The Connection Corner

God Likes Being With You

Daily Devotional, Lauren Kitchens-Steward

Galatians 3:26 – “For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith.”

Somewhere between the smell of old books and the taste of chocolate ice cream, I learned what love looked like.

I don’t remember when it started, but every Thursday belonged to Dad and me. We’d head to the library first. That old building was nothing fancy, but it felt magical.

The children’s room had this mural of Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear sitting under a tree. There, I would lose myself in books with talking animals and far-off lands while Dad read the paper.

I never once felt rushed there. If anything, it felt like the clock slowed down.

Afterwards, Dad and I would sneak off to the ice cream parlor. Two scoops each. Ever the health enthusiast, Mom was a total health nut, always filling our plates with greens and grains—but come Thursday, we staged our deliciously sweet rebellion.

As the years passed and teenage freedoms called, Thursdays still belonged to the two of us. Even when I started driving, I would rush home after school, knowing Dad would be there waiting.

Family, maybe that’s how God thinks of you, too. He is a good father after all.

Not because you perform well. Not because you pray the right way or check the right boxes. But because you are His. Because He made you. Because it brings Him joy just to be near you.

Maybe all He wants today is to be with you. No agendas. No pressure. Just His quiet, steady presence, like a dad who shows up every Thursday because he loves his kid.

But the dessert He’s bringing isn’t ice cream—it’s delight. That’s what He offers you now, Dear One. Unhurried love and the sweetness of being wanted.

June 9, 2025/by Lauren Kitchens-Steward

Breathe In His Presence

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

2 Corinthians 3:17 “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

If you had asked her, Marie would’ve said she was a wife, a friend, and a worship leader, maybe. But not a songwriter, and certainly not anyone famous.

She felt more at home in ballet studios and church pews than anywhere else. Her days were spent teaching dance, folding laundry, and loving people. Her ministry happened in bare feet and ballet mirrors. Quiet, hidden, holy.

Then came the phone call that changed everything.

Her mentor—a man she cared deeply about, who had once come to church with her— died by suicide. He left behind a note asking Marie to take over the dance studio. No warning. Just grief. And a heavy set of keys.

There was no manual for that kind of loss. No training for how to carry someone else’s legacy when your own knees feel weak beneath you. But Marie kept showing up.

She kept teaching. Pliés in the morning, worship services on Sundays, prayer when she had the words—and when she didn’t, she just whispered the name of Jesus. She didn’t need a spotlight to serve. She just needed space to breathe.

One Sunday night at the Mission Viejo Vineyard in Southern California, there was no plan—no printed setlist. Just Marie and her husband, John, leading worship as they’d done so many times before. They had just finished singing Isn’t He by John Wimber. John kept playing quietly, and in the stillness of that moment, something welled up in Marie’s spirit. It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t planned.

It was just raw worship.

“This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence
Living in me…
And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you”

The congregation joined in, as if the words had been waiting in their hearts too. And even though Marie had sung spontaneous songs before, something about this one was different. People kept singing it—at home, in the car, in the grocery store. And they told her so.

The song, Breathe, soon became a regular part of their church’s worship. It brought many to tears. Even Marie could hardly get through it herself. “I think the word desperate digs deep into me,” she later said. “The longer I’m a Christian, the more desperate I am for God.”

They recorded the song for Vineyard—just another quiet offering during a season of raw worship. “We recorded the song for Vineyard, and then nothing happened,” Marie would later say. “Not that I thought anything about it, because, to me, it was just a neat thing the Lord gave to our church.”

Five years passed.

Then worship leader Brian Doerksen reached out, asking to include Breathe on Vineyard’s Hungry project. From there, the song quietly began to travel. Michael W. Smith recorded it on his 2001 album Worship. Rebecca St. James followed. But even as it began to echo through churches and concerts around the world, Marie stayed grounded in what it had always been: a prayer whispered in desperation, not a platform.

So when she was driving one day and heard Breathe playing on the radio, it wasn’t excitement that overtook her—it was awe. She pulled the car over, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Because somehow—somehow—God had taken her lowest moment, her heartbreak, her whispered worship, and turned it into healing for strangers she’d never meet.

How could God take so much pain and breathe hope through it into kitchens and traffic jams and hospital waiting rooms? But He did. He always does. He fills the cracks and carries what we can’t.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit shows up like wind and fire. But more often, He’s as close as breath in our lungs. He doesn’t wait for us to be strong—He fills the places where we’re trembling and somehow gives us the strength to dance again.

Take a deep breath today. Let it remind you that you are not alone. Even when you’re weak, He is near—and that is more than enough.

— Inspired by the story of Marie Barnett

L Y R I C S:

This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your Holy Presence
Living in me

This is my daily bread
This is my daily bread
Your very Word
Spoken to me

And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you

Written by: Marie Barnett
Copyright © 1995 Mercy/Vineyard Songs (ASCAP) (adm at IntegratedRights.com) CCLI#1874117

June 8, 2025/by Linda Meyers

Covered in Prayer

Daily Devotional, Tammi Arender

Psalm 55:16–18(a) – But I call to God, and the Lord will save me. Evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and He hears my voice. He redeems my soul in safety from the battle that I wage.

As dawn breaks, I lace up my running shoes and hit the pavement. My path inevitably leads me past a used car lot. The fenced-off area, still dormant at this early hour, showcases a variety of automobiles waiting for their new owners.

But it is not the sedans or SUVs that catch my eye first; it is the formidable security system—a state-of-the-art Rottweiler, a hundred-pound powerhouse of a pooch.

As I approach, like clockwork, the massive dog charges toward me, teeth bared, growling as if I were a threat to his territory. Yet, I am no thief, just someone innocently passing on the sidewalk. As it dashes toward the fence, the dog’s ferocity never fails to send a jolt of fear rushing through me.

I have found that the fence is my friend. Now, as I jog past, I meet the dog’s ferocious gaze with a knowing grin.

“You can’t hurt me,” I scoff

If only I could carry this same assurance when facing the assaults of the enemy. Just like that chain link fence stands between me and the vicious dog, God offers His protection against the prowling dangers of Satan.

When I pray God’s truth, I find Him powerfully shielding me. It is always present. When I embrace it, I reinforce my trust in the safety of that protection, and I can continue running my race with confidence.

Maybe you’ve got something nipping at your heels right now—anxiety, doubt, fear that shows up when you least expect it. What would it look like to face it head-on today, not in your strength, but grounded in prayer?

If you are weary from running scared, let prayer remind you of the truth: you are not unprotected. You are not alone. That fence is stronger than it looks.

— Tammi Arender

June 7, 2025/by Tammi Arender