Today’s Always Uplifting Verse and Devotional to start your day off right!

The Vacation We Already Had

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1 Corinthians 16:14 – “Let all that you do be done in love.”  

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but that nine-hour car ride to Tennessee felt more like crawling through molasses.

We had piled into two cars—my dad, his new wife, her boys, my sister and her family, my best friend, and me—and drove the whole way. For a tween, that felt like forever and a day and a thousand “are we there yets” stuck in a car.

When our caravan finally rolled into Gatlinburg, we checked every tourist box: souvenir shops, ice cream stands, hiking a mountain or two. And yes, an old-timey country music show that I vowed—loudly—not to attend.

We went anyway. And if I’m honest, the only thing I remember is seeing a cute boy and getting my very first crush.

But years later, that’s not what I hold on to.

The real treasure was back at the rental house.

That little cabin tucked in the trees, became the center of it all. We would pile into the kitchen and cook up whatever groceries we grabbed. We played board games with missing pieces. We argued. We laughed and laughed and stayed up too late.

And that was the best part.

Not the boy. Not the Smoky Mountains. Not even the pictures we took.

All the places we visited were just backdrops. The real story? It happened around the dinner table, on the living room floor, over pancakes and pillow talk and time together.

And here’s what I have come to believe:

You don’t have to travel to find that kind of wonder.

The best parts of life don’t require tickets or plans. They require simple love. A few unhurried moments around the table together. A Bible open before bed. Laughter that’s not rushed. Togetherness that isn’t scheduled, but chosen.

That is what it’s all about.

So, don’t wait for a vacation to make space for the people who matter. Start now. Tonight. Right here, in your own home. Because the best part of life? You don’t even have to ask, “Are we there yet?”

You’re already there.

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When God Speaks You Can Stand

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Isaiah 55:11 – “So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

The storm rolled in just before dawn. The kind that makes the sky turn black and where the wind slaps you sideways. The kind that makes you wonder if this is how it ends.

Peter had known storms. He had fished these waters his whole life. But this one? This one had teeth. The boat groaned with every wave, and the air tightened with fear.

Then someone saw it. Out on the water—a figure. Walking. Coming closer. It was Jesus.

At first, no one dared to speak. They just stared. Somewhere behind him, someone whispered, “It’s a ghost,” but Peter leaned forward. He needed to be sure. He had to know.

Then a voice cut through the fear: “Take heart. It is I.”

Peter locked onto it. That voice… it sounded like hope.

His heart jumped. “Lord, if it is You,” he called, “command me to come.” Because deep down, he knew. If Jesus said the word, he would have something to stand on. The wind did not have to stop. The waves did not have to calm. If Jesus commanded it, the water would hold.

Then came the answer. One word.

“Come.”

And somehow, that word was heavier than the storm. Peter stepped out of the boat, and impossibly, the waves beneath him felt like solid ground.

It was not courage that held Peter up. It was not even faith in himself. It was obedience to the voice of the One who called him. That voice has authority. It does not need a life raft or a better forecast. It just needs to speak.

Some of us spend our whole lives waiting for the storm to pass before we take a step. But peace is not the absence of trouble. It is the presence of His word in the middle of it.

So open the Bible. Sit with it. Wait for His voice. Let His word come first. Not your will, nor your timing. And when you find a promise that speaks straight into your chaos, plant your feet. You can hold onto it like it is solid ground.

Because it is.

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See It Like God Sees It

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Romans 8:37 – “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”

Kristie’s favorite compliment was, “You’re a big person.” She would smile every time because she knew exactly what they meant.

She was five-foot-nothing, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. But big? Oh yes. She had a heart like a freight train, stubborn as the sunrise, and she never once let anyone tell her she couldn’t do something.

At seventeen, she laced up her boots and stepped into a calling. She wanted to protect and serve, no matter the cost. She never imagined the cost of military service could come so high.

A helicopter crash in Afghanistan shattered her world. She was pulled from the wreckage, bleeding and broken. Face. Spine. Shoulder. Leg. It took doctors three years to piece her back together, and even then, they had to take her left leg.

Still, what hurt more than the surgeries or scars was losing the one thing she had built her whole identity around: her mission to protect others.

But if you think that’s where the story ends, you don’t know Kirstie. It dawned on her that she gets to choose how something slows her down. She can look at this latest journey as a problem or as possibility.

With a prosthetic leg and a fire in her soul, she learned to walk again. Then she learned to climb, to snowboard, and to take on challenges most people wouldn’t even dream about. She did it to raise money for nonprofits that help veterans, children with disabilities, and trauma survivors. She did it because, deep down, she still believed people were worth protecting.

Since then, she has scaled six of the seven continental summits, and somewhere along the way, she stopped seeing herself as broken.

…And that changed everything.

Dear One, you are a big person too! It’s not your size that determines your strength. It’s your sight. How you see your wounds, your detours, and your delays, that makes all the difference. God is not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt. He is inviting you to see from higher up, and to catch a glimpse of what He sees.

So go ahead. Take that next step. Climb hard if you must because what looks like a dead end from here will look entirely different from the mountaintop.

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Thriving Through Life’s Trials

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Psalms 42:11 — “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.”

The night I discovered I had cancer, I sat down at the piano. That’s how songwriters bleed. We bleed songs. I started writing out my feelings, and a song called “O My Soul” began to emerge.

It captured my inner turmoil—a battle with myself—reminiscent of some of King David’s verses in the book of Psalms.

I felt like I was walking through fog. Everything was loud, disorienting, and out of control. But somewhere beneath all that fear and shock, something inside me held firm. And I don’t say that to sound spiritual or strong. I didn’t feel either of those things.

But what I did feel, buried beneath the panic, was something steady. Something rooted. It was Jesus. He was the same God I had spent years getting to know in the quiet.

Long before the diagnosis, I had sensed God calling me—and our band—to something deeper. Not just to sing about faith, but to live like it was anchored in something that couldn’t be shaken.

That became the heartbeat of our ministry: Thrive.

That’s also the origin of a special line in the song I wrote that night: “There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.”

I can’t explain it, but those words reminded me that the storm didn’t get to define my story. Fear would have to bow to something greater.

I didn’t thrive that night because I was brave or strong or ready. I thrived because what I knew about God was already rooted deep in my bones.

And now, I want to ask you what I had to ask myself: What are you building your life on?

Friend, if life feels calm right now, this is the best time to get to know Him. Because the storms are coming for all of us. If you’re planted in Him, really planted, you won’t be moved.

Not because you’re strong.

But because He is.

— Mark Hall

Oh My Soul

Oh my soul, oh how you worry
Oh how you’re weary from fearing you lost control
This was the one thing you didn’t see coming
And no one would blame you though
If you cried in private
If you tried to hide it away
So no one knows
No one will see if you stop believing

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

‘Cause you’re not alone

Here and now, you can be honest
I won’t try to promise
That someday it all works out
‘Cause this is the valley
And even now He is breathing on
Your dry bones
And there will be dancing
There will be beauty where beauty was
Ash and stone
This much I know

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

I’m not strong enough
I can’t take anymore
(You can lay it down
You can lay it down)
And my shipwrecked faith
Will never get me to shore
(You can lay it down
You can lay it down)
Can He find me here?
Can He keep me from going under?

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

‘Cause you’re not alone

Oh my soul, you’re not alone

Written by: Mark Hall, Bernie Herms

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God on Bus 27

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Isaiah 52:7 – “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation.”

Glenda has seen it all.

As a bus monitor, she’s witnessed the kinds of things nobody wants to see. Kids getting dropped off at houses she wouldn’t have sent a stray dog to. Some have stepped on in yesterday’s clothes, carrying no lunchbox and even less hope.

Sometimes she wonders—before they ever climbed onto this bus, had anyone told them they were loved? That they mattered? That they weren’t alone?

So she does what she can. She smiles big. She calls them “honey” and “sugar,” and plays 88.7 The Cross every single morning like it’s a love song on repeat.

Because she sees them. Every single one.

And to her, this has never been just a job.

Bus 27 is her mission field. Her chance to show those kids what steady looks like. She has memorized their names. She knows who likes the window seat, who hums when they were nervous, and who needs a little extra kindness before the sun fully rises.

This morning, “My Jesus” by Anne Wilson rolled through the speakers, and a boy two seats back gives her a grin.

“Miss Glenda, can you turn it up?”

Oh, she turned it up, all right.

When she glances back, even the grumpiest kid is bobbing his head along to the beat. One child’s shoulders drop like a weight is finally lifted. The shy girl—the one who never speaks—is mouthing every single word. And the rest? They are smiling. Like really smiling.

In that moment, that worn-down bus just feels like church.

And though Glenda has seen a lot over the years, She knows she will never forget this morning. Because that moment—that transformation—that’s what she wants for them. Not perfection. Just a glimpse of Jesus.

And if playing one song can make a child feel seen and known, she will keep doing it every day until the wheels fall off.

Because as far as Glenda is concerned, telling people about Jesus?

That’s the best thing she’ll ever do.

Will you sponsor one day of hope—just like Glenda lives it out every morning?

When you give to 88.7 The Cross, you’re putting songs of truth and love into the lives of kids like the ones on Bus 27. You’re reminding them they matter. That they’re seen. That Jesus is for them—even if no one else has ever said it.

Your gift makes moments like these possible. Choose a day that matters to you, or give what you can. Because every single morning, someone is listening… and what they hear could change everything.

GIVE HERE!

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The Power of a Rugged Cross

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Hebrews 12:2 – “Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

The church was packed, but, on that stage, George Bennard stood alone.

They hadn’t come to hear the gospel. They’d come to laugh at it.

He left that revival early, the mocking still ringing in his ears. That night, holed up in a small Michigan room with nothing but his Bible and a broken spirit, George begged God for clarity. Not success. Not comfort. This hurt, and he just needed something true to stand on.

What came was a vision—not with his eyes, but with his soul. He saw Jesus on the cross.

Not shining. Bleeding.

“On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff’ring and shame…”

And George wept. The world called it shame. But for him, it was love. Love that bled for mockers and missionaries alike.

“And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.”

He stopped asking God to change the crowd. He asked to be changed instead. He set down his need for recognition and picked up the weight of a message the world might always reject.

“So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down…”

The lyrics came fast after that. He scribbled them on torn paper with trembling hands. Weeks later, the hymn began to spread like fire. But George never pointed to himself—only to the old rugged cross.

It’s easy to forget what the cross really means. We polish it, display it, wear it. But for George, it was the turning point. The reason he kept going when everything in him wanted to quit.

Maybe today you feel tired of doing the right thing. Maybe you’re discouraged, mocked, or just wondering if any of this still matters. Let George’s story remind you:

Jesus is worth it. His love is worth your time, your trust, and your whole life.

So, cling to the cross. Lay your trophies down. Hold fast to what matters most because the world may never understand…

But someday, you’ll exchange it for a crown.

 

Lyrics

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff’ring and shame,
And I love that old cross where the Dearest and Best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.

CHORUS
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above,
To bear it to dark Calvary.

In the old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see;
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.

Lyrics and Music: George Bennard

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Rock Solid Living

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Matthew 7:24 – “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.”

“Let’s build a sandcastle.”

That is all it takes.

It is never a casual beach game. Something in me flips like a switch. Competition surges through my veins, and I dive all in. I scope the sand like an architect with a clipboard. I draft imaginary blueprints. I haul buckets like I’m getting paid, and I recruit my nephews like they are interns on my first big project.

They’re all in… for maybe five minutes. Then the waves call their names, or a football lands nearby, and they’re off doing something more important.

But I’m not done. I stay, head down, determined to see this thing through. I shape towers and carve windows, fully invested in this fortress that, deep down, I know won’t last.

Eventually, I call them back. They come running. One pauses, impressed. The other grins, and in one gleeful sprint, he plows through it like a battering ram in swim trunks.

The whole thing collapses in seconds, and right there, with wet sand on my knees and grit in my teeth, I feel it.

This is exactly what life feels like sometimes. You build something you’re proud of. You hope it will last forever, but then something hits. And it falls apart.

That castle was always going to fall…because it was built on sand.

And so is anything I build that is not grounded in something solid. My plans. My peace. My sense of worth. If they are not anchored to something unshakable, it is just a matter of time.

But when Jesus said to build on the rock, He meant it. That rock is not religion, not performance, just Him. It is His truth, His way, and His words.

That is the only foundation I have found that holds.

And it is never too late to rebuild on something that lasts.

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Do Not Give Up Yet

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Romans 12:12 — Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She texted me out of the blue.

“Can you pray for me?”

Without hesitation, I replied, “of course,” and then I called her.

The conversation was short. Her voice was guarded, but something in it cracked just enough for light to sneak through. We prayed. She thanked me, and we hung up.

And when I sat back in the silence, I felt it. Something had shifted. Just a little. God was doing something.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

That night, I slipped down to my knees for what must have been the hundredth time. I prayed again: for her healing, for her heart, for the wreckage in her past to stop defining her future. I asked God to help her trust Him again.

Because what good would it do if I gave up now?

When I see her again, I have to blink hard to fight back tears. A lump forms fast in my throat, but I still check in on her like I always do. Gently.

This relationship used to be easy. Sweet, even. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And there they are again, those invisible walls she’s learned to stack like bricks, one cold, polite answer at a time. I pray silently.

God, will You make this better again? Please.

That night, with my heart aching, I almost gave into disappointment. I scrolled my phone, trying to outrun my feelings, but there it was again, that familiar nudge in my spirit to pray. It was the kind that won’t let me stay comfortable.

So, I dropped to my knees again. I wept, and God met me there. Again.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He reminded me of that brave text last night, that prayer call, and that softening in her voice. He’s not done with her.

And suddenly, that was enough.

So, friends, what I am learning is don’t stop praying. Let your knees hit the floor a thousand times if they need to. Keep trusting that beyond what your eyes can see, God is moving mountains in the hearts of those you love.

Because hope isn’t just a feeling. It’s a decision that sounds like this.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

Lyrics:

What’s your impossible
Your “I need a miracle”
What’s got you barely hanging by a single thread
What looks so hopeless now
What weighs down your heart with doubt
You beg for a breakthrough but no sign of breakthrough yet

When you’ve cried and you’ve cried til your tears run dry
The answer won’t come and you don’t know why
And you wonder if you can bow your head even one more time

Don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying

He’s close to the brokenhearted
Saves those who are crushed in spirit
The Alpha and Omega knows how your story ends

When you’ve cried and you’ve cried til your tears run dry
The answer won’t come and you don’t know why
And you wonder if you can bow your head even one more time
Oh, do it one more time

And don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying

(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Oh
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Oh, don’t stop praying
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Oh (Oh)

Don’t stop praying for the prodigal
Don’t stop praying for the miracle
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen

Don’t stop praying that addictions end
Don’t stop praying for deliverance
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen

Oh, don’t stop praying for the sickness healed
Don’t stop praying for His power revealed
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen

No, don’t stop praying for the kingdom come
Don’t stop praying that his will be done
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen

Don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying

(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Oh, don’t stop praying
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Don’t you give up now (Oh)
No, don’t stop praying

Music by Matthew West performing “Don’t Stop Praying”
(C) 2024 Provident Label Group LLC, a division of Sony Music Entertainment
#MatthewWest #ChristianMusic #DontStopPraying

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Choosing The Jesus Way

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Matthew 5:44 — “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

It was just another Tuesday in the studio. Switches flipped, headphones on, songs queued. I was scanning emails and half-listening when Phil Wickham’s The Jesus Way came through the speakers.

I’ve heard it before (dozens of times, probably). But that day, it just hit differently.

“If you curse me, then I will bless you.
If you hurt me, I will forgive.
And if you hate me, then I will love you.
I choose the Jesus way.”

And suddenly I thought:
Wait. Would I actually do that?

I was flabbergasted. Because my honest answer was, “Absolutely not.”

Not if I’ve been hurt.
Not if I’ve been overlooked or disrespected.
Not when it means blessing someone who lied to me.
Not when it means forgiving someone who never said sorry.

But I couldn’t shake the question. I felt like God was tugging at something in me, asking me to stop pretending I had this Jesus thing figured out. I had convinced myself I was already living that way, but I wasn’t. I was saying the right things, but not living them.

Because the Jesus way? It’s not always easy or aesthetic. It is messy and complicated and sometimes downright painful. And sometimes, saying yes to Jesus means saying yes to being misunderstood, to letting go of grudges, and to loving people who won’t love me back.

It means keeping your spiritual ear tuned even when everything in you wants to shut down. It means choosing to bless someone who might never know the cost of that choice.

So, I prayed right there in the studio. Lord, I don’t know how to love like that, but I want to. Help me to do it…even if it hurts.

I don’t know exactly where that prayer will take me, but I know this. The Jesus way isn’t about what we say we believe. It isn’t a one-time decision. It is an ongoing invitation to choose love when it feels unfair.

And if you’re like me—if you’ve ever convinced yourself you’re living this way but secretly know you’re not—maybe this is your moment too.

No, it’s not easy.
It may even invite pain.

But it’s the Jesus way.
And it’s worth it.

Lyrics:

If you curse me then I will bless you
If you hurt me I will forgive
And if you hate me then I will love you
I choose the Jesus way

If you’re helpless I will defend you
And if you’re burdened I’ll share the weight
And if you’re hopeless then let me show you
There’s hope in the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

If you strike me I will embrace you
And if you chain me I’ll sing His praise
And if you kill me my home is heaven
For I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

I choose surrender
I choose to love
Oh God my Savior
You’ll always be enough
I choose forgiveness
I choose grace
I choose to worship
No matter what I face

I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way
Oh I choose the Jesus way
#PhilWickham #TheJesusWay

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A Couch, a Coffee, and a Change

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Luke 6:36 — “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.”

Some lessons from God don’t start in a church. They start behind a gym, yelling at a stranger in a junked-out car.

The sun wasn’t even up, but Jeff’s blood was already boiling. There it was: a man’s silhouette under a ragged blanket. Again.

He banged on the window with a flat palm.

“I said this yesterday. You can’t sleep here! I’m not running a shelter. I’m running a business.”

The kid jumped, wide-eyed, and climbed out without a word. He disappeared into the trees like smoke. Jeff stood there for a minute, jaw clenched, muttering all the way back inside.

The next morning? Same car. Same blanket. Same boiling anger.

By day five, Jeff wasn’t even surprised. His feet thundered as he marched toward the car, already rehearsing what to say when—

Do you remember when you had nothing?

The words weren’t audible, but they might as well have been shouted.

He did remember… how close had he had come to losing it all. The gym. His sanity. His hope.

So, he turned around, marched back inside, filled a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee, and carried it out.

“I brought you something.”

The young man sat up slowly, blinking. Confused.

“What’s your name?”

“…Brian.”

They talked a while. After hearing Brian’s story, Jeff offered him a job. Brian agreed, but showed up hours late. This time he didn’t let it slide.

“Job’s off the table,” Jeff said. “But I’ll help you. You can shower here and sleep on the couch. But I’m not jumping in the hole with you. You’ve got to want out.”

The weeks passed, and there were more slip-ups and missed chances. But Jeff didn’t walk away. Every time he looked at Brian, he saw himself, just younger and in need of someone steady.

And do you know what? Eventually, Brian did find a steady, meaningful job, but what he gained more was the confidence that someone cared about him when all he had was a tattered blanket and a place to sleep in the back of someone else’s car.

When you think about Brian and Jeff today, I hope you will remember someone else needs what God gave you, too. Could it be grace? Patience? Or a second chance?

And when you meet someone stuck where you once were, don’t yell. Don’t look away. Just lean in, lend a hand, and offer a little hope and a cup of coffee.

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