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

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)

/by

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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Prayers That Build a Legacy

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Psalm 69:16 — Answer my prayers, O Lord, for your unfailing love is wonderful. Take care of me, for your mercy is so plentiful.

I was thinking about my dad the other night, just sitting with my thoughts, and it hit me how different his life turned out from the rest of his family.

Most of them, well… they made choices that led to messy, hard roads. But my dad? Somehow, he just became this steady Godly person. If you’ve ever met him you know he’s just so good and kind. And I know where it started—his grandmother.

She prayed over him from the moment he was born. Not casual prayers, either. She would take him in her arms and declare things over his life like, “You’re not going to be like the rest of your family. You are going to be a great man. You are going to do what God’s called you to do.”

Can you imagine believing that kind of thing over someone you love? She did. And she prayed and believed with her whole heart. Now, she didn’t live to see him grow into that person unfortunately, but her prayers changed everything. Every time I look at my dad, I see her prayers answered.

I mean…wow! God is so good. I think about my own prayers sometimes about the people whose lives I am asking God to move in. They feel so far away from Him, and there are days where I’m praying and it feels like my words are just hitting the ceiling. Like nothing is changing and nothing is happening.

Then doubt sneaks in and whispers, “Does it even matter if I pray?”

And then I look at my dad. I see the life he’s built. The way he loves people, the way he carries himself with integrity, and the way faith just seems to flow through him. Its such an answered prayer.

There is this prayer in the Psalms that reminds me so much of my grandma praying for her son. It says, “Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your abundant mercy, turn to me” (Psalm 69:16).

It reminds me that God’s movement isn’t measured by what I see. But He is mighty and merciful and patient. He is breaking through like only He can. It’s hard to wrap my mind around it.

But prayer is generational. It travels. I may never see it in my lifetime, but that is okay. Maybe I’ll never even see the result, but they are just like those slow, invisible, chain breaking prayers that shaped my dad. They’re part of a legacy.

So, I am going to keep on praying. And I want you to keep praying too. Even when it feels difficult. Even when it feels like it doesn’t matter because every word carries weight. Every time we cry out to God it matters. God is moving, and your prayers are shaping a future far beyond what you can imagine.

He will answer you because God is good and His abundant mercy never fails.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Who has prayed over your life in ways you may not have fully recognized yet?
  • Is there someone you’ve been praying for where it feels like nothing is changing right now? How does this story encourage you to keep going?
  • What doubts creep in when prayers seem unanswered—and how can God’s unfailing love reshape those doubts?
  • What legacy of prayer are you currently building, even if you may never see the full outcome?
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Life Beyond Likes

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Philippians 4:8 — And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.

My phone used to sit quietly on the counter, minding its own business.

These days, it buzzes like it’s got something urgent to say every five minutes. And somewhere along the way, I started believing it.

I noticed it one morning when I reached for my phone before I reached for the coffee pot—which, in my house, is saying something. I didn’t mean to let social media take up so much space in my life. It just sort of happened.

One post here. A quick scroll there. Before I knew it, I was posting every day. I was half-convinced that if I didn’t show up online, my life didn’t really count for anything. Like my purpose and relevance had a login and a password.

I’d post something sweet or thoughtful, but then check back later. I’d think, “Did she like it? Did he see it? Why did that one get more attention than this one?”

It’s amazing how quickly you can turn a good thing meant to connect people into something negative that measures your worth like that.

Now, everyone around me handles social media differently. I’ve got friends who post three or four times a day. Bless them, they’ve got the stamina. But I have other friends who are okay disappearing for weeks at a time. And one friend who walked away from social media completely. She just decided life was better without the pressure.

Meanwhile, I’m over here pouring out so much effort and time to keep up appearances. It was all so I could feel better about myself. Now I am aware of it, and no, I haven’t delete all of my accounts, but I am choosing to get honest with myself about how much I allow social media and the opinions of others to affect my self-esteem.

Just like Philippians 4:8 says, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

That verse doesn’t tell me to throw my phone in the ditch. No, it tells me to aim my mind on better things. To notice what’s shaping me. To ask whether my thoughts are being fed by comparison, approval, and noise—or by truth, goodness, and peace.

So I’m learning to post less out of insecurity and more out of intention. I’m learning to scroll slower and to look up more. To let God remind me—again and again—where my real worth comes from.

Maybe today is a good time to pause and ask the same question. What’s been shaping your thoughts lately? And what might change if you gently let God realign your focus toward what actually gives life?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What do you tend to reach for first when you have a quiet moment—and what does that reveal about what’s shaping your thoughts?
  • Have you noticed ways comparison or the opinions of others have influenced how you see your worth?
  • Which of the qualities listed in Philippians 4:8 (true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable) do you want to focus on more intentionally this week?
  • What is one small change you could make to create more space for life-giving thoughts and less noise?
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Better Together Always

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Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 — Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.

It has just been hard.

Hard to feel confident. Hard to make good, healthy choices. That’s where I’ve been lately. Have you ever been in that place? Where in one season it felt easy—like, give me all the kale salads, I’ve got this—and in the next you’re standing there thinking, “Can I please just have some buffalo wings and Chick-fil-A and pasta?”

I’m just being honest.

What’s made it worse is everything that comes with it. The way I see myself. The frustration. The questions I think but don’t always say out loud. I keep asking, God, why is it so hard now when it used to be so easy? And I know the answer, even if I don’t love it.

This time, it’s going to take work. It’s going to take discipline.

And when you’ve done something for so long and then you stop, starting again feels like torture. Discipline feels evil. It does. But I’m so determined to get back to a healthier place.

Along the way I have realized I can’t do it alone. I need help. That part took me longer to admit than it should have.

I’ve been trying to do this by myself. I haven’t even really asked my husband to support me. He’s tried, but I never actually said, “I need you to walk with me in this.” I haven’t reached out to friends who would gladly hold me accountable. I just kept carrying it and hoping simple will-power would be enough.

It wasn’t.

And that’s when something simple but true settled in my mind. Discipline is good. It’s not the enemy. Isolation is. We were never meant to carry hard things alone. Scripture says it plainly: “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).

That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

So now I’m asking. I’m letting people in. I’m choosing accountability—not just with food or habits, but with every part my life. Because I don’t want to stay stuck where I am, and I don’t want to pretend I was ever meant to do this on my own.

I wonder if you have been trying to handle something alone, too. What might change if you let someone walk beside you?

Support is part of how we grow. Accountability is part of how we heal. And walking together is how we move forward.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What is something in your life right now that feels harder than it used to?
  • Where have you been relying on willpower alone instead of inviting others to walk with you?
  • Who is someone you trust that you could ask for support or accountability this week?
  • How does knowing that God designed us for community change the way you view asking for help?
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Jericho in My Rearview

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Hebrews 13:6 — We can say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper, so I will have no fear. What can mere people do to me?”

The song comes on while I’m driving, and suddenly I’m not just running errands anymore.

Andrew Ripp’s “Jericho” fills the car. Oh, I just love it.

And before I realize it, I’m thinking about walls. Ancient ones. Tall ones. The kind that make you feel small just standing in their shadow. The song pulls me back into Joshua’s story—the one I’ve heard a hundred times—but today it feels personal. Maybe because the chorus keeps echoing that line about faith being louder than fear, and something in me knows I need that reminder right now.

Joshua didn’t win because he had the better plan or the stronger army. The walls didn’t fall because marching is some magical military strategy. The real victory happened earlier when Joshua chose to believe God over what his eyes were telling him. Before a single brick moved, he trusted that the city was already his.

That’s the part that gets me. Because fear always makes the walls look higher than they really are. Fear points out every crack in my confidence and every reason this won’t work. Faith, on the other hand, feels risky. It asks me to trust before I see proof.

And honestly, I see myself there. Standing in front of situations that feel impossible. Waiting for the walls to move first before I can believe. Letting fear call the shots while I tell myself I’m just being realistic.

Then the Andrew Ripp song hits these lyrics “Oh Lord, my prison turns to ruin when Your love moves in. All of my fears like Jericho walls gotta come down, come down, come down”—and clarity rushes in.

See victory doesn’t begin when the walls fall. It begins when belief rises. Jesus said trouble would be part of this life, but He also said He has already overcome the world. That means fear doesn’t get the final word. Hebrews 13:6 puts it this way: “So we can confidently say, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?’”

The walls I’m facing don’t magically disappear. They’re still real. Still tall. But they’re no longer in charge. Faith reframes the battlefield because it knows I’m not fighting alone.

So today, I’m choosing belief over fear. I’m taking one step of faith, even if the walls are still standing. That’s where victory starts. It’s where trust leads, hope breathes again, and I remember that the Overcomer is already walking ahead of me.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “wall” are you facing right now that feels too tall to overcome?
  • Where have you been waiting to see the walls fall before choosing to trust God?
  • What would it look like today to take one step of faith instead of letting fear lead?
  • How does remembering that “the Lord is my helper” change the way you view your situation?

 

J E R I C H O

I’ve stacking up the years I spent trading punches with the enemy
Built myself a double thick stone tower of lies, higher than the eye could see
Trapped in my flesh & bone
Crying out to You Lord, I’m desperate
Love come rattle this cage and set me free

All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
Oh Lord, my prison turns to ruin
When Your love moves in
All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
Come down

Truth was crashing through the pride and the blame
Cutting straight to the heart of me
Long before I ever called your name
You were fighting for my victory
Carved in Your flesh and bone
The wounds that have said my souls forgiven
Oh now I can feel the darkness trembling

Rebuild me from the ground up
All I wanna see is You
Terrify the lies with truth

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The Song After the Silence

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John 16:33 — In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

Jeremy Camp sat on the edge of the couch with his guitar across his lap. The weight of grief pressed heavily on his chest, a pain so deep that it left him breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to play anything, much less feel anything.

Growing up, Jeremy saw the power of prayer when his family was in need. Bags of groceries would appear on their doorstep when they had nothing. Those moments were teaching him to trust God, preparing him for a far greater trial.

Back then he didn’t think much of it. Now he could see how those little rescues had shaped him, teaching him that God didn’t always explain Himself, but He always showed up.

Moving to California had been a leap of faith he couldn’t quite justify, except that he felt pulled there. That’s where he met Melissa. She didn’t talk about faith like she was trying to impress anyone. But she spoke about it like it was just part of her. She was so steady and rooted in the Lord.

Even when the word cancer entered her life, the diagnosis would not hinder their love story. They got married anyway, choosing each other in the middle of uncertainty.

Their honeymoon was sweet, but there were moments — brief ones — when she’d press a hand to her stomach and try to wave off her pain. They didn’t dwell on it. They were twenty‑something and in love and trying to believe the best.

When they got home, the news hit hard. The cancer had spread.

Suddenly everything was measured in weeks. They prayed. They hoped. They did everything they knew to do. And four and a half months after they said their vows, Melissa was gone.

In the aftermath, twenty-two-year-old Jeremy was left sitting in that room that felt too big without her. He asked God why. He didn’t know what else to say. But no answers came. There was just a sense that he was supposed to trust God even without explanations.

He finally let his fingers fall onto the strings. A melody came out. It was unfiltered and raw about both the pain he felt and the trust he had in God. The words were, “I will walk by faith, even when I cannot see.”

It became the lyrics to his future hit song, I Still Believe. And just like those lyrics, we know that trusting God means knowing His character. Scripture puts it another way: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.”

This isn’t a story about understanding pain. It’s about learning to trust in the middle of it. Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it. And sometimes the most you can do is take the next step with open hands and let God meet you right where you are.

Jesus never promised us a life without pain. In fact, He promised the opposite. “In this world you will have tribulation.” But He also promised something stronger—that He has already overcome the very world that wounds us.

Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where are you being asked to trust God right now, even without answers?
  • What pain are you carrying that you haven’t yet placed in Jesus’ hands?
  • What would it look like to take heart today—not because life is easy, but because Jesus has already overcome?

 

L Y R I C S

Scattered words and empty thoughts
Seem to pour from my heart
I’ve never felt so torn before
Seems I don’t know where to start
But it’s now that I feel Your grace fall like rain
From every fingertip, washing away my pain

I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your holy word
Even when I don’t see, I still believe

Though the questions still fog up my mind
With promises I still seem to bear
Even when answers slowly unwind
It’s my heart I see You prepare

The only place I can go is into your arms
Where I throw to you my feeble prayers
In brokenness I can see that this was Your will for me
Help me to know that You are near

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When Dreams Feel Too Big

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Mark 9:23 — “What do you mean, If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.”

So I’m sitting with a notebook open—blank pages staring back—trying to make sense of a future that suddenly feels unknown.

I know change is coming. I can feel it in my bones. But if you ask me what the next step is, I’ll probably just shrug and take another sip of coffee. Though I’m not leaving radio or TV, God has been nudging me toward something new.

Something that smells like butter and sugar and feels like home.

A bakery. Cookie decorating. Teaching classes. All things food.

Which makes sense if you know me. Around here in Louisiana, food isn’t just fuel—it’s family. It’s how we celebrate, how we grieve, how we show love without having to get all emotional about it. Feeding people is stitched into our DNA, and somewhere along the way, God stitched it into mine too.

The trouble is, once I say the dream out loud, reality sets in.

I don’t have the money yet or the place. I don’t even have a business plan written in this notebook yet. And fear is really quick to point that out. Fear wants receipts. It wants proof. It wants a color-coded plan and a safety net underneath.

But then there’s this verse that won’t leave me alone. Mark 9:23: “Everything is possible for one who believes.” Now, it doesn’t say everything is easy. Not everything is instant. But it is possible.

That word settles something in me.

Faith, I’m learning, doesn’t wait until the whole map is laid out on the table. Faith takes the next step with what it’s got and trusts God with what it doesn’t. If He’s the One who planted this dream, then He’s not confused about the details. He is already working in places I can’t see yet.

So, I start small.

I pray. I scribble ideas in the margins. I jot down class names and cookie designs and half-baked thoughts that might turn into something later.

And wouldn’t you know it—my confidence starts to grow. It grows because I’m choosing to believe that the same God who gave the dream is willing to walk me through the process. One step. One yes. One open notebook at a time.

Maybe you’ve got a page like this too. A dream that feels unfinished. Too big. Too unclear.

If so, maybe today isn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it’s just about taking the next small step and trusting that everything is possible when God is the One doing the nudging.

You don’t need the whole plan. You just need to believe enough to move.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Is there a dream or idea God has been nudging you toward that you’ve been afraid to name out loud?
  • What fears show up when you think about taking the next step?
  • What does “starting small” look like for you right now?
  • How might belief grow if you took action before having all the answers?
  • What would it look like to trust that God is already working in places you can’t see yet?
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