The Connection Corner

Stand in the Gap

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

I’ll never forget the day my son, Alvin III, announced he was moving to Australia.

He was in his mid-twenties. Sharp-minded. Kind-hearted. Talented.

He had earned a music degree and was passionate about writing and producing. He entered competitions, wrote secular music, and spent his free time with people who didn’t love Jesus. No, he wasn’t running wild, but he wasn’t walking toward the Light either.

So, he packed his bags and left Nashville for Melbourne—a move that felt like a whole world away from everything we had taught him.

I wanted to reach across oceans and pull him back. But I couldn’t. And that’s when I realized I was fighting a battle I couldn’t see with my eyes. I prayed every day that God would watch over him.

My son later told me, “Mom, I told God, ‘Whoever gets me first, You or the Devil, that’s the way I’m going to go.”

Had I known that at the time, my heart would have sunk, but in hindsight, I’m grateful I didn’t. It forced me to keep praying in faith, not in fear. And it reminded me of what’s really at stake. We’re not battling bad decisions. We’re standing between our loved ones and an enemy who wants their hearts.

The older I get, the more I believe it’s true: there’s a real war waging over the next generation. It’s not obvious at first glance, but underneath the distractions, anxiety, self-doubt, and silence, there’s a tug-of-war for their souls.

That’s where we come in.

You and I—we are the gap-standers. We hold the line when our kids feel nothing. We pray when they don’t want us to. We fast when we don’t see results. We speak life even when their choices break our hearts.

So don’t give up. Suit up.

There’s a battle raging, and your prayers may be the very thing that tips the scale.

— CeCe Winans

Lyrics:

Sometimes I fall to my knees and pray
Come Jesus come
Let today be the day
Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna break
But I’m holding on
To a hope that won’t fade

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come

There’ll be no war
And there’ll be no chains
When Jesus comes
Let today be the day
He’ll come for the weak
And the strong just the same
And all will believe
In the power of His name

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around (turn this around)
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come

One day He’ll come
And we’ll stand face to face
Come and lay it all down
Cause it might be today
The time is right now
There’s no need to wait
Your past will be wash by rivers of grace

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around (turn this around)
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come

July 3, 2025/by David Hall

Living Beyond the Hurt

Daily Devotional, Linda Meyers

Ephesians 4:31-32 – “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Some men age by the calendar. Bruce Seaver aged by what he survived.

He doesn’t talk about it much, but he was 31 when they shot him out of the sky. The year was 1965, and the Vietnam War had no end in sight. What followed wasn’t strategy or tactics—it was just survival. Bruce spent over seven years in captivity.

His is not the kind of story people expect. There’s no big climax, no revenge, and no sweeping rescue. Just long days, empty stomachs, and a slow-burning resolve. Faith, Bruce says, is what kept him sane.

When he finally came home in 1973, the word “hero” followed him like a shadow. He still squirms when he is called one.

“No,” he said, voice even, “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The real heroes are the ones who didn’t come home.”

He could’ve come back angry. Some did. But Bruce chose to leave bitterness behind. Back home in West Monroe, he didn’t lash out or preach. Instead, he hugged his wife, kissed his daughters, and started living again.

In a world that insists that bitterness is strength and paints forgiveness as weakness, Bruce showed a different kind of courage. It’s one the world doesn’t quite know what to do with. He said it best: “I just want to focus on time gained, not time lost.”

At ninety-one, he still swims thirty minutes every morning—not to outrun the past but to stay grounded in the present. And maybe that’s the truest kind of hero: the one who is mistreated and never lets it twist his heart.

So, friend, what might it look like for you to stop clinging to what hurt you and choose what heals instead?

July 2, 2025/by Linda Meyers

Let Wonder Wash Over You

Daily Devotional, David Hall

Psalms 93:4 – “Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!”

It is funny how some moments live forever in your bones.

When I was young, Caney Lake felt like home. My grandfather’s porch overlooked it, and we spent slow, golden hours there watching birds soar and listening to old gospel songs crackle through his radio. We did not say much. We did not need to. The water did the talking.

But it wasn’t until years later that I realized how much I’d missed.

It was Independence Day, and we piled onto my great-uncle’s pontoon to watch fireworks from the lake. As the boat drifted into open water, the sky burst into a thousand colors, but my eyes kept drifting to the water below—how far it stretched, how deep it ran. The lake I thought I knew was bigger than I ever imagined.

That night, I understood I had always admired the surface—the sun dancing on the water, the reflections of the trees—but I’d never stopped to consider the depths. Floating above that mystery, I felt breathtakingly small.

Wonder washed over me, and I realized I was looking at something that went far beyond my understanding. It was a glimpse of something holy, a gentle reminder that I was part of a story much bigger than myself.

That feeling never left me. It reminded me that creation itself is a love letter from its Maker. Every leaf, every wave, every sunrise—each one points back to the God who formed it into being. But it’s so easy to just focus on the surface (our schedules, our worries, our comforts) and miss the wonder that’s all around us.

That night taught me creation is more than just a backdrop to our lives. It’s an open invitation to pause, to breathe, and to let wonder stir our hearts to gratitude. I want to be the kind of person who sees the fingerprints of God in the everyday, who lets wonder guide me back to the Creator who holds it all together.

Maybe you need that too. Maybe we all do—to trade the safe shoreline for the deep places where wonder can find us again.

July 1, 2025/by David Hall