The Connection Corner

Love That Does Not Hold Back

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Matthew 18:3

Some moments just make time stand still.

The second I step through the door, I see her. Reese is already on the move, her whole face beaming. Her little feet pound against the floor as she barrels toward me. No hesitation, no fear. Just pure, unfiltered love.

And when my daughter reaches me, she throws her arms around my neck and holds on like she never wants to let go.

I don’t know if she realizes what that does to me.

No matter how long my day has been, no matter how exhausted I feel, that moment always fills me right back up. There’s no earning it, no proving myself—just love, given freely, without hesitation.

And every time, I think: This must be how God feels about us.

It stops me in my tracks. If I, an imperfect mother, can feel this kind of love for her—how much more must my Heavenly Father feel for me? It is a love so deep and so unconditional that the thought almost takes my breath away.

But then another thought follows, and it stings. I don’t always do that with God. How often do I hold back? How often do I let fear, shame, or distraction keep me at arm’s length?

Reese never does that. She does not stop to wonder if she’s loved. She just knows.

And I wonder—what if I lived like that? What if I ran toward God with the same kind of trust, the same confidence, the same joy?

Maybe today is the day I stop hesitating. Maybe today is the day I just run straight into His arms.

April 21, 2025/by Sarah Hall

Running Toward Hope

Daily Devotional, David Hall

“He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.”

Isaiah 25:8

John was faster. That was clear from the start. He had always been faster. But speed did not matter to me now. My legs burned, my lungs ached, but I could not slow down. The world had turned upside down, and I had to see it for myself.

It had been just before dawn when Mary banged on the door, shaking us from restless sleep. When I flung it open, her face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have put him!” The words hit like a fist to my chest.

John and I did not think. We just ran.

Now, as we neared the tomb, I saw John hesitate at the entrance, his breath ragged. I did not stop. I could not. I rushed inside, heart pounding in my ears. And then—stillness.

The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. But everything was in order. The grave clothes, neatly folded. Not stolen, not ransacked—arranged with intention. It was as if He had simply awakened and set His bed in place.

John stepped in beside me. Neither of us spoke.

Jesus told us. He told me, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

I had been too blind to see it until now.

The grief that had crushed me only moments ago shifted, making way for something else. Something like hope. Real hope—the kind that does not crumble under fear.

Because if He was alive, then everything He said was true. And if everything He said was true, then hope was no longer just a word. It was a person.

And He had done exactly what He said He would do.

This is why Easter matters. Maybe for you it carries grief. Maybe it comes with painful questions? But it is not about traditions or about trying to manufacture joy in the middle of loss. I say this because there is peace for the broken. There is hope for the weary, and it is found in Him. Easter is about an empty tomb, and that changes everything.

April 20, 2025/by David Hall

Trying to Stop the Unstoppable

Daily Devotional, David Hall

“God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for Him to be held by it.”

Acts 2:24

We had done everything we could.

Jesus of Nazareth was dead. A threat was removed. A problem solved.

For years, we had tolerated his disruptions—the way he twisted the people’s loyalty, defied our traditions, and embarrassed us in public. But the crowds had cheered as he hung on that cross. The Romans had driven the nails. And now, his body lay breathless in a tomb.

Finally, we could move on.

And yet, something gnawed at me.

We had all heard of his claims. “After three days, I will rise.”

Of course, it was nonsense. But the people—oh, the people—would believe anything. His radical disciples could steal the body, spread their lies, and suddenly, we would have a worse problem than before. We needed to shut this down completely.

So we took our concerns to Pilate.

The governor barely looked at us. He was done with this mess. His wife had warned him not to get involved. He had washed his hands, his conscience clear. But we had no choice.

“Sir,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “command that the tomb be made secure.”

Pilate sighed sharply.

“You have a guard,” he snapped. “Go. Make it as secure as you know how.”

So we did.

A heavy stone. A Roman seal. Armed soldiers.

It was finished. Wasn’t it?

But that was never in our control. We had done everything to stop this man. Yet even in death, he remained a problem.

We tried to lock him behind that stone, to silence his influence once and for all. But nothing we did could change what was coming.

And Christian, here is the thing. You may feel like you are living in that long, dark day between the crucifixion and resurrection —where hope is buried. It may seem like nothing will change. But God is not confined by a tomb.

We tried to control the story, but God had already written the ending.

Jesus rose.

And no matter how impossible things seem, His power is not finished in your life either.

April 19, 2025/by David Hall