The Connection Corner
A daily source of encouragement and inspiration to connect your heart to hope and faith.
Daily Devotional
Heaven Doesn’t Count Like ThatApril 24, 2026 - 7:00 am- The Road Paved with RedemptionApril 23, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Listening to the Little ThingsApril 22, 2026 - 7:00 am
- What Really Deserves Your TimeApril 21, 2026 - 7:00 am
- The Giver is Better than the GiftApril 20, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Peace is Still PreachingApril 19, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Joy That Won’t Stay QuietApril 18, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Quit Chasing What ChangesApril 17, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Prayers Already in MotionApril 16, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Unlock Life by Letting GoApril 15, 2026 - 7:00 am
Heart of the Artist
- Peace is Still PreachingApril 19, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Hope in His NameApril 12, 2026 - 8:00 am
- When Forgiveness Writes the EndingMarch 22, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Worship Found Its HeartMarch 15, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Enough is EnoughMarch 8, 2026 - 7:00 am
Stories About Songs
- Peace is Still PreachingApril 19, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Hope in His NameApril 12, 2026 - 8:00 am
- When Forgiveness Writes the EndingMarch 22, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Worship Found Its HeartMarch 15, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Words Hurt, Truth HealsFebruary 28, 2026 - 7:00 am
Jericho in My Rearview
Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About SongsThe song comes on while I’m driving, and suddenly I’m not just running errands anymore.
Andrew Ripp’s “Jericho” fills the car. Oh, I just love it.
And before I realize it, I’m thinking about walls. Ancient ones. Tall ones. The kind that make you feel small just standing in their shadow. The song pulls me back into Joshua’s story—the one I’ve heard a hundred times—but today it feels personal. Maybe because the chorus keeps echoing that line about faith being louder than fear, and something in me knows I need that reminder right now.
Joshua didn’t win because he had the better plan or the stronger army. The walls didn’t fall because marching is some magical military strategy. The real victory happened earlier when Joshua chose to believe God over what his eyes were telling him. Before a single brick moved, he trusted that the city was already his.
That’s the part that gets me. Because fear always makes the walls look higher than they really are. Fear points out every crack in my confidence and every reason this won’t work. Faith, on the other hand, feels risky. It asks me to trust before I see proof.
And honestly, I see myself there. Standing in front of situations that feel impossible. Waiting for the walls to move first before I can believe. Letting fear call the shots while I tell myself I’m just being realistic.
Then the Andrew Ripp song hits these lyrics “Oh Lord, my prison turns to ruin when Your love moves in. All of my fears like Jericho walls gotta come down, come down, come down”—and clarity rushes in.
See victory doesn’t begin when the walls fall. It begins when belief rises. Jesus said trouble would be part of this life, but He also said He has already overcome the world. That means fear doesn’t get the final word. Hebrews 13:6 puts it this way: “So we can confidently say, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?’”
The walls I’m facing don’t magically disappear. They’re still real. Still tall. But they’re no longer in charge. Faith reframes the battlefield because it knows I’m not fighting alone.
So today, I’m choosing belief over fear. I’m taking one step of faith, even if the walls are still standing. That’s where victory starts. It’s where trust leads, hope breathes again, and I remember that the Overcomer is already walking ahead of me.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
J E R I C H O
I’ve stacking up the years I spent trading punches with the enemy
Built myself a double thick stone tower of lies, higher than the eye could see
Trapped in my flesh & bone
Crying out to You Lord, I’m desperate
Love come rattle this cage and set me free
All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
Oh Lord, my prison turns to ruin
When Your love moves in
All of my fears, like Jericho walls,
Gotta come down, come down
Come down
Truth was crashing through the pride and the blame
Cutting straight to the heart of me
Long before I ever called your name
You were fighting for my victory
Carved in Your flesh and bone
The wounds that have said my souls forgiven
Oh now I can feel the darkness trembling
Rebuild me from the ground up
All I wanna see is You
Terrify the lies with truth
The Song After the Silence
Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About SongsJeremy Camp sat on the edge of the couch with his guitar across his lap. The weight of grief pressed heavily on his chest, a pain so deep that it left him breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to play anything, much less feel anything.
Growing up, Jeremy saw the power of prayer when his family was in need. Bags of groceries would appear on their doorstep when they had nothing. Those moments were teaching him to trust God, preparing him for a far greater trial.
Back then he didn’t think much of it. Now he could see how those little rescues had shaped him, teaching him that God didn’t always explain Himself, but He always showed up.
Moving to California had been a leap of faith he couldn’t quite justify, except that he felt pulled there. That’s where he met Melissa. She didn’t talk about faith like she was trying to impress anyone. But she spoke about it like it was just part of her. She was so steady and rooted in the Lord.
Even when the word cancer entered her life, the diagnosis would not hinder their love story. They got married anyway, choosing each other in the middle of uncertainty.
Their honeymoon was sweet, but there were moments — brief ones — when she’d press a hand to her stomach and try to wave off her pain. They didn’t dwell on it. They were twenty‑something and in love and trying to believe the best.
When they got home, the news hit hard. The cancer had spread.
Suddenly everything was measured in weeks. They prayed. They hoped. They did everything they knew to do. And four and a half months after they said their vows, Melissa was gone.
In the aftermath, twenty-two-year-old Jeremy was left sitting in that room that felt too big without her. He asked God why. He didn’t know what else to say. But no answers came. There was just a sense that he was supposed to trust God even without explanations.
He finally let his fingers fall onto the strings. A melody came out. It was unfiltered and raw about both the pain he felt and the trust he had in God. The words were, “I will walk by faith, even when I cannot see.”
It became the lyrics to his future hit song, I Still Believe. And just like those lyrics, we know that trusting God means knowing His character. Scripture puts it another way: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.”
This isn’t a story about understanding pain. It’s about learning to trust in the middle of it. Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it. And sometimes the most you can do is take the next step with open hands and let God meet you right where you are.
Jesus never promised us a life without pain. In fact, He promised the opposite. “In this world you will have tribulation.” But He also promised something stronger—that He has already overcome the very world that wounds us.
Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT
L Y R I C S
Scattered words and empty thoughts
Seem to pour from my heart
I’ve never felt so torn before
Seems I don’t know where to start
But it’s now that I feel Your grace fall like rain
From every fingertip, washing away my pain
I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your holy word
Even when I don’t see, I still believe
Though the questions still fog up my mind
With promises I still seem to bear
Even when answers slowly unwind
It’s my heart I see You prepare
The only place I can go is into your arms
Where I throw to you my feeble prayers
In brokenness I can see that this was Your will for me
Help me to know that You are near
When Dreams Feel Too Big
Daily Devotional, Tammi ArenderSo I’m sitting with a notebook open—blank pages staring back—trying to make sense of a future that suddenly feels unknown.
I know change is coming. I can feel it in my bones. But if you ask me what the next step is, I’ll probably just shrug and take another sip of coffee. Though I’m not leaving radio or TV, God has been nudging me toward something new.
Something that smells like butter and sugar and feels like home.
A bakery. Cookie decorating. Teaching classes. All things food.
Which makes sense if you know me. Around here in Louisiana, food isn’t just fuel—it’s family. It’s how we celebrate, how we grieve, how we show love without having to get all emotional about it. Feeding people is stitched into our DNA, and somewhere along the way, God stitched it into mine too.
The trouble is, once I say the dream out loud, reality sets in.
I don’t have the money yet or the place. I don’t even have a business plan written in this notebook yet. And fear is really quick to point that out. Fear wants receipts. It wants proof. It wants a color-coded plan and a safety net underneath.
But then there’s this verse that won’t leave me alone. Mark 9:23: “Everything is possible for one who believes.” Now, it doesn’t say everything is easy. Not everything is instant. But it is possible.
That word settles something in me.
Faith, I’m learning, doesn’t wait until the whole map is laid out on the table. Faith takes the next step with what it’s got and trusts God with what it doesn’t. If He’s the One who planted this dream, then He’s not confused about the details. He is already working in places I can’t see yet.
So, I start small.
I pray. I scribble ideas in the margins. I jot down class names and cookie designs and half-baked thoughts that might turn into something later.
And wouldn’t you know it—my confidence starts to grow. It grows because I’m choosing to believe that the same God who gave the dream is willing to walk me through the process. One step. One yes. One open notebook at a time.
Maybe you’ve got a page like this too. A dream that feels unfinished. Too big. Too unclear.
If so, maybe today isn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it’s just about taking the next small step and trusting that everything is possible when God is the One doing the nudging.
You don’t need the whole plan. You just need to believe enough to move.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT