The Connection Corner

A Brotherhood of the Broken

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

This Is Not God’s First Rodeo

Daily Devotional, Tammi Arender

2 Corinthians 10:5 – “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

I was ten years old the first time I saw a trick rider up close, and I could hardly breathe for how bad I wanted to be her.

It was rodeo night in Winnsboro, Louisiana. The spotlight swept across the dirt as the music kicked up and the trick riders took the field. They twirled lassos, stood on galloping horses, flipped and flew like they were born in the saddle. Their hair trailed behind them like ribbons. The crowd roared, and I sat still, wide-eyed and smitten.

The minute we got home, I found a rope and made it my mission. I swung it over my head until my arms ached. I practiced spinning it on the ground and tried, again and again, to jump in and out like the woman in the spotlight.

I gave it hours. Days. I got rope burns, blisters, and more than one scolding for flinging it too close to the furniture.

My daddy loved rodeos too. If he was not on the tractor or the combine, we were on the road—to Monroe, Crossett, Jackson—anywhere a rodeo could be found. We never missed a chance, and every time the trick riders came out, I felt that spark light up again. I would go home, dust off my rope, and try one more time.

But I never did master that thing. Somewhere along the way, the dream started to dim. It got too hard, and it was not the rope that wore me out—it was the thoughts that crept in. You are not made for this. You will never get it right. I listened. And eventually, I let go.

So no, I never became a Trick Rider.

But years later, I found myself back in those same small towns. Only this time, I was pursuing a different kind of calling. God opened doors I never saw coming in southern media. I got to work with farmers and cowboys and stand in the very heart of the culture I once dreamed of performing in.

No, it was not what I pictured at ten years old, but it was good. More than good. It was full of purpose. Still, I wonder what might have happened if I had not let discouragement write the ending to that first dream. Could God have done even more if I had held on just a little longer?

So here is what I want to tell you: if there is a dream in your heart, do not hand it over to negativity. When your mind starts to wander—when those discouraging thoughts circle in close—fix your focus. Lasso the thought. Take it captive before it takes root and give it back to God

No, you do not need to be perfect. You just need to trust God.

He is not afraid of the size of your dream. And remember—He is not new to this. This is not His first rodeo.

July 29, 2025/by Tammi Arender

Where Broken Meets Beautiful

Brenda Price, Daily Devotional

Titus 3:5 — He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to His own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit.

If I could go back and sit across from the younger me, I do not think I would try to fix her. I do not think she would have believed me, anyway. She was stubborn. Wounded. Tired. She was doing the best she could with what she had, and at the time, it was not much.

I was twenty-five when I lost my mom. I remember the hospital room, the chill of it, and the way time slowed in the hours before she passed. When she was gone, I walked out carrying this hollow kind of silence inside me. That grief stayed. It followed me everywhere I went.

And I wish I could say I handled that pain well. I did not. I ran from people who loved me. I tried to outrun the ache. And when I could not, I tried to bury it by numbing it.

A series of choices—and a thousand little escapes—turned into chains of drug and alcohol addiction. I was not proud of who I was becoming, but for a long time, I did not see a way out.

But if I could say just one thing to her—the girl who buried her mom and then buried herself not long after—it would be this: He is real.

God. He is not just a word people toss around when they do not know what else to say. He is not just a name in a book.

He is real. He is real in hospital rooms. He is real in addiction. And He is real enough to save you when you have gone over the edge.

I wish I could have wrapped that girl up and told her again and again until she believed it. But the truth is, I would not go back and undo anything. Not even the hardest parts because God did not waste a single moment. He used every scar, every mistake, every loss. All of it became part of a story I never expected—a story of grace.

And if that is where you are right now—if you are grieving, if you are stuck in something you don’t want to admit, if you think God is only for people who have it together—I want you to hear me clearly: You are not too far gone.

God is real. And He is not scared of your story. He steps right into the middle of it, and when He is through, what is left will not be shame.

It will be grace.

July 28, 2025/by Brenda Price