The Connection Corner

Where You Cannot Be Replaced

“The beginning of wisdom is this: get wisdom, and whatever you get, get insight.”

Proverbs 4:7

You’ll have to know a little background on my sister, Priscilla. She is a master at saying “no.” And not in a rude way—she just knows that every “yes” costs something. So, she is intentional. She prioritizes what matters most, which means she has to be just as serious about what she turns down.

One day, we were talking, and she said something profound.

She said, “You know, Anthony, when I say no to an event—whether it’s something in an arena somewhere or a women’s conference or Bible study— it is because I know that my voice in that scenario can be replaced.”

“Somebody else can step in and do that,” she continued, “but my voice at my son’s basketball games cheering them on cannot be replaced.”

I had to sit with that for a minute. Wow. That’s crazy, I thought

Because, if I am honest, a lot of us—myself included—are drawn to what looks bigger. We chase the opportunities that seem more important, more influential. We say yes to what shines the brightest, thinking that is where we’re needed the most.

But we miss what actually matters most.

The places where our voice is not just wanted—it is necessary.

So, here is the question: Where is your presence irreplaceable?

Because that’s where you need to be.

— Anthony Evans

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April 22, 2025/by David Hall

Love That Does Not Hold Back

Daily Devotional, Sarah Hall

“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