The Connection Corner

Lessons From a Cast Iron Skillet

Ephesians 6:2-3 — “Honor your father and mother (this is the first commandment with a promise), that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.”

I was standing at the stove last night, stirring a pot, when it hit me like a freight train wrapped in butter and memory. Food is my love language, you see, and it took me back.

Daddy used to come home after long days working the fields in Tallulah. He would be covered in dust and sweat and still manage to whip up the best meal you ever had. He could tickle your taste buds and your funny bone, all in one sitting. Especially with his scrambled eggs.

Saturday mornings, he would make a batch so creamy and seasoned just right, they practically melted on your tongue. They weren’t dry and crumbly like most folks make. No, these were something special, and if you were lucky, he would crack a joke while he was cracking the eggs.

I did not care one bit about learning to cook back then. I was a tomboy, all elbows and skinned knees, with no interest in the stove, but I never missed a meal. Not once. Now, years later, I find myself standing in a kitchen, doing the very thing I once ran from. Somewhere between the recipe cards and the frying pans, I came full circle.

Billy Ray Arender is not here anymore, and if this daddy’s girl could walk into that kitchen again and ask him what he was cooking, I would, a hundred times over. But I can’t. So, I like to cook. I try to remember him and honor his memory.

See, in the Bible, the fifth commandment doesn’t just ask us to obey our parents when we’re young. It teaches us to honor them with our whole lives.

If you’re still blessed to have your parents or grandparents, treasure that gift. Sit with them. Learn from them. Ask them the things you will want to remember, and if they’re already gone, honor them by how you live, how you love, and how you carry their legacy forward—one quiet, everyday moment at a time.

June 14, 2025/by Tammi Arender

When Someone Believes in You

Daily Devotional, David Hall

Hebrews 10:24 – “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works.”

It’s in the pages of the Bible that readers first meet Mordecai—a man living in a foreign land, carrying the weight of his people’s survival on his shoulders.

He didn’t set out to raise a warrior, nor did he expect to shape royalty. All he knew was that Esther needed a home. She was his cousin by blood, a fellow Jew in Persia—exiles in a kingdom that was never truly theirs. After her parents died, he took her in, gave her a place at his table, and called her his own.

The young Jewish girl grew up with questions—about God, about suffering, about why other girls had parents to tuck them in at night and she didn’t. Mordecai did not always have the answers, but he listened. He told her what he knew to be true: that she was not forgotten, that she was made with purpose, and that her life would matter, even when it didn’t feel like it did.

Then came the day they called for all the young women. The king was looking for a new queen. And Esther—his Esther—was taken.

Mordecai could not stop it. He could not follow her inside. All he could do was pace the outer court and pray she would remember who she was when the world tried to tell her otherwise. And she did.

She remembered.

When the fate of their people hung in the balance, Esther stood before the king as a woman of courage. Every day, Mordecai stood right outside the gate so she would know she wasn’t alone. He stayed because he had seen too many young people lose their way, and he refused to let her be one of them.

And I think that is why this story matters.

Because every one of us—father figures, mom, mentors, and friends—carries a voice that shapes identity. Do not underestimate the strength it takes to stay, to believe, and to remind someone of who they truly are when the world tries to define them otherwise.

This Father’s Day, whether by birth or by choice, may we all remember the power of showing up. One day, those we’ve poured into will stand tall, and it will be our steady love that helped them rise.

June 13, 2025/by David Hall

Loved. Seen. Protected.

Bri Dunn, Daily Devotional

2 Corinthians 6:18 — “And I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to me,” Says the Lord Almighty.

I was just trying to make it home before the storm started. The clouds were piling higher and darker by the minute when my phone rang. I didn’t have to look. I knew who it was.

“Hey,” my dad said. “Have you seen the forecast?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s not looking great.”

“You fill up your gas tank today?”

There it was. Classic Dad. I’m a grown woman with bills, a job, and a baby of my own, but to my dad, I am still his kid. So, he still asks.

And I love that he does.

We talked for a few minutes, just the usual back-and-forth, but there’s something about being on the other end of that call that always steadies me. It makes me feel seen. Protected. Still someone’s daughter.

As we were wrapping up, he said, “Hey, check your glove box when you stop. Left something in there for you last week.”

I was curious. At the next light, I popped it open.

A flashlight. With fresh batteries.

I just stared at it for a second. It was such a dad thing to do.

And it said more than he realized.

Because the truth is, my dad is still fathering me—showing up, checking in, and thinking ahead. And somehow, that flashlight made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the dark.

It also reminded me why I’ve never struggled to believe in a God who loves me…because I’ve seen it modeled my whole life.

Not everybody gets a dad like mine. I know that, but the truth is—everybody does have a Father like that. The Bible tells us that this is the kind of Father God is. He is steady, present, protective, and intentional.

He is the kind of father who checks on you when the skies grow dark. He is the kind that prepares what you need before the storm even hits.

God doesn’t just claim the title of Father. He lives it. Even in this very moment—for you—and He is in it for the long haul.

June 12, 2025/by Bri Dunn