The Connection Corner

A daily source of encouragement and inspiration to connect your heart to hope and faith.

He’s a Wonder Working God

Jeremiah 33:3 — Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

I was driving home late one evening when a voice on the radio caught my attention. It was one of those stories where God captures your full focus—whether you planned on giving it or not.

A mother was sharing how God had met her in the middle of unimaginable news about her son. Doctors told her early on that her little boy would never hear. Years later, they added another diagnosis—eventual blindness. When she heard those words, disbelief washed over her.

The fear was real, but her confidence didn’t rest in her own strength. It rested in God.

In her desperation, she dropped to her knees and cried out, “I’m not leaving here until You heal my son.” More than anything, she wanted her child to experience God—to hear His voice. And now, that felt impossible.

Then she paused.

And in that stillness, God spoke: “Your son doesn’t need ears to hear Me. I speak to the heart.”

My jaw dropped. My heart swelled. Because that wasn’t just an answer—it was revelation. One of those “hidden things” God promises when we dare to call on Him.

The healing didn’t come the way she hoped, but peace did. The kind that quiets fear and settles the soul. God didn’t remove the diagnosis in that moment, but He removed the dread. And suddenly, that felt like a miracle too.

About a week later, I was working a local event for my boutique when I overheard someone mention a vendor around the corner who was deaf—and who also ran a Christian shop. I knew I had to meet her.

As we talked, she shared her story. Born deaf, she had never heard a voice—until the day God called her by name. Audibly. Clearly. For the first time in her life, she heard someone say her name.

Chills ran from head to toe.

I shared the radio story with her, and in that moment, I was reminded how alive and attentive God still is. Abundant joy comes from staying sensitive to His wonder. I never want to grow used to having a miracle-working God.

And just in case you’re wondering—the doctor’s prediction from that radio story never came true. That little boy has had no issues with his eyesight to this day.

What amazes me most isn’t just that God can do miracles—it’s that He invites us to speak to Him at all. He hears whispered prayers in moving cars. He listens to mothers on their knees. He responds in ways we never would have imagined.

God isn’t distant or distracted. And whether we think we’re equipped to hear Him or not, He knows exactly how to reach our hearts.

That’s the promise of Jeremiah 33:3: “Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

He doesn’t need perfect conditions to speak—He just needs open hearts willing to listen.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

When was the last time you truly called out to God—not with polished words, but with honesty and need?
Are there places in your life where you’ve assumed God won’t speak because the situation feels impossible?
How might God be answering you in a way you didn’t expect—but still deeply need?
What would it look like to listen for God’s voice with your heart, not just your circumstances?
Is there a story of God’s faithfulness—your own or someone else’s—that reminds you He still reveals “hidden things?”

February 1, 2026/by Kirstie Ford

Holding On During Hard Days

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Romans 8:38-39 — And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Some days, faith feels solid. Other days, it feels like you’re holding it together with duct tape and coffee.

I wrote “Even If” on one of those duct-tape days.

My oldest son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when he was two. He’s grown now, but that diagnosis didn’t grow out of our lives. It’s still there woven into our lives. You get your good days, and then you get days that remind you this thing isn’t going anywhere.

I remember when we were headed to his six-month checkup. If you’ve ever been there, you know—it feels like being called into the principal’s office. Your stomach tightens before you even sit down. I don’t remember if the appointment was “good” or “bad.” It doesn’t really matter. What mattered was the reminder that so much of our life still revolved around this illness. And I was worn out by it.

I had a show that night. I was supposed to walk on stage and sing about hope. About trust. About a God who holds it all together. And honestly, I didn’t want to. Sometimes standing under lights and telling people it’s going to be okay feels impossible when you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

I hate admitting it out loud, but what I was struggling with the most that day was knowing God can heal my son…and He hasn’t.

On my bad days, that’s the lie that hits hardest. The one that tries to convince me that unanswered prayers mean something about God… or about me.

I kept thinking about those three guys standing in front of the fire—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They don’t bargain with God. They don’t hedge their bets. They say they believe God will rescue them but even if He doesn’t, they’re still not bowing. They’re still not surrendering. He’s still worth it.

Most days, I don’t “get it.” I doubt. I worry. I get angry. I ask why. And that used to scare me—until I realized my relationship with Jesus isn’t built on how steady I feel. It’s built on who He is. He can handle my hard questions. He can handle my frustration. He’s not fragile. He is strong.

And it was on one of those days of reminding myself of that truth on a hard day, that the song “Even If” came pouring out as pen on the page. It was my line in the sand. A reminder to my own heart that even if God doesn’t do what I think He should, He’s still my greatest hope.

Later, my middle son Charlie—who is a lot like me, ADHD and all—said something that stuck. He told me, “Dad, I think I know why you do this for a living. If you didn’t sing about it every night, you’d forget.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Singing these songs is muscle memory for my soul. It’s how I hide truth in my heart when my feelings won’t cooperate. It’s how I lift my eyes when circumstances keep dragging them down. Night after night, I’m reminded of something Scripture says plainly. It’s something I need spelled out every day.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38–39

Chronic illness doesn’t disappear. Hard seasons don’t always resolve. Some prayers don’t come with the ending we hoped for. But God’s worthiness didn’t start when our trouble showed up and His love never wavered. It was established long before, and it isn’t threatened by anything.

“Even If” is my reminder. Maybe it’s yours too on days when faith feels hard. It’s a choice to keep trusting because love like God’s doesn’t let go.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is sing that truth again until your heart remembers it.

— Bart Millard

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

When faith feels hardest for you, what thoughts or fears tend to surface first?
Have you ever wrestled with the tension between believing God can intervene and facing the reality that He hasn’t—yet or at all?
What does it mean to you that God’s love is not dependent on the strength of your faith or the outcome of your prayers?
In what ways do you “hide truth in your heart” when your feelings won’t cooperate?
What might an “even if” kind of faith look like in your life right now?

Even If – Lyrics

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad
I’ve stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it’ll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Good thing
A little faith is all I have right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful, You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

It is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

January 31, 2026/by Linda Meyers

The Rescue That Took Its Time

Bri Dunn, Daily Devotional

Psalm 9:10 – Those who know your name trust in you, for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you.

I didn’t know Lori. I still don’t, really, but for months, I watched her from my car as I drove through downtown Monroe.

She was always in the same spot, under the same shade tree near Warehouse No. 1. Beside her lay the same black dog, curled low to the ground, like the world had already taught her too much.

Later, I learned what had happened to that dog—and why Lori loved her the way she did. She’d been dumped by her owners. Left behind. And she ran after them. That detail stays with you.

The heartbreak lingered. The dog would approach people just long enough to sniff, then bolt the second a hand reached out. Too many broken promises. Too much fear. People tried to catch her. No one could.

Then there was Lori.

Day after day, she showed up under that tree. She brought water. Food. Blankets. Whatever might help the dog feel safe. At first, she sat far away. Over time, as trust grew, she moved closer. Eventually, she could touch her.

Every single day. For months.

I imagine that dog was learning how to love again.

One day, she finally climbed into Lori’s car. Off to the vet they went. Needs were met. Supporters stepped in. And the dog once known as “the black warehouse dog” was given a new name—Queenie.

She sleeps in a warm bed now. Surrounded by people who adore her. She will never again wonder if she’s good enough. The ones who left her behind have no idea what a treasure they abandoned.

And I can’t watch Queenie’s story without seeing my own.

I know what it’s like to keep God at arm’s length. Close enough to test Him. Not close enough to trust Him. I know what it’s like to hesitate, to pull back, to need time, and I know how patient my Heavenly Father has been. He stays near, unoffended by my fear, unwilling to walk away.

What stuck with me wasn’t the rescue. It was the waiting.

Lori never chased the dog. Never cornered her. Never demanded trust she wasn’t ready to give. She stayed close enough to be present, far enough to be safe. Love didn’t raise its voice. It proved itself by returning.

That kind of love changes things. Slowly. Steadily. Until fear loosens its grip and trust finds room to breathe.

I’ve seen that same patience in my own life—not in dramatic moments, but in ordinary ones. In the seasons I hesitated. In the days I didn’t have much faith to offer. And still, God stayed near. Not hurried. Not offended. Not gone.

Scripture names that kind of faithfulness plainly: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You” (Psalm 9:10).

That verse isn’t a challenge. It’s a reassurance. A reminder that God doesn’t confuse slowness with rejection. He doesn’t abandon the cautious or the wounded. He remains present long before trust ever feels easy.

And maybe that’s where this story is supposed to end—not with a command, but with permission. Permission to believe that God’s nearness isn’t fragile. That His love doesn’t depend on how quickly we respond. That even now, He is still right where He’s always been—close, steady, and willing to wait.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Are there places in your life where you’ve been keeping God at a safe distance rather than fully trusting Him?
What past experiences might be influencing how easily—or cautiously—you trust God now?
How have you seen God remain present and patient with you, even in seasons when your faith felt small or hesitant?
What does it mean to you that God does not confuse slowness with rejection or fear with disobedience?
How does knowing that God is willing to wait for your trust change the way you approach Him today?

January 30, 2026/by Bri Dunn