The Connection Corner

Safe to be Honest

Psalm 62:8 – Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.

Kara slammed her Bible shut and whispered under her breath, “I can’t do this anymore.”

From the outside, no one would have guessed she was struggling. She had been showing up—smiling, hosting Bible study, bringing snacks to the women’s retreat. But her heart had grown tired. Bitter, even. And underneath the surface, there was a kind of anger she did not want to admit.

She was not angry at people. Not even at herself. But at God.

Kara didn’t grow up in a home where you told God you were mad. No, you honored Him. You trusted Him. You got over it. So instead of admitting how she felt, she shoved it down and piled good works on top of it. But the weight of pretending started to wear her out.

She never said it out loud. Not until one evening, alone in her bedroom, when she snapped her Bible shut.

“I’m doing everything right,” She shouted. “So why do You feel so far away? God, I’m mad at you.”

For a moment, she braced herself—for guilt or for more of God’s silence. But no, that’s not what happened. She felt like God was saying, I know.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t pushing Him away with her pain. She was bringing her pain to Him. That small act—saying what she really felt—became the first step back toward trusting God.

And she realized something: God had never left. He was not disappointed in her for feeling human.

She did not forgive God because He was wrong. He wasn’t. But she let go of the silent resentment she felt toward Him that had built up between them.

Maybe you’re there, too. Maybe your prayers feel empty, and your faith feels thin. Maybe you’re carrying anger, confusion, or grief that you don’t know how to let go of. God is not afraid of your emotions—no matter how messy, no matter how raw. All you need to do is come as you are. He can take it.

May 20, 2025/by Andy Youso

Letting the Light In

Daily Devotional, Sarah Hall

Ephesians 5:8 “For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.”

You know that feeling when you walk into a room and wonder if anyone would still like you if they knew the whole story? That was me. Smiling. Friendly. Just fine. But only on the outside.

Shame is strange like that. It disguises itself—sometimes as strength, other times as silence. For years, I carried pieces of my story around like they were too broken or too messy to hand over to anyone else.

That’s why I almost skipped my church’s women’s retreat. I had a long list of excuses—too tired, too busy, not really up for small talk. But something nudged me to say yes. Maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I thought I’d leave feeling spiritually recharged.

The weekend started simple enough. Casual conversations. Iced coffee in hand. A few laughs over who snored the loudest. I figured I could get through this just fine without ever being seen too deeply.

Then one woman stood up and shared her story. She was just…honest. Through tears in her eyes she shared about sin in her life. About pain she had walked through. About what she needed God to do in her life that weekend.

It was so brave.

Then one by one other women began to open up too. I watched in awe as the community of women prayed over each lady, believing God for breakthrough.

I hadn’t planned to say anything. But when the moment came, I opened up about the shame and guilt I had been carrying for so long.

And when the women circled around me and prayed, I felt something I never expected to—relief. It was a risk to speak it out loud, to tell the truth without knowing how it would land. But instead of judgment, they met me with compassion. Some of them even had stories like mine.

With everything laid out in the open, it felt like light finally reached the places I thought God could never touch. I hadn’t even realized how badly I needed it or how long I had been carrying it all alone.

Shame and guilt had kept me from forgiving myself and moving forward. They had kept me silent. But that moment when I said it out loud for the first time, it didn’t break me. It freed me.

You do not have to hide your story to protect others or to prove you have moved on. That is not freedom. Freedom is walking into the light, even if your voice shakes. It is trusting that your story—honest and messy—is still worth telling. Because when we bring our past and our pain into the light, healing can finally begin.

And if you’re still carrying yours alone—I hope you’ll risk sharing it. Not because it’s easy. But because healing begins when silence ends.

May 19, 2025/by Sarah Hall

The Blessings in the Pain

Daily Devotional, David Hall, Heart of the Artist, Stories About Songs

Romans 5:3-4 “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

Laura didn’t expect Facebook to hurt. But somehow, it did.

She had just signed up for it, like everyone else she knew. It was new. Easy. Harmless. A place to scroll through happy faces, birthday dinners, and funny stories from people she hadn’t seen since high school.

The only problem was that their picture-perfect highlights looked nothing like the life she was living.

Not long before, she and her husband, Martin, sat in a sterile hospital room, listening to words no one ever wants to hear. Brain tumor. Surgery. Risks. She held her breath, hoping for healing. He survived—but the man who came home was not the same. His memory slipped. His vision blurred, and he struggled with basic skills.

While other people posted milestone moments, Laura sat in rehab waiting rooms, coaching her husband through how to button a shirt.

Facebook became unbearable. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward. Her life had slammed to a halt. Eventually, she stopped opening the app altogether. It hurt too much to compare her pain to their joy.

She stopped scrolling, and started praying. Not polished prayers. Just questions. She brought her anger and grief. And somehow, God didn’t flinch. Even when she had nothing to say.

In time, they found their way. It was not a perfect life, but it was still life. And it was theirs.

Later, sitting at the piano, Laura put words to what her heart had learned the hard way:

“Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?”

Friend, we can be so quick to scroll past pain—to hide it, mute it, deny it. But what if it is the very place God chooses to meet us? And the God who walks with us through fire is faithful to shape even our suffering into something good.

Lyrics

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand
To ease our suffering
And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your word is not enough
And all the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

When friends betray us
And when darkness seems to win, we know
The pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It’s not our home

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

May 18, 2025/by David Hall