love

When the Light Hits the Dust

A beam of sunlight slipped into my living room one day and did what sunlight always does when it’s feeling bold—it told the truth. It lit up dust. Dog hair. Little evidence of life I hadn’t noticed… or maybe had noticed and quietly ignored. You know how it is. When the light isn’t hitting things…
Restored, Not Repaired

Scripture Focus: Galatians 5:6 “…faith which worketh by love,” and 1 John 5:3 “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments.” We spend a surprising amount of energy trying to fix ourselves. We polish behavior, manage appearances, and attempt spiritual touch-ups—hoping that if we pray harder, behave better, or try again…
Engraved, Not Forgotten

Also inspired by Isaiah 49:16 “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands..” Lord,I cannot fathom it—that Thou wouldst carry menot as a fleeting thought,not as a name to be spoken and forgotten,but as an engravingcut into the very palms of Thy hands. When I doubt my worth,when I fear I have…
Rooms Too Small for Your Sky

There are gatheringswhere your presence registerslike a dropped pin in a hurricane—there, but swallowed,a soft sound beneath louder storms. You speak,and your syllables driftlike paper boats on concrete,searching for water that isn’t there,for eyes that aren’t looking. You laugh on cue,fold your brightness into polite corners,trim your sentences to fittheir small attention spans,as if your…
The Hand Behind the Horizon

There are moments when light does not arrive—it unveils.As if the sky itself inhales,and suddenly the world I thought I knewis edged with brilliance—tree branches traced in liquid gold,ordinary walls carrying a quiet glowlike embers remembering fire.In that strange, holy illumination,I feel Your promise move toward me—not in words,but in a certainty that hums beneath…
Where Quiet Shapes the Soul

In the quiet hours,when the world loosens its gripand the rush of things drains awaylike a river slipping back into its banks,my soul begins to breathe again.There, in that soft margin between weariness and wonder,I sense Your nearness settling over me—not loud, not flashing,but steady as sunrise climbing the edge of the horizon,coloring everything it…
The Kind That Holds

Real love is not the spark—it’s the slow-burned timberstacked by hand,one quiet choice at a time,until winter’s breathcan’t put it out.It’s the irony of a flamethat doesn’t boast,yet warms everything within reach. It is less like a roseand more like the soil—dark, unnoticed,and willing to cradle the rootsso something else can bloom.It’s the long patienceof…
When Trust Walks Ahead of Evidence

There’s something sacred about sitting beside a fire and talking honestly about the kind of love that doesn’t make headlines—the kind shown not in poetic declarations, but in everyday decisions that cost us something. And as I’ve been thinking about that quiet, faithful love, another intertwined theme keeps rising to the surface: trust. Not the…
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 Real Dilemma of Our Age—And the Hope That Still Holds Us

People today live with a strange mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar. The old landmarks of human experience still stand—birth, love, loss, joy, sorrow, choices, and consequences. These things have shaped every generation since Adam drew his first breath. “There is no new thing under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9), and in many ways the…