The Connection Corner

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

Holding On During Hard Days

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Romans 8:38-39 — And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Some days, faith feels solid. Other days, it feels like you’re holding it together with duct tape and coffee.

I wrote “Even If” on one of those duct-tape days.

My oldest son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when he was two. He’s grown now, but that diagnosis didn’t grow out of our lives. It’s still there woven into our lives. You get your good days, and then you get days that remind you this thing isn’t going anywhere.

I remember when we were headed to his six-month checkup. If you’ve ever been there, you know—it feels like being called into the principal’s office. Your stomach tightens before you even sit down. I don’t remember if the appointment was “good” or “bad.” It doesn’t really matter. What mattered was the reminder that so much of our life still revolved around this illness. And I was worn out by it.

I had a show that night. I was supposed to walk on stage and sing about hope. About trust. About a God who holds it all together. And honestly, I didn’t want to. Sometimes standing under lights and telling people it’s going to be okay feels impossible when you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

I hate admitting it out loud, but what I was struggling with the most that day was knowing God can heal my son…and He hasn’t.

On my bad days, that’s the lie that hits hardest. The one that tries to convince me that unanswered prayers mean something about God… or about me.

I kept thinking about those three guys standing in front of the fire—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They don’t bargain with God. They don’t hedge their bets. They say they believe God will rescue them but even if He doesn’t, they’re still not bowing. They’re still not surrendering. He’s still worth it.

Most days, I don’t “get it.” I doubt. I worry. I get angry. I ask why. And that used to scare me—until I realized my relationship with Jesus isn’t built on how steady I feel. It’s built on who He is. He can handle my hard questions. He can handle my frustration. He’s not fragile. He is strong.

And it was on one of those days of reminding myself of that truth on a hard day, that the song “Even If” came pouring out as pen on the page. It was my line in the sand. A reminder to my own heart that even if God doesn’t do what I think He should, He’s still my greatest hope.

Later, my middle son Charlie—who is a lot like me, ADHD and all—said something that stuck. He told me, “Dad, I think I know why you do this for a living. If you didn’t sing about it every night, you’d forget.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Singing these songs is muscle memory for my soul. It’s how I hide truth in my heart when my feelings won’t cooperate. It’s how I lift my eyes when circumstances keep dragging them down. Night after night, I’m reminded of something Scripture says plainly. It’s something I need spelled out every day.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38–39

Chronic illness doesn’t disappear. Hard seasons don’t always resolve. Some prayers don’t come with the ending we hoped for. But God’s worthiness didn’t start when our trouble showed up and His love never wavered. It was established long before, and it isn’t threatened by anything.

“Even If” is my reminder. Maybe it’s yours too on days when faith feels hard. It’s a choice to keep trusting because love like God’s doesn’t let go.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is sing that truth again until your heart remembers it.

— Bart Millard

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

When faith feels hardest for you, what thoughts or fears tend to surface first?
Have you ever wrestled with the tension between believing God can intervene and facing the reality that He hasn’t—yet or at all?
What does it mean to you that God’s love is not dependent on the strength of your faith or the outcome of your prayers?
In what ways do you “hide truth in your heart” when your feelings won’t cooperate?
What might an “even if” kind of faith look like in your life right now?

Even If – Lyrics

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad
I’ve stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it’ll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Good thing
A little faith is all I have right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful, You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

It is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

January 31, 2026/by Linda Meyers

The Rescue That Took Its Time

Bri Dunn, Daily Devotional

Psalm 9:10 – Those who know your name trust in you, for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you.

I didn’t know Lori. I still don’t, really, but for months, I watched her from my car as I drove through downtown Monroe.

She was always in the same spot, under the same shade tree near Warehouse No. 1. Beside her lay the same black dog, curled low to the ground, like the world had already taught her too much.

Later, I learned what had happened to that dog—and why Lori loved her the way she did. She’d been dumped by her owners. Left behind. And she ran after them. That detail stays with you.

The heartbreak lingered. The dog would approach people just long enough to sniff, then bolt the second a hand reached out. Too many broken promises. Too much fear. People tried to catch her. No one could.

Then there was Lori.

Day after day, she showed up under that tree. She brought water. Food. Blankets. Whatever might help the dog feel safe. At first, she sat far away. Over time, as trust grew, she moved closer. Eventually, she could touch her.

Every single day. For months.

I imagine that dog was learning how to love again.

One day, she finally climbed into Lori’s car. Off to the vet they went. Needs were met. Supporters stepped in. And the dog once known as “the black warehouse dog” was given a new name—Queenie.

She sleeps in a warm bed now. Surrounded by people who adore her. She will never again wonder if she’s good enough. The ones who left her behind have no idea what a treasure they abandoned.

And I can’t watch Queenie’s story without seeing my own.

I know what it’s like to keep God at arm’s length. Close enough to test Him. Not close enough to trust Him. I know what it’s like to hesitate, to pull back, to need time, and I know how patient my Heavenly Father has been. He stays near, unoffended by my fear, unwilling to walk away.

What stuck with me wasn’t the rescue. It was the waiting.

Lori never chased the dog. Never cornered her. Never demanded trust she wasn’t ready to give. She stayed close enough to be present, far enough to be safe. Love didn’t raise its voice. It proved itself by returning.

That kind of love changes things. Slowly. Steadily. Until fear loosens its grip and trust finds room to breathe.

I’ve seen that same patience in my own life—not in dramatic moments, but in ordinary ones. In the seasons I hesitated. In the days I didn’t have much faith to offer. And still, God stayed near. Not hurried. Not offended. Not gone.

Scripture names that kind of faithfulness plainly: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You” (Psalm 9:10).

That verse isn’t a challenge. It’s a reassurance. A reminder that God doesn’t confuse slowness with rejection. He doesn’t abandon the cautious or the wounded. He remains present long before trust ever feels easy.

And maybe that’s where this story is supposed to end—not with a command, but with permission. Permission to believe that God’s nearness isn’t fragile. That His love doesn’t depend on how quickly we respond. That even now, He is still right where He’s always been—close, steady, and willing to wait.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

Are there places in your life where you’ve been keeping God at a safe distance rather than fully trusting Him?
What past experiences might be influencing how easily—or cautiously—you trust God now?
How have you seen God remain present and patient with you, even in seasons when your faith felt small or hesitant?
What does it mean to you that God does not confuse slowness with rejection or fear with disobedience?
How does knowing that God is willing to wait for your trust change the way you approach Him today?

January 30, 2026/by Bri Dunn

Align Your Days the Jesus Way

Daily Devotional, David Hall

Matthew 6:6 —But when you pray, go away by yourself, shut the door behind you, and pray to your Father in private. Then your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.

You’ve had those days—when the house is quiet, but your mind is racing, and the year ahead already feels heavier than you thought it would. You want stillness, the kind that doesn’t come from scrolling or muting your notifications, but from something deeper.

And it’s in that longing that a story comes to mind. It’s one where we’re reminded that Jesus knows what it’s like.

You see, there was a season of Jesus’ life where His days were packed full too. Crowds were everywhere surrounding Him. People followed Him from town to town. Every knock at the door was someone who needed healing, comfort, and answers that only He could give.

Every day demanded everything He had. Yet He would slip away. He didn’t give a dramatic farewell. No “be right back” or explanation. He just made the steady decision to stay behind after He dismissed the crowds and then His disciples so He could spend time in prayer with God His Father.

Out there, with nothing but cool air and scattered stars, He let Himself breathe. Not because He was escaping responsibility, but because He refused to let the noise define what came next. The Father’s voice mattered more than the crowd’s expectations. Prayer wasn’t a task on His list; it was the place where His direction was shaped. This gave Him the alignment He needed to keep going.

So, if this year is already hectic and tugging at you from all sides, I just want to encourage you that you too can find a different rhythm. One where you find the peace that your soul is aching for.

Matthew 6:6 tells us exactly how He did it: “But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” He didn’t wait for life to calm down. He didn’t wait for the right moment to feel ready. He just stepped into the quiet, alone with God, and that was enough.

You don’t have to retreat to a hillside or slip out before sunrise. But you can choose small pockets of stillness where your heart can realign, where the noise can loosen its grip, and where the One who sees you fully can steady the parts that feel scattered.

And who knows—somewhere in those quiet moments, you may find the same thing Jesus found: clarity from remembering Who leads you forward into the year ahead.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

What usually keeps you from slowing down and spending quiet, uninterrupted time with God?
When life feels noisy or overwhelming, where do you tend to go first for relief—and how does that compare to where Jesus went?
What would it look like for you to “shut the door” this week, even in a small or simple way?
How might your days change if prayer became a place of alignment rather than another item on your to-do list?
Is there something God may want to speak to you in the quiet that’s been hard to hear in the noise?

January 29, 2026/by David Hall