The Connection Corner
A daily source of encouragement and inspiration to connect your heart to hope and faith.
Daily Devotional
Faith After the FalloutJune 3, 2026 - 7:00 am- Longing Less, Living MoreJune 2, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Running Home to RestJune 1, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Joy Fills RoomsMay 31, 2026 - 7:00 am
- The Dinner Table DiscoveryMay 30, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Love That Didn’t Look AwayMay 29, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Discipline, Desire, DelightMay 28, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Loved Louder than LabelsMay 27, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Rest for the RingmasterMay 26, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Grief Keeps GoingMay 25, 2026 - 7:00 am
Heart of the Artist
- When Joy Fills RoomsMay 31, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Paddleboards and PraiseMay 24, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Silence Finds a SongMay 17, 2026 - 7:00 am
- The Blood-Bought Glow UpApril 26, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Peace is Still PreachingApril 19, 2026 - 7:00 am
Stories About Songs
- When Joy Fills RoomsMay 31, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Paddleboards and PraiseMay 24, 2026 - 7:00 am
- When Silence Finds a SongMay 17, 2026 - 7:00 am
- The Blood-Bought Glow UpApril 26, 2026 - 7:00 am
- Peace is Still PreachingApril 19, 2026 - 7:00 am
Closer Than You Think
Daily Devotional, David HallCharles 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
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.
Redeemer in the Ruins
Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About SongsI 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
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)
When Conviction Costs Something
Brenda Price, Daily DevotionalI’m sitting at my desk in my little apartment, Bible open, notebook spread out, pen in hand, and a mug of lukewarm coffee cooling at my side. The city hums softly outside the window, but in here, it’s just me, the pages, and the challenge of wrestling with faith.
Tonight, my mind keeps circling back to Daniel, like from the Book of Daniel. Him, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego. Their stories won’t let me scroll past without notice.
Their courage—it’s shocking in its simplicity. They don’t bow when it’s inconvenient. They don’t compromise when it’s scary. Every time, they choose God. And my chest tightens because I know those moments in my own life when I’ve wavered—when being faithful felt like stepping out on a ledge without a net. Could I stand firm if everything in me wanted to run?
I scribble a note in the margin, pen hovering as a thought lands on Daniel 9:4: “O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps His covenant of love with those who love Him and obey His commands.” I read it aloud softly. It’s not just history. It’s a reminder that even in the pressure, the unseen work of God is moving, shaping circumstances, nudging hearts, and orchestrating outcomes in ways I can’t always see.
Faith isn’t passive. It’s choosing Him when it’s hard, when the walls are closing in, when fear whispers that compromise would be easier.
In the quiet, I let the thought sink in. There’s a subtle thrill in recognizing that my ordinary desk, my small apartment, and my daily choices are not too small for God to use. I write in bold at the bottom of the page: Stand firm. Trust Him. He’s in control.
And so, I sip my coffee, cold now, and feel it—the reassurance that choosing God, matters. Obeying Him matters.
Faith is not just for the grand, dramatic moments. It is for the quiet, for the mundane, for the small places no one sees. Let today be the day you choose Him. Let the corners of your life—the desk, the kitchen, the hallway between meetings—be the places you stand firm.
God is already working there, through what you do, through the people around you, and through circumstances that seem impossible. Stand, trust, and let Him move.
A MOMENT TO REFLECT