Christmas for the Forgotten

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Luke 19:10 — For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.

Evelyn had barely put the car in park before her kids launched themselves toward her parents’ porch like small rockets. She smiled. The house stood there just as she remembered it, lights glowing, wreath crooked, and the faint smell of woodsmoke drifting from the chimney.

More than anything, she longed for a hug from her mother that would make the whole world feel steady again.

She made it only a few steps before her father stepped outside with his coat already buttoned. “Keep your jacket on,” he said. “The jailhouse asked for us to swing by tonight. They could use a piano player for their Christmas Eve service.”

Her first thought was that she could really use a cup of coffee. Her second thought was that she really didn’t want to, but this was exactly the kind of detour her father believed in. There was no getting out of it. So, she climbed into the truck, hymnal in hand, and told herself that she could warm up later.

The jailhouse was bleak, but the piano, by some miracle, was in tune. When she began “Joy to the World,” the men sang like they meant it. Their voices carried the weight of long roads and hard stories.

After a few carols, her father prayed, and a guard motioned for Evelyn to follow him down a narrow hallway. He led her to a room where there was a handful of inmates, all women, sitting in a circle in metal chairs.

When she asked if they wanted to sing, they nodded. After “Away in a Manger,” one of them spoke. “My little boy loves that one.”

The others began to speak too — about children they missed, choices they regretted, and the thin threads of hope they still held. When Evelyn prayed for them, most wanted prayer only for their children.

Later that night, Evelyn stepped back into her parents’ warm home and wrapped her arms around her mother. She had begun the night wanting comfort, but instead found herself offering it to women who carried stories heavier than anything she had expected.

That night, Evelyn realized that Christmas was never meant to stay inside warm houses or familiar routines. It was meant to reach every place where people still wonder if light can break through the dark.

And as she held her mother tightly, she felt so grateful that her dad made sure she went to serve at that prison tonight. She remembered what scripture says in the book of Luke. “For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.”

You see, God sends good news to the poor and binds up the brokenhearted.

So friends, as you move through this season, I want to encourage you. Perhaps consider telling someone else the story that changed everything. The one about that Holy Night in Bethlehem. There is no telling whose heart might be waiting to hear about the hope you have inside you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Who in your life might feel “forgotten” or outside the warmth of community this Christmas—and how could you reach out to them?
  • When have you entered a place or situation you didn’t want to be in, only to discover God was already there at work?
  • What places or people do you tend to overlook because they feel uncomfortable, inconvenient, or unfamiliar?
  • How does Jesus’ mission—to seek and save the lost—shape the way you see the people around you?
  • Are there conversations or relationships where you’ve been hesitant to share the hope you carry? What would it look like to take a step of faith?
  • What would it mean for you to allow Christmas to go beyond your traditions and into the broken, hurting spaces where light is needed most?
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Life Is Better Together

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Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 – Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!

When I was twenty-two, I packed up my life and moved to Alabama for Bible school. I pictured calm mornings reading my Bible, a bit of solitude, and space to figure out my life.

Instead, I got fifteen roommates.

You see, one of the dorms across campus was still under construction so they packed all of us under one roof. I don’t know if you can picture that many men in a six bedroom house, but it was wild.

The walls were thin so there was always noise— laughter, footsteps, someone playing music way too loud. There was no real privacy, no way to escape the chaos, and I just had to keep reminding myself this was temporary.

At first, I was frustrated. I couldn’t retreat into myself like I was accustomed to. But little by little, that crowded house started to change me.

Our resident advisor, Dougie, led weekly Bible studies that became the heartbeat of our little house. We prayed together, wrestled with truth, joked through exhaustion, and reminded each other to keep showing up.

In between the noise and the shared meals and the endless laundry, something steady was forming — a kind of community I had never known before.

I could not isolate myself when I wanted to, but I actually found that was a good thing. Other people were always there for me — just like Scripture teaches, ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil.’” Instead of retreating, God had put people in my life I could talk to when I felt insecure, aggravated, or ashamed. And it made all the difference.

Two months later, when most of the guys moved out, I felt something I did not expect — grief. I had come to love that loud, messy, inconvenient community. It had shaped me. It sharpened me. And it taught me that life is not meant to be navigated alone.

It also reminds me of how the first followers of Jesus lived — the way they shared everything, broke bread together, prayed side by side, and carried each other’s burdens. There was beauty in the simplicity of it, in how natural it was to belong to one another.

That picture from Acts has always stayed with me. They were people doing life together too. They were finding joy in the mess of faith and friendship.

Looking back now, I wonder: when was the last time I truly leaned into the discomfort of biblical community and let it shape me? And maybe the better question is: what might happen if I did it again? And I hope you will ask yourself that too.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has God used community to encourage or challenge you in a season when you wanted to be alone?
  • Who in your life lifts you up when you fall — and how might you do the same for them this week?
  • Are there areas where you’ve been trying to handle life on your own that God might be calling you to share with someone?
  • What makes true biblical community both messy and beautiful?
  • How can you be more intentional about leaning into the kind of connection that shapes your faith?
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From Hiding to Joy

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Ephesians 5:8 — For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.

The dinosaur pajama top had Eli trapped, and his mom was having a harder time getting it off than she expected.

Every tug made Eli squirm, and his frustration bubbled up in every little squeal. So she started hiding her face behind the shirt and popping out with a grin. “Peekaboo!”

Eli’s laughter erupted like tiny fireworks, and his two teeth shone in a gummy smile. His shirt tugged, the game continued, and suddenly peekaboo was everything to him.

Soon, it grew into hide-and-seek. Eli and his older sister, Maya, ran through the house in a blur of giggles and fun. Eli, thinking he was clever, crouched behind the couch careful not to be seen.

Maya would count, loud and patient, then creep forward, calling, “Where’s Eli?” Her voice danced around him. And just when he thought he had escaped, she’d leap from around the corner with a triumphant, “I got you!” and his laughter would erupt again, unstoppable.

Eli thought he was hidden, but of course, he wasn’t. He was visible all along.

Sitting on the couch, watching them, his mom felt a sudden pang and tenderness. She recognized this behavior. It reminded her of all the ways people, including herself, try to hide their own struggles, mistakes, pain, shame, and fear.

We tuck them away like they’re fragile treasures, hoping no one will notice. Hoping somehow we can escape being found. But God sees. People see. And hiding never heals. It only delays the comfort and connection that we’re wanting and needing all along.

She thought about Adam and Eve hiding in the garden. Even back then, God was asking where they were. He knew, but all along, it was a tender invitation back to love.

Eli’s laughter echoed again. Maya’s shout bounced off the walls. And in that moment, surrounded by sunlight and giggles and the smell of pancakes, Mom felt the truth: life is better when we are found. So come into the light.

Scripture says in Ephesians 5:8, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.”

So she leaned back and breathed in the noise, the chaos, the joy, the connection. Stop hiding, she thought. Let someone see. Let yourself be found.

Healing doesn’t start in secret. Healing starts in the laughter and the light. And when we finally stop hiding, the love that we wanted along can finally reach us.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “hiding places” do you run to when you feel afraid, ashamed, or unworthy?
  • How does it change your view of God to remember that His call to “come into the light” is an invitation, not a condemnation?
  • When have you experienced the relief of being fully seen and still loved?
  • Who in your life might need your encouragement to “come into the light”?
  • What’s one small step you can take today to be more open—with God, with others, or even with yourself?
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Leaving a Legacy of Faith

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Psalm 78:4 — We will not hide these truths from our children; we will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the Lord, about his power and his mighty wonders.

The grandkids were over again, racing through the living room. Tom sat back in his chair, letting their laughter echo through the house. He could not help but think how quickly time flies by.

He had raised his kids, watched them start families of their own, and now he was back to building forts in the living room with three wide-eyed grandkids.

They asked a hundred questions a day, most of which he did not have answers to. He wished he had more time to try.

It seemed like his wife Melody felt the same way. Later that evening, she turned over in bed and asked, “Tom, who is going to teach them truth when we are gone?”

That question led them to an unusual decision. A few weeks later, they added Christian radio to their will.

For Tom, it was not about control or making demands. It was about trust. He remembered how many times a simple song on the radio had steadied him in a storm, how a timely word had reminded him he was not alone. If it had carried him through, it could carry them, too.

He thought of the Israelites stacking stones beside the river as a marker for the children who would come later. “We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power, and the wonders He has done.” His marker just happened to ride the airwaves, carrying truth to anyone willing to listen.

He could not choose the paths his grandchildren would walk. But he could leave a trailhead, a reminder pointing toward something real.

Someday, he thought, one of those little ones might turn the dial and hear hope when they need it most.

And maybe that is the invitation for all of us—to make sure someone else has the chance to hear hope when they need it most. After all, what better legacy could there be that’s worth tuning into?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What kind of spiritual legacy are you leaving for the next generation?
  • Who first helped you hear the truth about God’s love—and how can you pay that forward?
  • How can you use what you have today (time, resources, or influence) to help others encounter hope tomorrow?
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Learning to Live and to Give

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Proverbs 3:9-10 — Honor the Lord with your wealth and with the best part of everything you produce. Then he will fill your barns with grain, and your vats will overflow with good wine.

I moved to Alabama with more faith than funds.

Ministry school felt like the next right step, and I did it because I was desperate. I needed God’s help with real struggles, and I needed older, wiser Christians to steady me.

But I wasn’t wise with money. I had just graduated from a four-year university, and until then, I had lived for the weekend and was having fun having fun.

And as you can see, I needed to grow—in more ways than one.

Now I was hours from home, without a safety net. I believed God called me here, but I knew faith alone wouldn’t pay the bills. If I was going to stay, I had to learn how to honor Him with my finances.

So I got a job at McDonald’s. It was grease-on-the-sleeves, hard work. And to my amazement, living on a budget actually worked.

My tuition? Paid. Grocery bills? Paid.

But then came my student housing bill. I handed it to the church secretary, and after checking her computer, she looked up and said, “David, it seems someone anonymously paid your rent for the rest of the year.”

My jaw hit the floor.

In that moment, I felt the weight of undeserved kindness. Somebody, flesh and blood like me, gave in a way that felt radical. It felt like the love of God. That gift bought me time to breathe, to study, and to save for a missions trip I knew I was called to take. It changed me. It made me want to be that kind of giver, and to live wisely and open-handed.

That year taught me something important: money isn’t a word to avoid in church. If we learn to honor God with it, He can use us to point others toward hope.

So, whether you’re in need or in abundance today, let your budget reflect faith in tomorrow. Live generously. Save with purpose. And let God write a better story with what’s in your hands.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has someone’s generosity reminded you of God’s love for you?
  • What would it look like for you to “honor the Lord with your wealth” this week?
  • How could your giving become part of someone else’s story of hope?
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Small Offerings, Big Impact

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1 Corinthians 3:6-7 — I planted the seeds in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What important is that God makes the seed grow.

The first time I hosted Bible study at my little downtown rental, it felt like feeding five thousand men with a sack lunch.

The group had started with Trace and Jordan in an old warehouse in Bawcomville. They were the kind of leaders you look up to—the ones who make you believe God really can use ordinary people. But Trace was heading back to college, and Jordan was packing for Tennessee.

The study that had changed my life—teaching me freedom, confession, and brotherhood—was about to dissolve. I couldn’t let that happen.

I looked at my two-bedroom house and thought, I’ve got room. I can at least open the door.

So I did.

And thirty men crammed into my living room like sardines in a can. The air smelled like coffee and old sneakers, voices tumbled over each other, and the floorboards groaned under the weight of laughter and prayer. It was loud, crowded, messy—and it was holy ground.

But leadership wasn’t glamorous. Some nights were heavy. Preparation felt like work, and hosting went way too late into the evening. Yet other nights, the room buzzed with the unmistakable presence of God.

Men confessed secret struggles. Some found faith for the first time. Others discovered brothers who became closer than family. Darkness lost its power under the light of truth.

And I learned something. The miracle wasn’t in my ability to lead. It was in simply making room.

That’s how the kingdom works. God takes what little we can give—time, space, a shaky “yes”—and He multiplies it until lives are changed.

Paul once reminded the church in Corinth that believers should live differently than the world—choosing grace and reconciliation over division.

“The very fact that you have lawsuits among you means you have been completely defeated already. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?” — 1 Corinthians 6:7

In other words, sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is open our hands, make space, and trust God to move through it.

We bring our loaves and fish. He feeds the multitude.

And the glory is always His.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has God used something small you offered—your time, space, or effort—to grow something bigger than you expected?
  • In what ways are you planting or watering in someone else’s life right now?
  • Are there areas where you need to trust God for the growth instead of trying to make it happen yourself?
  • How can you make room this week for God to move through your “yes”?
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What is Your Life Preaching

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Matthew 5:16 – In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your Heavenly Father. 

The first sermon I really remember was not told from a pulpit. No. It was from a six-year-old boy standing on a fireplace.

He was preaching into a purple and green toy microphone that came from McDonalds. And though I barely understood what he was doing, I have never forgotten it.

That boy was my cousin, Waylon. He has lived his life on the autism spectrum, and while most may see limitations, I have only ever seen his faith. And he never stopped preaching.

Today, you can still see Waylon living out the sermons he preached as a kid.

On Wednesdays, you would find him on stage at church playing his bongos. On Sundays, you would see him with hands raised high. If you asked anyone at Hodge Assembly of God, they would tell you without hesitation that he was the “head usher.” At home, Waylon kept a stack of Jimmy Swaggart tapes spinning. He listened, he learned, and he soaked it all in.

And he even has the coolest job, tailor-made for him.

He rides with the local police unit, spending time with the elderly, visiting people who are too often forgotten. He talks, he listens, he reminds them they still matter—to him and to God. And in his own way, he is still preaching sermons.

I look at his life and realize how much it shaped my own. His unwavering example helped lead me to my work at Always Uplifting 88.7 The Cross. Because I believe, like he does, that every single moment matters.

One song can meet someone at just the right time. One story can change a life. One gift from a listener can make sure someone else hears the hope they need most.

And that is the question left in my heart after sharing his story: what sermon is your life preaching? Because the truth is simple, and it is urgent: life really is about sharing Jesus. Make every moment count.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When people look at your life, what kind of “sermon” do they see?
  • How can you let your light shine today in a way that points others to Jesus?
  • Who in your life has quietly shown you what faith looks like in action?
  • What small act of love or service could become someone’s reminder that they still matter—to you and to God?
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Already Loved

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Jeremiah 31:3 – I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.

The day I lost one hundred pounds, I expected fireworks.

I had imagined it over and over: stepping onto the scale, seeing the number, and somehow feeling more loved by God than I did before. In my mind, I thought He would put His arm around me and whisper, “Now you are worthy. Now you are enough.”

But there I was in my own bathroom, standing barefoot on the scale, and nothing about God’s love had changed one ounce.

It was the same steady love I had known the day I could barely bend down to tie my shoes. The same love that was there when I sweated just from peeling an orange. It was the same love that never flinched when I turned to food because I did not know what else to do with my sadness.

The truth settled in slowly like the way a sunrise sneaks over the horizon. I had not earned more of His affection by shedding pounds. And the irony of it made me smile.

I was chasing a reward I already had. Yes, the discipline mattered. Yes, the growth was worth celebrating. But none of it increased the love of God that had been constant from the start.

I stepped off the scale lighter, not just in body but in heart. And it left me wondering: how many of us are still waiting for some future breakthrough to feel loved, when we are already standing in it?

— Micah Tyler

 

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever believed you needed to earn God’s love through performance or progress?
  • How does Jeremiah 31:3 challenge the way you see your worth?
  • What would it look like for you to live today as someone who is already fully loved?
  • Where in your life is God inviting you to rest, rather than strive, in His affection?
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Faith and a Folding Chair

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Hebrews 10:24-25 – Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of His return is drawing near.

Covid had a way of making the world feel smaller.

Empty streets, canceled plans, faces hidden behind masks. I told myself isolation was fine, but the truth was, I was tired of being alone.

So when I heard a handful of guys were meeting for Bible study in a bus warehouse in Bawcomville, I didn’t care how sketchy it sounded. I was in.

That warehouse was no chapel.

It smelled like metal and dust, and the wind whistled through the cracks. But what took place inside could not have been more sacred.

We sat in folding chairs and opened our Bibles, but more than that, we opened our lives.

Men spoke fears they had never voiced, struggles they had carried in silence—addiction, shame, failures that still left scars. And instead of judgment, there was prayer. There were tears. There was laughter that felt like a release valve after years of pressure.

We stayed late into the night, long after common sense said we should go home. But nobody wanted to leave. Revival was happening there.

That warehouse taught me more than I expected. Faith was never meant to be a solo sport. When one part of the body hurts, we all feel it. When one part heals, we all rejoice. That’s what pulled us back, week after week.

For me, it became a living picture of what Christ’s body was meant to be: honest, powerful, and deeply connected. Every time I left, I carried less shame and more freedom.

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another—especially now that the day of His return is drawing near.” — Hebrews 10:24–25

That’s what those nights in the bus warehouse were really about. Ordinary guys choosing to show up, to listen, and to lift each other up when life felt heavy.

And maybe that is the point—we do not need a stained-glassed building to find God’s people. Sometimes all it takes is a few folding chairs and the courage to show up. Because when our eyes are fixed on Jesus, we find Him in the most unexpected places—even in a dusty bus warehouse in Bawcomville.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you experienced the power of community in your faith, and how did it impact you?
  • How can you intentionally encourage or show up for someone else this week, even in small ways?
  • What does Hebrews 10:24–25 teach you about the importance of gathering and supporting one another in faith?
  • In what ways does fixing your eyes on Jesus change the way you see ordinary spaces and moments around you?
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Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

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Hebrews 12:2 — Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.

Helen Lemmel knew what it was to feel buried.

Some days, life felt heavier than she could carry. Money was tight, her health fragile, and the world seemed determined to test every ounce of endurance she had. She had long learned that hope does not always arrive wrapped in sunlight or easy answers.

Then one afternoon, she found a small pamphlet. Its cover was plain, but the few words she found inside were exquisite.

It read, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus.”

She read them slowly, letting the phrase sink into the quiet corners of her heart. At first, it seemed almost too simple t—but, for the first time in weeks, she felt the weight pressing on her lift a little.

No. It did not make the bills disappear. It did not suddenly make the world less lonely. But it gave her a place to look besides the storm.

She began humming a tune, small and unsteady at first. Then she wrote, letting her worry pour out as melody and verse.

Over time, the fragile notes she wrote became a song. It was a new hymn that carried not only her own hope but the hope of anyone who might feel crushed under life’s demands.

When people sang it during the Great Depression, their faces lifted, their hearts softened, and the burden they carried grew a little lighter.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.”

Helen learned something in that season: the storm does not have to define where you set your gaze. Even when life is harsh, the bills are stacked, and the world seems unkind, you can choose to lift your eyes up to your savior.

So pause today, even for just a moment. I believe you to can find the same relief Helen did. Andy you might discover, that a hopeful horizon can still exist though the storm rages around you.

 

LYRICS

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free.

CHORUS
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting
He passed, and we follow Him there;
O’er us sin no more hath dominion
For more than conqu’rors we are!

His Word shall not fail you, He promised;
Believe Him and all will be well;
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!

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