The Connection Corner

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

The Road That Let Me Breathe Again

Psalms 31:7-8 — I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me in a safe place.

Sometimes you don’t need a five-year plan. You just need your keys and a full tank of gas.

That’s where I was that weekend. Life felt crazy. School deadlines stacked up, responsibilities kept tugging at my sleeve, and even though I go to college online, the pressure still somehow followed me everywhere. I was tired in that way that sleep doesn’t fix, where your soul just wants to exhale.

I didn’t need answers. I needed air.

So late Friday afternoon, I did something mildly irresponsible on paper but wildly responsible for my sanity. I jumped in my car. No big speech or overthinking. Just me and my dog, riding shotgun with that goofy smile dogs get when they know something good is about to happen.

The road stretched out in front of us. We were Oklahoma-bound, toward my best friend from high school and her little farm.

As the miles passed, the mental noise didn’t immediately quiet down. My mind tried to drag school assignments and stress into the passenger seat. Part of me wondered if I should’ve stayed home and pushed through. But another part of me—quieter, wiser—knew this wasn’t avoidance. It was permission. Permission to pause. Permission to breathe. Permission to trust that God doesn’t only meet us in productivity.

When I finally pulled onto that gravel drive, something changed. Laughter came easier. The air felt lighter. We talked, we rested, we did nothing important, and somehow, that was everything. I didn’t have to manufacture joy. It met me there. It always does when I stop gripping life so tightly.

That night, sitting still for the first time in weeks, I was reminded of words I’ve known for a long time but needed to feel again:

“I will rejoice and be glad in your faithful love because you have seen my affliction. You know the troubles of my soul and have not handed me over to the enemy. You have set my feet in a spacious place.” Psalm 31:7–8

That’s it. God sees the tired places. He knows the weight we carry. And sometimes His kindness looks like open roads, old friends, and wide open, holy space for your heart to rest.

I came home refreshed, not because I escaped my responsibilities, but because God met me right in the middle of them. He knew what I needed before I did.

So here’s the invitation—simple and real. Pay attention to your weariness. Let yourself take a small, intentional pause. Call the friend. Step outside. Take the drive. Trust that God is not disappointed in your need for rest. He is the One who sets your feet in spacious places, and He delights in refreshing the souls He loves.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Where do you feel most weary or overwhelmed right now, and how have you been responding to that weight?
What does a “spacious place” look like for you in this season—physically, emotionally, or spiritually?
Are there ways God may be inviting you to pause or rest that you’ve been resisting out of responsibility or guilt?
How does knowing that God sees the anguish of your soul change the way you approach your need for rest today?

January 26, 2026/by Brenda Price

Closer Than You Think

Daily Devotional, David Hall

Psalm 145:18 — The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.

Charles had always believed in God, but he had never felt His presence quite like this. One evening, he sat in his study, flipping through his well-worn Bible, and found himself lost in the story of Mary Magdalene. Closing his eyes, he let his imagination take over.

He pictured her standing in the garden, heartbroken. He could almost hear the rustling leaves and feel the damp earth beneath Mary’s feet as she wept outside of Jesus’ empty tomb.

She thought everything was lost. Through her tears, she barely noticed the man standing near her —until He spoke.

“Mary.”

It was one word. One moment. One voice she never thought she would hear again. It was Jesus, and that changed everything. He had been there all along, closer than she had realized.

Charles leaned over his desk, and in that instant, the presence of God was so real. It was as if he himself were standing in that garden. It felt so close. The knowledge of the nearness of God presses into the room with him. Scripture has said it all along—“The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth” (Psalm 145:18).

More than that, he could feel Mary’s heart leap as she realized—Jesus was alive.

His heart pounded. It wasn’t just Mary’s story. It was his. It was every believer’s story. Inspired, he reached for a pen and began to write a hymn.

“I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own…”

Over the years, “In the Garden” became more than just a song. It played at funerals, in church pews, and in hospital rooms where the weight of the world felt unbearable. The words were a reminder that Jesus was always near.

Perhaps today, you too feel like Mary, searching for hope, wondering where God is. Maybe you’ve prayed and wondered if God heard you. Know this—He is with you. When the weight of the world feels too much, when you can’t see the way ahead, He is there, closer than you think.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Have you ever had a moment when God felt closer than you expected? What was happening in that season?
Where in your life might you be searching for God, not realizing He is already near?
What does it look like for you to “call on Him in truth” right now—honestly, without pretense?
How does knowing God is near, even in grief or uncertainty, change the way you face today?

L Y R I C S

I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him,
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

January 25, 2026/by David Hall

Redeemer in the Ruins

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Psalm 107:2 — Has the LORD redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies.

I grew up knowing that music wasn’t just something you did. It was something that lived in you.

In my family, music ran deep. Little Richard. Bessie Smith. Names people recognize. So it was no surprise when folks assumed my sisters and I would sing too. That part felt expected. Almost scripted. What didn’t feel expected happened one day at church, when a family friend pulled me aside and spoke words to me that really resonated.

He said God would take me around the world singing for Him and that He would give me “songs in the night.”

At the time, I smiled politely and tucked those words away. I cherished what he said though I didn’t know what to do with them. “Songs in the night” sounded deep and meaningful. Encouraging, but vague. It wasn’t until much later—much, much later—that I understood what he meant.

After high school, I went to Bible college in Dallas. That’s where I met the man who would become my first husband. From the outside, everything looked right. Ministry. Marriage. The next step. But before the wedding day ever arrived, something had already gone terribly wrong.

By the time I stood at the altar, I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents this man had already hit me.

So I didn’t tell them.

For the next three years, I lived inside the cycle of domestic violence—the apologies, the promises, the fear, the shame, the silence. I kept thinking if I just prayed harder and loved better something would change. Instead, the darkness closed in. I questioned every decision I’d made. Some days, I questioned whether I wanted to keep living at all.

Night has a way of doing that. It shrinks your world. It convinces you that this is all there is.

In those nights, when I begged God for mercy, I didn’t hear an audible voice. What I received—unexpectedly—were songs. Other people’s songs. I found songs whose lyrics carried hope when my own words couldn’t.

Music became the place where light still found me. And slowly, I realized God wasn’t absent in my darkness. He was right there with me.

Eventually, I got out of that abuse. I also made a vow to God that I would do things differently. I meant it with my whole heart. But patterns don’t break overnight. I found myself in another relationship that led to a second marriage. This one was not marked by fists, but by betrayals.

Betrayal after betrayal. Things no wife ever wants to discover.

And once again, nighttime.

This time, though, something shifted. In this night season, I began to write—not for an audience or for radio—but to survive. I wrote the words of truth found in scripture as I was living it. And in the middle of that broken season, doors opened I never planned for.

A record deal, an album, and one song in particular that rose straight out of that place of pain called “Redeemer.”

I didn’t write it because life was good. I wrote it because God was still faithful when life was hard. I knew that my redeemer lives and he meets us right where we are.

Scripture gives us all the challenge to tell of all our redeemer has done for us. It says in Psalm 107, “Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story—those He redeemed from the hand of the foe.”

That verse is an invitation to speak out about ways God has delivered you and about things you still believe He will deliver you from. From night into morning.

Those songs I was promised didn’t come in spite of the night. They came because of it.

If you’re walking through a season where the light feels far away, know this: God still sings over His children. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is tell your story. You don’t have to be someone who has it all together but just someone who knows they have been redeemed.

— Nichole Mullins

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

In what ways has God met you during a “night season” in your life?
Are there parts of your story where you can now see God’s presence, even if you couldn’t at the time?
What has God redeemed you from—or what do you trust Him to redeem you through?
How has God used music, Scripture, or another unexpected gift to carry you when words were hard to find?
What might it look like to gently and wisely share your story of redemption with someone else?
How does knowing that God is faithful in the darkness change the way you face your current circumstances?

L Y R I C S

Who taught the sun?
Where to stand in the morning
And who taught the ocean
You can only come this far
And who showed the moon
Where to hide till evening
Whose words alone can
Catch a falling star

Well I know my Redeemer lives
I know my redeemer lives
All of creation testifies
This life within me cries
I know my redeemer lives
Yeah

The very same God
That spins things in orbit
Runs to the weary
The worn and the weak
And the same gentle hands
That hold me when I’m broken
They conquer death to bring me victory

Now I know my redeemer lives
I know my redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my redeemer

He lives to take away my shame
And he lives forever I’ll proclaim
That the payment for my sin
Was the precious life He gave
But now he’s alive and there’s an empty grave

And I know my redeemer, he lives
I know my redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my redeemer

I know my redeemer lives (I know my redeemer lives)
I know (I know my redeemer lives)
I know that, I know that, I know that, I know that, I know
I know my redeemer lives
(Because he lives I can face tomorrow)
He lives, I know, I know, I know
He lives, he lives, he lives
(I spoke with him this morning)
He lives, he lives, he lives
(The tomb is empty)
He lives, he lives, he lives
(I’m gotta tell everybody)