaid bills and empty pantries. He saw the tired faces trying to pretend everything was fine.

School resources could not cover what it would take to help them all. Neither would his salary. So, he prayed about it and did the only thing he knew to do. He took an overnight job at Walmart.

He would stock shelves from ten at night until six in the morning three nights a week. Then he would go home, clean up, and head straight back to school.

Every single paycheck went to support his students. Many of them received fresh groceries and school supplies while others went home with what they needed to keep the lights on at home.

It was hard work that felt never ending. Sure. But he loved those kids, and he did it anyway.

He could have said, “Someone else will handle it.” But he didn’t. He showed up. He stepped in. He carried a part of their burden. In doing so, he taught so many teenagers what real love looks like.

When I first heard about Mr. Darby, I began to see the difference between care and action. seeing a need is never enough. Love shows itself in action. Sometimes, it is messy, tiring, and inconvenient, but that is exactly what makes it real.

It reminds me of the words from 1 John 3:18: “Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”

That is what Mr. Darby was living—quiet, steady love that did not need to be announced. It just needed to be done. Love that keeps showing up when no one is watching. The kind that looks ordinary until you realize it is the most extraordinary thing of all.

Maybe that is the point. To live in such a way that when we see a need, we do not look away. We do not just hope it gets better. We get involved. Because sometimes, the best way to speak love is not with words at all. It is with what we do.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can you show love in action this week, not just in words?
  • Are there needs around you that you’ve been overlooking? How might you step in?
  • What does “love in deed and truth” look like in your daily life?
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One Plate at a Time

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Philippians 1:9-10 — I pray that your love will overflow more and more, and that you will keep on growing in knowledge and understanding. For I want you to understand what really matters, so that you may live pure and blameless lives until the day of Christ’s return.

My favorite cook was Effie Mae Prewitt. She was my mom’s mom. We called her Ma-mae.

I can still see her standing at the stove in her kitchen — that worn skillet and the smell of butter melting before sunrise. She would hum some tune from church and was never in a hurry.

Her pancakes were perfection on a plate. Soft. Golden. Warm. I remember begging to spend Friday nights at her house, just so I could wake up to those pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons. That was better than a trip to Disney World.

I’d sit at her kitchen table, legs swinging, while she slid a fresh stack onto my plate. She would ask simple questions — how I was doing, if I’d slept well, if I wanted more syrup — and she’d listen like every word mattered.

Back then, I didn’t know she was teaching me something more important than a recipe. She was showing me what love looks like when it’s served hot off the griddle.

Now she’s gone. The kitchen’s quiet, and there’s no one to ask, “What are you cooking?” I miss her hands — always doing something kind for someone else.

When I think back on memories of her, I just think about the gospel. You know? In its simplest form — feeding the hungry, comforting the lonely, loving people. That’s what life is all about right?

I want the love I share to overflow the same way Ma-mae’s pancakes overflowed with warmth and care.

Philippians 1:9-10 comes to mind: “I pray that your love will overflow more and more, and that you will keep on growing in knowledge and understanding. For I want you to understand what really matters, so that you may live pure and blameless lives until the day of Christ’s return.”

So, how about you? It’s in those small, daily acts that Jesus’s love becomes visible through us. No matter how simple, I believe that whatever you do in love will warm hearts and change lives.

After all, that’s how Ma-mae did it — one plate at a time.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can small, everyday acts of love make a difference in someone’s life?
  • In what ways can you grow in understanding what truly matters?
  • Who in your life models the kind of love Paul describes in Philippians 1:9-10, and how can you follow their example?
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Give a Cup of Kindness

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Luke 6:31 — Do to others as you would like them to do to you.

I was feeling good that morning and treating myself to my favorite oat milk latte. You know—my favorite little drinky-drink. Sometimes it just tastes better when somebody else makes it.

I smiled, thanked the young guy behind the counter, and headed out the door. But when I was back to my car standing outside, I took one sip and immediately knew it. This was whole milk. Oh no.

My stomach cannot handle that. I know it sounds bougie and dramatic, but it is just the truth. So I made somewhat of a U-Turn, cup in hand, and quickly made my way back inside.

When I busted back in through that coffee shop door, I saw the expression on that poor barista’s face. His eyes were so wide.

Oh no, she’s back!

That look stopped me. Then I realized how often people probably come in angry, ready to lash out. And suddenly I wanted to make sure my face, my tone, and my posture told a different story.

So, I smiled and said as kindly as possible, “Hey, I realized there’s whole milk in there. I need oat milk. No big deal. I’ve got a few minutes. Do you mind remaking it?”

He blinked like he did not expect that. Then he nodded and remade it.

Before long, he handed me back my drink, and his face had the biggest smile. Not only that, but he gave me a larger drink than I ordered.

That simple exchange felt like such a win. I am so thankful that I did not treat him rudely. People make mistakes. We all do, and I praised God because I actually responded with kindness.

And you know, that is really what the Luke in the Bible was talking about. “Do to others as you would like them to do to you.” It sounds simple, but it is hard sometimes, especially when you are tired, or stressed, or your latte comes out wrong.

God shows up in those moments and teaches us patience and kindness. I could have snapped, but instead, I made a friend. So maybe today, if someone messes up or gets on your nerves, remember that little verse. You do not know what small thing might make lift someone up—or what God might grow in your own heart while you are at it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you responded with patience or kindness instead of frustration?
  • How could small acts of grace impact someone else’s day today?
  • What might God teach you about yourself when you choose to “do to others as you would like them to do to you”?
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The Power of a Hallelujah

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Psalm 31:21 — Praise the Lord, for he has shown me the wonders of his unfailing love. He kept me safe when my city was under attack.

The beeping was the first sound Joel heard every morning. Beep. Beep. Beep. Each one a cruel reminder that his little boy, Jaxon, was still fighting for his life. Tubes, wires, blinking lights. These are the kind of things that make a father feel helplessly small.

The doctors called it “hemolytic uremic syndrome” (HUS) which is an illness that can lead to seizures and kidney failure.

Somewhere, a nurse whispered into her radio. Monitors flickered. But Joel Taylor barely noticed. The doctors had run out of answers, and Joel and his wife had run out of prayers that made sense. They prayed bold ones, desperate ones, and quiet ones whispered at three in the morning.

Still, the sickness held on.

Back home, their friends from Bethel Church got the call. Jonathan and Melissa Helser didn’t know what to say, so they did what musicians often do when words fall short.

They worshipped.

Jonathan sat at his piano, hands trembling, heart sinking, and sang a melody he hadn’t planned to write. It came out like a battle cry against despair:

“I raise a hallelujah in the presence of my enemies.”

He sent the recording to Joel, who clung to it like oxygen. Joel played it again and again at Jaxon’s bedside, letting the melody fill the sterile air.

And slowly, against every medical prediction, Jaxon began to heal. By January, the Taylors brought their little boy home again.

Today, that same spontaneous song is sung by millions around the world, but to the Taylors, it will always be Jaxon’s song.

And that’s what “Raise a Hallelujah” really is. Not a chart-topper. Not a miracle formula. Just a defiant act of trust from a father who choose to believe that heaven was listening.

The psalmist once wrote, “Blessed be the Lord, for He has shown His steadfast love to me when I was in a besieged city.” That verse tells the truth of Joel’s story. In that hospital room, surrounded by machines, fear, and exhaustion, God’s love broke through.

So, when your own night feels long, and you’re not sure what tomorrow holds, do what Joel did. Turn your fear into a hallelujah.

Because sometimes, the truest act of faith isn’t what you say after the storm. It’s the song you dare to sing while it’s still raging.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How have you experienced God’s steadfast love during a season of fear or uncertainty?
  • What “hallelujah” could you lift in the middle of your current storm?
  • In what ways can you trust God even when the outcome seems impossible?

Lyrics:

Verse 1
I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, Heaven comes to fight for me

Chorus
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive

Verse 2
I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me

Bridge
Sing a little louder
In the presence of my enemies
Sing a little louder
Louder than the unbelief
Sing a little louder
My weapon is a melody
Sing a little louder
Heaven comes to fight for me

Tag
I raise a hallelujah

Written by:
Jonathan David Helser | Melissa Helser | Molly Skaggs | Jake Stevens

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Safe in God’s Strong Hands

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Matthew 14:27 — But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!”

When I was a little girl, I got to go to Yankee Stadium. My dad was taking us to watch the major league team in action, and I could hardly take it all in.

The city roared all around us. Taxis honked, people rushed past, and voices echoed off the tall buildings. I remember clutching my little purse so tightly.

Dad told me to wear it across my chest so no one could steal it. Then he reached down, wrapped his hand around mine, and led me toward the stadium. His hand was strong, steady, and sure.

We moved through a sea of people, but I never felt afraid.

Dad’s grip didn’t loosen, not even for a second. He watched every step ahead of us, making sure I stayed close. I remember the way he would tilt his head back just to check on me. There was no mistaking it—he was not letting go of his little girl.

That memory has stayed with me all these years later. It’s a snapshot I can still feel, because that is exactly how God is with us.

He holds our hand tightly with His right hand, drawing us close to His heart. He guides us when we cannot see where we’re going. He shields us when the world feels too loud and uncertain. His promises do not fade with time, and His hold does not weaken when the road gets crowded.

Sometimes, I still feel like that little girl in a world too big to handle. But when I slow down long enough to notice God’s hand holding mine, I realize I am still being led—and still being held.

And maybe that is what He’s been whispering all along: “Don’t be afraid, Take courage. I am here.”

Gratitude begins right there—in the middle of the chaos, with the steady reminder that we are not walking alone. His hand is still sure, His presence still near, and His heart still set on us.

And when you really see that, thankfulness becomes the most natural thing in the world.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you felt like the world was too big or overwhelming? How does the image of God holding your hand change that perspective?
  • What fears are you carrying today that need to be placed into God’s care?
  • How can you practice noticing God’s presence and guidance in everyday life, even amid chaos?
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The Friend Who Never Left

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Hebrews 4:16 — Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

I can still see him in the back seat—legs swinging, eyes shining, talking a mile a minute. He could hardly sit still because we were on our way to see his buddy, Max.

Back then, I could glance in the rearview mirror and see both boys grinning, covered in dirt, and full of plans that always seemed to involve snacks.

These days, my boy rides up front. He’s taller than me now, with a deeper voice and a driver’s permit that still makes me a little nervous. And today, we’re driving to the racetrack—same event, same two friends, just a few years older and a lot more sentimental on my end.

Their friendship started years ago under unusual circumstances. My son was pulled out of his own school once a week to attend a special program at Max’s school. I remember wondering how he’d handle being the new kid in a strange classroom. But then he met Max—and that was that.

That summer, their friendship stuck. Though we lived ten minutes apart, both sets of parents took turns shuttling them back and forth, week after week. They were inseparable.

And now, watching them pick up right where they left off—it gets me every time. There’s something beautiful about a friendship that doesn’t fade, no matter the distance or time apart.

But it also makes me think. Why is it so easy to believe that people can stay close through time and distance, but so hard to believe that about God?

Life gets busy. We drift. And before long, we convince ourselves we’ve gone too far to find our way back. But God never moves. He’s still standing right where you left Him, smiling, ready to welcome you home without a hint of hesitation.

Maybe that’s what grace really is. Not shame. Not scolding. Just joy at the reunion.

It reminds me of Hebrews 4:16, which says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

That verse isn’t an invitation for perfect people—it’s for wanderers, drifters, and those who feel like they’ve waited too long to return.

So if it’s been a while, maybe it’s time to buckle up again. The Friend who never left is still waiting—and the race of faith can start again right where you left off.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you “drew near” to God without hesitation? What made that moment possible?
  • Where in your life have you drifted, and how does Hebrews 4:16 reshape the way you think about returning?
  • What would confidence look like for you this week as you approach God—emotionally, spiritually, or practically?
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