The Connection Corner

When Fear Stands in the Way

Psalms 56:3 — “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”

I stood at the edge of the woods that afternoon, just trying to catch my breath in the heat. I was standing in the shaded path near the ropes course at summer camp when I saw him.

A young boy—maybe seven—stood trembling on top of a telephone pole, tears dripping down his cheeks. His arms were rigid at his sides, and his knees shook beneath him.

This was the final challenge of the ropes course. They called it “The Leap of Faith.” The goal was simple: jump off the platform and reach for a nearby trapeze bar suspended in midair. But for this kid, it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

From the ground, the belayer called up with gentle encouragement.

“You are safe, buddy. You are clipped in,” he said. “Those ropes are solid, but listen. You do not want to go back the way you came. Trust me. The safest way down is to jump.”

The boy stood frozen for what felt like forever. I wondered if he would try climbing down. Then, quietly, he bent his knees and jumped.

When he caught the bar, the grin that broke out across his face was unforgettable. All the fear was still hanging in the air, but now it was drowned out by something louder: joy.

That memory has stayed with me for years. Not because of the stunt, but because I have lived in that tension—wanting to turn back, doubting what I cannot see, standing on the edge of something that looks impossible.

But sometimes the only way forward is a leap. Not reckless. Not blind. But real, trusting faith grounded in the confidence that you are already held.

If you are standing on a ledge today, frozen with fear, listen closely. There is a Voice calling to you—not shouting, not rushing—but reminding you that, while the way forward might feel risky, you are not unprotected. You are never alone.

Friend, you may not see the harness, but that does not make it any less secure.

August 1, 2025/by David Hall

Life After Letting Go

Daily Devotional, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Proverbs 3:5–6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

If you had asked me a few years ago what surrender looked like, I probably would have given you a lyric or a sermon point. I might have even sung about it on stage. But life has a way of taking your songs and asking if you actually believe them.

We were in the middle of another packed tour—city after city, set list after set list. People were singing along. Ministry was happening. On the outside, everything looked like it was working. But on the inside, I was struggling to catch my breath.

I was missing dinners. Bedtime stories. The small in-between moments at home that no one claps for, but that matter more than anything. One night, sitting alone in a venue parking lot, I remember thinking—not in a dramatic way, but in a soul-deep way—What am I even doing?

I had given so much of myself to ministry, but somewhere along the way, I stopped asking if it was still what God wanted—or if I had just forgotten how to stop.

That night marked the beginning of surrender.

I sat with the guys in the band and said, “I think we need to step back from touring.”

It hurt to say. But it opened the door to healing. We took time off. We made space for our families. And in that space, the lyrics to our song “Control” came to me:

“Oh how You love me
Somehow that frees me
To open my hands up
And give You control
I give You control”

When we released it, we started receiving letters—people telling us about the things they were finally letting go of. Control of their children’s futures. Control of broken marriages. Control of their image. The #ControlCampaign became more than a hashtag. It became a shared sigh of relief.

And that is what I never saw coming: the rest. The clarity. The peace that comes when you stop reaching for everything and hand back to God what was His in the first place.

So if your heart feels overwhelmed and stretched thin, maybe the way forward is not to try harder. Maybe it is to trust deeper. Surrender is not failure. It is where freedom starts.

— Mike Donehey

Control (Somehow You Want Me)

Here I am, all my intentions
All my obsessions, I wanna lay them all down
In Your hands
Only Your love is vital
Though I’m not entitled
Still You call me Your child

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control
I give You control

I’ve had plans shattered and broken
Things I have hoped in, fall through my hands
You have plans to redeem and restore me
You’re behind and before me
Oh, help me believe

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control

You want me, somehow You want me
The King of Heaven wants me
So this world has lost its grip on me(Repeat)

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control
I give You control
You want me, somehow You want me
The King of Heaven wants me
So this world has lost its grip on me

(Written by: Mike Donehey, Jason Ingram, Matt Bronleewe)

July 31, 2025/by David Hall

A Brotherhood of the Broken

Daily Devotional, David Hall

2 Corinthians 1:4 – “Who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

You do not forget the day everything changes. For Daniel, it was the day he left the hospital without Lyndsie.

She had been his person—for ten years of cancer and ten years of marriage. She was the steady, gentle presence that held their home together. Now, it was just Daniel, two young children, and the kind of silence that clings to the walls.

At first, people came. They brought meals, sent gift cards, wrote notes, offered help. His community was generous and kind. But grief does not follow the timeline of casseroles and sympathy cards. And before long, the world moved on.

Daniel did not.

He tried to manage what he could. But what he really needed could not be delivered in a meal tray. He needed someone who understood. A young man who had walked this same stretch of road—who had buried the love of his life and somehow kept showing up for school pickups and bedtime prayers. Someone to say, “You are not alone. You are not crazy. You will make it.”

He searched for that man. He prayed for him. But no one came.

Eventually, Daniel made a quiet vow.

“God, if you ever bring another widower into my life, I will not let that man walk alone. I will be, for him, what I needed most.”

And then it started—slowly, quietly. First, one widower crossed his path. Then another. Then more. Each man carrying a version of the same story and battles.

That is when Daniel realized God had not ignored his prayer. He had been preparing him to answer it.

“Refuge Widowers” was born from that vow. It became a brotherhood of grieving fathers and broken husbands walking side by side, pointing one another to the only hope strong enough to carry their weight. Not answers. Not quick fixes. Just presence, courage, and faith that holds steady when life falls apart.

Today, you may not have walked the same road Daniel has. But chances are, you have survived something. Chances are, you know what it feels like to wait for someone to show up. And if you do, then hear this: your pain does not disqualify you. It may be the very thing God uses to reach someone else.

So, look around. Pay attention. There is likely someone within reach who needs what you once prayed for.

Be who you needed. Say yes to the hard road. Don’t wait for someone else to lead the way because your story might just be someone else’s lifeline.

July 30, 2025/by David Hall