When Truth Turns the Car Around

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Zephaniah 3:17 — For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.

The car is parked on the bridge with the engine still running.

Jacob sits behind the wheel, hands resting where they’ve been for a while now. The water below is loud—constant, rushing, unbothered—but it still can’t compete with the noise in his head. Every thought feels settled, final.

He isn’t dramatic about it.

He’s convinced.

Convinced he doesn’t matter. Convinced the world would keep moving just fine without him.

The radio is on out of habit. Music drifts in and out, barely registering. He isn’t listening for hope. He isn’t listening for anything.

Then a lyric cuts through.

“Fear, he is a liar.”

It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t argue. It simply names the thing Jacob has been believing. And somehow, that’s what stops everything.

He can’t fully explain what happens next. He doesn’t suddenly feel strong or brave or fixed. What he feels is quieter and deeper—like he isn’t alone in the car anymore. Like the empty space beside him is filled.

Not with answers.

With presence.

As the song continues, something breaks open. Jacob cries harder than he ever has. Not quiet tears. Not controlled ones. The kind that empty you out because you’ve been holding too much for too long.

Nothing outside the car changes. The bridge is still there. The water is still loud.

But the lie loses its grip.

Not because it was debated—but because it was interrupted.

He turns the car around.

That night doesn’t end the way he planned.

Thank God.

Later, when Jacob tries to make sense of it, the best he can say is this: he was not as alone as he thought. What showed up on that bridge wasn’t a solution—it was a Savior who stayed.

Scripture describes God’s presence this way: “The Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty Savior… With His love He will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

That night, Jacob experienced that promise in real time.

Not distant.
Not disappointed.
Present.

God was strong enough to rescue him, steady enough to quiet his spiraling thoughts with love, and somehow singing louder than the fear that had been shouting all night.

You might be reading this from your own parked place—maybe not a bridge, but a moment where the noise feels overwhelming and the lies feel settled.

Sometimes God breaks through that darkness with one truth, one lyric, one reminder that you are seen and not abandoned.

Staying alive for one more moment can be an act of faith.

Let the truth interrupt the lie. Let presence outweigh fear.

And keep choosing to turn the car around—because you are still here for a reason, and God is closer than you think.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever experienced a moment when a song, Scripture, or simple truth interrupted a dark thought?
  • What lies does fear sometimes whisper to you about your worth or your future?
  • How does the promise in Zephaniah 3:17 change the way you see God’s presence in hard moments?
  • What might it look like for you to pause and listen for God’s voice when life feels overwhelming?
  • Who in your life might need a reminder today that they are not alone?

Fear Is a Liar

When he told you you’re not good enough
When he told you you’re not right
When he told you you’re not strong enough
To put up a good fight
When he told you you’re not worthy
When he told you you’re not loved
When he told you you’re not beautiful
That you’ll never be enough

Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar

When he told you were troubled
You’ll forever be alone
When he told you you should run away
You’ll never find a home
When he told you you were dirty
And you should be ashamed
When he told you you could be the one
That grace could never change

Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar

Let Your fire fall and cast out all my fears
Let Your fire fall Your love is all I feel

Fear he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
Cause fear he is a liar

/by

Red Bird Redemption

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2 Corinthians 3:17 — Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I found myself outside soaking up the sun. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sun was shining brightly, but on the inside, gloomy was an understatement for how I felt.

You see, alcohol had a stronghold on me for nearly twelve years. The good news is our Savior is still in the business of saving, and His love is still reaching.

On that particular day, I found myself sitting outside with my head between my knees when something made me look up. Right in front of me was a red bird. It shocked me because cardinals weren’t common in my neighborhood. But there it was.

The world around me felt dull, but its bright red coloring was so vibrant—impossible to ignore. As a mom, it reminded me of a picture book I used to read my girls that reads, “Red bird, red bird, what do you see?” When I asked myself that question, the only answer I had was this.

It was something alive. The cardinal was something bright and bold and stunning, and it stood out so much against the heaviness I was carrying inside.

My youngest daughter, who was two years old at the time, walked up to me and asked, “Mommy, why are you so sad?” I thought to myself, “How did she know?” In that moment, I broke, and tears began flowing down my face.

After that day, I started noticing red birds everywhere. One on a fence post. Another at my grandma’s house. One more perched just long enough for me to really see it before flying away. At first, I brushed it off. But after a while, it became hard to ignore.

It began to dawn on me that the Holy Spirit was trying to get my attention, gently reminding me of what had already been set in motion that Sunday afternoon.

Looking back, I know the red bird wasn’t a coincidence, and its color wasn’t just a color. Curious, I looked up what red birds symbolize, and I learned that in Christian literature, the cardinal often represents the blood of Jesus, hope, and the presence of the Holy Spirit.

That truth settled deep in my soul. It was a reminder of Christ’s blood, poured out for me, covering every failure, every mistake, and every sin. It was as if God was showing me, in a way I could see and understand, that I wasn’t beyond redemption. His blood poured out for me on the cross secured my freedom—He didn’t want a sacrifice. He was the sacrifice. He wanted me to trust Him with all my heart and surrender to His will.

Scripture puts words to what my heart was learning to believe: “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17). Outside of that powerful truth, I don’t know how else to explain it. Freedom didn’t just mean the absence of alcohol—it meant the presence of the Spirit reshaping my life. That Sunday that was the last day alcohol would have a stronghold on my life. What I thought had me bound no longer had the final say.

Now, every time I see a red bird, I remember the moment I looked up and saw proof that God was with me—and that He still is. If you’ve ever struggled with addiction, or anything that makes you feel trapped with no way out, you understand the weight of guilt, shame, and regret. But here is the truth: God’s grace is bigger than our past, and His love is stronger than any of our failures. The enemy thought he had me, but Jesus said, “Nope—she’s mine!”

If you are reading this and feel like you are bound, with no way out, maybe today is an invitation to look up. You never know what God might be using to get your attention. You might just find hope—unexpected, unmistakable hope—in a way you least expect it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What in my life feels like a stronghold right now?
  • Have I believed the lie that I am too far gone?
  • Where might God already be trying to get my attention?
  • Do I truly believe that freedom is possible for me?
  • What would it look like to surrender this struggle to the Holy Spirit?
  • When I think about my past, do I see shame—or the covering grace of Jesus?
  • What small reminder has God placed in my life that points me back to hope?
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Persuasively Persistent

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Matthew 7:7 — Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you.

As a mom of two young children, I would be rich if I got a dollar every time I heard the phrase, “Mom, can I have ______?” Even after saying the dreadful, life-altering, meltdown provoking word, “NO,” my children relentlessly approach me- asking the same question. They simply won’t take no for an answer.

While they’re learning to respect boundaries, I’ll admit that sometimes I give in—not because thea answer changed, but because they didn’t give up. Watching them has taught me something about faith. They ask boldly and don’t assume “no” means never.

God used my children to gently remind me of his fatherly character, and I began reflecting on the way I have approached God. More times than I’d like to admit-I asked once, hear no—or silence—and quietly retreat. Maybe you can relate?

Jesus’ words in Matthew 7:7 began to challenge that pattern: “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

That’s not a one-time request. It’s not a hesitant whisper. No, it’s a continual posture of asking, seeking, and knocking. It is trusting the heart of the God who wants to answer us.

There is no coincidence that Luke chapter 18 consecutively tells of the parable of the persistent widow and the story of the little children coming to Jesus. God encourages us to always pray and not give up; the same way the widow approached the judge with her plea.

She persisted instead of retreating, until she got justice. Our Heavenly father tells us to approach him the same way the little children approached Jesus; with childlike faith instead of hindrance.

The next time you pray, I challenge you to approach God more like little children approach their parents and the widow approached the judge. Bold. Persistent. Willing to ask again. And to approach our Heavenly father with the childlike faith the little children approached Jesus with; confident that even when the answer isn’t what we hoped for, He is still listening—and still good.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have I stopped asking God because I didn’t like the first answer — or the silence?
  • Is there a prayer I quietly gave up on that I need to bring back to Him?
  • Do I approach God with hesitation… or with childlike trust?
  • Have I mistaken “wait” for “no”?
  • What would it look like for me to keep knocking instead of walking away?
  • Do I truly believe my Heavenly Father is good — even when His answer isn’t what I hoped for?
  • Where is God inviting me to be bold and persistent in prayer right now?
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Living for an Audience of One

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Proverbs 29:25 — Fearing people is a dangerous trap, but trusting the Lord means safety.

Terrian Woods stands on the stage at her church. Her legs are shaking and her throat is dry before she ever sings a note.

The room feels bigger than it should. Her heart is pounding so hard it’s distracting. All she can think is, Don’t mess this up. Everyone’s watching.

It’s ironic—she grew up in a church pew in North Memphis. Her grandfather preached. Her aunt led worship. People said she was called to sing. One guest preacher even told her her worship would be her weapon.

She believed it. Mostly.

But standing there, all of it fades beneath the weight of fear. She wants to worship Jesus, but anxiety keeps pulling her attention toward the crowd. The pressure to be seen, approved, and evaluated feels overwhelming.

That’s when something shifts.

Like a whisper cutting through the noise, she remembers the truth: worship isn’t about her performance—it’s about God’s presence. She realizes she’s been focused on many faces instead of the Audience of One.

Her legs still shake. Her heart still races. But she redirects her focus—away from the people, away from herself, and upward toward Jesus. She takes a deep breath and sings.

That moment changes her.

Years later, Terrian is leading worship on bigger platforms and writing songs like “Honestly, We Just Need Jesus.” And when she looks back, she sees a pattern: every time she trusted God more than the opinions around her, His presence met her in ways she couldn’t manufacture.

Scripture names that tension clearly:

“Fearing people is a dangerous trap, but trusting the Lord means safety.” — Proverbs 29:25

We all feel that pull. We might not be standing on a stage, but we face moments where fear of opinion, rejection, or failure tempts us to shrink back. The trap is real—but so is the safety that comes from trusting God.

When we lift our eyes from the crowd to Christ, trembling can turn into trust. Nerves can become worship. Ordinary moments can become encounters with God’s strength.

So don’t let fear hold you back—in your work, your relationships, or your faith. Even if you show up scared, God invites you to find His face in the crowd and discover a presence that comforts, steadies, and carries you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life are you most aware of the fear of others’ opinions?
  • How does Proverbs 29:25 reframe the difference between fear and trust for you personally?
  • What would it look like to shift your focus from the crowd to the “Audience of One” this week?
  • How might trusting God—rather than yourself—create space for His presence to meet you?

LYRICS:

This is the moment
Where everything turns
Didn’t think I would see it
Was hard to believe
Heaven crashes to earth
I’ve read the stories
Of all that you’ve done
Parted the sea, (and) set captives free
Never thought I’d be one

I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
I am the living proof of what the Lord has done
May call it crazy, but they can’t take away my story
Cause I am a living, breathing, walking testimony

They said I wouldn’t make it
That I should give up
But they didn’t know that
The God that I serve
Is more than enough
He can move mountains
He can make broken beautiful
I never run out of hope
When I run to the God of miracles

I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
I am the living proof of what the Lord has done
May call it crazy, but they can’t take away my story
Cause I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
Oh, the enemy did what he could
But the Lord he has used it for good
Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
When the thief tried to steal and destroy
The Lord gave me an anthem of joy

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He’s a Wonder Working God

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Jeremiah 33:3 — Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

I was driving home late one evening when a voice on the radio caught my attention. It was one of those stories where God captures your full focus—whether you planned on giving it or not.

A mother was sharing how God had met her in the middle of unimaginable news about her son. Doctors told her early on that her little boy would never hear. Years later, they added another diagnosis—eventual blindness. When she heard those words, disbelief washed over her.

The fear was real, but her confidence didn’t rest in her own strength. It rested in God.

In her desperation, she dropped to her knees and cried out, “I’m not leaving here until You heal my son.” More than anything, she wanted her child to experience God—to hear His voice. And now, that felt impossible.

Then she paused.

And in that stillness, God spoke: “Your son doesn’t need ears to hear Me. I speak to the heart.”

My jaw dropped. My heart swelled. Because that wasn’t just an answer—it was revelation. One of those “hidden things” God promises when we dare to call on Him.

The healing didn’t come the way she hoped, but peace did. The kind that quiets fear and settles the soul. God didn’t remove the diagnosis in that moment, but He removed the dread. And suddenly, that felt like a miracle too.

About a week later, I was working a local event for my boutique when I overheard someone mention a vendor around the corner who was deaf—and who also ran a Christian shop. I knew I had to meet her.

As we talked, she shared her story. Born deaf, she had never heard a voice—until the day God called her by name. Audibly. Clearly. For the first time in her life, she heard someone say her name.

Chills ran from head to toe.

I shared the radio story with her, and in that moment, I was reminded how alive and attentive God still is. Abundant joy comes from staying sensitive to His wonder. I never want to grow used to having a miracle-working God.

And just in case you’re wondering—the doctor’s prediction from that radio story never came true. That little boy has had no issues with his eyesight to this day.

What amazes me most isn’t just that God can do miracles—it’s that He invites us to speak to Him at all. He hears whispered prayers in moving cars. He listens to mothers on their knees. He responds in ways we never would have imagined.

God isn’t distant or distracted. And whether we think we’re equipped to hear Him or not, He knows exactly how to reach our hearts.

That’s the promise of Jeremiah 33:3: “Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

He doesn’t need perfect conditions to speak—He just needs open hearts willing to listen.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you truly called out to God—not with polished words, but with honesty and need?
  • Are there places in your life where you’ve assumed God won’t speak because the situation feels impossible?
  • How might God be answering you in a way you didn’t expect—but still deeply need?
  • What would it look like to listen for God’s voice with your heart, not just your circumstances?
  • Is there a story of God’s faithfulness—your own or someone else’s—that reminds you He still reveals “hidden things?”
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Goodbye Negativity, Hello Grace

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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?
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Let the Light Keep Shining

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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?
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Sharing Jesus on the Journey

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2 Timothy 4:5 — But you should keep a clear mind in every situation. Don’t be afraid of suffering for the Lord. Work at telling others the Good News, and fully carry out the ministry God has given you.

Some memories stay vivid even after decades. When I think back to my childhood, I see those December days when my mom would take my sister and me to the mall, not to shop, but for something called Journey to Bethlehem.

She would guide us past the food court, the kiosks, and the holiday crowds until we reached a corner display that felt worlds away. A local church hosted it each year, and the moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. It was like stepping back in time.

I remember the cool feel of clay jars beneath my fingers and the earthy scent of hay. People in long robes greeted us with words like “Shalom” that sounded ancient yet comforting, and we got to pet so many animals.

I loved every second of it.

It was there that the story of Jesus’ birth would stir inside me in a way no words could capture.

Years later, I found myself walking that same path with my own girls. They moved slowly, reaching out to touch the baskets, asking questions about how families lived so long ago without cars or warm beds. I talked about the miles people walked, the hardships mothers endured, and the courage it took to survive in a world that offered so little comfort.

Halfway through, I felt the weight of what I needed to pass on. I had no formal gospel lesson prepared. I only had the walk, my childhood memories, and the chance to let them feel it for themselves.

So, as we wandered through the recreated streets, I narrated the story of the Nativity as best as I knew how. I noticed something shift in their eyes. They were beginning to understand the lengths God went to as He chose to enter a world so ordinary and hard, just to meet us where we are.

I thought of the words from 2 Timothy 4:5: “Keep a clear mind in every situation, do the work of an evangelist… fully carry out the ministry God has given you.”

Walking this path reminded me that ministry often looks like this—staying present, even when it’s imperfect. Telling the story as best you can. Walking with people you love and helping them experience the same Jesus you know and love for themselves.

Now it is our tradition. Every year, my husband and I look for ways like this to help our girls discover the story in fresh new ways. And each time, I am reminded that the length’s God goes for us. His love is always so immense and intentional.

If He would come all that way, maybe the small steps we take can help someone else find their way toward Him. Because, truth be told, this is one story that is never too old, too simple, or too small to change a heart.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What moments from your own childhood helped shape your understanding of faith or the story of Jesus?
  • Where has God given you opportunities to share the Good News in simple, everyday ways—without a script or a plan?
  • What does “fully carrying out the ministry God has given you” look like in your current season of life?
  • How can you help others—especially the next generation—experience Jesus, not just hear about Him?
  • Where might God be inviting you to take a small, faithful step, trusting Him to do the larger work in someone’s heart?
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Celebrating Christmas in the Kitchen

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Luke 2:11 — For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

“What are we baking?” I asked, eyes wide.

I stood by the counter, wooden spoon in hand, trying not to make a total disaster of the kitchen. It smelled incredible—vanilla, butter, all the good stuff—and the sunlight made the mess of flour I’d created look almost artistic.

Mom laughed under her breath. “We’re making a birthday cake.”

“Okay, but who for this time?” I asked. “Someone at church?”

She shook her head. “For Jesus.”

I stared at her. “Like… Jesus Jesus?”

She nodded, completely calm about it.

I wasn’t sure what baking a cake for someone I’d never actually met was supposed to feel like, but as I stirred the batter, something about it felt oddly meaningful—like we were doing more than just following a recipe.

I did not know it yet, but this little tradition would stay with me, long after the flour had been swept from the floor. Each year we followed the same recipe, and each year my sister and I argued over who would lick the spoon first and who would sprinkle the sugar.

Mom never rushed my sister and me. She let us spread the icing and carefully place the candles on top. She wanted us to know, deep down, that this celebration was about more than a cake. It was about joy that came to the world and hope that would not let go.

As I grew, and faith became my own, I finally understood. The coming of Jesus is worth throwing a party over year after year. His birth was not a story in a dusty book. It was a rescue. A beginning.

Now in my own kitchen, flour and sugar lined the counter. My daughters peeked around the corner.

“What are you doing?” they asked.

I motioned them in and told them we were about to bake a birthday cake for Jesus. Soon there was laughter, batter on the floor, and three spoons too many in the bowl.

As we stirred, I leaned in to tell them what my mom once told me, reading softly from the Bible: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11. I hoped they would carry this moment with them, the way it stayed with me.

After all, if anything is worth celebrating, is it not the birth that changed the world?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What Christmas tradition has helped shape your faith or understanding of Jesus over the years?
  • How does remembering Jesus’ birth as a rescue — not just a story — change the way you celebrate Christmas?
  • Who in your life might God be inviting you to pass faith along to through simple, meaningful moments?
  • When was the last time you paused to truly celebrate what Jesus’ coming means for you personally?
  • How can you make space this season — through tradition, conversation, or worship — to honor the Savior who changed everything?
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A Search That Led to Hope

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Hebrews 10:23 — “Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise.”

The first week of December arrived, and I found myself thinking more about Christmas. My husband Tyler and I had been growing in our faith, raising two little girls, and trying to run our small faith-based boutique.

My girls are naturally so curious, and Tyler and I really wanted to teach them the real meaning behind the glitter and the bells. So, I started searching. Not for gifts, not for decorations. But for something that could help my daughters see the heart of Christmas without me lecturing them into it.

I knew the usual traditions were fun, but I wanted something that pointed them gently toward the One at the center of it all.

I found option after option. Most were cute, some were clever, but none felt right. Then I stumbled onto “Finding Jesus.” It is a lot like Elf on the Shelf, but along with the stuffed Jesus, it also comes with daily scriptures and puzzle pieces to hide. By Christmas morning, the puzzle would form a Nativity.

It was perfect. When the package arrived, I could hardly contain my excitement.

Every morning after that, I crept around the house hiding the piece of the day. Then I waited for the sound—quick footsteps across hardwood, whispers, giggles. Watching them search became my favorite part. Their eyes were bright, their hope uncomplicated.

About halfway through December, I caught myself standing still in the hallway, piece in hand, feeling something tug at me. While they were learning to search for Jesus, I was learning that I had stopped searching the same way. Not intentionally. Life had layered itself thick with schedules and responsibilities, the kind that crowd out wonder.

One morning, as they checked beneath couch cushions and behind curtains, the words of Hebrews 10:23 rose in my heart, “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.”

I stood still, letting it settle. I remembered the years I had spent searching for hope. I remembered the moment I first realized Jesus was exactly who He said He was—and how everything changed. That hope had once felt so fresh, so alive.

And here I was, gently reminded: Hold tight. Don’t let go. He is faithful.

By Christmas morning, the final puzzle piece snapped into place, and the Nativity scene spread across the table. The girls beamed. And there behind them, with a lump in my throat, I whispered the truth to my own heart:

Searching for Him is still so worth it.
Holding on to Him is still so necessary.
And hope—real hope—is still found only in Him.

So here’s my invitation to you today:
As you move through this season, keep searching for Jesus. Keep remembering what He’s already done. And keep holding tightly to the hope He has promised—because He is good, and He will never let you go.

— Kirstie Ford

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have you let “life layers” or busyness crowd out the wonder of searching for Jesus?
  • What promise of God do you need to hold tightly to this season?
  • When have you experienced God’s faithfulness in a way that renewed your hope?
  • How can you create simple moments or traditions that point your heart back to Jesus this December?
  • What does “holding without wavering” look like in your real, daily life right now?
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