gratitude

Finding Enthusiasm When Life Feels Ordinary

There was a time when enthusiasm came easily for me. It showed up in packed bags and countdown calendars. In the promise of mountains and cabins and quiet mornings by a window, watching snow soften the world. It lived in the sound of rain on a tin roof, knowing it was doing good work—washing, nourishing,…
When Gratitude Runs Out of Words

Scripture Focus: 2 Corinthians 9:15 “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” Paul ends a long, practical discussion about generosity with a sentence that almost feels like a holy interruption. After talking about offerings, willingness, cheerful giving, and provision, he suddenly stops and exclaims, “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” It’s as…
The Quiet Work of Choosing Joy

So many of us are chasing joy the way we chase a bus that’s already pulling away—breathless, anxious, convinced we’re about to miss it. We tell ourselves we’ll rejoice after the problem is solved, after the fear passes, after tomorrow behaves better than today. But joy, it turns out, doesn’t live in the future we…
The Season That Gives Back

Not in the shimmer of wrapping,nor in the weight of the tree,but in gentle, quiet offeringsthe season speaks to me. A hand reached out in kindness,a prayer breathed soft and low,a place at the table widenedso one more heart may glow. Joy does not come wrapped in ribbons—it walks in on tender feet,found in the…
The Weight You Never Saw

There are roadsthat look level from a distance—smooth as calm water,easy as a summer breath. But step upon them,and you find the ground tiltingunder the quiet weightanother soul has carriedlong before you noticed the path at all. You feel it then—the hidden gravity,the tug beneath their ordinary steps,the invisible bruisesmade by days that left no…
When the Table Has Empty Chairs

There’s a certain stillness that settles into this season for many people—something deeper than cold weather and shorter days. It’s the quiet ache of empty chairs, unanswered phone calls, strained relationships, or miles that feel longer than they appear on any map. It’s the heaviness of knowing that someone who once laughed beside you won’t…
Where the Empty Places Shine

There are distances the map can’t measure— those long, invisible miles between one heartbeat and another. Sometimes they open like canyons cut by disappointment, sometimes like frost on a window no one meant to close. Illness can hush a room, silencing the familiar footsteps; discord can turn a family tree into winter branches, each twig…
The Shape of Thanks in the Unseen

Gratitude sometimes arriveswithout a face—a ripple moving through the darkas if an unseen winghad brushed the surface of our world. It is a soundless thing,like color underwater,or a lantern floating upwardwithout fire. It walks the corridorsbetween what is lostand what is not yet born,gathering fragments—a forgotten warmth,a pulse of light,a name we once whispered in…
Where Thankfulness Hides

Gratitude is sometimes a shadow—a thin line drawn where lightmeets the edge of something we do not choose. It waits in odd places:in the hush between heartbeats,in the bruise-colored hourbefore dawn remembers its name,in the hollow where our questions echo. It is not loud.Not certain.Not easily held. It rises like a small, stubborn flamecupped in…
Gratitude After Midnight

There is a gratitudethat rises only in daylight—easy, warm, effortless. But the truest thanksis born after midnight,when nothing makes senseand the path is dim. It is the quiet “thank You”spoken with empty hands,the fragile trustthat finds God’s nearnesseven in the dark. This is the gratitudethat becomes worship—not because life is gentle,but because He is. If…