Luke 3:11 — John replied, “If you have two shirts, give one to the poor. If you have food, share it with those who are hungry.”
A man dressed in black steps toward strangers on a New York City sidewalk.
It’s the kind of moment that makes people stiffen. Eyes dart away. Hands tighten around bags. In a city that runs on hurry and distance, there’s an unspoken rule: don’t engage. Keep moving. Protect your space.
The man doesn’t look harmless.
He stops people and asks for their wallets.
But this story isn’t going where you think it will.
What most people don’t know yet is that the “burglar” isn’t trying to take anything.
Instead, he approaches the people others walk past—the ones no one sits beside. The ones who’ve stopped expecting eye contact, much less kindness.
A man sits alone at a bus stop. The stranger in black approaches him, and for a moment it looks like trouble.
But then everything flips.
Instead of robbing him, the burglar gives.
He places cash into the man’s wallet. But more than that, he gives something even rarer—his time. He looks him in the eye. He sits down. He listens. He treats him like someone worth stopping for.
For a moment, that man isn’t invisible.
He’s chosen.
Watching this moment unfold online, one thing becomes clear: generosity was never meant to be complicated.
John the Baptist put it simply: if you have two shirts and someone has none, share. If you have food and someone is hungry, give.
You don’t need a disguise or a dramatic moment to do that.
You just need to care.
Eyes that notice people others overlook. Hands willing to give what they already have. A heart ready to step where others keep walking.
Kindness doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Sometimes the most unexpected act of love is simply doing the right thing.
So today, notice the person others avoid—and share what you already have.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When was the last time you noticed someone others seemed to overlook?
Why do you think it can be difficult to engage with people in need?
What simple act of generosity could you offer someone today?
How does Luke 3:11 challenge the way you think about sharing what you have?
What might change if more people chose to notice those who feel invisible?
Psalm 34:3 — Come, let us tell of the Lord’s greatness; let us exalt his name together.
Rubble lines the ground where a wall once stood.
Burned gates lean inward. Stones lie scattered in every direction—reminders of what once protected the city. Jerusalem is exposed, and everyone knows it. No single person could fix this. No one has the strength, skill, or resources to rebuild it alone.
In Scripture, Nehemiah sees it clearly. Not just the damage—but the possibility.
He isn’t simply a hero with a hammer. He’s a leader with a vision. And the people standing around him aren’t professional builders. They’re parents. Priests. Neighbors. Ordinary families who know what loss feels like and understand how much is at stake.
The wall feels too big. The work too heavy. Everyone can do the math in their head and reach the same conclusion: this is impossible alone.
Then something shifts.
One voice turns into many. A shared resolve rises up among the people. It settles deep in their bones.
They say it together: Let us rise up and build.
Not someday. Not someone else.
Today. Together.
That’s the miracle. Not just the wall—but the unity.
Each family takes a section. Shoulder to shoulder. Stone by stone. Progress begins showing up where hopelessness once lived. The work moves forward because no one is working alone.
And what gets rebuilt isn’t just a wall.
It’s strength.
Dignity.
Belonging.
This has always been how God works. His work moves forward through us, not just me. Worship grows louder when voices join together. Care reaches farther when hands link side by side.
That’s why the psalmist invites us:
“Come, let us tell of the Lord’s greatness; let us exalt His name together.”
That invitation still stands today.
In many ways, this ministry at 88.7 is built the same way that wall was—through shared vision, shared sacrifice, and shared joy. Through people choosing to show up together. To worship together. To care for families and communities together.
There is deep gratitude for every person who has already said yes to being part of the “we.”
And there is still room at the wall.
So let’s rise up and build together—through generosity, prayer, presence, and encouragement. Because when God’s people work side by side, His love reaches farther than any one of us could carry it alone.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
Where have you seen the power of people working together toward something meaningful?
What gifts or strengths has God given you that could help build up others?
Why do you think God often chooses to accomplish His work through communities instead of individuals?
What might it look like for you to join others in encouraging or serving this week?
How can you “exalt the Lord together” with the people around you?
https://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/Nehemiah.webp300560Brenda Pricehttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngBrenda Price2026-03-10 07:00:122026-03-07 16:45:45Together Makes Impossible Possible
1 John 4:10 — This is real love—not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.
I didn’t notice it as a kid.
As an athlete playing travel ball, we spent a lot of weekends on the road. New cleats showed up when the old ones wore out. The car was always packed early. Coolers were loaded with snacks because ballpark nachos cost too much.
There was always something that somehow got paid for.
And I never wondered how.
When you’re young, you don’t realize that’s what love looks like. The things you enjoy feel effortless because someone else is quietly carrying the weight.
But adulthood has a way of helping you do the math.
Now I’m the one standing in stores staring at prices and running numbers through my head. And suddenly those travel ball summers come rushing back.
The cleats. The equipment bags that got ripped and replaced. The socks. The uniforms. The sliding shorts. The tournament entry fees.
Wow.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
They didn’t just show up for me—they sacrificed. That money had to come from somewhere. I may never know what bills were delayed or what things they quietly went without.
And the truth is—they never made it my burden to carry.
They just loved us.
That’s how real love works. It sacrifices first. It gives before it’s thanked. It pays the price so someone else doesn’t have to.
And when I think about that kind of love, I can’t help but see a bigger picture.
Scripture tells us that real love didn’t start with us loving God—it started with God loving us. Long before we could earn it, deserve it, or repay it, He gave the ultimate sacrifice through Jesus so we could be forgiven and free.
That’s the love that carried us when we couldn’t carry ourselves.
Gratitude grows when we finally see it. Gratitude deepens when we remember the sacrifices that made our lives possible.
So let that gratitude speak today.
Let it soften your heart. Let it change you.
And let it shape the way you love others—freely, generously, and without keeping receipts.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When have you realized a sacrifice someone made for you that you didn’t notice at the time?
How does recognizing those sacrifices change the way you see love?
What does it mean to you that God loved you first?
How might gratitude shape the way you love others today?
Is there someone you could thank this week for the ways they carried you when you didn’t realize it?
https://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/softball-field.webp300560Bri Dunnhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngBri Dunn2026-03-09 07:00:502026-03-07 13:39:03Love That Paid it All
Matthew 6:19-21 — Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.
The check was bigger than anything Rich Mullins ever expected to see with his name on it.
Songs he had written—honest, raw, deeply about God—were being picked up by labels. Christian radio was playing them. Other artists were recording them. Royalties were coming in steadily now.
By every standard, he was doing well.
But Rich felt uneasy about it.
This was the late ’80s and ’90s. He could have upgraded his life without anyone questioning it. A bigger house. A nicer car. More comfort. Most people would have called that wisdom.
Instead, Rich asked a different question:
How much is enough?
He believed money was a tool, and he didn’t want it quietly reshaping his heart. Jesus had warned that where our treasure is, our hearts will follow—and Rich didn’t want his heart buried in things that could be lost, stolen, or worn away.
So he did something almost unheard of.
He asked his record label to cap his income at what he called a “working man’s salary.” Just enough to live on. Everything beyond that, he gave away to charities and ministries serving people in need.
There were no announcements. No campaigns built around his name.
He kept writing. He kept touring. But money stopped being the thing he chased—or feared. His life became simpler, lighter. And his generosity made clear what he valued most.
Rich Mullins didn’t live a long life. He died in 1997 at just 41 years old. But he lived a clear one. His songs still point people to God today. And his choices still challenge the assumption that more is always better.
Jesus said, “Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.”
What we do with what we have reveals what we love most.
True generosity isn’t about having excess. It’s about deciding what really matters. Defining “enough” keeps money in its proper place and keeps our hearts anchored somewhere that doesn’t fade.
So today, consider what God has placed in your hands. Use it well. And let generosity shape a life that stores up treasure in the only place it lasts—heaven.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When you think about your resources, what feels like “enough” to you?
How do Jesus’ words about treasure challenge the way you think about money or success?
In what ways can generosity help keep your heart focused on eternal things?
What is one practical way you could use what you’ve been given to bless someone else this week?
Where do your choices reveal that your heart’s treasure really is?
SOMETIMES BY STEP
BY RICH MULLINS
Sometimes the night was beautiful
Sometimes the sky was so far away
Sometimes it seemed to stoop so close
You could touch it but your heart would break
Sometimes the morning came too soon
Sometimes the day could be so hot
There was so much work left to do
But so much You’d already done
O God, You are my God
And I will ever praise You
O God, You are my God
And I will ever praise You
And I will seek You in the morning
And I will learn to walk in Your ways
And step by step You’ll lead me
And I will follow You all of my days
Sometimes I think of Abraham
How one star he saw had been lit for me
He was a stranger in this land
And I am that, no less than he
And on this road to righteousness
Sometimes the climb can be so steep
I may falter in my steps
But never beyond Your reach
O God, You are my God
And I will ever praise You
O God, You are my God
And I will ever praise You
I will seek You in the morning
And I will learn to walk in Your ways
And step-by-step You’ll lead me
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
And step by step You’ll lead me
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
(Sometimes the night was beautiful)
And I will follow You all of my days
(Sometimes the night . . .)
(Sometimes the night was beautiful)
And I will follow You all of my days
(. . . Was beautiful)
(Sometimes the night was beautiful)
And I will follow You all of my days
(So beautiful)
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
(O God, you are my God)
And I will follow You all of my days
And I will follow You all of my days
(Sometimes the night was beautiful)
And I will follow You all of my days
1 Peter 3:8 — Finally, all of you should be of one mind. Sympathize with each other. Love each other as brothers and sisters. Be tenderhearted, and keep a humble attitude.
There’s a man working at a grocery store. He’s wearing a name tag he never thought he would need this late in life.
He works eight-hour shifts, five days a week—not to stay busy, but because the life he planned slowly crumbled.
For decades, he worked as a machinist for General Motors. He counted on his pension and retirement savings. But when the automotive industry collapsed, the pension disappeared.
Not long after that, his wife’s health began to fail.
Medical bills piled up—surgeries, treatments, hospital stays—until the debt climbed past a quarter of a million dollars. So he kept working to care for the love of his life.
And even seven years after she passed away, he was still working.
He worked to survive.
But here’s what stands out: he wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t angry. He was kind. Steady. Grateful. The kind of man who looks people in the eye and asks how they’re doing.
Most shoppers never noticed.
But one day, a stranger did.
They paused. They asked about his life. Then they shared his story online.
And something remarkable happened.
People responded with one heart and one mind—just like Scripture describes. They chose sympathy. They treated him like family. Compassion moved them to act.
Through a crowdfunding effort, they raised $1.7 million—enough to erase his debt and give him the retirement he had once planned for.
But what he received wasn’t just money.
It was rest. Relief. The reminder that his life still mattered.
This wasn’t a sermon. It was a response.
People simply chose to care.
Compassion often begins quietly, but it rarely stays small.
Most kindness will never go viral. Most generosity will never trend online. But every day there are people around us carrying burdens we can’t see—neighbors, coworkers, cashiers, strangers doing their best with a life they didn’t expect.
And God’s love often shows up through ordinary people who refuse to look away.
So pay attention. Slow down. Be tenderhearted.
Because when kindness moves from sympathy to action, it doesn’t just change one life—it reminds all of us what love can still do.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When was the last time you slowed down enough to notice someone else’s struggle?
Who in your daily routine might be carrying more than you realize?
What does it mean to you to be “tenderhearted” in your everyday interactions?
How could you turn compassion into action this week?
In what ways has someone else’s kindness reminded you that you mattered?
Zephaniah 3:17 — For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.
The car is parked on the bridge with the engine still running.
Jacob sits behind the wheel, hands resting where they’ve been for a while now. The water below is loud—constant, rushing, unbothered—but it still can’t compete with the noise in his head. Every thought feels settled, final.
He isn’t dramatic about it.
He’s convinced.
Convinced he doesn’t matter. Convinced the world would keep moving just fine without him.
The radio is on out of habit. Music drifts in and out, barely registering. He isn’t listening for hope. He isn’t listening for anything.
Then a lyric cuts through.
“Fear, he is a liar.”
It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t argue. It simply names the thing Jacob has been believing. And somehow, that’s what stops everything.
He can’t fully explain what happens next. He doesn’t suddenly feel strong or brave or fixed. What he feels is quieter and deeper—like he isn’t alone in the car anymore. Like the empty space beside him is filled.
Not with answers.
With presence.
As the song continues, something breaks open. Jacob cries harder than he ever has. Not quiet tears. Not controlled ones. The kind that empty you out because you’ve been holding too much for too long.
Nothing outside the car changes. The bridge is still there. The water is still loud.
But the lie loses its grip.
Not because it was debated—but because it was interrupted.
He turns the car around.
That night doesn’t end the way he planned.
Thank God.
Later, when Jacob tries to make sense of it, the best he can say is this: he was not as alone as he thought. What showed up on that bridge wasn’t a solution—it was a Savior who stayed.
Scripture describes God’s presence this way: “The Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty Savior… With His love He will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”
That night, Jacob experienced that promise in real time.
Not distant.
Not disappointed.
Present.
God was strong enough to rescue him, steady enough to quiet his spiraling thoughts with love, and somehow singing louder than the fear that had been shouting all night.
You might be reading this from your own parked place—maybe not a bridge, but a moment where the noise feels overwhelming and the lies feel settled.
Sometimes God breaks through that darkness with one truth, one lyric, one reminder that you are seen and not abandoned.
Staying alive for one more moment can be an act of faith.
Let the truth interrupt the lie. Let presence outweigh fear.
And keep choosing to turn the car around—because you are still here for a reason, and God is closer than you think.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
Have you ever experienced a moment when a song, Scripture, or simple truth interrupted a dark thought?
What lies does fear sometimes whisper to you about your worth or your future?
How does the promise in Zephaniah 3:17 change the way you see God’s presence in hard moments?
What might it look like for you to pause and listen for God’s voice when life feels overwhelming?
Who in your life might need a reminder today that they are not alone?
Fear Is a Liar
When he told you you’re not good enough
When he told you you’re not right
When he told you you’re not strong enough
To put up a good fight
When he told you you’re not worthy
When he told you you’re not loved
When he told you you’re not beautiful
That you’ll never be enough
Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar
When he told you were troubled
You’ll forever be alone
When he told you you should run away
You’ll never find a home
When he told you you were dirty
And you should be ashamed
When he told you you could be the one
That grace could never change
Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar
Let Your fire fall and cast out all my fears
Let Your fire fall Your love is all I feel
Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar
https://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/water2.webp300560Kirstie Fordhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngKirstie Ford2026-03-06 07:00:492026-03-05 21:30:49When Truth Turns the Car Around
Matthew 6:1 — Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
The coffee shop is already buzzing—steam rising, cups clinking, people moving fast like the morning is chasing them.
It’s a weekday. Ordinary. The kind of place where most people come in a little tired and a little hopeful that caffeine might help.
But at this particular counter, something special has been happening.
Every now and then, someone quietly pays a little extra. They don’t leave their name. They don’t ask for recognition. They just add a few dollars so that if someone comes in short on cash, the barista can cover their drink.
One morning, a young man stepped up to the counter before a big job interview. He was running on nerves and hope when he suddenly realized something.
He didn’t have his wallet.
You could see the disappointment hit him. Embarrassment followed close behind.
Before he could apologize, the barista smiled gently.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re covered.”
He blinked in confusion. “Wait… what?”
“Someone already paid.”
What she handed him wasn’t just coffee. It was relief. Dignity. One less thing to carry on a stressful morning.
And that day, he got the job.
A week later, he came back. This time he ordered his coffee—and quietly left a little extra money for the next person who might need it.
That’s the beauty of generosity. The ripple effect can travel farther than we ever see.
Jesus once warned His followers not to practice their righteousness just to be noticed by others. Acts of kindness were never meant to be performances.
They were meant to be offerings.
Because even when no one else sees, God does.
Somewhere today there will be an opportunity to give—a kind word, a helping hand, a quiet act of generosity. It might feel small. It might go completely unnoticed.
But kindness doesn’t need an audience to be powerful.
And sometimes the simplest act, done quietly, becomes exactly what someone needed right when they needed it most.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When was the last time someone showed you unexpected kindness?
How did that moment impact your day or your perspective?
What is one quiet act of generosity you could offer someone this week?
Do you find it easier to give when others will notice, or when no one will know?
How might God be inviting you to bless someone anonymously today?
Psalms 112:4-5 — Light shines in the darkness for the godly. They are generous, compassionate, and righteous. Good comes to those who lend money generously and conduct their business fairly.
I’ll never forget finding my husband on the floor after his accident. Both feet broken in a car crash, and every day had been so hard for him. He was inching his way down the hallway just trying to get to the bathroom.
My heart was hammering. Our house had become a recovery ward. The dogs were restless. Hospital bills stacked up on the counter. Appointments filled every inch of my planner. I was strong—or maybe I just acted strong—but there were mornings I didn’t know if either of us would make it through without breaking down.
Then one day my phone rang. Two friends said they wanted to bring groceries. No lecture. No advice. No questions about how we were managing.
Just groceries.
Later, I stood in the kitchen with Walmart bags piled on the counter, and for the first time in weeks, I felt relief. We weren’t invisible. God hadn’t missed us.
It felt like light breaking into a dark place—quiet and steady.
“Light shines in the darkness for the godly.”
That light didn’t look dramatic. It looked like bread and milk. It looked like kindness that didn’t need recognition. It looked like compassion that moved.
Psalm 112 says the godly are generous and compassionate—and that good comes to those who open their hands. That day, the light of God shone through two friends who simply chose to give.
I learned something in that kitchen: generosity doesn’t have to be impressive to matter. Sometimes it’s enough to show up and say, I see you.
Small acts carry hope. They carry God’s love. And sometimes they are the very light someone needs to make it through the darkest season of their life.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
When have you experienced “light in the darkness” through someone else’s generosity?
Is there someone in your life right now who might need simple, steady compassion?
What small act could you offer this week that might feel like light to someone else?
Are your hands open—ready to give when God nudges you?
How has God used others’ generosity to remind you that you weren’t invisible?
Hebrews 3:13 — But encourage each other daily, while it is still called today, so that none of you is hardened by sin’s deception.
He stands in a field that belongs to him, the dirt warm under his sandals, the air quiet enough to hear his own thoughts.
No one is watching.
No one is clapping.
This isn’t a church moment. It’s a personal one.
This is Barnabas—before anyone ever calls him the Son of Encouragement.
Jerusalem is buzzing in those days. People are gathering in homes, sharing meals, retelling stories about Jesus like they’re afraid they might forget a single word. The church is alive, but it’s young. There are needs everywhere—food, shelter, safety. Faith feels thrilling and fragile at the same time.
Barnabas isn’t an apostle.
He’s not preaching or leading crowds.
He’s just paying attention.
He notices the strain behind steady smiles. He sees how quickly hope can thin when cupboards are bare and pressure rises. And he knows what this field represents. Selling it would mean becoming a resource for the church—but it would also mean releasing something secure, something measurable, something that has always been his.
Encouragement, it turns out, costs something.
Still, something in him understands that faith was never meant to be stored away. It is meant to move—to strengthen others before their hearts grow hard from disappointment or drift into discouragement.
So he sells the field. He lays the money at the apostles’ feet—not as a performance, but as quiet obedience.
No speech.
No spotlight.
But that act shapes his name.
They begin to call him Barnabas—Son of Encouragement—because what he gives does more than meet a need. It fortifies fragile hearts. It keeps courage alive while the church is still learning how to stand.
“Encourage each other daily… while it is still called today.”
Encouragement wasn’t first something he said. It was something he sacrificed.
And that hasn’t changed.
Encouragement still costs time, attention, comfort, resources. It strengthens people who are tired, distracted, or quietly wondering if they should quit. It keeps hearts tender when life presses hard against them.
So encourage someone today. Don’t wait.
Maybe there’s someone near you whose faith feels thin. Someone smiling but stretched. And maybe what steadies them won’t be a speech—but something tangible, something intentional, something that reminds them they are seen.
Faith grows in soil tended by encouragement.
And sometimes the most powerful way to speak courage into someone’s life is to place something valuable at their feet—and trust God to use it.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
Who in your life might be quietly carrying more than they show?
What “field” — time, comfort, attention, or resources — might God be asking you to release for someone else’s strength?
Have you ever been steadied by someone else’s quiet encouragement? What did it cost them?
Where could your obedience today prevent someone’s heart from growing discouraged?
What would it look like to encourage someone before they ask for help?
https://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/YGT.webp300560Brenda Pricehttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngBrenda Price2026-03-03 07:00:482026-03-01 19:27:26Faith in the Field, Encourage Boldly
Psalm 55:17 — Morning, noon, and night I cry out in my distress, and the Lord hears my voice.
The room feels too quiet after the call ends.
John stands there with the phone still in his hand, like the words were spoken in a language he doesn’t understand. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, because standing suddenly feels like too much. An hour ago, his future made sense. Now the love of his life is gone.
He’s a veteran. He knows darkness. He knows how to keep moving when things get hard. But this… this breakup… it feels like free fall.
Things he learned long ago to bury begin rising up. He survived so much by locking memories away. You don’t feel too much. You move forward.
But that’s impossible tonight.
He doesn’t want to die. He just doesn’t know how to keep living without her. That tension presses against his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, trying not to give up—though he’s not even sure what “not giving up” means anymore.
He tells himself to get up, to do something, but his body won’t listen.
And then, soft as a whisper, a thought comes:
Turn on the radio.
In the darkness, John reaches over and turns the dial. Music fills the room—gentle, steady. Words about God being near. About holding on. About light that doesn’t abandon him.
John doesn’t sing. He doesn’t move. He just stays.
The noise inside him quiets enough to breathe. Nothing is fixed. Nothing is solved. By morning, the grief is still there. The road ahead is still unclear.
But he is still here.
Somewhere in the lyrics, something breaks through. Not a solution. Not a plan. Just a reminder: God loves him, and He meets us where we are—even in the dark.
“Morning, noon, and night I cry out in my distress, and the Lord hears my voice.”
God wasn’t waiting for perfect prayers. He was listening through the long night. Through the silence. He was listening to a man sitting on the edge of the bed with nothing left to offer.
If you’re there right now—worn down, overwhelmed, just trying to make it through—there is grace for staying. You don’t have to fix everything tonight. You don’t need the right words.
God hears you. Even now.
Let Him fill the silence. Let the night pass. Morning knows how to find you. And His voice can carry you—one song at a time.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
Where do you feel like you’re just “staying” right now instead of thriving?
What emotions have you been trying to bury that may need to be brought honestly before God?
How does it change things to know God hears you—even when you don’t have the words?
What small step (like turning on the radio) could help you breathe tonight?
When have you experienced God meeting you quietly in a dark season before?
https://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/MNNight.webp300560Tammi Arenderhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngTammi Arender2026-03-02 07:00:512026-03-01 19:20:37One Song of Hope
