The Connection Corner

Our Faces, Unashamed

Psalm 34:5 — Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.

I’m standing in my kitchen, coffee in hand, half-listening to the TV in the background, when it hits me—a memory I hadn’t thought of in years. It’s so embarrassing that it makes me cringe. High school? That was decades ago. How is this still so mortifying to me?

I just want to scroll past the feeling and pretend it isn’t real, but it won’t shake. Usually, I don’t carry shame around like this. But here it is, making my skin crawl.

“Lord,” I whisper, “this memory is so awkward and is really bothering me. I don’t even know what to do with it.”

And then I feel Him there. Not judging. Not shaking His head. Just beside me. The weight of the memory doesn’t vanish, but the heaviness does. I realize in God’s presence, I don’t have to fix it, explain it, or erase it.

So, I just breath in and out and give that unwelcome memory over to God.

That shame doesn’t have to hold me hostage. And suddenly, I understand something: freedom from my past mistakes isn’t about being perfect. It’s about trusting God fully, and let Him exchange the mistake for the miracle of His love.

Psalm 34:5 says, “Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.”

And I just love that. That’s the exchange God offers—when we look to Him, shame loosens its grip.

Maybe the question isn’t why we feel shame. Maybe the better question is whether we’ll stop pretending it doesn’t exist long enough to let God meet with us. Because He will. Every awkward, tender, embarrassing memory—God sees it, knows it, and loves us anyway.

I take a sip of coffee and wonder what would happen if I just let Him in on even the tiniest uncomfortable corners of my hearts? And I hope you will ask yourself the same question too. Could that be enough for the joy that’s been hiding there all along to finally break through?

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Is there a memory or moment from your past that still carries a quiet sense of shame when it resurfaces?
What does it look like for you to “look to Him for help” instead of trying to ignore, minimize, or manage that feeling on your own?
How might your heart change if you believed God meets you with compassion—not disappointment—in those uncomfortable moments?
Are there areas of your life where shame has kept you from fully experiencing joy or freedom?
What would it look like today to invite God into even one small, tender corner of your heart?

January 5, 2026/by Bri Dunn

Strong Enough to Need Him

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Philippians 4:13 — I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Matthew West is holding one of those letters. The kind written so carefully. It was like the writer needed to steady her hands before she started. He opens it slowly. A mother’s voice comes through first. Warm. Tender. The kind that loves deep and worries harder than she lets on.

In her letter, she tells Matthew about her daughter, Haleigh, and a car ride close to home that should have been uneventful. But on the road there was black ice slick as Crisco in a cold skillet. With one quick slide and one hard impact, everything familiar got shattered.

I bet you can picture it too, because we’ve all driven those roads before. The kind where you’re almost home and already thinking about what’s for supper. Then the tires lose their grip, and there’s nothing left to do but pray and brace yourself.

The letter keeps going. Hospital rooms. Surgeries that blur together. Rehab that demands grit you don’t know you have. Haleigh learning how to stand again, and most days are measured by small victories most people would never notice.

Somewhere in that long trial, someone tries to offer comfort. They mean well. They always do. They say God won’t give you more than you can handle.

Haleigh’s response lands, plain and steady. She says if that’s true, then God must think she’s pretty strong.

Matthew was touched by that. It was so relatable. We’ve all said things like that on difficult days. All the while, we’re holding ourselves together with prayer, coffee, and the stubborn belief that quitting isn’t an option.

Back in that letter, it becomes clear Haleigh didn’t make it through on sheer determination. She made it through because when her strength failed, God’s didn’t. She stood—not because she was unbreakable—but because she was held by Him. That realization settles into Matthew’s heart and doesn’t let go. He picks up his pen to honor her story, and a song starts forming.

When “Strong Enough” finally finds its way to radio, it met me as a listener right where I was in my car. Midday. Mid-life. Mid everything. And I recognize myself in it—not in the victory, but in the needing.

Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I’ve heard it since I was knee-high and recited it in Sunday school. It’s stitched it into my memory, but now it reads differently.

It doesn’t sound like a challenge. It sounds like relief. Like permission to stop pretending the strength was mine to begin with.

So, if today finds you tired but faithful, steady but stretched thin, you’re not failing. You’re living the kind of faith that shows up. The kind that knows God’s strength has a way of carrying us when ours runs out—and that, somehow, is enough to keep going.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

When you hear “I can do all things through Christ,” do you tend to hear it as pressure or as promise?
Where in your life are you currently relying on your own strength instead of God’s?
Have you ever experienced a season where God carried you when you had nothing left to give?
What does it look like for you to admit weakness without feeling like you’ve failed?
How might trusting God’s strength—rather than your own—change the way you face today?

L Y R I C S

You must
You must think I’m strong
To give me what I’m going through
Well, forgive me

Forgive me if I’m wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough

Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

For the both of us
Yeah

Well, maybe
Maybe that’s the point

To reach the point of giving up
‘Cause when I’m finally
Finally at rock bottom

Well, that’s when I start looking up
And reaching out
I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be

I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be

Strong enough
Strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken
Down to nothing

But I’m still holding on to the one thing
You are God and
You are strong when
I am weak

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
I don’t have to be strong enough
Strong enough

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Oh, yeah

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Strong enough

January 4, 2026/by Tammi Arender

Goodbye Negativity, Hello Grace

Daily Devotional, Kirstie Ford

Proverbs 16:24 — Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

Adios Negativity

Every year in January, we complete a spiritual fast for 21 days. Starve your flesh, feed your spirit. That is the goal of the fast—to become closer to God by denying yourself of what you typically rely on more than Him.

Over the years, I’ve fasted from the usual things—food, social media, and other comforts I swore I could quit “anytime.” But this past year, God nudged me toward something different. I fasted from negativity.

Yes… negativity.

For 21 days, I made a conscious effort not to speak negative comments to anyone. It sounded reasonable. Noble, even. But what I didn’t expect was how loud my thoughts would become once my words were put on lockdown.

Turns out, negativity doesn’t just live on our tongues—it likes to hang out in our minds too.

I assumed God was going to teach me how to filter my speech and turn me from a negative Nancy into a positive Polly. Instead, He worked much deeper. In the silence, He taught me godly wisdom, self-discipline, self-control, gentleness, and—most importantly—how to love like Christ when it would be easier to say exactly what I was thinking.

There is a verse in Proverbs that says, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones,” and let me tell you. That is so true.

One evening during dinner, my seven-year-old daughter looked up at me and said, “Mama, you look like Jesus.” And just like that, my mama heart melted. In that moment, I knew this fast was changing more than my words—it was shaping my heart.

When the 21 days ended, I didn’t want to stop. I had seen firsthand how much words matter. They carry weight. Every sentence holds the power to tear someone down or build them up—and the choice is always ours.

So today, I encourage you: Don’t wait for a church-wide fast. Start now. Choose words that reflect Christ. Because sometimes, the most powerful fast isn’t from food—it’s from the words we decide not to say.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Where do you notice negativity showing up most often—in your words, your thoughts, or both?
How might your relationships change if you became more intentional about speaking gracious words?
Is there a conversation or situation where God may be inviting you to pause before you speak?
What would it look like for your words to bring “healing” to someone this week?
If you tried a short fast from negativity, what do you think God might reveal to you?

January 3, 2026/by Kirstie Ford