In the Beginning… Again

 

“In the beginning…” are some of the most powerful words ever written.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Gen 1:1
“In the beginning was the Word.” John 1:1

Even Julie Andrews knew what she was talking about: “Let’s start at the very beginning -- a very good place to start.”

And here we are -- in the beginning -- of 2026. A brand spanking new year.

Which begs the question -- what does brand-spanking-new even mean? One explanation traces it to newborns -- those first cries signaling life has begun. I love that picture -- life awakened -- unmistakably new.

That’s my prayer for this year -- that 2026 would be indelibly marked by God. New thinking. New living. New grace.

The world loves a clean slate, and so does God. Scripture promises, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) That’s not just poetic language -- it’s permission to begin again.

I’ve always loved asking God for a “word of the year.” As we prayed in the new year -- Carl and I agreed that we wanted to be encouragers to others this year. Encourage -- encourager -- encouragement. Aw! That hint of color for the blank canvas ahead.

Our scripture to emulate: "Encourage one another and build each other up." (1 Thessalonians 5:11)

In Genesis, God looked at what He had made and declared it “very good.” (Genesis 1:31) That’s my hope for this year -- that the atmosphere we create, the love we give, the encouragement we offer would reflect His goodness.

So here’s to beginnings. Fresh starts. Holy possibility.
What does your “in the beginning” look like?

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

“Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun…”

Thanks, Annie. Turns out she was onto something eternal.

A brand-new year arrived, but aside from the clock striking midnight, nothing really looked different. The first minute of a new day is just as dark as the last minute of the old one. No fireworks. No instant brightness. Just… night.

That’s often how new seasons feel too.

We step into something new, but the heart still aches like it did yesterday. The bills still wait. The answers still seem silent. Doors we’ve prayed over remain stubbornly closed. We’ve done everything “right,” stood on God’s promises, and yet—midnight lingers.

But here’s the truth we never question: the sun has never failed to rise.

Not once.

No matter how dark the night, morning always shows up. And that’s exactly the kind of faith God invites us to have. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

God sees the dawn before we ever do.
He sees people and circumstances aligning long before we notice movement.
He knows precisely when we’ll step out of the tunnel and into the light.

We don’t need to know the timing. We just need to trust the certainty.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:22–23)

So if today still feels dark, take heart. Midnight is not permanent. Silence is not absence. And delay is not denial.

Let’s thank God before the sunrise. Gratitude in the dark strengthens faith in the light. When we trust Him the way we trust tomorrow’s sunrise, something supernatural happens—hope steadies us, peace settles in, and courage grows.

So don’t fear when you can’t yet see the dawn.
The most beautiful things are often born in the darkest moments.

And just like always…
the sun will come out tomorrow. 🌅

#Annie #sunwillcomeout #Tomorrow

Still Counting My Blessings

This morning, while checking to be sure my blogs landed where they were supposed to (they did -- thank you, Lord), a song started playing in my mind. Not on the radio. Not on my phone. Just there -- settling into my heart.

“Lord, I’m still counting my blessings…” — the chorus from "Counting My Blessings" by Seph Schlueter.

And isn’t that exactly right for this moment and this new year?

I am staking my claim on 2026's blessings. The more I look, the more I see them. Blessings tucked into details. Blessings hiding in ordinary moments. Blessings so numerous they spill over the edges of gratitude lists and into quiet tears.

Family. Friends. Shared laughter. Familiar faces and faraway ones. People I know personally -- and people I’ve never met but somehow know through shared faith, encouraging words, and daily reminders that goodness is still alive and well. Leaders. Voices of hope. Strangers who feel like friends because kindness connects us.

The more I look, the more of God’s goodness I find.

On this side of heaven, I know I’ll run out of time before I run out of reasons to be thankful. I can’t count that high. But oh, I can keep counting.

I’m grateful for the privilege of writing words each day -- words that travel farther than I ever could. I’m grateful for social media friends who show up with encouragement, prayers, and light. I’m grateful for people who choose positivity in a noisy world and faith in uncertain times.

And mostly, I’m grateful for a God who keeps showing up -- in the details, in the connections, in the quiet morning moments when a song becomes a prayer.

So today, I’ll keep counting my blessings. Not because life is perfect -- but because God is faithful. And the more I look, the more I see that His goodness has been chasing me all along.

Lord, I may never finish counting -- but I will never stop trying.

"Praise the Lord, O my soul. And forget none of His acts of kindness." Psalm 103:2

#blessings #grateful #countingmyblessings

Wise Men and Women Still Seek Him

I’m leaning all the way into the word NEW -- new mercies, new perspectives, new grace, new peace, new joy, new hope. The trivial stuff no longer gets to sit in the front seat.

The rearview mirror doesn’t offer much satisfaction anymore, and honestly, what once felt urgent in 2025 now feels surprisingly small. I’m loosening my grip on yesterday and opening my hands wide to this day.

And I’m stoked about it.

It feels like the starter’s pistol has fired: On your mark...get set…GO!
Go big or go small -- but GO. GO for living fully. GO for loving deeply. GO for kindness that costs something. GO for a year rich with purpose, possibility, and holy expectation.

Here’s the best news ever -- the calendar flipped, but Christ did not. The Light we celebrated at Christmas didn’t dim when the decorations came down. If anything, it shines brighter now -- when the music fades, the crowds thin, and the stillness returns.

I noticed it in the sweet hush of our home. In the calm that settles when nothing is flashing or buzzing. That’s often where Jesus waits -- not in the noise, but in the pause.

December has a way of reminding us to look up. To give. To notice. To worship. The temptation, once January arrives, is to tuck those habits away with the ornaments. But why should seeking the Lord ever be seasonal?

The Wise Men didn’t stop once they found Him. They kept moving, kept following the Light, kept trusting the journey until they reached the Savior. And Scripture still whispers the same promise to us today -- "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." Matthew 7:7

So as 2026 stretches out before us -- fresh and unwritten -- may we carry the Christmas LIGHTS in us. May we seek Him on ordinary mornings, busy afternoons, and quiet nights. May we follow His Light into our homes, our choices, and our days.

The miracle remains. Hallelujah!
Wise men still seek Him.
Wise women do too.
And when we seek Him, we find life -- abundant life.

I’m counting on that life for me -- and for you and yours!

Happy New Year -- Welcome 2026!

There is something almost sacred about the first page of a new year. The calendar is crisp. The journal is blank. The possibilities feel wide open. It’s as if God Himself leans in and says, “Let’s begin again.”

And oh, how grateful I am to begin this year surrounded by family. Looking at those faces—smiling, laughing, standing shoulder to shoulder—I’m reminded that joy multiplies when it’s shared. Families aren’t perfect (thank goodness, or none of us would qualify), but they are God’s chosen place for love to grow, forgiveness to be practiced, and faith to be lived out loud. What a gift.

If 2025 taught us anything, it’s that time moves fast and life can be heavy. But here we are—still standing, still believing, still loved. And now comes 2026, offering us a fresh start wrapped in hope. I truly believe God designed us for do-overs. Scripture says it best: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17). New hearts. New songs. New strength. New mercies—every single morning.

So what will we do with this new year?

Let’s choose faith over fear, even when the path feels uncertain.
Let’s choose joy—not because life is perfect, but because God is faithful.
Let’s choose peace in our homes, our conversations, and our 6hearts.
Let’s choose love—the kind that listens, forgives quickly, shows up, and stays.

In 2026, may we be people who finish well, speak kindly, give generously, and trust God deeply. May our families be places of laughter and prayer, our tables places of welcome, and our lives living testimonies that God is still making all things new.

I’ve already turned the page. I’m stepping forward with expectation and gratitude, believing that new doors will open, new stories will be written, and new grace will meet us every step of the way.

Here’s my hand—come on. Let’s walk into this new year together. 💛

Happy New Year's Eve -- Day 365 — We Made It

That’s 365 days of choosing hope. Of posting encouragement. Of offering a positive word in a world that often prefers venting over virtue. And let’s be honest -- this year gave us plenty to vent about. Politics. The economy. Relationships. Disappointments. Phew!

But once upon a time -- 2010, to be exact -- I sensed a nudge from God. I didn’t really want to step into social media’s noise, but I felt called to bring a little sunshine into places that can feel awfully dark. So I showed up. One day at a time.

Fifteen years later, I’m still here. And I’m still grateful.

Staying “in the zone” has meant paying attention -- catching God’s fingerprints in everyday moments. A sunrise. A scripture. A conversation. A whisper -- and sometimes a holy shout. I learned that God is always speaking. I just had to tune my heart to listen.

And here’s the wonder of it all -- when I showed up for my daily appointment with God, He always showed up too. Faithful. Present. True to every promise.

Do I know what 2026 will hold? Not exactly.
But I know Who holds it.
And that makes all the difference.

There’s something within us that loves the idea of a new year -- a fresh page, a clean slate, a chance to make wrongs right and good things even better. Hope feels lighter when it’s new. Courage rises when we remember this simple truth -- "I’m still here -- so I’m not done."

God’s mercies will meet us again tomorrow morning. They always do.

So here’s to new horizons, new adventures, and new grace. Goodbye 2025 -- your 365th day is close to its end!

Let's get ready to turn the page to 2026 -- our journeys will continue -- and our Author and Finisher is already ahead of us!

"....fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith..." Hebrews 12:2

We Took Christmas Outside our Walls

 

We're grateful that here in Austin, the weather has been kind -- well except for yesterday when our temperatures plummeted. Typically, warm days and mild nights mean those on the streets aren’t huddled in freezing corners right now. Still, warm weather doesn’t erase hunger, loneliness, or the longing to be seen.

This blog was born out of an early Christmas gathering with Carl’s family. His daughter, Amelia, invited us to celebrate before they headed to their second home in Crested Butte, Colorado. We met at Salt Traders for lunch -- good food, great conversation, photos snapped between bites -- and then we headed to their beautiful Austin home.

Amelia had an aha for our family gathering -- more than gift giving to each other -- the real gift came from her heart.

Amelia had turned her dining room table into a holy assembly line. Plastic bags stacked high. Socks. Water bottles. Easy-open tuna cans. Beef sticks. Cheese. Peanut butter bars. Nuts.

After our assembly line had successfully packed the bags, we handwrote notes to tuck into each bag. These weren’t just bags of food -- they were manna bags, reminders that someone cared enough to prepare something just for them.

It was Christmas beyond ourselves.

The next morning, Amelia’s husband, Terrell, saw a homeless man on Hwy 290. He offered the man one of the bags. After receiving it, the man wanted to give back to Terrell -- a cigarette. And then added, quite seriously, “It’s even better than that… it has embalming fluid on it.”

Terrell later laughed and said, “Maybe the prosperity gospel is alive and well. Quid pro quo (giving something for something)."

We all had a laugh -- full of thanksgiving -- not to receive but to give -- in Jesus' name. We prayed that man felt something deeper than humor. We prayed he felt dignity. Kindness. Love.

Because sometimes generosity looks like a sack lunch and a conversation. Sometimes it’s a note written by someone who will never know the reader. And sometimes the blessing comes wrapped in laughter.

Scripture says, “The generous will themselves be blessed, for they share their food with the poor.” (Proverbs 22:9)

What if loving others doesn’t always require a grand plan? What if it just asks us to step outside our walls, notice who’s there, and offer what we have?

Turns out, Christmas travels well -- with tenderness, dignity, real-life faith and love with skin on.

#Loveisgiving #sharefood #generosity

Remember. Meditate. Reflect.

I can’t begin to tell you what blogging has done for me over the last fifteen years. It has given me purpose -- and a sweet intimacy with God.

Each day feels like an invitation to sit quietly, hold the pen (or the keyboard), and wait for the aha moments He so faithfully supplies. I write, but He leads. His Word flows, and I get to pass it along.

David once said, “I remember the days of old; I meditate on all You have done; I reflect on the work of Your hands.” (Psalm 143:5)

Those three words -- remember, meditate, reflect -- feel like a gentle three-step invitation as this 2025 closes and 2026 peeks around the corner.

To remember is simply to be mindful. As a new year knocks, it’s tempting to rush ahead and forget where we’ve been. Yet God often says, “Remember…” So we pause and ask, What has God brought me through this year?

Next comes meditate. This isn’t complicated -- it’s intentional thinking. We don’t just recall events -- we notice the One behind them. Where did I see God’s hand guiding, protecting, providing?

Then we reflect. Reflection turns awareness into gratitude. Like David’s psalms, it leads us to praise and growth. We ask, What am I thankful for? What has God taught me that I’ll carry forward?

This doesn’t require a retreat or a planner. It can happen over coffee, in conversation with loved ones, or by candlelight on a quiet evening. Just a pause.

Our world applauds constant motion, but sometimes the holiest progress comes from stillness. Sometimes we move forward by looking back. Sometimes silence is where the heart finally hears what it needs most.

Christmas invited us to slow down. Why not carry that gift with us?

Prince of Peace, please help us remember Your goodness, meditate on Your faithfulness, and reflect with grateful hearts -- walking closely with You each day of 2026. Amen.

#Remember #Meditate #Reflect

My Christmas Letters and LOVE That Never Let's Go

After celebrating Christmas three times -- with our Noble family, our Wuerch family, and our Wallace family -- I’m finally sitting still long enough to smile and say, “Thanks be to God for His LOVE that knows no end!"

Carl’s family gathered first before heading to Colorado. Christmas Day was spent with my Wuerch crew -- all present and accounted for. And our East Texas bunch joined us through UPS packages and a Christmas-night Zoom meeting. We may have been scattered across the map, but our hearts were gathered as one!

One of my favorite traditions during Christmas is writing my annual heartfelt letters. Each year, I pray for a word -- a simple message paired with a small keepsake -- that reflects what God has been teaching me and what I want each family member to carry into the year ahead.

This year, the word arrived early. Very early. February, 2025 early.

There I was at Hobby Lobby -- surrounded by Valentine’s décor --suddenly it hit me like neon lights flashing -- LOVE. I stood there -- almost in a daze -- thinking, "How in the world has LOVE never been my word before?

Drum Roll, please! I gathered sweet little LOVE signs and red sequined hearts, and the message settled into my spirit like it had been waiting all along.

Because really -- LOVE is the whole story -- not only the virgin birth, but the sacrifice of God's only Son for our salvation!

God loved us so much He sent His Son as a baby. That baby grew up to heal, restore, forgive, and save. In a world heavy with fear and darkness, Jesus showed us what LOVE looks like with skin on. Love personified. Love in action.

Goodness gracious, doesn’t our world need more of that LOVE?

So my little gifts became reminders -- to be Love Givers and Love Receivers. To love the lost and the found, the strong and the weary, the familiar and the different. To love our neighbors the way God loves us.

In each letter, besides my heart-to-heart paragraph crafted only with my individual words to each family member, but I wrote this in the last paragraph:

"This little LOVE sign may be small, but we hope it reminds you how deeply you are cherished. Our love for you is great -- but it’s only a reflection of God’s greater love, the kind that crossed heaven to reach earth and never lets go. And this heart? It’s a reminder that love grows through every season. When life feels loud, remember -- you are rooted in love, held by love, and always covered by love.

God’s love. And ours. Always. Love, Mom/Nana and Carl/Pops

#Godslove #christmaslettering #lovestory

What If We Had Been the Shepherds?

Not the polished, postcard shepherds -- but the real ones. Sleepless. Dusty. Smelling like sheep. Curled up on the ground because that’s just how life worked.

Shepherding wasn’t glamorous, but it was essential. Sheep mattered. Sacrifices mattered. And shepherds stayed busy because sheep were born -- well -- to die.

Then one night -- everything changed.

Was the field far away from Bethlehem or just beyond the edge of town? Scripture doesn’t say. But we know this -- it was close enough for heaven to break in and close enough for trembling shepherds to run.

Imagine waking to light where darkness had lived for centuries. A stranger -- glowing -- hovering in the sky. The first words? “Do not be afraid.” (Which is comforting --but also suggests fear had already arrived.)

The angel announces news so big it bends the night:
A baby has been born.
Not just any baby.
The Messiah.

And here’s the question that must have landed hard in the shepherds' hearts: Why us? Why not kings? Priests? Scholars? Why announce history’s greatest moment to men who slept beside sheep?

Yet off they ran -- breathless, curious, afraid, delighted -- all at once.

They didn’t find silk or royalty. They found a young mother. A faithful carpenter. A baby wrapped in ordinary cloth and laid in a feeding trough. No spotlight. No palace. Just holy quiet.

And suddenly the picture made sense.

Shepherds -- keepers of sacrificial lambs -- aside from His parents -- were the first to behold the Lamb of God. The final sacrifice. Born not for a few, but for all.

The powerful came humbly so no one would be left out.
The Significant One came to people who thought themselves insignificant.

And that’s the miracle -- that night didn’t just tell shepherds who Jesus was. It told them who they were.

Seen. Chosen. Included.

And if heaven would come for shepherds in the field, it will surely come for us -- right where we are.

Oh holy night, indeed!

#shepherds #sacrificiallamb #lambofgod

Oh My Soul -- Now I Know Why

Our family celebrations have been delightfully spread out this year. Carl’s children' Christmas -- earlier in the month, Thanksgiving and Christmas with my daughter’s family at Epiphany Ranch, and yesterday -- Christmas Day -- with my son and his family. So many memories already tucked away -- as new ones are still being made.

And through it all, a familiar phrase keeps slipping out of my mouth. “Oh my soul!”

I’ve said those words for years -- when I’m surprised, delighted, overwhelmed, or when I taste something that seems suspiciously close to what heaven’s food might be like. It’s my catch-all response to life -- good, bad, and everything in between.

But just last Monday, something stopped me in my tracks. Carl read our morning devotion and I heard Mary saying the words first.

In Luke 1, after an angel’s visit and news that would have rattled anyone, Mary lifted her voice and said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

There it was. Not -- "Oh my soul" -- as an expression of shock or emotion, but "My soul magnifies the Lord" -- as an act of worship.

The word "magnify" means to make something larger, clearer, more profound. Mary chose to enlarge God, not her fear. She stepped aside and let Him take center stage. Instead of focusing on her circumstances, she surrendered them -- and magnified the faithfulness of her Heavenly Father.

And suddenly I realized -- I’ve been saying the words without the meaning. So maybe it’s time for a holy upgrade.

Instead of “Oh my soul,” when life surprises me -- or overwhelms me -- I want to say, “My soul magnifies the Lord!” Not making much of myself or my worries, but making much of Him. Making His power bigger than my problems. His love larger than my fears.

Because what we magnify grows.

Mary shows us the way. When God is made greater in our hearts, peace follows. Joy rises. Hope takes root.

And just like it did for her -- hope springs forth in the soul. “My soul magnifies the Lord!” is more than a phrase now. It’s a posture. A turning. A quiet decision to step aside and let God be made larger, clearer, more glorious in every moment -- whether joyful or challenging.

#MagnifyTheLord #ohmysoul #mysoulmagnifies

Joy to the World -- Our King Has Come!

Today is not just a holiday -- it’s THE birthday.

Not a quiet, tiptoe-around-it kind of birthday either. This is a Joy-to-the-World, lift-your-voice, bow-your-heart kind of day. The day Heaven leaned close to Earth and said, “Presenting....JESUS, the Son of God!"

Jesus came.
Not just to visit.
Not just to inspire.
But to live among us, love us, redeem us, and show us what love looks like -- from cradle to cross to an empty tomb.

Yes, once He lay in a manger. But not anymore.
Today, our King reigns -- alive and well in Heaven and active right here among us. King of kings. Lord of lords. Savior of the world.

So go ahead—rejoice!
Sing it loud. Laugh freely. Hug generously. If we don’t praise Him, Scripture says even the rocks will cry out -- and honestly, I’d rather beat them to it.

By now the wrapping paper is scattered like confetti. Toys are out of the boxes. Batteries are already missing. Kids are deep into play, adults are swapping stories, and someone is probably saying, “Remember when…?”

And right there -- in the middle of it all -- Jesus smiles.
Because this is what He came for.
Homes filled with love.
Tables surrounded by people who belong to each other.
Hearts softened by gratitude.

So let’s make Him the Honored Guest today. Not tucked away in a nativity scene, but welcomed into our conversations, our laughter, our prayers, and our praise.

Today we celebrate the greatest gift ever given.
Today we celebrate LOVE made flesh.
Today we celebrate our King.

God bless you, dear friends, who know -- deep in your bones -- that this -- this is what love looks like.

#ChristmasDay2025 #ChristmasParty #JesusBirthday

Oh Holy Night!

It's Christmas Eve! We’re so close now. Christmas is tomorrow. We feel it in the air -- the quiet excitement, the rustle of wrapping paper in a back room, AND the whispered negotiations -- "Plllllease can we open just one present?" on Christmas Eve.

You remember that feeling, don’t you? The one gift allowed early. The slow unwrapping. The wondering what tomorrow will bring. Then Christmas morning bursts open -- families gathered, kids tumbling out of bed, presents everywhere. Santa must have been convinced they were very good indeed.

And that’s truly a lovely remembrance for me -- our children and grandchildren hearing the Christmas Story -- but this one included the animals speaking up about this holy night. Oh sweet memory!

But somewhere beneath the ribbons and bows, there’s another anticipation -- older, deeper, holier.

Oh holy night -- the stars are brightly shining.

Was it night when Jesus was born? Or day? Scripture doesn’t say. Historians debate. Some say springtime. Others point to winter. But here’s the beautiful truth -- it doesn’t really matter.

What matters is that He came -- for you and me!

God slipped into our world quietly. No countdown clock. No spotlight. Just a virgin mother, a weary father, angels holding their breath, and heaven leaning low. Shepherds astonished. Wise men would come later. And eternity changed in an instant.

That night -- whenever it was -- was holy not because of the hour, but because of the arrival.

Jesus Christ, born of a virgin.
Angels announcing good news.
A Savior wrapped in humility.

For some, it sounds like a lofty story. For those of us who believe -- really believe -- it’s the anchor of everything.

So this Christmas Eve, while one present is opened and the rest wait patiently under the tree, may our hearts do the same. May we pause. May we listen. May we let anticipation rise -- not just for what’s under the tree, but for Who came to be with us and live in us.

Because Christmas wasn’t born in the giving of gifts.
It was born in the giving of God Himself.
Oh holy night indeed!

#ohholynight #shepherds #christmaseve

Let's Make Our Hearts a Bethlehem

So here we are, December 23rd, hearts full, hope rising.
The only baby who chose to be a baby is almost here.

And, HERE, was Bethlehem. Why did Jesus come as a baby -- when He didn't have to. He could have arrived on the scene fully grown -- robes flowing, crown shining. When He comes again, that’s exactly how He’ll appear -- King of kings, Lord of lords.

His family chose Bethlehem. He chose diapers. Jesus is the only baby in history who chose to be a baby.

He chose helplessness. Wobbly first steps. Growing pains. Long days learning Scripture. Calloused hands in a carpenter’s shop. He lived the full spectrum of human life -- baby, child, teenager, adult -- all before stepping into ministry.

He knew hunger and thirst. Fatigue and frustration. Grief that brought tears. Anger at injustice. Sorrow so heavy it pressed on His soul. He was tempted as we are -- yet without sin. And in the end, He endured suffering beyond words.

So when life feels overwhelming --
When joy feels distant --
When our hearts ache in ways we can’t explain --

Jesus doesn’t lean back in heaven and say, “Try harder.” Oh, no!
He leans in and says, “I know.”

That’s why we’re told never to say, “I know how you feel.” We usually don’t. But Jesus does.

And He doesn’t just understand -- He redeems. He makes broken hearts new. He invites us to become children of God. He grows in us until love begins to spill out -- in our words, our choices, our everyday lives.

The question is simple and sacred -- will your life be a Bethlehem today? Donna, what do you mean by that question? Let me tell you!

When we welcome Jesus into our thoughts, our choices, our relationships, our homes -- our very lives become a Bethlehem.
A resting place for His love.
A home where His peace abides.
A space where hope is born again and again.

It simply means this -- when we open our hearts to Jesus, we make room for Him to dwell there -- not just at Christmas, but always.

From Dallas to Bethlehem—What a Difference a Town Makes

I was born in Dallas, Texas—a city that does nothing small. Big highways. Tall buildings. Big hair (at least back then). The Dallas Cowboys. I entered the world in Parkland Memorial Hospital, a clean, sterile, well-equipped place with machines that beeped and doctors who knew exactly what they were doing. My mother was just a few miles from home. Everything was prepared.

I even arrived with a heart murmur—nothing dramatic, the doctors said. “She’ll outgrow it.” And I did. Technology diagnosed it. Medicine monitored it. Dallas took good care of me.

Then there’s Bethlehem.

No skyline. No hospital. No nursery wing. No medical charts. Just a small town, a weary couple, and a baby about to arrive with nowhere to go. Some of the saddest words ever spoken echoed through that little town:
“We don’t have room for you.”

Can you imagine Joseph? Wanting to be a good husband. A good father. Wanting safety, warmth, dignity for Mary and the child she carried. And door after door closing. No room.

Why Bethlehem? Why not a palace? Why not a place fit for a king?

Because God wasn’t trying to impress the world—He was trying to reach the heart.

Years later, that same child would hang on a cross, and the message would sound hauntingly familiar: We don’t have room for You here either. Rejected. Unwanted. Pushed aside.

And truth be told… not much has changed.

Even now, Jesus moves quietly from heart to heart, gently asking if there might be room. Not for ceremony. Not for perfection. Just for presence.

Bethlehem reminds us that God doesn’t need big cities or polished spaces. He enters messy places. Crowded lives. Hearts with murmurs, doubts, and little room left.

So this Christmas, may we love Bethlehem—not because it was perfect, but because God chose it anyway.

And may we whisper the words Joseph never heard:
“Yes, Lord. There is room here.”

Because when Jesus is welcomed in, even the smallest place becomes holy ground.

May the Fourth Be With You

 

Yes, that’s my little Star Wars wink as we arrive at the Fourth Sunday of Advent. We’re officially on the launchpad. Christmas is close enough to hear the angels clearing their throats.

This final Advent candle shines with love -- the kind that doesn’t shout but shows up. And no two people model that better than Mary and Joseph. Their story wasn’t tidy or convenient. It was packed with uncertainty, travel plans gone sideways, and a very pregnant Mary riding into Bethlehem with no reservation and no backup plan.

And still -- there was peace. Mary said yes to God’s seemingly impossible plan. Joseph said yes to trust. Together, they made room for Emmanuel -- God with us. Not in a palace. Not in a perfect town. But in Bethlehem. Small. Ordinary. Overlooked.

Isn’t that just like God? I’ll admit -- there were years when my Christmas celebration looked like a Hallmark movie on overdrive. Cookies everywhere. Decorations inside and out. Cards written, gifts wrapped, lists checked twice. My heart wanted Jesus at the center -- but hyper-mode took over.

These days, I’m learning to recalibrate. Less hustle. More holy. Less “Did I do enough?” and more “Lord, You are enough.”

This Fourth Sunday of Advent invites us back to the main thing. Not the traditions (as lovely as they are), not the decorations (or the lack of them), but the Person we’re celebrating. Jesus -- the Star of the story. Mary’s baby boy who grew up to be the great I AM is our peace-giver, hope-holder, strength-provider, and life-bringer.

Things change. Traditions shift. Life rearranges the furniture. But here’s the good news -- the LIFE of the party never changes. Jesus shows up right where we are and offers Himself -- the gift that keeps on giving.

And the gift tag? It has yours and my name on it.

“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” — John 10:10

This Advent, may love lead the way. Make room. Lean in. Emmanuel is almost here.

#Advent #4thSundayOfAdvent #abundantlife

Self-Doubt, Angels, and Trust

When Mary received the astonishing news that she would carry the Son of God, Scripture tells us she rushed to Elizabeth, her much older cousin. Every girl needs a safe place to land when life turns upside down -- and Elizabeth, was just that. A woman of faith. A woman who knew something about waiting -- and miracles.

Elizabeth had been barren for years. Then suddenly -- six months pregnant. Enter an angel, a stunned husband, and a promise so big it left Zechariah speechless. Literally.

When the angel Gabriel announced that Elizabeth would have a son, Zechariah’s response was honest but hesitant: “How can I be sure?” He saw the obstacles -- age, biology, logic. And Gabriel, standing right from the presence of God, replied with a heavenly version of “Trust Me.” Because Zechariah doubted, he lost his voice until the promise was fulfilled. Yikes!

At first glance, it seems unfair. Mary asked questions and was blessed. Zechariah questioned and was silenced. But here’s the difference -- Mary wondered how God would do it. Zechariah wondered if God could do it. One leaned in with trust. The other leaned back in doubt.

Still -- God was faithful.

Elizabeth conceived. The baby leaped in her womb when Mary arrived. And when the time came to name the child, Zechariah did the unthinkable -- he obeyed God fully. “His name is John.” And just like that, his voice returned. Praise spilled out. Prophecy followed. Grace had the final word.

What a mercy-filled story!

How often do we sense God nudging us forward, only to let self-doubt quiet our faith? We focus on what seems impossible and forget Who made the promise.

As Advent draws to a close, let’s pause and listen. What is God speaking to your heart? Where might He be inviting you to trust Him -- not with all the answers -- but with a willing yes?

Lord, help us believe You more than our fears. Open our hearts to hear Your Word and give us the courage to follow -- trusting You always. Amen.

Lay It Down and Rest

 

Oh yes -- the Christmas lights are glowing. Carols are floating through the air. Everywhere we turn, the message is clear -- Be cheerful. Be jolly. Be merry.

And you may be shouting -- "That's easy for you to say -- you've got it easy -- no worries, no shopping til' you drop, no "to do" lists!" Oh, I do get it -- many of us are carrying more than wrapped gifts this season.

Worry tugs at our sleeves. Anxiety whispers at night. Loneliness, fear and unanswered questions slip quietly into the room. The season shines bright -- but some hearts feel heavy.

If you’re anything like me, your first instinct may be to handle it yourself. Fix it. Manage it. Worry it into submission. We mean well, but somewhere along the way we forget -- God can handle anything. Even the things that feel too big, too tangled, or too late.

The moment we lean on our own understanding instead of God’s promises, our hearts open the door to worry. And worry has a way of bringing on anxiety, fear, and a deep sense of loneliness.

But Jesus (not the one in the manger -- but THE ONE Burden-Bearer, Hope Bringer, and Abundant Life Giver, offers a better way.

In Matthew 6, He gently points us to birds who never fret about tomorrow and lilies who never stress about what to wear. “If God cares for them,” Jesus says, “how much more will He care for you?”

And He does. Nothing -- no-thing -- can separate us from His love. Not finances. Not family struggles. Not illness. Not uncertainty. Not the past. Not the future. God’s care doesn’t waver with circumstances.

Because He cares so deeply, He invites us to lay it down. The worry. The fear. The exhaustion. Even the questions without answers. Scripture says we can cast our burdens on Him -- and He doesn’t drop them. He carries them with commitment and compassion.

Jesus says it best: “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

This season, let's loosen our grip just a little. Let's lay it down. Breathe deep. Rest our souls in the One who is gentle, faithful, and near.

’Tis the season -- not just for celebration -- but for rest.
And He is ready to give it. Merry Christmas, dear friends.

From Manger to Majesty

I am still amazed by the miracle of Christmas. Truly amazed. That God -- the Creator of galaxies, oceans, and every beating heart -- chose to come to earth wrapped in human skin. That alone should make us stop mid-sentence and ask -- "How could that be?"

A virgin named Mary held the Son of God in her arms. Jesus didn’t arrive with thunder or ceremony. He came as a real, wiggly, crying baby. He learned to crawl. He took his first steps. Those little hands likely played with toys, maybe even joined neighborhood games of hide-and-seek. The hands that formed the universe learned how to grip, how to work, how to bless.

As He grew, those same hands held the Torah. At twelve years old, He astonished religious leaders with wisdom far beyond His years. Then He returned home -- quietly -- working alongside Joseph, shaping wood, building furniture, living an ordinary life before stepping into an extraordinary calling.

And those feet -- perfect and plump at birth -- carried Him everywhere. Down dusty roads. Into villages. Toward the hurting, the sick, the forgotten. Those feet carried Him to teach, to heal, to love without limits.

Until one day -- those feet were pierced.
Those hands -- once lifted in blessing -- were nailed to a cross.

“In that body God declared an end to sin’s control over us by giving His Son as a sacrifice for our sins.” (Romans 8:3)

That’s the gospel. Jesus didn’t just come near to us -- He took our place. His sacrifice paid for every wrong, every failure, every regret. Because He was born as one of us, we can now live in peace with God. Because He died and rose again, eternity is no longer a question mark -- it’s a promise.

Christmas doesn’t end at the manger. And we don't sing "Away in the Manger" thinking He's still there. Oh no! This baby grew up and showed us how to live -- how to believe -- how to walk the walk of our Savior. Good News -- His walk led Him all the way to the cross -- and beyond it -- to an empty tomb.
God with us.
God for us.
God who saves us.
Hallelujah! Let's go tell it on the mountain -- and everywhere

Whether Happy or Sad -- Emmanuel Is Here

 

Emmanuel -- God with us. Those three words are a lifeline --especially for anyone who’s walking through December with sorrow.

I still remember this day -- December 17th, 1964. Eight days before Christmas. I was 15, and I saw my daddy go home to Jesus. While other kids were thinking about presents, I wasn't.

I’ve thought about families who walk through this season the same way -- with an empty chair, a quiet room, or the sound of a missing laugh. My heart goes to those like dear Erika Kirk and her two little ones -- brave, bright, and beautiful. But still -- missing their Charlie, her husband, their daddy. Oh, how deep love runs, and how deep Christmas can feel.

As I’ve grown older (and wiser), I’ve learned something that steadies me every year -- my parents, grandparents, siblings and late husband are celebrating Christmas in heaven, with the One who invented it.

And, oh the steady arm of my Savior who anchors me in the unshakable truth -- God is with us. In every season. In every kind of heart.

Jesus didn’t come just to be admired in a manger scene -- oh NO! He came to be with us. In the chaos, in the quiet, in the broken places of our hearts. Emmanuel means “I’m not leaving you alone -- not now, not ever.”

God is with the families who are hurting this year. He is with the ones celebrating. He is with the ones who feel numb and the ones who feel everything at once. And He leans in close with the same reminder He gave long ago -- “I am with you. I am here.”

Matthew 1:23 declares it. Heaven promised it. Jesus proved it. "The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call Him Emmanuel” which means GOD WITH US."

Christmas is fast approaching -- and as we step into a new year -- let’s hold this truth -- whether we are happy or hurting, dancing or grieving, full or aching....
EMMANUEL is here -- now and forever with us! He will not leave us.

“…for He has said, I will never leave you nor forsake you. Assuredly not!” Hebrews 13:5

God with us. God for us. God carrying us -- ALWAYS!

“Do Not Fear” — Seems to Be a Theme Here

 

If we’ve learned anything from the Christmas story so far, it’s this --God must know we humans can be skittish aka jumpy aka nervous. Three scenes in and we’re already batting three for three on angelic fear warnings.

Mary? “Do not be afraid.”
Joseph? “Do not be afraid.”
Shepherds? “Do not be afraid.”
(Translation: Breathe. Heaven is speaking.)

Those four little words pack quite a punch. And while I’m all about faith and trust, I won’t pretend fear isn’t a real visitor. It shows up with bills, medical reports, repairs, family tensions, and those moments when the bottom drops out and we wonder how we’ll stand back up. Fear is no quick-fix situation -- it’s a loud talker.

So where do we even begin when fear turns up the volume?

Christmas shines a spotlight on the answer -- not the Christmas carols and cocoa, but the deeper truth underneath it all. In the middle of human messiness, God keeps showing up with the same holy refrain: “Don’t be afraid.”

No wonder it appears in scripture hundreds of times. God must delight in turning fearful moments into sacred ones.

Think of Mary -- wide-eyed and wondering. Joseph -- torn between logic and love. Shepherds -- scared witless by radiant skies. And to each of them, God says, “Do not fear,” not as a suggestion but a divine command -- because what He is doing is greater than what they are fearing.

And He’s still saying it to us.

The same God who steadied Mary --
The same God who reassured Joseph --
The same God who lit up the night for shepherds --
is whispering to us today -- “Do not be afraid.”

Why? Because perfect love still casts out fear.
Because His presence still overrides panic.
Because His joy still breaks into dark places.
Because His plan -- yes, even in the 21st century -- still holds firm.

Let's picture God placing His Son in our arms, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and saying --
“Don’t be afraid of anything -- ever.
I give you peace.
I give you hope.
I give you comfort.
I give you GOOD NEWS of GREAT JOY.
I give you JESUS.”

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore… we will not fear.” (Psalm 46:1–2)

#donotfear #dontbeafraid #GoodNews #GreatJoy

The Father's Arms are Open Wide

I saw this photo of a father with arms stretched wide. It stopped me cold. A young boy sprinting toward his dad, joy exploding on his face. His father had just been released after six months held captive in Syria. And now -- freedom, reunion, relief. If we want a picture of the gospel wrapped in human emotion, there it is.

This time of year especially, we’re reminded of the joy of being a child -- running free, laughing hard, shouting “DADDY!” when we’re about to be caught in a game of tag. Kids know exactly where to run when they need protection. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just instinct.

Jesus said, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:4). He wasn’t asking us to act childish -- but childlike. To regain that wonder, that innocence, that unquestioning trust in a Father who watches over us.

Now, my two youngest grandsons are grown men, but I still remember when I cared for them when their mom and dad were out of town. They insisted that I prayed with them for angels to camp around their beds before they fall asleep. If I ever forgot, they reminded me like I was delinquent in my grandmotherly duties. Once the angels were assigned, they slept like two little logs.

Somewhere along the way to adulthood, our worries multiply and the wonder shrinks. We trade carefree confidence for deadlines, responsibilities, and the “Did I pay that credit card bill?" kind of anxieties. The security we once knew becomes something we try to manufacture ourselves.

But here’s the truth we forget -- maturity in Christ doesn’t mean being independent. It means being dependent -- more than ever. On His grace. His goodness. His guidance. His mercy.

God is our Abba -- our DADDY. From our first breath to our last, His eyes are on us, His love is for us, and His plans -- the Jeremiah 29:11 ones -- are filled with hope and a future.

So as this wonderful time of the year races onward and we approach Christmas Day, may we approach it with wide-eyed wonder again -- and realizing that this is all about the Baby Boy in a manger Who became our Savior and Lord.

It is about our own childlike excitement instead of the season chasing us down that we do what children do best: Cry out, “DADDY!” And run straight into His waiting arms.

May we all run there today!

#openarms #AbbaFather #wideeyedwonder #fathersarms

When Joy Sneaks In

Here we are -- the third Sunday of Advent. The Sunday of Joy. Not the loud, confetti-throwing kind (though I’m not opposed!)—but the kind that sneaks in quietly, right when we least expect it. The kind that settles into the cracks of our days like sunlight slipping through the blinds.

Joy has a funny way of showing up uninvited. It doesn’t wait for life to be perfect or peaceful. It doesn’t require all gifts to be wrapped, all plans to go smoothly, or all family members to behave at the same time. (A Christmas miracle all its own.)

Joy just slips into the room when you’re not even looking for it -- maybe in the form of a child climbing into your lap with a grin and a, “Scoot over, I want to read you my Christmas book!”

Or maybe it arrives through a family member whose heart is running a little low on cheer, and suddenly you realize you get to be Jesus-with-skin-on for them. You get to remind them -- by presence, by kindness, by a simple hug -- that they are deeply loved.

And somehow, even if you don’t feel especially joyful yourself, God lets your love ignite a little joy in them -- and a little more in you.

I imagine it was that way at the first Christmas. Life wasn’t calm. The world wasn’t tidy. Mary and Joseph were exhausted travelers. A manger was hardly Pinterest material. Yet heaven chose that moment to deliver joy in flesh and bone.

Maybe that’s what Advent reminds us: joy is God’s specialty. Not manufactured joy. Not plastic, ornament-aisle joy. But real joy -- the kind strong enough to carry a weary heart.

On this third week of Advent, we light the candle of Joy not because everything is perfect, but because God is faithful. We light it because the Savior has come, is coming, and will always come into the places where we need Him most.

If joy feels “not quite here yet,” remember -- God loves to surprise us. Sometimes joy isn’t a shout -- sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes it’s not fireworks; sometimes it’s a steady glow that warms us from the inside out.

May this week of Advent bring you unexpected laughter, gentle reminders of God’s nearness, and joy that settles deep -- joy that doesn’t depend on circumstances but on Christ Himself.

Because wherever Jesus is, Joy is already on the way.

Eight Months Pregnant and Riding a Donkey

Okay -- so I am pondering the thoughts of Mary again. Consider this -- she is eight months pregnant. Eight. Months. Pregnant. And Joseph walks in with news that would make any expectant mother drop her water jar.

“Pack your bags, Mary. We’re heading to Bethlehem for the census.”
Bethlehem. Eighty dusty miles. On a donkey.

Now I don’t know about you, but if I had been Mary, I might have quoted Scripture right back at him: “Wait for the Lord!” (Psalm 27:14). As in -- wait until after the baby arrives!

But somehow Joseph must have smiled with steady faith and said, “Mary, be strong and take heart. God has this. God has us.”

How could God possibly be in a tax trip at eight months pregnant? Well, that would be because God had promised something bigger than comfort.

The Messiah had to be born in Bethlehem. Prophecy needed fulfillment. Heaven needed positioning -- and God used a Roman census to move this Holy Family right where they needed to be.

The Bible doesn’t tell us if Mary connected every dot. But it does show us her heart. She wasn’t loud with panic. She was quiet with trust. The same girl who once sang, “The Mighty One has done great things for me,” (Luke 1:49) now climbs onto a donkey and rides straight into prophecy.

And here we are—counting down to Christmas with our own detours:
Illness? Canceled flights? Unexpected bills? Plans that unravel?

Bethlehem reminds us that God often uses our interruptions as invitations. What feels like inconvenience may actually be divine repositioning.

“Wait for the Lord,” Psalm 27:14 says. That word wait also means hope. Not dread. Hope. Expectation with steady courage.

Mary is my role model. I want to have her calm when plans change. Her trust when the road is long. Her hope when the night is crowded with questions.

If God can guide Mary through prophecy on a donkey, He can guide us through December. Let's trust the detours -- they just might be HOLY ones! 🤍

#MarysYes #prophecy #Joseph #countingdowntochristmas