The Connection Corner

Help for Heavy Hearts

Jonah 2:2 — I cried out to the Lord in my great trouble, and He answered me. I called to you from the land of the dead, and Lord, you heard me!

Last year, I had a season where I was really wrestling with some very scary things internally.

I was a new mom with a toddler. Life stayed loud and busy all day, but at night, when the house finally went still, my mind didn’t. One night I couldn’t sleep at all. I stared into the dark while anxiety pressed against my chest. I kept trying to calm myself down, telling myself it would pass, opening my Bible, and playing worship music on my phone.

Nothing helped.

It felt deeper than a restless night—it felt like I was sinking under something I couldn’t escape. The harder I tried to manage it, the more exhausted I became. Sometime after midnight, I finally stopped trying to hold it together and said, “Lord, I can’t take this. I need help.”

And in that moment, I thought about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before the cross. The weight pressing in on Him. He didn’t hide His anguish. He brought it straight to the Father.

It made me think, if the Son of God could voice His distress in the dark, then bringing mine to the Father isn’t weakness. It’s admitting a real need.

That night was hard, but I remember later that week, things I had been struggling with did start to resolve. Conversations happened. Clarity came. The pressure quit suffocating me.

And I know without a shadow of a doubt, it was because I cried out to God. It was there that I found the Lord really can be my strength and my shield in the midnight hour. My heart learned to trust Him more deeply, and He helped me.

Not because I found perfect words or because I was strong, but because He is.

And you can do the same.

When the wrestling inside your mind feels like too much and you don’t know what to pray, just cry out to God. Admit every need, and let the Father be your strength.

Just bring Him what’s heavy. He already knows how to carry it.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

What does your mind tend to do in the quiet moments—especially at night?
Have you ever felt like you were carrying something too heavy to manage on your own?
What keeps you from crying out honestly to God in those moments?
How does it change your perspective to know that even Jesus expressed anguish to the Father?
What would it look like for you to bring your “midnight thoughts” to God this week?

April 1, 2026/by Bri Dunn

The Upside‑Down Way of Jesus

Brenda Price, Daily Devotional

Colossians 3:10 — Put on your new nature and be renewed as you learn to know your Creator and become like Him.

The way of Jesus is so, so, so much better than you could ever imagine.

At times, it does ask things of us that feel unnatural—release, forgiveness, surrender—but it returns to you what your soul has been aching for all along.

I picture Him standing on a hillside, looking at people who may have every reason to hold grudges, every reason to protect themselves, and every reason to demand their own way. But He says the unthinkable. He says love your enemy. Bless the one who hurt you.

That’s His way: to loosen my grip when I’d rather clench tighter, to forgive when bitterness feels right, and to trust Him when my plans seem clearer.

Here’s the tension. Everything in me wants control, but everything in Him invites surrender. What He asks can feel impossible. Because forgiving doesn’t feel strong. Surrender doesn’t feel strategic. Trust doesn’t feel efficient.

It feels exposed.

And yet every yes to Him becomes a doorway into freedom. Forgiveness unclenches the war in my chest and lets peace rush in. Surrender lifts the weight I was never built to carry. Trust steadies my heart when impatience threatens to undo it.

I see Him again—kneeling with a towel, washing dusty feet that will walk away from Him. He is teaching not just with words, but by his posture, showing me that strength in His kingdom looks like humility. Losing your life is somehow how you find it.

If I refuse His way because it feels unnatural, I miss the renewal my soul is craving.

Because that renewal doesn’t come from striving—it comes from knowing Him, and letting that knowing change me.

This is the invitation: to put on the new self He has given me, to let my mind and heart be renewed as I learn to truly know the One who made me, becoming more like Him instead of clinging to the old version of me. That’s what this is. Not behavior polishing—heart-level renewal. Following the teaching of Christ when the old way feels more familiar. Choosing His image over my impulses.

In the soil of obedience, something sweeter grows. His way is gentle where the world is harsh, kind where life feels cruel, and wise where my own understanding fails. To walk with Jesus is to learn that joy doesn’t hinge on outcomes, but on presence. What feels like loss can become gain.

The bottom line is this: His way reshapes you into who you were created to be.

So I’m learning to open my hands. To forgive quicker. To surrender sooner. To trust deeper. Not because it feels natural—but because I want the new self He’s forming in me.

And that renewal begins the moment I say yes to His way.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

What part of following Jesus feels most “unnatural” to you right now—surrender, forgiveness, or trust?
Where are you tempted to cling to your “old self” instead of stepping into the new one?
How have you experienced real change—not from trying harder, but from knowing God more?
What might it look like to choose His way in one specific situation this week?
What is one area where God may be inviting you into deeper renewal?

March 31, 2026/by Brenda Price

Living Hope, Every Easter

Bri Dunn, Daily Devotional

1 Peter 1:3 — Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to His great mercy, He has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

We always looked good on Easter Sunday.

My mom didn’t play about details—fresh relaxer, a new shade of Estée Lauder lipstick, the perfect shoes lined up by the door. My dad and brother weren’t as invested, but my mom and I? We loved it. Easter meant tradition. Family photos. Walking into church polished and pressed.

And if I’m honest, I loved what came after just as much.

Crawfish by the lake that afternoon. The snowball stand down the road. Sticky fingers stained red and purple. Cousins laughing too loud around a wooden table. I knew Easter was about Jesus—but I also knew I couldn’t wait for the after fun.

We pulled into the church parking lot and I remember blinking twice. Cars everywhere. Lined down the road. Parked in the grass. Inside, it was standing room only.

The orchestra sounded bigger than usual. The choir didn’t hold back. And when my pastor walked on stage, there was a weight to it—like he had something he had to say. My friends and I sat together, but instead of passing notes or playing games on the back of the bulletin, we were quiet. Something felt different.

When the salvation invitation came, people moved toward the altar. And not casually. They came to the altar like they needed hope. Some knelt. Some lifted their hands. Some just bowed their heads and cried. I remember looking around thinking, “This isn’t about outfits or pictures. They aren’t worried about lunch. Something real is happening.”

Not just emotion—but lives being changed. People being made new.

Later that day, snowball syrup still sweet on my lips and crawfish shells piling up beside me, I couldn’t shake it. Easter really is about an empty grave. In God’s great mercy, he sent Christ to defeat death and give us real hope. Living hope.

And it wasn’t just for the people at the altar that morning. It was for the anxious mom sitting three rows back. The teenager trying to figure out who she is. The dad who showed up because it’s Easter and that’s what you do.

It was for me, and it was for you.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love getting dressed up and eating snowballs with my little family, but that’s not why I celebrate Easter. When you realize the resurrection is personal, Easter stops being a tradition—and becomes a turning point.

This Easter, walk in ready. Ready to worship. Ready to respond. Ready to remember that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is still offering living hope today.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

What has Easter meant to you in the past—tradition, family, faith, or something else?
When have you experienced a moment where faith felt suddenly real or personal?
What does “living hope” look like in your life right now?
In what areas do you need to experience new life or renewal?
How can you come into this Easter “ready”—not just present, but open?

March 30, 2026/by Bri Dunn