The Connection Corner

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

Better Together Always

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 — Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.

It has just been hard.

Hard to feel confident. Hard to make good, healthy choices. That’s where I’ve been lately. Have you ever been in that place? Where in one season it felt easy—like, give me all the kale salads, I’ve got this—and in the next you’re standing there thinking, “Can I please just have some buffalo wings and Chick-fil-A and pasta?”

I’m just being honest.

What’s made it worse is everything that comes with it. The way I see myself. The frustration. The questions I think but don’t always say out loud. I keep asking, God, why is it so hard now when it used to be so easy? And I know the answer, even if I don’t love it.

This time, it’s going to take work. It’s going to take discipline.

And when you’ve done something for so long and then you stop, starting again feels like torture. Discipline feels evil. It does. But I’m so determined to get back to a healthier place.

Along the way I have realized I can’t do it alone. I need help. That part took me longer to admit than it should have.

I’ve been trying to do this by myself. I haven’t even really asked my husband to support me. He’s tried, but I never actually said, “I need you to walk with me in this.” I haven’t reached out to friends who would gladly hold me accountable. I just kept carrying it and hoping simple will-power would be enough.

It wasn’t.

And that’s when something simple but true settled in my mind. Discipline is good. It’s not the enemy. Isolation is. We were never meant to carry hard things alone. Scripture says it plainly: “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).

That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

So now I’m asking. I’m letting people in. I’m choosing accountability—not just with food or habits, but with every part my life. Because I don’t want to stay stuck where I am, and I don’t want to pretend I was ever meant to do this on my own.

I wonder if you have been trying to handle something alone, too. What might change if you let someone walk beside you?

Support is part of how we grow. Accountability is part of how we heal. And walking together is how we move forward.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

What is something in your life right now that feels harder than it used to?
Where have you been relying on willpower alone instead of inviting others to walk with you?
Who is someone you trust that you could ask for support or accountability this week?
How does knowing that God designed us for community change the way you view asking for help?

January 19, 2026/by Bri Dunn

Jericho in My Rearview

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Hebrews 13:6 — We can say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper, so I will have no fear. What can mere people do to me?”

The 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

What “wall” are you facing right now that feels too tall to overcome?
Where have you been waiting to see the walls fall before choosing to trust God?
What would it look like today to take one step of faith instead of letting fear lead?
How does remembering that “the Lord is my helper” change the way you view your situation?

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

January 18, 2026/by Tammi Arender

The Song After the Silence

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

John 16:33 — In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

Jeremy 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

Where are you being asked to trust God right now, even without answers?
What pain are you carrying that you haven’t yet placed in Jesus’ hands?
What would it look like to take heart today—not because life is easy, but because Jesus has already overcome?

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

January 17, 2026/by David Hall