The Connection Corner

From Wandering to Worship

Romans 5:8 – “But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Robert Robinson had a reputation — wild, sharp-witted, never one to stay in the same place for too long.

He spent his teenage years chasing whatever kept the silence away. Friends, noise, drink, distraction — anything to stay out of his own head.

But the ache always followed him.

One Sunday, he decided to visit a local revival. He did not walk into that tent looking for anything holy. He was there because his friends were, and the noise inside him had gotten too loud. But something shifted when he heard the preacher speak — not about rules or guilt, but about a kind of love that did not flinch when it met a broken person.

That night, Robert believed. He took a step toward something better, and he gave his life to Jesus.

But change did not come easy. The old pull stayed strong. Doubt crept in. He still felt like the boy who could not get it right. So, one evening, he sat with all of it and wrote what he was too tired to pretend about anymore: “Prone to wander Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love”

That line, honest and worn, became a hymn. “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” was not written from a mountaintop. It came from the valley and from a man who still wrestled with the weight of being human.

The hymn endures because it is true. Most of us, at some point, feel like we have wandered too far, but grace does not keep score. Grace stays put. It waits for you, steady as ever.

If you feel far off, hear this: you are not disqualified. You are not too late, and the One who loved Robert back home has not stopped reaching for you.

COME THOU FOUNT

Come, Thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy, never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above
Praise the mount, I’m fixed upon it
Mount of Thy redeeming love

Here I raise mine Ebenezer
Hither by Thy help I’m come
And I hope by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wand’ring from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood

And, O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter
Bind my wand’ring heart to Thee
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts-

Above all else, I adore Your name
Above all else, tune my heart to sing Your praise
Above all else, I adore Your name
Above all else, tune my heart to sing Your praise
Above all else, I adore Your name
Above all else, tune my heart to sing Your praise, oh
Above all else, I adore Your name
Above all else, tune my heart to sing Your praise

The highest praise, the loudest praise
To the Name above every name
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts above

Songwriters: Shane Barnard
Come Thou Fount (Above All Else) lyrics © Songs From Wellhouse

July 20, 2025/by David Hall

The Gift Inside the Interruption

Brenda Price, Daily Devotional

James 4:8 — “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.”

What in your life right now feels like an interruption? What is a distraction to you?

I was reading the other day about Jesus’s walk to Golgotha—His path to the cross—and I had to stop and sit with it. The scene is hard to take in. His back had already been torn open from the flogging.

He was bruised, bleeding, and barely able to stand. The crowd was loud, vicious. Dust kicked up under the weight of every step, and Jesus—exhausted—stumbled under the heavy beam pressing into His raw skin.

That was the road to Calvary.

And somewhere along that brutal road, a man named Simon happened to be passing by.

Simon had come all the way from North Africa to Jerusalem for Passover. That was no small trip. He had come for worship, tradition, maybe time with his family. And then—without warning—he was swept into this scene of violence and confusion.

And before he could piece it all together, they were pointing at him. “You. Carry this man’s cross.”

I tried to picture it. Was Simon annoyed? Confused? Embarrassed? Did he feel the eyes of strangers on him, wondering what he had done to deserve this? Scripture does not tell us what Simon said or how he felt—but I can’t help but wonder if this man knew what he was about to be a part of.

Because no one walks beside Jesus like that and walks away unchanged.

And what amazes me is that Simon’s interruption was life changing, not only for him, but for us too. He was part of this powerful, magnificent, life-changing story of the crucifixion of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

And it makes me think—how many times have I complained about things I never asked for. A change in plans. A difficult person. A road I did not want to walk. But what if those are not just disruptions? What if they are invitations to draw nearer to God?

Friend, I do not know what has interrupted your life lately. Maybe it is something you never saw coming. Maybe it feels heavy, or lonely, or just plain unfair. But what if—right in the middle of it—God is drawing you close?

You do not have to have it all figured out. You do not have to wait until it makes sense. But what would it look like to take one small step toward Jesus, even while the dust is still settling and your arms still ache from the weight of what you carry?

Ask Him what He is doing through it. Let Him speak to you in the silence, in the waiting, in the in-between. You never know how God will use that distraction to change you forever, and maybe even the course of history.

July 19, 2025/by Brenda Price

When Faith Is Fun Again

Bri Dunn, Daily Devotional

Psalms 16:11 — “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

It started with a bag of pretzels and a quiet parking lot. I was sitting with my car engine off while finishing a snack before heading home. That was when a dad and his two young kids came out of the store.

I was not trying to stare, but they caught my eye. There was something about the way they moved—like they were late for a plane. But they were not running.

Oh no. They were speed walking.

I mean it. Elbows bent, legs moving in exaggerated strides, eyes locked on their destination: the family car. It was so dramatic that I laughed out loud because it hit me—they were racing for the front seat.

Of course they were.

The younger one kept glancing over at his sibling to measure the gap, then picked up his pace. He was still technically “not running,” likely because their dad had told them not to. That just made it funnier.

And suddenly, I was seven again. My brother and I did the same thing. We would fling open the store doors and speed walk like our lives depended on it. Riding shot gun was sacred. You got to sit by Mom. You controlled the radio. And best of all, the coldest blast of AC hit you first.

I smiled at the memory. Then, a different thought crept in.

When was the last time I brought that kind of energy into my faith? That full-hearted, joy-soaked, eyes-on-the-prize kind of intentionality? It struck me because I think a lot of people can relate.

Somewhere along the way, faith can start to feel heavy. We forget that God calls us not just to run the race, but to enjoy it—to walk with Him not only seriously, but joyfully.

We need both. Steady purpose and deep delight. Obedience with laughter. Reverence that still knows how to smile. That is the kind of pursuit that changes you.

Are you moving toward God with that kind of energy? Are you making room for joy along the way? Do not pick between the two. There is power when you choose both.

July 18, 2025/by Bri Dunn