The Song After the Silence

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John 16:33 — In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

Jeremy Camp sat on the edge of the couch with his guitar across his lap. The weight of grief pressed heavily on his chest, a pain so deep that it left him breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to play anything, much less feel anything.

Growing up, Jeremy saw the power of prayer when his family was in need. Bags of groceries would appear on their doorstep when they had nothing. Those moments were teaching him to trust God, preparing him for a far greater trial.

Back then he didn’t think much of it. Now he could see how those little rescues had shaped him, teaching him that God didn’t always explain Himself, but He always showed up.

Moving to California had been a leap of faith he couldn’t quite justify, except that he felt pulled there. That’s where he met Melissa. She didn’t talk about faith like she was trying to impress anyone. But she spoke about it like it was just part of her. She was so steady and rooted in the Lord.

Even when the word cancer entered her life, the diagnosis would not hinder their love story. They got married anyway, choosing each other in the middle of uncertainty.

Their honeymoon was sweet, but there were moments — brief ones — when she’d press a hand to her stomach and try to wave off her pain. They didn’t dwell on it. They were twenty‑something and in love and trying to believe the best.

When they got home, the news hit hard. The cancer had spread.

Suddenly everything was measured in weeks. They prayed. They hoped. They did everything they knew to do. And four and a half months after they said their vows, Melissa was gone.

In the aftermath, twenty-two-year-old Jeremy was left sitting in that room that felt too big without her. He asked God why. He didn’t know what else to say. But no answers came. There was just a sense that he was supposed to trust God even without explanations.

He finally let his fingers fall onto the strings. A melody came out. It was unfiltered and raw about both the pain he felt and the trust he had in God. The words were, “I will walk by faith, even when I cannot see.”

It became the lyrics to his future hit song, I Still Believe. And just like those lyrics, we know that trusting God means knowing His character. Scripture puts it another way: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.”

This isn’t a story about understanding pain. It’s about learning to trust in the middle of it. Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it. And sometimes the most you can do is take the next step with open hands and let God meet you right where you are.

Jesus never promised us a life without pain. In fact, He promised the opposite. “In this world you will have tribulation.” But He also promised something stronger—that He has already overcome the very world that wounds us.

Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where are you being asked to trust God right now, even without answers?
  • What pain are you carrying that you haven’t yet placed in Jesus’ hands?
  • What would it look like to take heart today—not because life is easy, but because Jesus has already overcome?

 

L Y R I C S

Scattered words and empty thoughts
Seem to pour from my heart
I’ve never felt so torn before
Seems I don’t know where to start
But it’s now that I feel Your grace fall like rain
From every fingertip, washing away my pain

I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your holy word
Even when I don’t see, I still believe

Though the questions still fog up my mind
With promises I still seem to bear
Even when answers slowly unwind
It’s my heart I see You prepare

The only place I can go is into your arms
Where I throw to you my feeble prayers
In brokenness I can see that this was Your will for me
Help me to know that You are near

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Strong Enough to Need Him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

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

L Y R I C S

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

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

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

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

For the both of us
Yeah

Well, maybe
Maybe that’s the point

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Learning to Welcome Jesus

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Revelation 3:20 — Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.

My dad surrendered his life to Jesus when I was about seven, and everything changed in our house. He started taking us to church and singing in the choir. One of my biggest memories of his singing was Christmas — because he was always in the church Christmas musical.

As much as I loved hearing my dad, my favorite singer was Mr. Roy Reynolds, the church bass. When he sang, he would curl his lower lip and rumble out these deep notes you could feel in your chest. As a kid, he was my favorite to watch because of all the funny faces he made.

Every Christmas, Mr. Roy played the innkeeper — which was huge to me — because he sang a solo called “No Room.”

Our musical had one of the deacons and a sweet lady from church dressed as Joseph and Mary — bathrobes, cloths over their heads, and a baby doll in their arms. They would walk from door to door on the set, knocking, hoping someone had space for them.

Then they’d reach the inn. Mr. Roy would step out, chest high and voice booming with joy because he knew his one line was coming:

“NO ROOM!”

As a kid, I thought the innkeeper was the villain. I imagined him wearing a black hat like in old westerns — the man who turned away Jesus. Jesus came to save the world, and this guy put Him in a barn.

It made all of us feel better about ourselves. We’d never turn away Jesus… right?

But years later, after I’d grown in faith, I realized the innkeeper wasn’t a bad guy. He was just… a guy. Busy. Overwhelmed. Trying to handle life. And when the holy moment knocked on his door, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.

I told a pastor this story once. He smiled and said, “You know… the innkeeper gave Him a place. He just didn’t give Him the place.”

And suddenly Revelation 3:20 took on a whole new meaning: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock…”

The innkeeper didn’t reject Jesus with malice. He just didn’t make room for Him. He offered something — but not his best.

And if I’m honest, I see myself in him more than I’d like to admit.

This Christmas, as the calendar fills and the urgency of life crowds in… how willing am I to stop and make room for Jesus? Not just a place — but the place?

— Mark Hall, CASTING CROWNS

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  1. Where in your life do you feel “crowded” — emotionally, mentally, or spiritually — making it harder to slow down and notice Jesus knocking?
  2. What would it look like to give Jesus not just a place in your day, but the place?
  3. Think of a time when you almost missed something meaningful because you were busy. How might that relate to letting Jesus in more fully this season?
  4. Are there habits, distractions, or pressures that are keeping you from opening the door more widely to Him?
  5. How might you intentionally create space for Jesus — in your home, your schedule, your relationships — as you move through the Christmas season?
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Listen to the Bells of Hope

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Psalms 31:7-8 — I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me in a safe place.

The fire consumed everything. His wife’s screams still haunted Henry’s mind. That was two years ago, but grief has no calendar. Sitting in his study on Christmas morning, Henry’s world still felt like ash.

War raged across the nation, and his eldest son, Charles, was recovering from a near-fatal bullet wound. The bells outside chimed peace on earth, goodwill to men, but they only deepened his bitterness. How could those words ring true in a world like this?

Yet the bells refused to stop. They tolled relentlessly, refusing to be ignored. Listening, he felt it—a faint, rebellious hope.

That morning, he took up a pen—not because he had answers, but because he had to confront the questions. As he wrote, the words to the now famous carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Morning” came slowly, painfully:

“Then rang the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.’”

This Christmastime, may those same bells find you too. When grief feels endless and joy feels far away, listen. Hope has a sound—it’s faint at first, but it grows stronger the longer you lean in.

The psalmist once wrote, “I will be glad and rejoice in Your unfailing love, for You have seen my troubles, and You care about the anguish of my soul.”

Maybe that’s what Henry heard that morning—the reminder that God had seen it all. And maybe this Christmas, it’s time for us to believe it again. To let hope keep ringing, not because the pain has ended, but because it hasn’t taken us under.

Because even now, hope will not let us go.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can you recognize God’s care in moments of grief or hardship?
  • In what ways can hope grow even when circumstances feel overwhelming?
  • How might you share encouragement with someone facing a difficult season, inspired by Henry’s story?

Heard The Bells On Christmas

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
In my heart I hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on Earth, ” I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir singing (peace on Earth)
Does anybody hear them? (Peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
(Peace on Earth)
(Peace on Earth)
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on Earth, good will to men

Then ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells, they’re ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
And with our hearts, we’ll hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells, they’re ringing? (Peace on Earth)
The light, the angels singing (peace on Earth)
Open up your heart and hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth, good will to men

 

TRADITIONAL VERSION:

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The Power of a Hallelujah

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Psalm 31:21 — Praise the Lord, for he has shown me the wonders of his unfailing love. He kept me safe when my city was under attack.

The beeping was the first sound Joel heard every morning. Beep. Beep. Beep. Each one a cruel reminder that his little boy, Jaxon, was still fighting for his life. Tubes, wires, blinking lights. These are the kind of things that make a father feel helplessly small.

The doctors called it “hemolytic uremic syndrome” (HUS) which is an illness that can lead to seizures and kidney failure.

Somewhere, a nurse whispered into her radio. Monitors flickered. But Joel Taylor barely noticed. The doctors had run out of answers, and Joel and his wife had run out of prayers that made sense. They prayed bold ones, desperate ones, and quiet ones whispered at three in the morning.

Still, the sickness held on.

Back home, their friends from Bethel Church got the call. Jonathan and Melissa Helser didn’t know what to say, so they did what musicians often do when words fall short.

They worshipped.

Jonathan sat at his piano, hands trembling, heart sinking, and sang a melody he hadn’t planned to write. It came out like a battle cry against despair:

“I raise a hallelujah in the presence of my enemies.”

He sent the recording to Joel, who clung to it like oxygen. Joel played it again and again at Jaxon’s bedside, letting the melody fill the sterile air.

And slowly, against every medical prediction, Jaxon began to heal. By January, the Taylors brought their little boy home again.

Today, that same spontaneous song is sung by millions around the world, but to the Taylors, it will always be Jaxon’s song.

And that’s what “Raise a Hallelujah” really is. Not a chart-topper. Not a miracle formula. Just a defiant act of trust from a father who choose to believe that heaven was listening.

The psalmist once wrote, “Blessed be the Lord, for He has shown His steadfast love to me when I was in a besieged city.” That verse tells the truth of Joel’s story. In that hospital room, surrounded by machines, fear, and exhaustion, God’s love broke through.

So, when your own night feels long, and you’re not sure what tomorrow holds, do what Joel did. Turn your fear into a hallelujah.

Because sometimes, the truest act of faith isn’t what you say after the storm. It’s the song you dare to sing while it’s still raging.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How have you experienced God’s steadfast love during a season of fear or uncertainty?
  • What “hallelujah” could you lift in the middle of your current storm?
  • In what ways can you trust God even when the outcome seems impossible?

Lyrics:

Verse 1
I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, Heaven comes to fight for me

Chorus
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive

Verse 2
I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me

Bridge
Sing a little louder
In the presence of my enemies
Sing a little louder
Louder than the unbelief
Sing a little louder
My weapon is a melody
Sing a little louder
Heaven comes to fight for me

Tag
I raise a hallelujah

Written by:
Jonathan David Helser | Melissa Helser | Molly Skaggs | Jake Stevens

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Transforming Heartbreak Into Worship

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Psalm 34:1 — I will praise the Lord at all times. I will constantly speak his praises.

The studio was quiet that morning. It was not the peaceful kind of quiet. This was the heavy kind that hangs in the air when no one quite knows what to say. Tasha Layton sat with her co-writers, the weight of yesterday still settling in.

Their friend Jonathan had just been diagnosed with cancer. The shock had not yet worn off.

She stared at the blank page before her, praying words would come. Music had always been a way she talked to God, but this time, she did not know where to begin.

The ache was too real, the hope too fragile. Someone suggested they just write from where they were—from the hurt, the hope, the uncertainty.

So they began. Slowly at first. A few chords. A few tears. The song that formed was not a declaration of victory but a cry of surrender. “We were holding the weight of grief,” she later said, “but still believing in a miracle-working God.”

When they finished, they sent the song to Jonathan. He listened from his hospital bed, and though his body weakened in the months that followed, his faith remained strong.

In the end, the miracle came—but not the one they had expected. Jonathan’s healing did not happen on this side of heaven.

Yet somehow, the song did not lose its purpose.

It deepened. It became less about outcomes and more about presence. It was less about God’s many miracles, and more about who He is. For Tasha, it became an anthem for those who stand in the middle of pain and still lift their hands anyway.

She often thinks of the words from Psalm 34:1, “I will bless the Lord at all times.” They remind her that worship is not reserved for the mountaintop moments but for every season, even the ones that break your heart.

Now, when she sings “Worship Through It,” it is not a performance—it is a prayer. A reminder that real faith often sounds like gratitude whispered through tears. And perhaps the truest kind of transformation is found there—in the valley, where thankfulness still rises.

This Thanksgiving, maybe that is where we begin too. Not by waiting for everything to be right, but by choosing to bless the Lord right where we are—and letting that gratitude change us from within.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has worship felt the hardest for you, and how did God meet you in that moment?
  • What does it mean to “bless the Lord at all times,” even in seasons of loss or uncertainty?
  • How can gratitude and praise become an act of surrender when you don’t understand what God is doing?
  • Think of someone you know who is walking through pain—how could your encouragement help them “worship through it”?
  • What might change in your heart if you chose to worship through the struggle instead of waiting until it’s over?

L Y R I C S

This looks impossible
But You’re the God of impossible
And I’ve seen your faithfulness all over my life
I need a miracle
And You’re the God of miracles
Some way, somehow You come through every time

Chorus
I know my God can do it
So, I’m gonna worship through it
Before I see my breakthrough
I’m gonna choose to praise You

I will sing hallelujah to the one
Who can do what the world says can’t be done
I know my God can do it
So, I’m gonna worship through it

In the middle of my no way out
In the middle of my don’t know how
I hear You whisper to me “peace be still”
This is why I believe
You will deliver me
You always have and you always will
You always have and you always will

I won’t wait ‘til the rocks cry out
I’m gonna praise You
I won’t wait till the walls come down
I’m gonna praise You
(Gonna) Lift my hands right here, right now
I’m gonna praise You
Oh God I praise You!

Written by Tasha Layton, Keith Everette Smith, Matthew West, AJ Pruis

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Jesus Seen Through Us

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Ephesians 5:1-2 — Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ. He loved us and offered Himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God.

I can still see her face.

She was a young girl from Venezuela—quiet, reserved, sitting among a crowd of American teenagers who barely noticed her.

She had come with a visiting missions team to help us prepare for a trip to her country. Later, I learned she didn’t even own proper clothes for the journey. Someone had to buy her something suitable to wear.

That Wednesday night, she slipped into our youth group meeting and took a seat in the back. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Eyes down.

No one greeted her. Not one person leaned over to ask her name. Conversations carried on like they always did—some girls whispered about what others were wearing, others laughed about their plans for Friday night.

And there she sat—still, quiet, listening. Then, when the music started, she watched as all those same girls who had ignored her moments before raised their hands high in worship.

It’s funny—Ephesians 5:1–2 tells us to “Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ.” That night, I realized how easy it is to worship with our lips but forget to love with our actions.

Later, her team leader invited her to speak. She walked to the front, her steps soft but sure, and began to pray in Spanish. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with reverence. Every word seemed to hum with sincerity, filling the room. Even without a translation, we could feel it.

Then she began to speak in English—clear, gentle, and steady. And the room went still. That’s when it hit us: she had heard everything said earlier. Every careless word. Every unkind comment.

Yet there she stood—with grace.

Her voice was warm. Her message hopeful. She spoke of love, of faith, of service, and invited us to come to her country.

That moment changed me. I saw how easy it is to talk about God’s love without actually showing it. Her faith wasn’t something she wore—it was something she lived.

Real faith isn’t proven by what we say or sing. It’s proven by how we love the person standing right in front of us. Because when we love like that young woman did, we’re imitating the heart of Jesus Himself—the One who loved us first and offered Himself completely for us.

That’s where people begin to see Jesus for who He really is.

— Mark Hall, Casting Crowns

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever missed an opportunity to show love because you were focused elsewhere? How might God be calling you to slow down and see people this week?
  • Ephesians 5:1–2 invites us to “live a life filled with love.” What does that look like in practical terms in your home, workplace, or church?
  • When was the last time you saw someone live out Christ’s love in a way that challenged or inspired you?
  • How can you make your faith visible through kindness, humility, or inclusion today?
  • Who in your life might need to feel God’s love through your actions right now?

L Y R I C S

It’s crowded in worship today
As she slips in trying to fade into the faces
The girls’ teasing laughter is carrying farther than they know
Farther than they know

But if we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?
‘Cause there is a way

A traveler is far away from home
And he sheds His coat and quietly sinks into the back row
The weight of their judgmental glances
Tells him that His chances are better out on the road

But if we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?

‘Cause Jesus paid much too high a price
For us to pick and choose who should come
We are the body of Christ

If we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?
Jesus is the way
Ooh, ooh
Jesus is the way
Ooh, ooh

Writers: Mark Hall

© 2003 My Refuge Music / Be Essential Songs (BMI)

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Jesus Seen Through Us

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Ephesians 5:1-2 — Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ. He loved us and offered Himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God.

I can still see her face.

She was a young girl from Venezuela—quiet, reserved, sitting among a crowd of American teenagers who barely noticed her.

She had come with a visiting missions team to help us prepare for a trip to her country. Later, I learned she didn’t even own proper clothes for the journey. Someone had to buy her something suitable to wear.

That Wednesday night, she slipped into our youth group meeting and took a seat in the back. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Eyes down.

No one greeted her. Not one person leaned over to ask her name. Conversations carried on like they always did—some girls whispered about what others were wearing, others laughed about their plans for Friday night.

And there she sat—still, quiet, listening. Then, when the music started, she watched as all those same girls who had ignored her moments before raised their hands high in worship.

It’s funny—Ephesians 5:1–2 tells us to “Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ.” That night, I realized how easy it is to worship with our lips but forget to love with our actions.

Later, her team leader invited her to speak. She walked to the front, her steps soft but sure, and began to pray in Spanish. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with reverence. Every word seemed to hum with sincerity, filling the room. Even without a translation, we could feel it.

Then she began to speak in English—clear, gentle, and steady. And the room went still. That’s when it hit us: she had heard everything said earlier. Every careless word. Every unkind comment.

Yet there she stood—with grace.

Her voice was warm. Her message hopeful. She spoke of love, of faith, of service, and invited us to come to her country.

That moment changed me. I saw how easy it is to talk about God’s love without actually showing it. Her faith wasn’t something she wore—it was something she lived.

Real faith isn’t proven by what we say or sing. It’s proven by how we love the person standing right in front of us. Because when we love like that young woman did, we’re imitating the heart of Jesus Himself—the One who loved us first and offered Himself completely for us.

That’s where people begin to see Jesus for who He really is.

— Mark Hall

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever missed an opportunity to show love because you were focused elsewhere? How might God be calling you to slow down and see people this week?
  • Ephesians 5:1–2 invites us to “live a life filled with love.” What does that look like in practical terms in your home, workplace, or church?
  • When was the last time you saw someone live out Christ’s love in a way that challenged or inspired you?
  • How can you make your faith visible through kindness, humility, or inclusion today?
  • Who in your life might need to feel God’s love through your actions right now?
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Telling Troubles to Take a Hike

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2 Thessalonians 3:3 — But the Lord is faithful; He will strengthen you and guard you from the evil one.

Some mornings test your faith before the coffee’s even brewed.

It was Sunday. I had been invited to speak at Stark Baptist Church, and I wanted to show up calm, confident, and put together. But my new old house had other ideas.

I had only moved in the night before, and as I stood in the bathroom with my curling iron in hand, I realized there was no outlet. Not one. And to top it off, there was not even a mirror.

I stared at the empty wall like it had betrayed me. Then I texted my friend Leslie, who is a hairdresser. She’s the kind of woman who can fix anything.

“Bring every tool you own,” I told her. “I’m getting ready at the church.”

She sent back about ten laughing emojis, and I tried to laugh too. But that laugh stopped when I walked outside. My car tire was flat as a pancake.

I stood there in my driveway, looking at it like it might un-flatten out of guilt.

“Really?” I said. “This is how we’re starting the day?”

Leslie called. “Girl, you better start singing that song ‘Get Behind Me.’”

So, I did. Right there, still in my driveway, I sang Emerson Day’s lyric’s out loud. I even threw in, “Not today, Satan. Not tomorrow either. Move along, Sparky.”

And just like that, something in me unclenched. The morning didn’t change. I still had a flat tire, no mirror, and a talk to give, but my heart did feel peace. The worry lost its grip, and the humor came back.

Sometimes faith looks like standing in your driveway with a flat tire, choosing to laugh instead of panic. Sometimes it looks like telling trouble to take a hike.

I made it to church that day. But more than that, I made it through the morning without losing my peace—and that, I think, is the kind of victory worth holding onto.

2 Thessalonians 3:3 says, “But the Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one.”

So, friend, when your day starts falling apart, just take a breath. Find your footing and tell trouble where to go. And keep your peace right where it belongs.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Think about a recent morning or moment that didn’t go as planned. How did you respond—panic, frustration, or peace?
  • 2 Thessalonians 3:3 reminds us that “the Lord is faithful.” How have you seen God’s faithfulness guard or steady you when things felt chaotic?
  • When life feels like one thing after another, what helps you keep your peace anchored in God rather than your circumstances?
  • Humor played a big role in Tammi’s story—how might joy and laughter be an act of faith in your own challenges?
  • What practical “not today, Satan” step could you take this week when things start to fall apart—something that helps you pause, breathe, and choose peace?

Lyrics:

When fear like a viper strikes
And worry starts to creep
I know that ain’t my Father’s voice
I could only be
That liar in my ear
Trying to make me believe
But I’m calling him out in the name of the Lord
Listen when I speak

Devil get behind me
Run on home
Back to the grave where you belong
In case you forgot
Let me tell you the truth
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots!
Devil get behind me
You got no hold
I’ve been changed by the Holy Ghost
Try all you want but it ain’t no use
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots

Get behind me!
Get behind me! Devil get behind me!

The same power that raised my Savior
Is the power that lives in me
So if you wanna pick a fight
You better think twice
Cause He’s got an angel army!

Devil get behind me
Run on home
Back to the grave where you belong
In case you forgot
Let me tell you the truth
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots!
Devil get behind me
You got no hold
I’ve been changed by the Holy Ghost
Try all you want but it ain’t no use
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots

Get behind me!
Get behind me!
Devil get behind me!
In the name of the Lord
In the name of the Lord

Devil get behind me in the name of the Lord
Devil get behind me in the name of the Lord
Devil get behind me in the name of the Lord
In the name of the Lord!

Devil get behind me
Run on home
Back to the grave where you belong
Just in case you forgot the truth
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots!
Devil get behind me
You got no hold
I’ve been changed by the Holy Ghost
Try all you want but it ain’t no use
You’re stuck under my blood-bought boots

Get behind me!
Get behind me!
Devil get behind me!
In the name of the Lord!

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God Is Always in Your Story

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Jeremiah 29:11 – “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD. “They are plans for good and not disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

I have loved singing for as long as I can remember. Music was always my dream, but life had other plans that led me through twists I never expected.

I was born with congenital scoliosis, a rare and progressive condition that stacked the odds against me early on.

Because of everything I went through, I thought I would make an impact through the medical field. That seemed like the best way for me to make a comfortable life that also helped others in pain.

When I was fourteen, I had back surgery to correct my spine. Doctors placed metal rods and screws along my back to straighten it. They told me it had a high success rate, but when I woke up, I was in excruciating pain.

The physical pain was unbearable, but the emotional weight was worse. Anxiety and depression became this smoke cloud I could not see through. I started to believe this would be my life forever.

One day, I reached for a bottle of pills and thought, “It would be that easy.”

I told God I just wanted to be with Him where it was safe and I did not have to hurt anymore. But as I carried that bottle to the bathroom, it fell from my hand and spilled everywhere. In that moment, I felt God’s presence so strongly. It was as if He whispered, “Hold on, I am not done yet.”

I threw the pills away and clung to those words. I had nothing left but a tiny seed of faith to hold onto, and that faith kept me alive.

I held tightly to Jeremiah 29:11 on a tattered prayer card that reminded me God’s plan was still good. It says, “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

After countless appointments, my surgeon offered a risky option—to remove the rods and screws. I said yes. When I woke up from that second surgery, the dark cloud was gone and light returned to my world.

I went on to finish my medical assisting certification, but deep down, something had changed.

Comfort no longer felt like the goal.

God was calling me to trust Him instead of my plans. So, I started writing songs and leading worship so people could see a sparkle of God’s hope in their own stories, the way I found it in mine.

When I sing “God Is in This Story,” I mean it. I’ve lived it. If you’re walking through pain or uncertainty right now, please know this. God hasn’t forgotten you. Even when the chapters feel dark, His light is still there, waiting to break through.

You may not see it yet, but one day, you’ll look back and see that He was in every line and on every page because God can step into the darkest moments and turn them into something beautiful.

— Katy Nichole

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Think about a time when your life felt uncertain or overwhelming. How might God have been working behind the scenes in that situation?
  • How does Jeremiah 29:11 encourage you to trust God’s plan for your future, even when you cannot see the outcome?
  • What “tiny seeds of faith” do you hold onto during difficult seasons? How can you nurture them to grow stronger?
  • How could your story of perseverance and faith encourage someone else walking through pain or uncertainty?
  • Are there areas of your life where you need to release control and trust God’s plan more fully?

Lyrics:

There’s torn up pages in this book
Words that tell me I’m no good
Chapters that defined me for so long
But the hands of grace and endless love
Dusted off and picked me up
Told my heart that hope is never gone

God is in this story
God is in the details
Even in the broken parts
He holds my heart, He never fails
When I’m at my weakest
I will trust in Jesus
Always in the highs and lows
The One who goes before me
God is in this story

So if the storm you’re walking through
Feels like it’s too much, and you
Wonder if He even cares at all
Hold on tight to what you know
He promised He won’t let you go
Your song of healing’s written in His scars

God is in this story
God is in the details
Even in the broken parts
He holds my heart, He never fails
When I’m at my weakest
I will trust in Jesus
Always in the highs and lows
The One who goes before me
God is in this story

If it reads like addiction
If it reads like disease
He’s the One who frees the prisoner
He’s the healer of all things
If it reads like depression
If it reads broken home
He’s the One who holds your sorrow
He won’t leave you here alone

God is in this story
God is in the details
Even in the broken parts
He holds my heart, He never fails
When I’m at my weakest
I will trust in Jesus
Always in the highs and lows
The One who goes before me
God is in this story

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