The Connection Corner
A daily source of encouragement and inspiration to connect your heart to hope and faith.
Daily Devotional
When Truth Turns the Car AroundMarch 6, 2026 - 7:00 am- Coffee‑Sized CompassionMarch 5, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Kindness That CarriesMarch 4, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Faith in the Field, Encourage BoldlyMarch 3, 2026 - 7:00 am
- One Song of HopeMarch 2, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Overwhelmed by GraceMarch 1, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Words Hurt, Truth HealsFebruary 28, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Hold Tight to What Matters MostFebruary 27, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Hooked on the Wrong ThingsFebruary 26, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Power With a PurposeFebruary 25, 2026 - 7:00 am
Heart of the Artist
- Words Hurt, Truth HealsFebruary 28, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Differences Become GiftsFebruary 14, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Holding On During Hard DaysJanuary 31, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Redeemer in the RuinsJanuary 24, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Jericho in My RearviewJanuary 18, 2026 - 7:00 am
Stories About Songs
- Words Hurt, Truth HealsFebruary 28, 2026 - 7:00 am
- The Shepherd and the Black SheepFebruary 15, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Differences Become GiftsFebruary 14, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Holding On During Hard DaysJanuary 31, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Redeemer in the RuinsJanuary 24, 2026 - 7:00 am
Little Letters and Lasting Love
Brenda Price, Daily DevotionalIt’s a normal morning at church. Kids squirm on the floor. Adults smile politely and sing as the offering bucket passes by.
Love is everywhere—sung about, projected in big letters on the screen. But most days, love still feels a little abstract. Hard to touch. You know?
In the middle of all that, someone suggests a simple idea. A few people in the church are sick, so why not ask the kids to draw pictures for them? Nothing flashy. Just construction paper, stick figures, and whatever words a child can spell.
Across town, Mr. Jacobs stares at a hospital ceiling that hasn’t changed in days. The room smells like antiseptic and plastic tubing. The clock ticks, but time feels stuck. Chemo drips slowly, and his body is exhausted.
Later, his nurse tapes something above his bed.
It’s small. A child’s drawing. Crooked hearts in bright colors that don’t stay inside the lines. But the words are clear:
“Don’t give up. Jesus loves you.”
Mr. Jacobs keeps it there. When the pain spikes. When the room feels lonely. He looks at it and remembers he is not forgotten. Love found him—scribbled in crayon by kids who cared.
At church later, a video shows him in his hospital bed, that picture still taped above him. He tells how it arrived on his hardest day, and how those simple words gave him strength.
The room goes still.
The kids sit up straighter. There isn’t a dry eye in the building. God’s comfort had traveled on paper, from one heart to another.
That’s exactly what Scripture describes:
Comfort was never meant to be stored up. It’s meant to move—to circulate from God, through us, to someone else. Sometimes it comes through deep conversations. Other times, through shaky handwriting and paper hearts.
Love doesn’t need to be complicated, expensive, or impressive. It simply asks us to notice who’s hurting and dare to show up. A note. A drawing. A text.
That kind of love still travels. And when it does, God’s comfort goes farther than we ever imagined.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
Love Looks Like a Cookie
Bri Dunn, Daily DevotionalEight minutes down the road is when the panic hits.
Kathy had done all the usual prep: shoes on, snacks packed, car loaded. And please—did everyone go to the bathroom? Her daughter Ava nodded. They were ready for their weekend adventure.
Except… guess what?
Unmistakable and urgent, Ava’s voice calls from the back seat. She can’t wait. She can’t hold it.
Parents—if you know, you know.
They pull off at the next exit, and the closest option is a Subway. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. Kathy hustles Ava inside, heart racing as they rush through the door.
Then the clerk looks up.
“The bathroom’s for paying customers only.”
Kathy’s stomach drops. Her wallet is still in the car. There isn’t time to explain or apologize. Panic presses in—and then, before she can scramble or fall apart, kindness interrupts.
Two young men standing nearby step forward without hesitation. Their voices are calm and certain. They say they’ll take care of it. They buy Ava a cookie, and just like that, she’s a paying customer.
Ava rushes to the bathroom, and suddenly everything is right in the world again.
While they wait, Kathy learns the young men’s names—Latavious and Jalen. She learns they’re football players from the University of Georgia.
To them, it was probably nothing. A few dollars. A cookie. But to her, it was everything. It was being seen in a moment of stress. It was someone stepping in when she couldn’t fix it fast enough.
Scripture gives language to moments like this:
That’s what real love looks like when it’s written deep in someone’s heart. It shows up instinctively. Practically. Without needing applause.
Sometimes love doesn’t look like roses or grand gestures. Sometimes it looks like a cookie in a Subway—offered at exactly the right moment.
As this season fills with Valentine’s cards and big displays, this story reminds us that real love is still alive and well. God’s love is often revealed through ordinary people who choose to notice and act.
So carry kindness close. Keep it ready. Spend it freely.
You never know how much a simple gesture might change everything.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
From Bully to Brave
Daily Devotional, Jeff ConnellI’ve never been to a high school reunion. Not once. Not even close.
My high school is in Washington State, outside Seattle, but I moved away after college. Every reunion somehow landed just out of reach. I’d be home visiting my parents weeks before or after—but never on time.
So I don’t have reunion stories of my own. But I’ve always liked the idea of revisiting where we’ve come from.
I came across a story online from a man who did attend his twentieth reunion. He didn’t romanticize it.
“In high school, I was a bully,” he admitted. “I was cruel. Mean. Hard to like.” Then he added the hardest truth—he didn’t like himself either. His home life was painful, so he hurt others so he wouldn’t feel hurt alone.
When the invitation came, he was nervous. He decided to go with one purpose: to apologize. “You’ll never address what you don’t confess,” he told himself. He knew forgiveness wasn’t guaranteed. Some people might not want to see him, and some wounds couldn’t be undone. He barely slept the night before he went.
When he arrived at the school auditorium, he sought out the people he knew he had unfinished business with. One by one, he owned what he had done—no excuses, no explanations. Just apologies.
To his surprise, most of them forgave him. Some barely remembered the details. Others remembered clearly—and still chose grace.
They told him how much his apology meant. How glad they were that he came. By the end of the night, the regret and shame that had followed him for years began to lift—not because the past had changed, but because mercy met him there.
That story reminded me of how God deals with us.
In Nehemiah, the prophet looks back over Israel’s long history of rebellion and failure and declares this truth about God:
A forgiving God. Patient. Compassionate. Overflowing with love. A God who does not walk away—even when we give Him every reason to.
What those classmates offered in a crowded auditorium—God has offered us all along. Not denial. Grace. Not pretending the damage never happened, but forgiveness that restores. Mercy doesn’t erase the past, but it does free the one who receives it.
We carry our mistakes and regrets quietly, assuming it’s too late or that we’re stuck. But God doesn’t wait decades to respond. He meets honesty and repentance with mercy—every time.
So maybe today isn’t about revisiting the past. Maybe it’s about releasing it. Letting grace meet the parts of your story you’ve been running from. Freedom begins there, shaping how you live, how you love, and how you extend that same mercy to others.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT