When Hope Sits Beside You

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1 Thessalonians 5:11 – Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

Rachel hadn’t planned to cry at the splash pad, but there she was—sweaty, hungry, and overstimulated as her toddler lost his mind over a graham cracker.

Her baby was asleep and wrapped against her chest, but everything else was a mess. She sat down on the nearest bench, defeated. Her body ached. Her mind raced. She wanted to feel grateful. Instead, she just felt alone.

She watched other moms—some with iced coffees, some chatting with friends—and wondered if she was the only one barely holding it together.

Then a woman slid onto the bench beside her. She was older, maybe in her 50s.

“It’s so hard when you’re in it,” she said, “but it won’t always be this way. You’re doing good.”

Rachel looked over, surprised. The woman gave her a small smile. “I remember thinking I would never make it through either, but I did. You will too.”

Rachel didn’t answer. She just nodded. Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung.

The woman stayed a minute longer, then got up and walked away. But her words stayed. Rachel looked down at her baby, still sleeping, and up at her toddler, now giggling as he splashed again.

What she said didn’t fix the hard, but it reminded Rachel of something she had not felt in a while: hope.

The exhaustion was temporary, and in the meantime, she could encourage herself and others who were facing their own tough moments.

Maybe that is why we go through hard things. Not just so we will survive, but so we will have something realto offer someone else when it is their turn.

If you’re in it right now, don’t pull away. Lean in. It will not always be this way, and when the time comes, let your story become someone else’s strength.

This is hard. But you are doing better than you think. Keep going.

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A Friend Who Stays

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Romans 12:10 – “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.”

Before the boat even left the dock, I could feel it—I was nervous.

Jordan moved like he was born doing this. He was checking rods, organizing bait, steering around Lake D’arbonne like it was second nature. I did my best to follow his lead, but I was out of my element.

I hadn’t fished much growing up—not seriously. And even though I had been part of a men’s Bible study for a while, where I was finally learning how to feel at home around other men, being out here stirred up something old and unwelcome.

You should know this already. You’re a guy. You’re from the South. What’s wrong with you?

That shame crept in fast. I felt like an outsider again.

But Jordan did not let those lies breathe for long.

He never made a show of helping, and he did not laugh or point out my mistakes. He just came alongside. No judgment. No pressure. Just a guy who cared enough to stick beside me until the knots were tied and the cast was clean.

We didn’t catch any fish that day, but I left the water with something I did not expect. Confidence. Not because I had suddenly figured it all out, but because someone treated me like I already belonged.

That trip reminded me of what real brotherhood can do.

I want to be the kind of friend who helps someone feel safe when they are unsure. Who silences insecurity by refusing to flinch when it shows up. Who stays, even when the fish don’t bite.

I want to be for others who I needed on that boat: a real brother, like Christ is to us. And I want to do that on purpose.

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Running Toward Hope

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“He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.”

Isaiah 25:8

John was faster. That was clear from the start. He had always been faster. But speed did not matter to me now. My legs burned, my lungs ached, but I could not slow down. The world had turned upside down, and I had to see it for myself.

It had been just before dawn when Mary banged on the door, shaking us from restless sleep. When I flung it open, her face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have put him!” The words hit like a fist to my chest.

John and I did not think. We just ran.

Now, as we neared the tomb, I saw John hesitate at the entrance, his breath ragged. I did not stop. I could not. I rushed inside, heart pounding in my ears. And then—stillness.

The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. But everything was in order. The grave clothes, neatly folded. Not stolen, not ransacked—arranged with intention. It was as if He had simply awakened and set His bed in place.

John stepped in beside me. Neither of us spoke.

Jesus told us. He told me, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

I had been too blind to see it until now.

The grief that had crushed me only moments ago shifted, making way for something else. Something like hope. Real hope—the kind that does not crumble under fear.

Because if He was alive, then everything He said was true. And if everything He said was true, then hope was no longer just a word. It was a person.

And He had done exactly what He said He would do.

This is why Easter matters. Maybe for you it carries grief. Maybe it comes with painful questions? But it is not about traditions or about trying to manufacture joy in the middle of loss. I say this because there is peace for the broken. There is hope for the weary, and it is found in Him. Easter is about an empty tomb, and that changes everything.

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Trying to Stop the Unstoppable

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“God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for Him to be held by it.”

Acts 2:24

We had done everything we could.

Jesus of Nazareth was dead. A threat was removed. A problem solved.

For years, we had tolerated his disruptions—the way he twisted the people’s loyalty, defied our traditions, and embarrassed us in public. But the crowds had cheered as he hung on that cross. The Romans had driven the nails. And now, his body lay breathless in a tomb.

Finally, we could move on.

And yet, something gnawed at me.

We had all heard of his claims. “After three days, I will rise.”

Of course, it was nonsense. But the people—oh, the people—would believe anything. His radical disciples could steal the body, spread their lies, and suddenly, we would have a worse problem than before. We needed to shut this down completely.

So we took our concerns to Pilate.

The governor barely looked at us. He was done with this mess. His wife had warned him not to get involved. He had washed his hands, his conscience clear. But we had no choice.

“Sir,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “command that the tomb be made secure.”

Pilate sighed sharply.

“You have a guard,” he snapped. “Go. Make it as secure as you know how.”

So we did.

A heavy stone. A Roman seal. Armed soldiers.

It was finished. Wasn’t it?

But that was never in our control. We had done everything to stop this man. Yet even in death, he remained a problem.

We tried to lock him behind that stone, to silence his influence once and for all. But nothing we did could change what was coming.

And Christian, here is the thing. You may feel like you are living in that long, dark day between the crucifixion and resurrection —where hope is buried. It may seem like nothing will change. But God is not confined by a tomb.

We tried to control the story, but God had already written the ending.

Jesus rose.

And no matter how impossible things seem, His power is not finished in your life either.

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Healing At His Table

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But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.

1 John 1:7

The room was packed—twenty guys crammed into my little two-bedroom rental. Some shoulder to shoulder on the couch, others cross-legged on the floor. The AC was struggling, but nobody seemed to mind.

In the middle of the coffee table sat a bottle of Great Value grape juice and a loaf of dollar-store white bread. It was nothing special. But tonight, it was sacred.

We met like this every week. Open Bibles, hard conversations, no pretense. Here, we learned how to be honest—not just with God, but with each other.

Some nights, the room was thick with laughter. Other nights, it was heavy with silence as someone finally let the truth spill out. Sin was confessed. Tears shed. Prayers were spoken. It was not rehearsed or religious. It was real.

And tonight, as I bowed my head, I thought about Jesus at the table with His disciples, the bread in His hands, and the weight in His words.

Did they understand it then? Did they feel what we felt now, sitting here in a bachelor pad full of guys just trying to get it right?

I broke off a piece of bread. It was dry and a little stale. The grape juice chased it down. I thought of His body, broken. His blood poured out.

Not just for eternity, but for today.

For the shame that still clings. For the bitterness we justify. For the sins we think we can handle alone. I swallowed and let the truth settle in my chest.

This is Christ’s invitation for all of us. An invitation to be healed. To live free. To step into real community—not the kind that just meets on Sundays, but the kind that pulls up a chair, looks you in the eye, and reminds you, You are not alone.

Jesus’ body was broken so we could be whole. And maybe part of that wholeness is found in rooms like this. And I cannot keep that to myself.

So, who needs a seat at the table?

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A Love That Runs Toward You

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“Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, that he may have compassion on him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.”

Isaiah 55:7 

The father spotted the boy before anyone else did. 

A speck on the horizon. A figure too thin, too tired, and walking with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

His son. 

He jumped to his feet before his mind caught up. Then he was running—running like a fool or like a man who had never been wronged or his heart shattered. 

And when he reached the boy, he did not stop. He embraced him with arms wide open and buried his face in his son’s filthy hair, drinking in the moment he prayed for a thousand times. 

The boy started talking, voice shaking, eyes on the ground. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you—” 

But the father did not let him finish. 

“Bring a robe!” He said, “The best one! And a ring for his hand, and for Heaven’s sake, fire up the grill. We’re celebrating tonight!” 

Because his son was home. 

No speeches. No groveling. No earning his way back. Just love, poured out without measure. 

And that is exactly how God loves you. 

Maybe you feel like you have gone too far. Like you have messed up too much and need to earn your way back. But God is not waiting for you to clean yourself up first. 

He just wants you home. 

So, if you have been running from Him, and if you have been carrying shame too heavy to bear, hear this: 

You don’t have to prove a thing. 

Just turn toward Him—He’s already on His way to you. 

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A Deeper Experience of God

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“Sing to Him, sing praises to Him; tell of all His wondrous works!”

1 Chronicles 16:9

Darlene Zschech had always loved leading worship, but this was different. God’s presence felt closer than ever. Every time she opened her Bible, every moment of prayer, every song she sang—it all felt alive in a way she could not explain.

She was not the only one feeling it. Her church leaders had noticed a shift. People were desperate for more than just another song. They wanted to know God in a way that was personal and transformative.

So, when Darlene and the worship team met, they kept circling back to the same question: How do we lead people into a deeper experience of God?

They did not want to write songs that just filled a setlist. They wanted to create something that made space for real worship—something that could be sung in living rooms, in cars, and in quiet moments alone with God.

That night, as Darlene sat with her guitar, she let go of all expectations. She was just worshiping and pouring her heart out before God. And as she lifted her voice, the words and melody began to form together.

“Shout to the Lord, all the earth, let us sing
Power and majesty, praise to the King
Mountains bow down and the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name” 

What happened next took her breath away. The song “Shout to the Lord” did not stay within her church. It spread like wildfire. Because people everywhere—no matter their denomination, their background, or their struggles—were desperate for the same thing: a real encounter with God.

Maybe you are, too. Maybe stress has dulled your joy, and you are longing for something to break through the noise. Worship is not about singing; it is about surrender. It is about lifting your eyes and letting your heart remember who He is.

Right now, in this moment, will you worship?

 

Lyrics
Verse 1:
My Jesus
My Saviour
Lord there is none like You
All of my days
I want to praise
The wonders of Your mighty love

Verse 2:
My Comfort
My Shelter
Tower of refuge and strength
Let every breath
All that I am
Never cease to worship You

Chorus 1:
Shout to the Lord
All the earth let us sing
Power and majesty
Praise to the King
Mountains bow down
And the seas will roar
At the sound of Your Name

Chorus 2:
I sing for joy
At the work of Your hands
Forever I’ll love You
Forever I’ll stand
Nothing compares to
The promise I have in You
—
‘Shout To The Lord’
Words & Music by Darlene Zschech
© 1993 Hillsong Music
CCLI #: 1406918

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Turning Pain into Hope

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“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

Romans 5:3-4

Eliza hated the silence. Her life had always been so full of movement and things to do. She spent her days teaching, writing, and serving others. But now, all of that was gone.

The injury had taken it from her.

She lay in bed, her body aching, her spirit restless. The days felt unbearably long, and the quietness stretched on. At first, she fought against it. She asked the same questions over and over: Why me? What now? Where are you God?

But as the days passed, she started to read her Bible. This was not the casual kind of reading for passing the time. No. She was desperate.

And in those long, slow hours spent in the Word, she saw things she had never noticed before. Words she had once skimmed past now felt alive. Promises she had memorized now felt like they were written just for her.

She knew she was not just surviving this hardship—God was doing something in it.

One day, she found herself humming a song she had started writing before the injury. It was just another project back then. But now? The words meant something. It went like this.

“When we all get to heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!”

She had never clung to heaven like this before. She had never needed to. But now, her hope in Jesus felt different. Stronger. More real.

When she finally released the song, it spread like wildfire. People who were hurting and searching found something in those words—something bigger than their pain.

Eliza Hewitt would have never chosen this hardship, but looking back, she saw it clearly. Her pain had not been wasted. God turned her silence into a song of hope, and it was too valuable to keep to herself.

That’s the thing. Sometimes, the greatest good that comes out of our hardship is what we are called to give away. Could it be that the very thing you are wrestling with is the thing that someone else needs to hear?

 

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God Speaks, We Follow

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“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”

John 10:27

I can still remember the way my heart pounded in my chest.

“Hey, I don’t know why, but I just feel like I’m supposed to ask … Can I pray for you?”

My manager barely looked up at me. “No, I’m fine.”

So, I nodded, said something nice, and walked away feeling embarrassed. Maybe I had misunderstood God. For a while after that, I questioned if I had just imagined it.

Life moved on, and if I am honest, I stopped stepping out in faith like that. Years passed. Then one day, out of nowhere, a message appeared on my phone screen.

“David, I don’t think I ever told you, but thank you. The last time we talked, I told you no. What I didn’t tell you was that I was badly addicted to meth at the time. I lied to you. I was not okay! But you told me that God loved me, that He had a plan for me, and that He would make a way out. 

A couple of weeks later, I hit rock bottom and called my parents. Things did not go the way I expected, but somehow, I ended up in Chicago, and I have been clean ever since. Three weeks after getting sober, I found out I was pregnant. My daughter could have suffered from all the choices I made, but by some miracle, she was born completely healthy.”

I sat there, staring at the screen, completely undone. All those years, I had believed that moment was a failure. That I had missed it.

But God does not miss it.

He never does.

How many times since then had I ignored His voice, assuming it would not matter? How many moments had I let slip by because I was afraid of looking foolish?

Not anymore.

God is speaking. He is moving. And if He is nudging you today—don’t ignore it. You have no idea what He might be setting into motion.

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You Are Safe in His Everlasting Arms

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“The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

Deuteronomy 33:27(a)

Elisha’s chest ached. He was supposed to be writing encouragement for his Christian publication, but how could he encourage when the war had stolen so much?

Outside, the world was moving on—shops opening, carriages rolling by—but when he closed his eyes, he saw the families left in pieces.

He had read their stories in letters, seen it in the eyes of his friends. Mothers burying sons.  Young men burdened by memories too painful to speak out loud.

He exhaled slowly. “Lord, what can I say?”

His worn Bible lay open beside him, and a familiar verse stared back at him:

“The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” 

A lump formed in his throat. “Yes, Lord. That is the truth they need.”

He set his editorial aside. This needed to be something different—not just words of encouragement, but a song for weary hearts. And as he wrote, the words came effortlessly:

“What a fellowship, what a joy divine, 
Leaning on the everlasting arms; 
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine, 
Leaning on the everlasting arms.”

“Let them feel it, Lord,” he prayed. “Let them know they are not alone.”

And somehow, they did. “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” traveled beyond his study, slipping into homes, churches, and hearts that needed it most. It carried people through storms and became a melody of comfort when they felt like falling apart.

And now, here you are.

Maybe you, too, have been living through suffocating grief or trauma. Maybe your heart is weary from carrying the weight alone.

But you are not alone. There is a love stronger than your pain, arms that will never let you go. No matter what has been lost, no matter how uncertain tomorrow feels, you can rest in the unshakable truth that you are loved by God.

Will you let yourself be held today?

 

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