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

Our Faces, Unashamed

,

Psalm 34:5 — Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.

I’m standing in my kitchen, coffee in hand, half-listening to the TV in the background, when it hits me—a memory I hadn’t thought of in years. It’s so embarrassing that it makes me cringe. High school? That was decades ago. How is this still so mortifying to me?

I just want to scroll past the feeling and pretend it isn’t real, but it won’t shake. Usually, I don’t carry shame around like this. But here it is, making my skin crawl.

“Lord,” I whisper, “this memory is so awkward and is really bothering me. I don’t even know what to do with it.”

And then I feel Him there. Not judging. Not shaking His head. Just beside me. The weight of the memory doesn’t vanish, but the heaviness does. I realize in God’s presence, I don’t have to fix it, explain it, or erase it.

So, I just breath in and out and give that unwelcome memory over to God.

That shame doesn’t have to hold me hostage. And suddenly, I understand something: freedom from my past mistakes isn’t about being perfect. It’s about trusting God fully, and let Him exchange the mistake for the miracle of His love.

Psalm 34:5 says, “Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.”

And I just love that. That’s the exchange God offers—when we look to Him, shame loosens its grip.

Maybe the question isn’t why we feel shame. Maybe the better question is whether we’ll stop pretending it doesn’t exist long enough to let God meet with us. Because He will. Every awkward, tender, embarrassing memory—God sees it, knows it, and loves us anyway.

I take a sip of coffee and wonder what would happen if I just let Him in on even the tiniest uncomfortable corners of my hearts? And I hope you will ask yourself the same question too. Could that be enough for the joy that’s been hiding there all along to finally break through?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Is there a memory or moment from your past that still carries a quiet sense of shame when it resurfaces?
  • What does it look like for you to “look to Him for help” instead of trying to ignore, minimize, or manage that feeling on your own?
  • How might your heart change if you believed God meets you with compassion—not disappointment—in those uncomfortable moments?
  • Are there areas of your life where shame has kept you from fully experiencing joy or freedom?
  • What would it look like today to invite God into even one small, tender corner of your heart?
/by

Strong Enough to Need Him

, ,

Philippians 4:13 — I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Matthew West is holding one of those letters. The kind written so carefully. It was like the writer needed to steady her hands before she started. He opens it slowly. A mother’s voice comes through first. Warm. Tender. The kind that loves deep and worries harder than she lets on.

In her letter, she tells Matthew about her daughter, Haleigh, and a car ride close to home that should have been uneventful. But on the road there was black ice slick as Crisco in a cold skillet. With one quick slide and one hard impact, everything familiar got shattered.

I bet you can picture it too, because we’ve all driven those roads before. The kind where you’re almost home and already thinking about what’s for supper. Then the tires lose their grip, and there’s nothing left to do but pray and brace yourself.

The letter keeps going. Hospital rooms. Surgeries that blur together. Rehab that demands grit you don’t know you have. Haleigh learning how to stand again, and most days are measured by small victories most people would never notice.

Somewhere in that long trial, someone tries to offer comfort. They mean well. They always do. They say God won’t give you more than you can handle.

Haleigh’s response lands, plain and steady. She says if that’s true, then God must think she’s pretty strong.

Matthew was touched by that. It was so relatable. We’ve all said things like that on difficult days. All the while, we’re holding ourselves together with prayer, coffee, and the stubborn belief that quitting isn’t an option.

Back in that letter, it becomes clear Haleigh didn’t make it through on sheer determination. She made it through because when her strength failed, God’s didn’t. She stood—not because she was unbreakable—but because she was held by Him. That realization settles into Matthew’s heart and doesn’t let go. He picks up his pen to honor her story, and a song starts forming.

When “Strong Enough” finally finds its way to radio, it met me as a listener right where I was in my car. Midday. Mid-life. Mid everything. And I recognize myself in it—not in the victory, but in the needing.

Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I’ve heard it since I was knee-high and recited it in Sunday school. It’s stitched it into my memory, but now it reads differently.

It doesn’t sound like a challenge. It sounds like relief. Like permission to stop pretending the strength was mine to begin with.

So, if today finds you tired but faithful, steady but stretched thin, you’re not failing. You’re living the kind of faith that shows up. The kind that knows God’s strength has a way of carrying us when ours runs out—and that, somehow, is enough to keep going.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When you hear “I can do all things through Christ,” do you tend to hear it as pressure or as promise?
  • Where in your life are you currently relying on your own strength instead of God’s?
  • Have you ever experienced a season where God carried you when you had nothing left to give?
  • What does it look like for you to admit weakness without feeling like you’ve failed?
  • How might trusting God’s strength—rather than your own—change the way you face today?

L Y R I C S

You must
You must think I’m strong
To give me what I’m going through
Well, forgive me

Forgive me if I’m wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough

Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

For the both of us
Yeah

Well, maybe
Maybe that’s the point

To reach the point of giving up
‘Cause when I’m finally
Finally at rock bottom

Well, that’s when I start looking up
And reaching out
I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be

I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be

Strong enough
Strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken
Down to nothing

But I’m still holding on to the one thing
You are God and
You are strong when
I am weak

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
I don’t have to be strong enough
Strong enough

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Oh, yeah

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Strong enough

/by

Goodbye Negativity, Hello Grace

,

Proverbs 16:24 — Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

Adios Negativity

Every year in January, we complete a spiritual fast for 21 days. Starve your flesh, feed your spirit. That is the goal of the fast—to become closer to God by denying yourself of what you typically rely on more than Him.

Over the years, I’ve fasted from the usual things—food, social media, and other comforts I swore I could quit “anytime.” But this past year, God nudged me toward something different. I fasted from negativity.

Yes… negativity.

For 21 days, I made a conscious effort not to speak negative comments to anyone. It sounded reasonable. Noble, even. But what I didn’t expect was how loud my thoughts would become once my words were put on lockdown.

Turns out, negativity doesn’t just live on our tongues—it likes to hang out in our minds too.

I assumed God was going to teach me how to filter my speech and turn me from a negative Nancy into a positive Polly. Instead, He worked much deeper. In the silence, He taught me godly wisdom, self-discipline, self-control, gentleness, and—most importantly—how to love like Christ when it would be easier to say exactly what I was thinking.

There is a verse in Proverbs that says, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones,” and let me tell you. That is so true.

One evening during dinner, my seven-year-old daughter looked up at me and said, “Mama, you look like Jesus.” And just like that, my mama heart melted. In that moment, I knew this fast was changing more than my words—it was shaping my heart.

When the 21 days ended, I didn’t want to stop. I had seen firsthand how much words matter. They carry weight. Every sentence holds the power to tear someone down or build them up—and the choice is always ours.

So today, I encourage you: Don’t wait for a church-wide fast. Start now. Choose words that reflect Christ. Because sometimes, the most powerful fast isn’t from food—it’s from the words we decide not to say.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where do you notice negativity showing up most often—in your words, your thoughts, or both?
  • How might your relationships change if you became more intentional about speaking gracious words?
  • Is there a conversation or situation where God may be inviting you to pause before you speak?
  • What would it look like for your words to bring “healing” to someone this week?
  • If you tried a short fast from negativity, what do you think God might reveal to you?
/by

The Reward of Consistency

,

Hebrews 12:11 — No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way.

The alarm goes off. The room is dim, and the house is silent. I crack my eyes open and debate whether I should get moving.

I stand in my pajamas, slip on my sneakers, and pull out the treadmill walking pad with little enthusiasm. My first steps are slow and stiff. I really do not want to do this, yet discipline, not motivation, keeps me moving.

When I skip mornings like this, I notice it later. My shoulders tighten. My thoughts spin faster than they should, and there is a restlessness that I feel all day. Showing up—even when it feels inconvenient—creates a steadiness I cannot manufacture any other way.

Over time, the practice begins to shape me in ways I did not expect. Strength forms where there was once weakness. Peace stretches into the gaps between my thoughts, and I realize that this is strengthening something deeper than muscle.

It is training my spirit to trust the slow, steady process.

Discipline is rarely enjoyable in the moment, but it leaves something good behind. Scripture reminds me of this truth: “No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it is painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way” (Hebrews 12:11).

I step off the pad, breathing heavier than when I started, and pour my iced coffee. The house is still quiet, the lights still low, but I feel different.

Every day we face the same choice: comfort or discipline. When we choose ease, we never walk away changed. Consistency shapes what “want to” never can.

So this morning, I want to encourage you: whatever your goals are—spiritual, personal, or practical—lean into God and keep moving forward. You may not feel ready. You may not feel strong. But by His grace, you can do this. You were made to tackle hard things, and showing up matters more than you realize.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life do you find yourself waiting for motivation instead of practicing discipline?
  • Can you identify a small, consistent habit that has produced peace or steadiness over time?
  • How does it change your perspective to view discipline as training rather than punishment?
  • What “peaceful harvest” might God be growing in you through a hard or inconvenient season right now?
  • What is one small way you can choose faithfulness over comfort this week?
/by

The Strength to Say No

,

Galatians 5:22-23 — But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Is there something that you struggle with that you just love, so much but you know that you’re enjoying it a little too much? I know I do.

For me, it has been ice cream. And no, I am not pregnant. It has just been comforting. The kind of comfort that shows up right on time, night after night, after the day finally calms down. It has become part of my bedtime routine.

One night, I was standing there with the freezer door open, spoon already in my hand, reaching for Blue Bell. And I realized something uncomfortable. I was already counting on it to fix the day. I had not even taken a bite yet, and I was expecting relief.

I remember thinking, “Oh, I don’t like that.”

I still filled the bowl with the ooey gooey, frozen goodness. I still ate it, but the thought stayed with me. Not in a dramatic way. Just enough to make me pay attention. It felt like something small had quietly become a little too important.

So when the bowl was empty, I made a decision. Just for a month, I would let it go.

A few days later, I stood in the grocery store freezer aisle, staring straight at the Rocky Road and forcing myself to keep walking. I laughed under my breath and said it felt worse than a breakup.

That’s silly. Yes, I know. But it helped me name what was happening. This was not really about food. It was about learning to notice what I rely on for comfort.

Back at home, I leaned into other things I loved. I baked zucchini bread and banana bread. I filled my kitchen with familiar smells and warmth. And without the nightly ice-cream habit, I realized I was not missing anything. I felt lighter. More present. Not restricted, just more aware.

It turns out this was never about dessert. It was about remembering that I am not ruled by habits or cravings. Scripture talks about self-control as one of the many fruits worth growing in our lives by the help of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). Learning to practice self control was not punishment. No. Instead, God was doing this so that I could discover the fruit of His Spirit was sweeter and worth forming in my life.

It makes me wonder if there is something small you might pause for a season too. Not forever. Just long enough to notice what fills the space. The month will end. Ice cream will still be there, and I will enjoy it again. But I am grateful for what I learned along the way. Sometimes the lesson is not loud. It is simply waiting to be noticed.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Is there something small in your life that has quietly become a source of comfort or control for you?
  • What might it look like to pause from that thing for a season—not as punishment, but as awareness?
  • Which fruit of the Spirit do you sense God wanting to grow more deeply in your life right now?
  • How does it change your perspective to remember that self-control is something the Holy Spirit produces in you, not something you have to force on your own?
  • What space might God be inviting you to notice or fill differently as you lean into His Spirit?
/by

Answering the Call Today

,

Psalm 39:4 — Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered— how fleeting my life is.

The moment didn’t look important at first.

Ann had pulled into the coffee shop lot just to catch her breath. The town square glowed under its string of lights, the kind that make even an ordinary day feel like a postcard. She was tired. Her mind was buzzing. A warm drink sounded like mercy.

But there it was—that gentle tug she’d felt before: Call Grandma.

She tried to reason with it. She’d call later. Surely a quick cup of coffee wasn’t too much to ask. But the tug only grew more insistent, the way a truth does when you’re trying to ignore it.

So, she stayed in the car and pressed the call button.

Her grandmother answered. They talked about how in the world she raised nine kids, about patience and grit and humor. It was just the two of them sharing a moment together.

Ann’s daughter chimed in from the backseat, crying out for hot chocolate, and Grandma laughed in that soft, knowing-what-it’s-like kind of way. Twenty more minutes passed before Ann realized it. They were simply treasuring each other’s company.

Five days later, Ann was standing at the graveside. She laid a single rose on Grandma’s casket and breathed a prayer of gratitude. She was so thankful she had listened to that still small voice.

As the pastor spoke, he shared a verse that has stayed with Ann ever since. It didn’t feel morbid. It just felt honest.

“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is” (Psalm 39:4).

That phone call had been a gift she didn’t know she was unwrapping.

Now, on the edge of a new year, Ann keeps telling that story—not because it’s tragic, but because it’s true. Life is short. Time slips away. But moments of presence, love, and faith? Those stay.

And it makes me wonder: if one tug on an ordinary December night became a treasure—what nudge might tomorrow hold… and will we stop long enough to answer it?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you felt a gentle nudge to pause, reach out, or be present—but almost ignored it?
  • Psalm 39:4 reminds us that life is fleeting. How does remembering that truth change the way you spend your time today?
  • Is there someone in your life you’ve been meaning to call, visit, or check on—what’s stopping you from doing it now?
  • What small, ordinary moment might God be inviting you to treat as sacred this week?
/by

Grace in the Pickup Line

,

Job 19:25 — For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last He will stand upon the earth.

I ease into the Walmart pickup lane, toddler in tow. There are crayons scattered across the backseat, and the radio hums softly in the background. I just let myself sink into the moment.

For a minute, I just sit there and remember the first time I tried Walmart pickup. From what everyone told me, it was supposed to make my life easier. But when my bags arrived, I discovered that something had gone terribly wrong.

I noticed I was missing tomatoes, chicken broth, shredded cheese, and other key ingredients I needed.

First world problems, am I right?

But something about that poor experience made me decide that this kind of grocery delivery was not for me. There was, of course, no way I would ever do that again.

Then I became a mom.

Juggling burp cloths and bottles, working full time, and absolutely needing a break, I decided to give curbside delivery one more try. And it was amazing. I mean, the workers load the bags in your car for you, the toddler wasn’t wrestling out of a shopping cart, and I could take a moment to relax after a busy day.

There’s nothing like a re-do, right?

I left that first experience with a bad taste in my mouth, but it’s a shame it took me so long to give it a second chance. Now I’m it’s biggest fan.

And I know this is strangely deep when talking about Walmart Pickup, but that’s what the whole gospel is about. Isn’t it? Re-dos and redemption.

In scripture, Job said it best—declaring hope not from ease, but from the depths of loss. “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end He will stand on the earth.”

Jesus is our redeemer. He is the God of the Re-do.

And I realize grace like this isn’t just for other people, I need it too. Grace for trying again after a stumble and for giving myself a second chance when the first attempt did not go as planned.

As I merge back into traffic, I realize that God offers us these little invitations more often than I notice. Maybe what feels like a mistake is actually a blessing in disguise. Maybe God is saying, “Try again. This is meant to work this time.”

And I wonder, what might you discover if you say yes to a re-do today?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life have you written something off as a “bad experience” and decided not to try again?
  • How does knowing that Jesus is your Redeemer—the God of re-dos—change the way you view your past mistakes or disappointments?
  • Is there an area where you need to receive grace instead of withholding it from yourself?
  • What might God be inviting you to revisit, retry, or trust Him with again today?
  • How can you extend the same redemption and second chances you’ve received to someone else this week?
/by

You Will Make It Through

,

Isaiah 43:2 — When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

You’d think by now I’d know better than to remodel anything. Kitchens especially.

But somehow, these projects always sneak their way into my spiritual life, turning simple frustrations into something bigger than they are.

A few months back, I was in full renovation mode. Boxes blocked the hall, dishes camped out in the laundry room, and a thin layer of dust kept appearing on every surface I owned—as if it had signed a lease. I kept telling myself I was handling it. Truthfully, I was just surviving it.

Then one morning, my flooring guy showed up bright and early and immediately dove in. Within minutes, he had spread a fresh coat of wet cement across my entire kitchen. Which would have been fine—except for one small detail. I only have one door that leads to the bathroom, and it’s through the kitchen.

Wonderful.

I mean, that day felt like the plot of a bad sitcom. You can’t make this stuff up.

I tried explaining that I needed to get through, but the man didn’t speak English. I pointed, gestured, and attempted a smile that probably looked more like panic. He responded with wide eyes and frantic hand motions that said a universal: “Absolutely not.”

We went back and forth. We were two people playing charades in different languages. He obviously did not like the idea, but here’s the thing, life doesn’t stop for wet cement, and neither does my bladder. So eventually I took a step.

Right into the cement.

It was the only choice I had, and I crossed the room in that squishy sludge, ruining my sneakers. When I reached the far side, I looked back at the line of footprints trailing behind me. The flooring man shook his head, and I shrugged. There was nothing else to say.

Hours later, I thought back over the day and found myself remembering something I had read long before this remodel ever began. It was Isaiah 43:2 which says, “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.”

It struck me then that God never promised a life free of obstacles, detours, or wet cement. It didn’t say, “When you avoid the waters.” And it didn’t promise another route around them. No, He but promised to walk with usthrough challenges, hand in hand, side by side.

So, friend, if you’re wading through something right now—something that feels inconvenient or heavy or impossible to maneuver—I hope you’ll let that truth stay close to you today. You’re not stepping through it alone, and you’re not going to sink. You’re going to make it to the other side.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “deep waters” or inconvenient challenges are you walking through right now?
  • How does it change your perspective to remember that God promises presence, not avoidance?
  • Where have you seen God meet you in the middle of frustration rather than removing it?
  • Is there an area of your life where you’re longing for a way around instead of trusting God to walk you through?
  • What would it look like today to take the next step forward, believing you won’t sink or be consumed?
/by

Let the Light Keep Shining

,

1 Thessalonians 5:5 – You are all children of the light and children of the day. We do not belong to the night or to the darkness.

The morning after Christmas feels strange. The house is quieter, wrapping paper gone, the excitement already fading. When I was younger, I thought keeping the tree up past December 25 just meant laziness.

But now I like to keep my tree up a bit longer. I love Christmas, and I believe some stories deserve a chance to finish themselves.

Because, truth be told, the Christmas story did not end at the manger. The shepherds returned to their flocks, their excitement folded into ordinary routines. But far away, three travelers pressed on through nights colder than they imagined, following a star that refused to dim.

They carried gifts, questions, and hope in equal measure. The day they finally arrived is what people now celebrate as Epiphany.

It sounds like a big, confusing word, but the holiday is simple at its heart. Epiphany marks the moment expectation meets revelation.

They saw Him—Jesus. The Promised One who Heaven and Earth had longed for. That arrival did not happen in a single instant. It came slowly, like a caravan crossing the desert, and it reminds me that often truth shows up the same way in our own lives.

So, now I keep my tree up through the Twelve Days of Christmas because it is a reminder that revelation does not happen all at once. The lights of Epiphany are small but they are still there, persistent. The Light does not fade when the season ends.

Christ is the big Light, but I’m reminded that I am somehow folded into this amazing story. Just like those little, twinkling lights, I’m reminded and amazed I get to shine the light of Jesus, too.

That’s not just a nice thought—it’s how Scripture describes us.

The Bible says it like this: “You are all children of the light and children of the day. We do not belong to the night or to the darkness” (1 Thessalonians 5:5).

Most of my days do not feel epic. They feel ordinary. Yet even ordinary days become extraordinary when I choose to live for Him. It’s a bowl of soup offered to someone cold and hungry. A patient answer to a harsh word. Showing up when it would be easier not to. These small acts are light traveling through the world.

Before I pack up the ornaments, I stand beneath the branches and let the meaning settle. I ask myself quietly: if a star guided travelers across deserts, might the Light travel through my ordinary day too? If it can, will I let it?

So, friends, I do not know if you have packed your tree away yet, but if you can, I want to encourage you with this: pause under the glow one last time and remember the Light of the World still shines, long after the season ends.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have you noticed God’s light lingering in your life after a season has ended?
  • What does it mean for you personally to live as a “child of the light” in ordinary days?
  • Which small, quiet acts in your life might be carrying more light than you realize?
  • Is there a place where darkness feels heavy right now—and how might God be inviting you to shine there?
  • As you move forward from Christmas, what would it look like to let Christ’s light guide your daily choices?
/by

Giving the Love We Needed

,

1 Corinthians 15:10 — But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.

It is amazing when you can return the favor.

I have someone in my life who I am so close to. She is a young grandmother, and I knew she was special the first time I watched her hold that baby. She bounced him gently, humming as if the world could wait. As a new mom myself, I was just watching, trying to figure out how someone could be that calm and that steady.

“I have to ask,” I said. “How are you so good with kids? What’s your story?”

She began to tell me in pieces, snapshots from her life. She was fourteen when she had her first child. She remembers walking home from school, terrified to tell her mom, expecting anger, judgment, and resentment. She braced herself for the worst.

But it never came. Her mom met her with warm hands and gentle words. She wrapped her arms around her and helped her carry the weight of that. She warmed bottles, folded blankets, and kept dinner on the stove. She even made sure the baby was fed and bathed when my friend got home from school or work. My friend didn’t have to do it all on her own.

Now, years later, my friend has gone on to be a nurse practitioner. She has a beautiful family. She is a grandmother who still fusses over fussy babies, rocks them until they sleep, and sits beside her patients on their hardest days.

When I asked her how she does it, she said simply, “I remember how it felt when my mom met me with love and compassion. I want to give that same thing back to other people.”

She said that, and it made me think of 1 Corinthians 15:10: “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without effect. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me.”

That’s what I was seeing in her life. Grace that met her in her fear and didn’t leave her there. Grace that steadied her, shaped her, and then showed up again—in her work, in her motherhood, and now in the way she cares so deeply for others.

Watching her, I realized that the love and care we receive is never meant to stay with us. It is meant to move through us and be poured out for others. And I wondered (and I hope you will too), who in my life needs to feel grace today through my actions? Who can I meet with the same compassion that carried me through my own hardest days?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Who first met you with grace during a hard or defining moment in your life?
  • How has God used that grace to shape who you are today?
  • In what ways might God be inviting you to let grace “work through you” instead of stopping with you?
  • Who in your life right now needs compassion more than correction?
  • What would it look like to return the favor—to offer the same grace you once received?
/by