Holding On During Hard Days

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Romans 8:38-39 — And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Some days, faith feels solid. Other days, it feels like you’re holding it together with duct tape and coffee.

I wrote “Even If” on one of those duct-tape days.

My oldest son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when he was two. He’s grown now, but that diagnosis didn’t grow out of our lives. It’s still there woven into our lives. You get your good days, and then you get days that remind you this thing isn’t going anywhere.

I remember when we were headed to his six-month checkup. If you’ve ever been there, you know—it feels like being called into the principal’s office. Your stomach tightens before you even sit down. I don’t remember if the appointment was “good” or “bad.” It doesn’t really matter. What mattered was the reminder that so much of our life still revolved around this illness. And I was worn out by it.

I had a show that night. I was supposed to walk on stage and sing about hope. About trust. About a God who holds it all together. And honestly, I didn’t want to. Sometimes standing under lights and telling people it’s going to be okay feels impossible when you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

I hate admitting it out loud, but what I was struggling with the most that day was knowing God can heal my son…and He hasn’t.

On my bad days, that’s the lie that hits hardest. The one that tries to convince me that unanswered prayers mean something about God… or about me.

I kept thinking about those three guys standing in front of the fire—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They don’t bargain with God. They don’t hedge their bets. They say they believe God will rescue them but even if He doesn’t, they’re still not bowing. They’re still not surrendering. He’s still worth it.

Most days, I don’t “get it.” I doubt. I worry. I get angry. I ask why. And that used to scare me—until I realized my relationship with Jesus isn’t built on how steady I feel. It’s built on who He is. He can handle my hard questions. He can handle my frustration. He’s not fragile. He is strong.

And it was on one of those days of reminding myself of that truth on a hard day, that the song “Even If” came pouring out as pen on the page. It was my line in the sand. A reminder to my own heart that even if God doesn’t do what I think He should, He’s still my greatest hope.

Later, my middle son Charlie—who is a lot like me, ADHD and all—said something that stuck. He told me, “Dad, I think I know why you do this for a living. If you didn’t sing about it every night, you’d forget.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Singing these songs is muscle memory for my soul. It’s how I hide truth in my heart when my feelings won’t cooperate. It’s how I lift my eyes when circumstances keep dragging them down. Night after night, I’m reminded of something Scripture says plainly. It’s something I need spelled out every day.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38–39

Chronic illness doesn’t disappear. Hard seasons don’t always resolve. Some prayers don’t come with the ending we hoped for. But God’s worthiness didn’t start when our trouble showed up and His love never wavered. It was established long before, and it isn’t threatened by anything.

“Even If” is my reminder. Maybe it’s yours too on days when faith feels hard. It’s a choice to keep trusting because love like God’s doesn’t let go.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is sing that truth again until your heart remembers it.

— Bart Millard

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When faith feels hardest for you, what thoughts or fears tend to surface first?
  • Have you ever wrestled with the tension between believing God can intervene and facing the reality that He hasn’t—yet or at all?
  • What does it mean to you that God’s love is not dependent on the strength of your faith or the outcome of your prayers?
  • In what ways do you “hide truth in your heart” when your feelings won’t cooperate?
  • What might an “even if” kind of faith look like in your life right now?

 

Even If – Lyrics

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad
I’ve stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it’ll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Good thing
A little faith is all I have right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful, You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

It is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

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The Rescue That Took Its Time

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Psalm 9:10 – Those who know your name trust in you, for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you.

I didn’t know Lori. I still don’t, really, but for months, I watched her from my car as I drove through downtown Monroe.

She was always in the same spot, under the same shade tree near Warehouse No. 1. Beside her lay the same black dog, curled low to the ground, like the world had already taught her too much.

Later, I learned what had happened to that dog—and why Lori loved her the way she did. She’d been dumped by her owners. Left behind. And she ran after them. That detail stays with you.

The heartbreak lingered. The dog would approach people just long enough to sniff, then bolt the second a hand reached out. Too many broken promises. Too much fear. People tried to catch her. No one could.

Then there was Lori.

Day after day, she showed up under that tree. She brought water. Food. Blankets. Whatever might help the dog feel safe. At first, she sat far away. Over time, as trust grew, she moved closer. Eventually, she could touch her.

Every single day. For months.

I imagine that dog was learning how to love again.

One day, she finally climbed into Lori’s car. Off to the vet they went. Needs were met. Supporters stepped in. And the dog once known as “the black warehouse dog” was given a new name—Queenie.

She sleeps in a warm bed now. Surrounded by people who adore her. She will never again wonder if she’s good enough. The ones who left her behind have no idea what a treasure they abandoned.

And I can’t watch Queenie’s story without seeing my own.

I know what it’s like to keep God at arm’s length. Close enough to test Him. Not close enough to trust Him. I know what it’s like to hesitate, to pull back, to need time, and I know how patient my Heavenly Father has been. He stays near, unoffended by my fear, unwilling to walk away.

What stuck with me wasn’t the rescue. It was the waiting.

Lori never chased the dog. Never cornered her. Never demanded trust she wasn’t ready to give. She stayed close enough to be present, far enough to be safe. Love didn’t raise its voice. It proved itself by returning.

That kind of love changes things. Slowly. Steadily. Until fear loosens its grip and trust finds room to breathe.

I’ve seen that same patience in my own life—not in dramatic moments, but in ordinary ones. In the seasons I hesitated. In the days I didn’t have much faith to offer. And still, God stayed near. Not hurried. Not offended. Not gone.

Scripture names that kind of faithfulness plainly: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You” (Psalm 9:10).

That verse isn’t a challenge. It’s a reassurance. A reminder that God doesn’t confuse slowness with rejection. He doesn’t abandon the cautious or the wounded. He remains present long before trust ever feels easy.

And maybe that’s where this story is supposed to end—not with a command, but with permission. Permission to believe that God’s nearness isn’t fragile. That His love doesn’t depend on how quickly we respond. That even now, He is still right where He’s always been—close, steady, and willing to wait.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Are there places in your life where you’ve been keeping God at a safe distance rather than fully trusting Him?
  • What past experiences might be influencing how easily—or cautiously—you trust God now?
  • How have you seen God remain present and patient with you, even in seasons when your faith felt small or hesitant?
  • What does it mean to you that God does not confuse slowness with rejection or fear with disobedience?
  • How does knowing that God is willing to wait for your trust change the way you approach Him today?
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Align Your Days the Jesus Way

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Matthew 6:6 —But when you pray, go away by yourself, shut the door behind you, and pray to your Father in private. Then your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.

You’ve had those days—when the house is quiet, but your mind is racing, and the year ahead already feels heavier than you thought it would. You want stillness, the kind that doesn’t come from scrolling or muting your notifications, but from something deeper.

And it’s in that longing that a story comes to mind. It’s one where we’re reminded that Jesus knows what it’s like.

You see, there was a season of Jesus’ life where His days were packed full too. Crowds were everywhere surrounding Him. People followed Him from town to town. Every knock at the door was someone who needed healing, comfort, and answers that only He could give.

Every day demanded everything He had. Yet He would slip away. He didn’t give a dramatic farewell. No “be right back” or explanation. He just made the steady decision to stay behind after He dismissed the crowds and then His disciples so He could spend time in prayer with God His Father.

Out there, with nothing but cool air and scattered stars, He let Himself breathe. Not because He was escaping responsibility, but because He refused to let the noise define what came next. The Father’s voice mattered more than the crowd’s expectations. Prayer wasn’t a task on His list; it was the place where His direction was shaped. This gave Him the alignment He needed to keep going.

So, if this year is already hectic and tugging at you from all sides, I just want to encourage you that you too can find a different rhythm. One where you find the peace that your soul is aching for.

Matthew 6:6 tells us exactly how He did it: “But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” He didn’t wait for life to calm down. He didn’t wait for the right moment to feel ready. He just stepped into the quiet, alone with God, and that was enough.

You don’t have to retreat to a hillside or slip out before sunrise. But you can choose small pockets of stillness where your heart can realign, where the noise can loosen its grip, and where the One who sees you fully can steady the parts that feel scattered.

And who knows—somewhere in those quiet moments, you may find the same thing Jesus found: clarity from remembering Who leads you forward into the year ahead.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What usually keeps you from slowing down and spending quiet, uninterrupted time with God?
  • When life feels noisy or overwhelming, where do you tend to go first for relief—and how does that compare to where Jesus went?
  • What would it look like for you to “shut the door” this week, even in a small or simple way?
  • How might your days change if prayer became a place of alignment rather than another item on your to-do list?
  • Is there something God may want to speak to you in the quiet that’s been hard to hear in the noise?
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When Obedience Becomes the Strategy

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Isaiah 40:29 — He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless.

I can’t stop thinking about how fascinating the stories in the Bible really are.

I’m sitting with my Bible open, mid-afternoon light slipping across the room, and I land back in the story of Gideon. I’ve read it so many times before, but this time it feels different—like it’s reading me right back.

Gideon starts with a decent-sized army. Thirty-two thousand men. That’s not small. That’s comforting. That’s the kind of number that lets you breathe a little easier when you know a fight is coming, and then God says something that makes absolutely no sense. “It’s too many.”

I can’t help but picture Gideon blinking at the sky, thinking, “Lord… have You seen their army?” Because if I’m honest, I’ve said that same thing—about my finances, my energy, my confidence, my resources. Too many is not the problem. Too few is.

But God keeps trimming. He sends some home. Then more. Then comes that strange moment by the water where God trims them down even more based on how they drank water—and suddenly Gideon is standing there with three hundred soldiers left. Three hundred. Against an enemy that should have crushed them.

I imagine the awkward silence. The weight of it. Three hundred people holding torches and clay pots, not swords. This is not the kind of strategy you brag about. This is the kind you only follow if you trust the One who gave it.

And when they do exactly what God says shattering their pots and sounding the trumpets, the enemy panics and runs. This was no clever military strategy or show of strength. No, it was just obedience, and God does the rest. He gave that ragtag band of three hundred men victory.

That’s when I think about how scripture tells us “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” Isaiah 40:29. Did you see that? He gives strength not after we get stronger. Not once we feel ready. But right in the middle of our lack.

God has never been impressed by our numbers. He’s interested in our trust.

So today, whatever feels trimmed down in your life—your energy, your options, your confidence—don’t despise it. Hold it faithfully. Step forward anyway. Let God put His strength on full display through what feels painfully small, and walk in the confidence that the victory was never meant to come from you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life do you feel “trimmed down” right now—emotionally, financially, spiritually, or relationally?
  • How have you been measuring readiness or success by numbers, strength, or resources instead of trust?
  • What might God be inviting you to do in obedience, even though you don’t feel fully equipped?
  • How does knowing that God gives strength in weakness—not after it—change how you view your limitations today?
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Detours, Delays, and a Faithful God

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Philippians 1:6 — And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. 

He hasn’t failed me yet, and He’s not about to start on a random Tuesday in Monroe.

I’m driving downtown on the way to work, just me and the steady hum of my tires, when I realize something feels different. I’m not slowing down for cones. I’m also not squinting at orange signs trying to figure out which surprise detour I’ve been assigned today.

I’m just… driving. Straight through downtown. No construction. No rerouting. No frustration rising in my chest. If you’ve lived here the last few years, you know that’s kind of a miracle.

For the longest time, downtown felt like a maze. Constant construction. Constant “nope, not this way.” Shortcut here. Detour there. Reroute, reroute, reroute. It got so familiar that it felt permanent. This was just how things were now.

I even remember, a little over a year ago, getting out of the car to move and replace cones just so I could get to work. And I was pregnant! But that’s how badly I wanted and needed this construction to move forward.

But today as I drove through the beautiful, finished streets, gratitude washed over me. No, not because the wait was easy, but because it finally made sense. The construction wasn’t punishment. It wasn’t neglect. It was preparation. It was necessary work beneath the surface so the road could actually be ready for what was coming next.

Haven’t we all had seasons like that? Where life feels permanently under construction. Where you’re asking God, “Am I ever going to get to use what You’ve put in me? Or am I just always going to be a work in progress?” Where it feels like everyone else is cruising and you’re still dodging caution cones.

Philippians 1:6 says it plainly: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” He will not abandon it. Not rush it. Complete it.

That verse isn’t just comforting—it’s a firm foundation. It means God doesn’t leave projects half-finished, and it means the season you’re in right now is not wasted, even if it’s inconvenient and slow.

So, here’s the invitation. I’m taking it, and I hope you will too. Let God do His work in you. Don’t rush the cones out of the way. Don’t despise the detours. Trust that the road will open when it’s ready—and when it does, it will be strong enough to carry everything God’s prepared for you.

The wait is part of the goodness. And the finished work will be worth it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life does it feel like you’re stuck in a season of “constant construction” right now?
  • How have you been tempted to rush God’s process or compare your progress to others’?
  • What would it look like to trust that the delays and detours are part of God’s preparation, not His absence?
  • How does believing that God always finishes what He starts change the way you view your current season?
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The Road That Let Me Breathe Again

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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.

Sometimes you don’t need a five-year plan. You just need your keys and a full tank of gas.

That’s where I was that weekend. Life felt crazy. School deadlines stacked up, responsibilities kept tugging at my sleeve, and even though I go to college online, the pressure still somehow followed me everywhere. I was tired in that way that sleep doesn’t fix, where your soul just wants to exhale.

I didn’t need answers. I needed air.

So late Friday afternoon, I did something mildly irresponsible on paper but wildly responsible for my sanity. I jumped in my car. No big speech or overthinking. Just me and my dog, riding shotgun with that goofy smile dogs get when they know something good is about to happen.

The road stretched out in front of us. We were Oklahoma-bound, toward my best friend from high school and her little farm.

As the miles passed, the mental noise didn’t immediately quiet down. My mind tried to drag school assignments and stress into the passenger seat. Part of me wondered if I should’ve stayed home and pushed through. But another part of me—quieter, wiser—knew this wasn’t avoidance. It was permission. Permission to pause. Permission to breathe. Permission to trust that God doesn’t only meet us in productivity.

When I finally pulled onto that gravel drive, something changed. Laughter came easier. The air felt lighter. We talked, we rested, we did nothing important, and somehow, that was everything. I didn’t have to manufacture joy. It met me there. It always does when I stop gripping life so tightly.

That night, sitting still for the first time in weeks, I was reminded of words I’ve known for a long time but needed to feel again:

“I will rejoice and be glad in your faithful love because you have seen my affliction. You know the troubles of my soul and have not handed me over to the enemy. You have set my feet in a spacious place.” Psalm 31:7–8

That’s it. God sees the tired places. He knows the weight we carry. And sometimes His kindness looks like open roads, old friends, and wide open, holy space for your heart to rest.

I came home refreshed, not because I escaped my responsibilities, but because God met me right in the middle of them. He knew what I needed before I did.

So here’s the invitation—simple and real. Pay attention to your weariness. Let yourself take a small, intentional pause. Call the friend. Step outside. Take the drive. Trust that God is not disappointed in your need for rest. He is the One who sets your feet in spacious places, and He delights in refreshing the souls He loves.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where do you feel most weary or overwhelmed right now, and how have you been responding to that weight?
  • What does a “spacious place” look like for you in this season—physically, emotionally, or spiritually?
  • Are there ways God may be inviting you to pause or rest that you’ve been resisting out of responsibility or guilt?
  • How does knowing that God sees the anguish of your soul change the way you approach your need for rest today?
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Closer Than You Think

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Psalm 145:18 — The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.

Charles had always believed in God, but he had never felt His presence quite like this. One evening, he sat in his study, flipping through his well-worn Bible, and found himself lost in the story of Mary Magdalene. Closing his eyes, he let his imagination take over.

He pictured her standing in the garden, heartbroken. He could almost hear the rustling leaves and feel the damp earth beneath Mary’s feet as she wept outside of Jesus’ empty tomb.

She thought everything was lost. Through her tears, she barely noticed the man standing near her —until He spoke.

“Mary.”

It was one word. One moment. One voice she never thought she would hear again. It was Jesus, and that changed everything. He had been there all along, closer than she had realized.

Charles leaned over his desk, and in that instant, the presence of God was so real. It was as if he himself were standing in that garden. It felt so close. The knowledge of the nearness of God presses into the room with him. Scripture has said it all along—“The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth” (Psalm 145:18).

More than that, he could feel Mary’s heart leap as she realized—Jesus was alive.

His heart pounded. It wasn’t just Mary’s story. It was his. It was every believer’s story. Inspired, he reached for a pen and began to write a hymn.

“I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own…”

Over the years, “In the Garden” became more than just a song. It played at funerals, in church pews, and in hospital rooms where the weight of the world felt unbearable. The words were a reminder that Jesus was always near.

Perhaps today, you too feel like Mary, searching for hope, wondering where God is. Maybe you’ve prayed and wondered if God heard you. Know this—He is with you. When the weight of the world feels too much, when you can’t see the way ahead, He is there, closer than you think.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever had a moment when God felt closer than you expected? What was happening in that season?
  • Where in your life might you be searching for God, not realizing He is already near?
  • What does it look like for you to “call on Him in truth” right now—honestly, without pretense?
  • How does knowing God is near, even in grief or uncertainty, change the way you face today?

 

L Y R I C S

I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him,
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

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Redeemer in the Ruins

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Psalm 107:2 — Has the LORD redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies.

I grew up knowing that music wasn’t just something you did. It was something that lived in you.

In my family, music ran deep. Little Richard. Bessie Smith. Names people recognize. So it was no surprise when folks assumed my sisters and I would sing too. That part felt expected. Almost scripted. What didn’t feel expected happened one day at church, when a family friend pulled me aside and spoke words to me that really resonated.

He said God would take me around the world singing for Him and that He would give me “songs in the night.”

At the time, I smiled politely and tucked those words away. I cherished what he said though I didn’t know what to do with them. “Songs in the night” sounded deep and meaningful. Encouraging, but vague. It wasn’t until much later—much, much later—that I understood what he meant.

After high school, I went to Bible college in Dallas. That’s where I met the man who would become my first husband. From the outside, everything looked right. Ministry. Marriage. The next step. But before the wedding day ever arrived, something had already gone terribly wrong.

By the time I stood at the altar, I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents this man had already hit me.

So I didn’t tell them.

For the next three years, I lived inside the cycle of domestic violence—the apologies, the promises, the fear, the shame, the silence. I kept thinking if I just prayed harder and loved better something would change. Instead, the darkness closed in. I questioned every decision I’d made. Some days, I questioned whether I wanted to keep living at all.

Night has a way of doing that. It shrinks your world. It convinces you that this is all there is.

In those nights, when I begged God for mercy, I didn’t hear an audible voice. What I received—unexpectedly—were songs. Other people’s songs. I found songs whose lyrics carried hope when my own words couldn’t.

Music became the place where light still found me. And slowly, I realized God wasn’t absent in my darkness. He was right there with me.

Eventually, I got out of that abuse. I also made a vow to God that I would do things differently. I meant it with my whole heart. But patterns don’t break overnight. I found myself in another relationship that led to a second marriage. This one was not marked by fists, but by betrayals.

Betrayal after betrayal. Things no wife ever wants to discover.

And once again, nighttime.

This time, though, something shifted. In this night season, I began to write—not for an audience or for radio—but to survive. I wrote the words of truth found in scripture as I was living it. And in the middle of that broken season, doors opened I never planned for.

A record deal, an album, and one song in particular that rose straight out of that place of pain called “Redeemer.”

I didn’t write it because life was good. I wrote it because God was still faithful when life was hard. I knew that my redeemer lives and he meets us right where we are.

Scripture gives us all the challenge to tell of all our redeemer has done for us. It says in Psalm 107, “Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story—those He redeemed from the hand of the foe.”

That verse is an invitation to speak out about ways God has delivered you and about things you still believe He will deliver you from. From night into morning.

Those songs I was promised didn’t come in spite of the night. They came because of it.

If you’re walking through a season where the light feels far away, know this: God still sings over His children. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is tell your story. You don’t have to be someone who has it all together but just someone who knows they have been redeemed.

— Nichole Mullins

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • In what ways has God met you during a “night season” in your life?
  • Are there parts of your story where you can now see God’s presence, even if you couldn’t at the time?
  • What has God redeemed you from—or what do you trust Him to redeem you through?
  • How has God used music, Scripture, or another unexpected gift to carry you when words were hard to find?
  • What might it look like to gently and wisely share your story of redemption with someone else?
  • How does knowing that God is faithful in the darkness change the way you face your current circumstances?

 

L Y R I C S

Who taught the sun?
Where to stand in the morning
And who taught the ocean
You can only come this far
And who showed the moon
Where to hide till evening
Whose words alone can
Catch a falling star

Well I know my Redeemer lives
I know my redeemer lives
All of creation testifies
This life within me cries
I know my redeemer lives
Yeah

The very same God
That spins things in orbit
Runs to the weary
The worn and the weak
And the same gentle hands
That hold me when I’m broken
They conquer death to bring me victory

Now I know my redeemer lives
I know my redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my redeemer

He lives to take away my shame
And he lives forever I’ll proclaim
That the payment for my sin
Was the precious life He gave
But now he’s alive and there’s an empty grave

And I know my redeemer, he lives
I know my redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my redeemer

I know my redeemer lives (I know my redeemer lives)
I know (I know my redeemer lives)
I know that, I know that, I know that, I know that, I know
I know my redeemer lives
(Because he lives I can face tomorrow)
He lives, I know, I know, I know
He lives, he lives, he lives
(I spoke with him this morning)
He lives, he lives, he lives
(The tomb is empty)
He lives, he lives, he lives
(I’m gotta tell everybody)

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When Conviction Costs Something

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Daniel 9:4 — Lord, you are a great and awesome God! You always fulfill your covenant and keep your promises of unfailing love to those who love you and obey your commands.

I’m sitting at my desk in my little apartment, Bible open, notebook spread out, pen in hand, and a mug of lukewarm coffee cooling at my side. The city hums softly outside the window, but in here, it’s just me, the pages, and the challenge of wrestling with faith.

Tonight, my mind keeps circling back to Daniel, like from the Book of Daniel. Him, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego. Their stories won’t let me scroll past without notice.

Their courage—it’s shocking in its simplicity. They don’t bow when it’s inconvenient. They don’t compromise when it’s scary. Every time, they choose God. And my chest tightens because I know those moments in my own life when I’ve wavered—when being faithful felt like stepping out on a ledge without a net. Could I stand firm if everything in me wanted to run?

I scribble a note in the margin, pen hovering as a thought lands on Daniel 9:4: “O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps His covenant of love with those who love Him and obey His commands.” I read it aloud softly. It’s not just history. It’s a reminder that even in the pressure, the unseen work of God is moving, shaping circumstances, nudging hearts, and orchestrating outcomes in ways I can’t always see.

Faith isn’t passive. It’s choosing Him when it’s hard, when the walls are closing in, when fear whispers that compromise would be easier.

In the quiet, I let the thought sink in. There’s a subtle thrill in recognizing that my ordinary desk, my small apartment, and my daily choices are not too small for God to use. I write in bold at the bottom of the page: Stand firm. Trust Him. He’s in control.

And so, I sip my coffee, cold now, and feel it—the reassurance that choosing God, matters. Obeying Him matters.

Faith is not just for the grand, dramatic moments. It is for the quiet, for the mundane, for the small places no one sees. Let today be the day you choose Him. Let the corners of your life—the desk, the kitchen, the hallway between meetings—be the places you stand firm.

God is already working there, through what you do, through the people around you, and through circumstances that seem impossible. Stand, trust, and let Him move.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life is God asking you to stand firm, even when it feels uncomfortable or costly?
  • Are there areas where compromise feels easier than obedience right now? What fears are behind that tension?
  • How does remembering God’s faithfulness and covenant love strengthen your trust in Him today?
  • What “ordinary” places or daily moments might God be using to shape your faith right now?
  • When have you seen God at work behind the scenes, even when you couldn’t see it in the moment?
  • What is one small, faithful choice you can make today to honor God where you are?
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Wisdom Beside Me

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Proverbs 24:6 — So don’t go to war without wise guidance; victory depends on having many advisers.

The track was quiet that afternoon—the kind of quiet that lets you hear yourself think. I was walking beside my mentor, my safe place for the messy thoughts I don’t always voice out loud.

I was heavy with doubts swirling in my mind—the next steps God was asking me to take, the fear of failing, the temptation to lean on my own understanding instead of His.

She didn’t rush me. She just listened, eyes steady, letting my words spill into the space between us. Then she began asking questions—questions that cut deeper than my surface worries, questions that made me confront what I’d been trying to avoid. I didn’t always want the answers she gave. Sometimes they felt sharp, uncomfortable. But they were exactly what I needed.

Gently, she reminded me I didn’t have to carry this alone. “Lean into what God has already shown you,” she said. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once.” Her words weren’t magic—they didn’t make every step clear—but they anchored me. They pointed me toward trust instead of fear, toward faith instead of my own frantic plans.

I thought about Proverbs 24:6 as she spoke: “So don’t go to war without wise guidance; victory depends on having many advisers.” I saw it in real time—this wisdom, born from years of walking with God, shaping me, steadying me, and helping me see my next step with clarity and courage.

I left that track lighter, steadier, and stronger. The weight hadn’t vanished, but I’d been reminded that God often works through people to guide us, clarify the path, and empower us to move forward boldly.

If you’ve been carrying your next step all by yourself, consider inviting someone into your journey—someone with wisdom who has walked before you in faith. Pray that God will place a mentor and a voice of truth in your life. And then, step forward with confidence, trusting that God uses the counsel of the faithful to equip and strengthen you for the road ahead.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Who in your life could serve as a mentor or wise adviser to guide you through your next steps?
  • Are you carrying decisions or burdens on your own that you could bring to someone for counsel?
  • How do you discern between your own plans and God’s guidance in a situation?
  • When has seeking advice or mentorship helped you gain clarity or courage in the past?
  • What steps can you take this week to invite someone into your journey of faith and decision-making?
  • How can you cultivate a spirit of listening and humility when receiving counsel, even when it challenges you?
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