John 8:36 — “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”
“Free indeed.”
That’s what Jesus promised me, and for a long time, I didn’t believe it.
Counseling gave me some tools to navigate the mess inside, sort through years of self-doubt, and even breathe a little deeper. But sitting quietly before the Lord one morning—Bible open, heart laid bare—I felt something shift.
This wasn’t just healing. This was freedom, and it came when God whispered truth into a part of my heart I always kept covered up.
I can still see that day in my mind. I was just a kid, all bright eyes with laughter bubbling up with every breath. My heart was open to the world. I thought that was a good thing.
Then someone I respected—someone whose opinion mattered—made a joke: “No one takes you seriously.”
It was a throwaway comment, but it hurt. I laughed about it to soften the blow, but the seed took root. From then on, a quiet voice tagged along wherever I went. It whispered to me in job interviews, on ministry teams, every time I was called to lead.
“No one takes you seriously. You’re silly. Immature. Forgettable.”
But that morning—just me and Jesus—I finally listened to someone who actually knew me, and His words spoke louder than the lie.
God’s voice didn’t shame me. It called me: “Capable. Wise. Joyful. Delightful. Chosen. Mine.”
Sure, I had some growing up to do. Who doesn’t? But I’m done apologizing for being the person God made me to be. That is exactly the woman He wants to use. I don’t have to hide or wear a mask. I can be smart and still crack a joke. I can lead boldy and laugh.
Because Jesus didn’t just save me. He set me free.
If you’re living under someone else’s label, ask God who He says you are. Because the truth? It’s His words that matter, and His words set us free to be exactly who He made us to be—no masks, no shame. Just freedom.
Deuteronomy 14:2 — “You have been set apart as holy to the Lord your God, and he has chosen you from all the nations of the earth to be his own special treasure.”
Growing up, I always knew I was different.
From family to classmates at school, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I just didn’t fit in. It felt like everyone else had some critical ingredient I was missing. Kids my age raised their hands, answered questions, laughed out loud like they belonged there.
For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me. I was timid, more introverted, and often wondered if anyone even noticed me. That feeling of invisibility started to shape how I saw myself. I developed low self-esteem and bent over backward trying to please people.
But one day, one of those classmates invited me to go to church with her. I didn’t have a good reason to say no, so I went, nervous and unsure. That’s where I first heard about Jesus—how He came for people like me. The misfits, the quiet ones, and the ones who don’t know where they belong.
He came for me, and He loved me enough to give His life for me.
That felt like sunlight cracking through a storm cloud. For the first time, I felt truly seen and known.
But I wish I could say the insecurities vanished overnight. They didn’t. I carried them into high school, college, and early adulthood.
Then one Sunday, a pastor said something that caught me off guard. He said, “You are different.” My heart sank, but he went on: “God made you that way—on purpose, for a purpose.”
I sat up straighter. For the first time, I thought: maybe I wasn’t defective after all. Maybe I was designed by a loving God who had a plan for my life—and maybe my differences were actually gifts.
Later, I found it in Scripture—Deuteronomy 14:2. God sets us apart, chooses us, and calls us His special treasure. That’s not just poetic. That’s personal.
That’s when I started to see it and embrace it. I was handpicked by God, different, and made with a purpose only I could fulfill.
And maybe you need that reminder, too. Maybe you’ve spent too long thinking your differences disqualify you. But the truth is: God doesn’t make mistakes. He made you different on purpose, for a purpose—so you could bring something only you can bring to His family.
Don’t let the world’s lies define you. Let Jesus reintroduce you to the you He made—a masterpiece, a treasure. The real, set-apart you.
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Being-Different.webp?fit=560%2C300&ssl=1300560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-06-30 06:30:272025-06-25 21:06:23The Gift of Being Different
Psalm 30:5b – “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
Summertime always takes me back to childhood camping trips with my family.
Every Friday, we eagerly packed up for our weekend adventure. Before we upgraded to a travel trailer, our family of five would squeeze into a large tent, excited for nights under the stars.
I vividly remember one trip when a storm came in the middle of the night. As a young girl, I was terrified. Rain pelted the tent as thunder cracked like a whip, echoing through the forest. The thin canvas walls felt utterly useless against the raw power of the winds.
Certain we would not survive, I woke my mom. Her voice, steady and calm, cut through the chaos. She assured me she would not let anything happen to my siblings or me. We were safe.
Her words soothed my anxious mind enough to let me drift back to sleep. I woke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the trees and to peace knowing we made it.
Life’s tempests can feel no less daunting as an adult. Disappointments crash into our world and heartaches pound us like a hurricane. We feel exposed, defenseless. In those moments of crippling fear, it is easy to forget we are not alone.
But just as I wholeheartedly trusted my mom in the storm, we can trust God to cover us and keep us safe. His strength steadies us when our own fails.
Here is the unexpected truth: the fiercest storms only last a night. Just like that childhood tent, our faith may feel flimsy, but when we hold on, we find unseen strength and peace.
The storms may be inevitable, but they do not have to define us. Because God is with us, we can weather them. So hold on to this truth – our hope, like the sunrise, is always just a morning away.
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/camping2.webp?fit=560%2C300&ssl=1300560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-06-28 06:30:142025-06-25 20:30:52Finding Light After the Longest Night
Romans 12:12 — Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She texted me out of the blue.
“Can you pray for me?”
Without hesitation, I replied, “of course,” and then I called her.
The conversation was short. Her voice was guarded, but something in it cracked just enough for light to sneak through. We prayed. She thanked me, and we hung up.
And when I sat back in the silence, I felt it. Something had shifted. Just a little. God was doing something.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
That night, I slipped down to my knees for what must have been the hundredth time. I prayed again: for her healing, for her heart, for the wreckage in her past to stop defining her future. I asked God to help her trust Him again.
Because what good would it do if I gave up now?
When I see her again, I have to blink hard to fight back tears. A lump forms fast in my throat, but I still check in on her like I always do. Gently.
This relationship used to be easy. Sweet, even. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And there they are again, those invisible walls she’s learned to stack like bricks, one cold, polite answer at a time. I pray silently.
God, will You make this better again? Please.
That night, with my heart aching, I almost gave into disappointment. I scrolled my phone, trying to outrun my feelings, but there it was again, that familiar nudge in my spirit to pray. It was the kind that won’t let me stay comfortable.
So, I dropped to my knees again. I wept, and God met me there. Again.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He reminded me of that brave text last night, that prayer call, and that softening in her voice. He’s not done with her.
And suddenly, that was enough.
So, friends, what I am learning is don’t stop praying. Let your knees hit the floor a thousand times if they need to. Keep trusting that beyond what your eyes can see, God is moving mountains in the hearts of those you love.
Because hope isn’t just a feeling. It’s a decision that sounds like this.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Lyrics:
What’s your impossible
Your “I need a miracle”
What’s got you barely hanging by a single thread
What looks so hopeless now
What weighs down your heart with doubt
You beg for a breakthrough but no sign of breakthrough yet
When you’ve cried and you’ve cried til your tears run dry
The answer won’t come and you don’t know why
And you wonder if you can bow your head even one more time
Don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying
He’s close to the brokenhearted
Saves those who are crushed in spirit
The Alpha and Omega knows how your story ends
When you’ve cried and you’ve cried til your tears run dry
The answer won’t come and you don’t know why
And you wonder if you can bow your head even one more time
Oh, do it one more time
And don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying
Don’t stop praying for the prodigal
Don’t stop praying for the miracle
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen
Don’t stop praying that addictions end
Don’t stop praying for deliverance
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen
Oh, don’t stop praying for the sickness healed
Don’t stop praying for His power revealed
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen
No, don’t stop praying for the kingdom come
Don’t stop praying that his will be done
Hallelujah, hallelujah and amen
Don’t stop praying
Don’t stop calling on Jesus name
Keep on pounding on heaven’s door
Let your knees wear out the floor
Don’t stop believing
‘Cause mountains move with just a little faith
And your Father’s heard every single word you’re saying
So, don’t stop praying
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Oh, don’t stop praying
(Don’t stop don’t stop praying)
Don’t you give up now (Oh)
No, don’t stop praying
Music by Matthew West performing “Don’t Stop Praying”
(C) 2024 Provident Label Group LLC, a division of Sony Music Entertainment
#MatthewWest #ChristianMusic #DontStopPraying
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/pray3.webp?fit=560%2C300&ssl=1300560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-06-20 06:30:002025-06-12 07:54:08Do Not Give Up Yet
Colossians 3:23–24 “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”
He had never been one to sit still.
Right out of high school, Cliff went straight to work at the GE factory. It was hard work—long hours, heavy lifting—but it felt good to build a life with his own hands. He stayed there for twenty years.
Until one day, it was over.
The shutdown had been looming for months, but nothing prepared him for that final walk out. There would be no more clocking in and no more steady paycheck. There was just a clean locker and a lot of unanswered questions.
He tried to stay ahead of it. He sent out applications and made phone calls, but doors stayed shut. When he sat down at the kitchen table that night, Cliff felt like he had let his family down.
He remembered something his pastor had said about trusting God to meet their needs, so he said a simple prayer. Just, “Lord, I need help.”
The next morning, the phone rang. It was his pastor. The janitor at church had just retired, and they needed someone to step in. They were also starting a building project and needed help managing it. It meant more hours, more responsibility, and more pay than Cliff had made at the factory.
He said yes.
At first, it just felt like a job. But over time, he began to see the fingerprints of God everywhere. It was there in the quiet early mornings before the lights came on and in the way people worshiped in a clean, welcoming space that felt safe.
And he realized something: this was ministry.
God does not waste any space He gives us to stand in. Whether you hold a Bible or a broom, you have a platform to serve people and point them to Jesus.
Believe me, you do not have to chase something “bigger” to make an impact.
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/05/church-janitor.webp?fit=560%2C300&ssl=1300560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-06-04 06:30:572025-05-24 19:04:19More Than Just a Job
Isaiah 41:10 – “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
There is something wonderfully chaotic about a hotel pool on a family vacation. The scent of chlorine and sunscreen mixes with the sound of kids laughing, adults chatting, and someone always yelling, “No running!”
That was our scene one afternoon at the beach. The sun was hot, the water was cool, and all of us—siblings, spouses, nephews, and grandparents—were soaking up that kind of joy you can’t plan. Just being together.
My nephews were at the shallow end, full of energy and daring. They would stand on the steps, and then swim out to whichever adult happened to be closest.
Except for the youngest.
He just started swimming lessons, and you could tell he was still learning what he could do. But when his dad got in the water, suddenly the water didn’t seem so scary.
That little boy launched himself off the step like it was the Olympics. His arms flailed, his legs kicked, and water splashed everywhere, but he knew exactly where he was going. More importantly, he trusted whose arms would always catch him if something went wrong.
Watching him, I realized how much I want to live like that.
There are moments when God asks us to step forward—into something new, unknown, maybe even intimidating. And our instinct is to hesitate, calculate the risks, stay safe on the steps. But if we really knew His character… if we really believed He would catch us… we would swim.
So what would it look like to trust God like a five-year-old? To believe, without hesitation, that He is there—and that He knows exactly how to catch you?
The water may feel deep, but trust me, He will not let you sink.
Psalms 37:5 – “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.”
That summer, I packed for camp hoping for a little break—one last deep breath before senior year swept in with all its questions. College applications, future plans, expectations from every direction—I was already feeling overwhelmed.
Towards the end of the week, I found myself standing among other campers in the sanctuary. The worship band played gentle music as the pastor delivered the closing of his sermon. Then he paused to let these words hang in the air.
“There is someone,” he said, “who needs to completely surrender their life plans to the Lord.”
I froze. My throat tightened. That was me.
Still, I didn’t rush to respond. I was scared. Surrender sounded beautiful in theory, but terrifying in practice. What if God’s plans were different than mine? What if surrender meant giving up something good?
Later, I sat across from my camp leader and let the tears come. I confessed I didn’t know what to do next. My mentor listened with compassion, guiding me through my doubts and helping me understand what true surrender meant.
It wasn’t about giving up my future; it was about trusting God with it, believing that He knew better than I ever could.
Looking back, it has not always been easy. Trusting God can be hard, especially when the future still feels so unknown. But over time, I have learned that surrender isn’t about giving up my dreams—it’s about trusting that He will guide me.
And for you? Maybe it is not your whole future you are wrestling with. Maybe it is just one decision. One burden. One thing you have gripped too tightly. What if your next right step is simply choosing to trust the One who has already seen the rest of your story—and loves you enough to walk with you every step of the way.
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/05/hands.webp?fit=560%2C300&ssl=1300560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-05-26 06:30:592025-05-24 07:57:49Why I Stopped Running My Life
Matthew 18:21-22 – Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
We weren’t trying to be extravagant. We just wanted to build a simple life together. So there we were, walking hand in hand through aisles of home goods, scanning dish towels and cutting boards, picturing a quiet little future—dinner at our own table, slow mornings, a couch we could call ours.
The joy was real. But I wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like to be given so much.
When the showers came, the gifts piled up faster than we could open them. We unwrapped things we had picked out together—yes—but each one felt different when it was placed in our hands by people who cared about us. I felt overwhelmed, honestly. Undeserving. These weren’t things we earned. They were acts of kindness. Unmerited gifts. And they taught me something before we ever used a single one.
Now, a few years in, marriage feels less like a gift registry and more like a full-time lesson in patience. Bills arrive. Communication gets messy. Some weekends feel more like negotiations than rest. And it turns out, even when you love someone deeply, forgiveness does not always come naturally.
But that’s what makes grace so powerful—it is still undeserved.
Two years into marriage, I still think about those boxes. We use the dishes. We burn the candle someone gave us. And we’ve also had the hard talks. The moments when we don’t see eye to eye. The ones where forgiveness is not easy or quick. It can feel easier to hold onto frustration than to lay it down.
But then I remember: someone once gave me something I didn’t deserve. And that someone else—Jesus— paid the ultimate price for me to receive it. Unmerited forgiveness.
That’s what forgiveness is. A gift. Not cheap, not convenient, and certainly not deserved. But freely given. And when I think about how deeply I’ve been forgiven, it softens something in me. It helps me step toward love again, even when pride wants to stay put.
You have the power to give someone what they didn’t earn—just like it was given to you. Grace does not ignore the hurt; it just refuses to be defined by it. What might happen if you gave that kind of love today?
[Verse 1]
I’ve been living in this house here
Since the day that I was born
These walls have seen me happy
But most of all they’ve seen me torn
They’ve heard the screaming matches
That made a family fall apart
They’ve had a front row seat
To the breaking of my heart
[Chorus 1]
Seven times, seventy times
I’ll do what it takes to make it right
I thought the pain was here to stay
But forgiveness made a way
Seven times, seventy times
There’s healing in the air tonight
I’m reaching up to pull it down
Gonna wrap it all around
[Verse 2]
I remember running down the hallway
Playin’ hide and seek
I didn’t know that I was searching
For someone to notice me
I felt alone and undiscovered
And old enough to understand
Just when I’m supposed to be learning to love
You let me down again
[Chorus 1]
Seven times, seventy times
I’ll do what it takes to make it right
I thought the pain was here to stay
But forgiveness made a way
Seven times, seventy times
There’s healing in the air tonight
I’m reaching up to pull it down
Gonna wrap it all around
[Bridge]
I lost count of the ways you let me down
But no matter how many times
You weren’t around
I’m alright now
God picked up my heart and helped me through
And shined a light on the one thing left to do
And that’s forgive you
I forgive you
[Interlude]
Seven times, seventy times
If that’s the cost, I’ll pay the price
[Chorus 2]
Seven times, seventy times
I’ll do what it takes to make it right
I thought the pain was here to stay
But forgiveness made a way
Seven times, seventy times
There’s healing in this house tonight
I’m reaching up to pull it down
Gonna wrap it all around
Yeah, I’m gonna wrap it all around
[Outro]
I’ve been living in this house here
Since the day that I was born
Ephesians 5:8 “For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.”
You know that feeling when you walk into a room and wonder if anyone would still like you if they knew the whole story? That was me. Smiling. Friendly. Just fine. But only on the outside.
Shame is strange like that. It disguises itself—sometimes as strength, other times as silence. For years, I carried pieces of my story around like they were too broken or too messy to hand over to anyone else.
That’s why I almost skipped my church’s women’s retreat. I had a long list of excuses—too tired, too busy, not really up for small talk. But something nudged me to say yes. Maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I thought I’d leave feeling spiritually recharged.
The weekend started simple enough. Casual conversations. Iced coffee in hand. A few laughs over who snored the loudest. I figured I could get through this just fine without ever being seen too deeply.
Then one woman stood up and shared her story. She was just…honest. Through tears in her eyes she shared about sin in her life. About pain she had walked through. About what she needed God to do in her life that weekend.
It was so brave.
Then one by one other women began to open up too. I watched in awe as the community of women prayed over each lady, believing God for breakthrough.
I hadn’t planned to say anything. But when the moment came, I opened up about the shame and guilt I had been carrying for so long.
And when the women circled around me and prayed, I felt something I never expected to—relief. It was a risk to speak it out loud, to tell the truth without knowing how it would land. But instead of judgment, they met me with compassion. Some of them even had stories like mine.
With everything laid out in the open, it felt like light finally reached the places I thought God could never touch. I hadn’t even realized how badly I needed it or how long I had been carrying it all alone.
Shame and guilt had kept me from forgiving myself and moving forward. They had kept me silent. But that moment when I said it out loud for the first time, it didn’t break me. It freed me.
You do not have to hide your story to protect others or to prove you have moved on. That is not freedom. Freedom is walking into the light, even if your voice shakes. It is trusting that your story—honest and messy—is still worth telling. Because when we bring our past and our pain into the light, healing can finally begin.
And if you’re still carrying yours alone—I hope you’ll risk sharing it. Not because it’s easy. But because healing begins when silence ends.
https://i0.wp.com/887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/05/Letting-Light-In.webp?fit=560%2C250&ssl=1250560Sarah Hallhttps://887thecross.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/2-2.pngSarah Hall2025-05-19 06:30:332025-05-15 20:15:44Letting the Light In
James 5:16 – “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.”
When my sister and I were younger, wrestling and shoving each other was just part of the fun. But one day, I pushed her a little too hard, and she fell straight into our bedroom wall, leaving a hole about two feet long.
We both froze, staring at the gaping hole in shock.
Instead of running straight to our parents, we thought we could solve it ourselves—by covering it up. We grabbed a blanket, tacked it to the wall, and convinced ourselves that no one would notice.
Of course, it did not take long for our parents to discover the mysterious, new wall decor. The truth came out, and though we got in trouble, that experience stuck with me. It is funny to look back on now, but it makes me think about how often I try to cover up my mistakes instead of facing them head-on.
In life, it can be tempting to try to hide our flaws and failures, hoping no one will see them. But God invites us to bring everything into the light.
Because when something is brought into the light, that’s where healing can begin. That is where truth grows. That is where God steps in—not to scold, but to redeem us.
So, today, please let your loved ones see the holes in your life. Let God see them too.
He already knows they are there. He’s not afraid of them, either, and He is making all things new.
