What Fire Couldn't Take

 “When you walk through the fire, you won’t be burned.” ~ Isaiah 43:2

By the time the wildfires reached the edge of town, Miranda’s father, Ed, had already been dying.

What the doctors labelled terminal, Ed dismissed as a “a speedbump,” the same way he rejected pain, warnings, and storms. The garage became his refuge—oil-stained concrete, half-finished projects, tools stored with precision. There, cancer didn't get the final word.

When the evacuation orders came, Miranda begged him to leave. “We can come back, Dad,” she pleaded. “We’re running out of time.”

But Ed shook his head, obstinate even as cancer thinned him. “This is where I’m useful,” he replied. “Here is where I know who I am. This is my Heaven on earth!”

The fire crept through the hills as smoke filled the sky. Ash fell like snow. Miranda watched her Dad weaken - hands trembling, breath shallow, pride intact. She worried about the fire, but more than that, she worried about herself. He’d always been the one who steadied her. The one who seemed ever-present. She wasn’t sure she could survive losing him.

That night the fire jumped the ridge. The sky burned rust-red. Sirens wailed. Neighbors fled. She stood in the driveway, heart splitting, begging one last time.

His eyes locked on hers and his tenacity softened. “You think you need me more than you do," he said. "Strength doesn't come from holding on. It comes from finishing what's been given to you."

Ed sent her away.

From the road, she watched the flames swallow the garage. The heat was brutal, the sound of her world breaking apart. She screamed until her voice was gone, certain his stubbornness had burned with him.

Grief hollowed her out in the months that followed. But she kept moving. When fear rose, she didn’t collapse. When life demanded decisions, her hands remained steady. When others needed strength, she found it.

She found herself fixing what she could. Showing up. Standing firm when everything flickered.

One evening, long after the fire retreated from the hills, she rebuilt the workbench he never finished. She worked slowly, deliberately, the way he’d taught her. Only then did she understand.

When somebody dies, they don’t lose their strength. Somehow, it finds its way into the hearts that loved them. Not all at once. Not gently. But in hospital rooms and smoke-filled skies. Given in the choice to leave when staying would destroy you. Found in the nights you think you won’t survive, and yet somehow do.

Her Dad didn't walk out of the fire, but through it. The flames took his body, but not the power he'd placed in her hands to carry. Now, when the world grows loud, dangerous, and uncertain, she knows where to stand.

The fire took everything his hands built. It couldn't touch what he built in her.

Lord, when loss feels heavier than I can bear, remind me that I never walk alone. Turn grief into endurance, memory into purpose, and teach me how to live with the strength that was given, not lost. Amen

He Gets Us

 “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” ~ Philippians 4:13

Derek confidently settled into the starting blocks for the 400m sprint at the ’92 Barcelona Olympics. His mind flashed back to the heartbreak of an Achilles rupture four years earlier in Seoul, followed by eight grueling surgeries. This was his moment—his redemption.

The stating pistol fired. For 150 meters, he was a blur of grace and power, driving to the early lead… until his left hamstring exploded. Derek clutched the back of his thigh as if he’d been shot, collapsing onto the track in agony. For a moment, everything stood still.

Forcing himself to his feet, he limped forward unsteadily. The famed British record holder realized that his Olympic dream had evaporated in the Spanish heat. 

Officials rushed toward him with a stretcher. He waved them off, his face etched with pain and resolve. Eyeing a finish line that seemed miles away, Derek spotted his father, Jim, vaulting a railing, bolting past a security, and running toward him. This day, neither father nor son would be denied.

Imagine Jim’s agony, helplessly watching his son run the most important 45 seconds of his life, crash under the weight of another injury. Every hour of training, every sacrifice, every dream crushed in that single, tragic moment.

“Derek,” Jim said tenderly, placing a steadying arm around him, “you don’t have to do this.”

Wincing with every step, Derek shook his head, “Dad… I just need to finish.”

Jim nodded. “Then we’ll finish it together.” They moved as one—a father bearing his son’s weight for the final 100m, a son refusing to surrender. When they crossed the finish line, a crown of 65,000 spectators rose to their feet, their thunderous applause drowning out the pain.

Few recall that an American won the race. But the world remembers the moment Derek Redmond refused to quit.

Like Derek, the Apostle Paul, was no stranger to pain, hardships, and setbacks. In his mission to share the Gospel, he endured beatings, imprisonment, hunger, exhaustion, and constant danger. Yet he pressed on, determined to finish the race God set before him.

That’s the picture of faith. Life will wound us. It’ll knock us down, leave us limping, questioning how we can possibly go on. But we are never abandoned on the track.

Our Heavenly Father does not remain distant in the stands. He steps into our pain. He breaks through our barriers. He meets us in our weakness.

He understands—because He carried the cross first.

When you feel like you can’t take another step, remember this: God isn’t just waiting at the finish line. Through Christ, He is beside you—strengthening you, sustaining you, and, when needed, carrying you all the way home.

Lord Jesus, when You faced hatred and cruelty, You responded with patience and love. Teach me to walk in Your footsteps - to endure with grace, to love without limits, and to join the great cloud of witnesses who cheer us on, affirming our progress. Amen

Guided, Not Ignited

 “Anger doesn’t produce the righteousness that God desires.” ~ James 1:20

The blast shattered the quiet of the evening, a sound no parent ever wants to hear near a child’s bedroom window. Glass exploded. Wood splintered. Smoke rose from the front porch of the small Montgomery home where Martin Luther King Jr. lived with his wife and baby daughter. The bomb barely missed them in 1956.

Neighbors ran. Sirens wailed. Fear moved faster than the chaos that followed.

A crowd filled the lawn from every direction, working men, weary women, some gripping bricks, some bottles, all carrying a rage that’d been gathering for years. They had seen churches burned, threats ignored, lives broken. That night, violence had crossed a line. It had entered the home of Dr. King and his family. Retribution felt righteous. Necessary. Long overdue.

Inside the house, Reverend King’s knees hit the floor in prayer. He’d preached courage while secretly carrying fear. This time, danger wasn’t theoretical - it had arrived with dynamite. For a moment, even he didn’t know what to say. But he stepped outside, anyway.

Standing amid his porch’s wreckage, unarmed and unguarded, he raised his voice, not in anger, but calmly and deliberately. “Put down your weapons,” he said. The noise immediately faded.

“We can’t solve this problem through retaliatory violence,” he continued. “We must love our white brothers, no matter what they do to us.”

Some wept. Others trembled. This was not the response they wanted, but the one they needed. King looked at them and said softly, “If you harm anyone, you harm me. If you have a gun, take me first.” Weapons began littering the grass.

That night, the Civil Rights movement stood at a crossroads between rage and restraint, between justice by force and justice by faith. In a broken house on a quiet street, King chose the much harder path, one that demanded discipline rather than release.

Decades later, another city wrestles with its own tension as sirens echo through Minneapolis. Crowds gather, grief and frustration close at hand. When agents, protesters, and media turn to blame, human dialogue collapses. When rhetoric escalates, solutions retreat. History reminds us that lasting change rarely comes from burning down the middle ground; it comes from widening it.

King’s response that night was deliberate, not passive. He insisted that anger be shaped into something constructive - something that could still speak to lawmakers, persuade neighbors, and leave room for reform. He understood that systems change through pressure and persuasion, protest and policy, moral witness and conversation from both sides.

The choice is not between silence and chaos. It’s between escalation and engagement.

The porch was damaged. The moment was volatile. But the path forward remained hopeful,  because someone insisted that justice moves best when it is guided, not ignited.

Lord, grant us the courage to stand for justice without yielding to anger. Teach us patience in moments of fear, wisdom in instants of outrage, and the strength to choose paths that build understanding rather than deepen division. Amen

Unpolished Faith

 “His mercies never end; they renew every morning.” ~ Laminations 3:23

Her city counted down the final minutes of 2025 with laughter, fireworks, and bubbling flutes lifted skyward. From her living room window, Tamika watched its glow reflect against the cold glass, feeling as though she stood between two worlds - the year that had bruised her and the unknown one waiting on the other side of midnight.

Her phone buzzed with “Happy New Year!” messages. Social media filled with highlight reels - promotions, vacations, and smiling families in coordinated pajamas. Tamika was genuinely happy for them… but her story didn’t look that glossy. Hers had been part miracle and part mess.

There were days she rose with purpose, others when heaviness pinned her to the pillow. She laughed in kitchens and cried in parking lots.

If asked her to summarize her year, she wouldn’t have a neat answer. It wasn’t entirely successful. It wasn’t all sorrow, either. It was… human. Holy in parts. Heavy in others. Still unfinished.

As the clock crept toward midnight, the familiar pressure whispered: You should be happier. More grateful. More “together” by now. But something inside her resisted the urge to pretend.

So Tamika prayed something far more honest: “God… this year was beautiful and painful. Some things healed. Other things still hurt. But, I’m still here - still healing and learning. And through it all… You remained faithful.”

The honesty felt refreshing, like brilliant sunlight breaking through a storm-darkened sky.

She realized God never asked for a polished testimony. He welcomed her honesty. And in that stillness, something gentle settled over her heart: God is not only at the finish line. He stands with us in the hallway between what was and what will be.

As fireworks crackled across the night and the year shifted forward, Tamika felt something deeper than celebration—hope. Not because her story was finished, but because God was still writing it. It wasn’t perfection that gave her peace; it was His presence. She wasn’t stepping into the future alone. She was moving forward with courage, not pretending to be whole, but confident that God would never abandon her.

And that… was enough!

Friends, Happy New Year to each of you. May you know you don’t have to be perfect to be deeply loved. May you feel God’s nearness in your questions, His comfort in your wounds, and His joy in your victories.

May this new year bring brave steps forward, deeper healing, steady growth, and unexpected laughter. Whether you walk into 2026 with confidence or trembling fear, remember - you aren’t alone, your story matters to God. Never doubt His steadying grace.

Lord God, thank You for being faithful through every joy and every struggle of this past year. I don’t bring You perfection—I bring You my honest heart. Carry me into the new year with Your mercy, Your strength, and Your presence. Amen

Hope Givers

 “With faith as small as a mustard seed, you can move a mountain.” ~ Matthew 17:20

He entered the world in a home so poor, they didn’t have the 10 rupees (10 cents) customarily given to the midwife who delivered him. The oldest of 5 siblings gave Matthew a unique empathy for other children’s pain, never noticing his own disadvantaged circumstances.

In 1960, at age 24, he launched a missionary career in northwestern India with just a single $25 donation. The donor, co-founder of Campus Crusade for Christ, said of Matthew Thomas: “He possessed a deep and abiding compassion for India’s poor and abandoned kids.”

Affectionately known as "Papa," Thomas founded Hopegivers International, determined to fulfill his vision of helping the poor, the orphans, and the widows with the love of Christ. Today, over 40,000 churches and nearly 100 bible colleges have opened. The ministry also includes 61 orphanages, a hospital, several medical clinics, and it prints literature in five Indian languages.

None of that came easy, though.

Papa and his colleagues regularly suffered threats, beatings, torture, and unlawful imprisonment from Hindu and Muslim extremists. Anti-Christian groups offered large bounties for the capture and beheading of Thomas and his son. Cruel radicals even cut off water and electricity to orphanages run by Hopegivers.

Tertullian (160 AD - 240 AD) once said, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.”

Dr. Thomas, admired for his personal compassion for those considered "the least of these," died from natural causes in 2010. The Hopegivers' mission continues under his son Samuel’s leadership.

History has recorded many martyrs who didn’t die preaching from hillsides to the masses, yet who committed their lives because their faith compelled them to engage others for Christ’s sake. The word martyr rightly applies to Dr. Thomas, who was targeted because his Christian convictions encouraged followers to speak publicly, prophetically, and fearlessly.

Likewise, Charlie Kirk should be remembered as a martyr. His activism was a direct outpouring of his devotion to Christ and the Scriptures. His blood bears testimony.

Free speech is under siege. For some, following Christ with boldness carries a cost, even in America. Christian enemies despise biblical values. Our greatest adversaries aren’t merely foreign nations, but poisonous philosophies - secularism, moral relativism, and radical leftism.

Charlie Kirk was, at his core, a Christian disciple whose faith shaped everything he said and did. He consistently reminded audiences that America’s future depends on returning to biblical truth. He insisted that freedom comes not from government, but from God’s grace and declared that a culture without Christ cannot endure.

For those reasons, he drew vile political opposition and hatred from those who loathe Christianity.

If Charlie Kirk’s death means anything, it reminds us that, from his spilled blood, God will raise thousands more like him. Over time, even small acts of faith become the witness that sustains families, communities, and even churches.

Lord Almighty, help me trust You to exercise the faith I already have. Because You live in me, You can do more with a mustard seed than I can imagine. Amen

Sweet Devotion

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for her.” ~ Eph. 5:25

In the quiet morning light that beautifies the northeastern Japanese coast, 67-year-old Yasuo Takamatsu pulled on his wetsuit for another dive into the briny Pacific Ocean. It’s been a ritual he’s repeated hundreds of times since 2013.

His wasn’t a search for treasure, but for a piece of his heart stolen by the sea that fateful day in March 2011, when a devastating earthquake and tsunami devastated northeastern Japan. The disaster took 19,759 lives - 2,553 are still missing, including his wife, Yuko.

In the chaos of the disaster, Yuko managed to send an eerily simple email to her husband, Takamatsu, at 3:21 pm: “Are you OK? I want to go home.” Those were the last words he would ever receive from her.

Weeks later, someone found Yuko’s pink flip phone in her employer’s parking lot, not far from where she disappeared. It revealed an unsent text still on the phone, written at 3:25. “So much tsunami,” it read.

Encouraged by Yuko’s last message, Takamatsu made a vow that has since defined his life. He retired and began searching relentlessly for his wife’s remains.

For the first 30 months, Takamatsu scoured the beaches, nearby forests, and mountains. When those efforts failed, he turned to the sea.

At age 56, Takamatsu took up scuba diving, fulfilling a solemn promise he made to Yuko that he’d find her and bring her home. He dove into the vast, murky, and dangerous waters more than 600 times since 2013.

Looking for a body in the ocean is like looking for the perfect snowflake in a snowstorm. But Takamatsu refuses to stop combing the ocean floor for any sign of his beloved wife. “I have no choice but to keep looking. I feel closest to her in the ocean.”

The ocean’s haunting serenity holds vast secrets and sorrows in its depths. With each weekly dive, Takamatsu faces its physical challenges, the treacheries of coastal wreckage, and the emotional heartbreak of losing his wife over and over again.  

To date, he’s found only the remnants of other victims’ lives – photo albums, clothing, and jewelry. But there’s been no trace of his beloved Yuko.

As he adjusts his dive mask and prepares for another chilly morning plunge, he prays that one day, his elusive quest for peace will end successfully. Unfortunately, it won’t be today! But he’ll try again next week because that’s where he feels closest to her..

It would seem that Takamatsu’s devotion was more than just a promise, but a connection to Yuko that continues on a spiritual level. The impact of her presence, wisdom, and love endures, guiding and inspiring him to be a wonderful role model for others.

“Father God, as the sun rises and bathes the world in Your brilliant light, immerse my wife in Your grace and favor. Bless her with Your might and bring her peace to face every day with a calm heart and a clear mind. Amen ~ Takamatsu

The Cross He Wears

“May His sacrifice on the cross bring God’s love and mercy to us all.” ~ 1 Corinthians 1:23

After his baptism, the exhausted infant returned home and was put to bed. His was the kind of sleep adults dream of - peaceful and rhythmic, oblivious to any fear or pain.

Sometime later, his Mom said, “When I changed his clothes, I forgot to put his cross back on.” Joe, the boy’s Godfather, rose quickly. “Please let me put the cross on my new Godchild!”

But when he placed the cross delicately around Johnny’s neck, the little angel awoke and began screaming. His mother rushed in, smiled softly, and, in her soothing way, took the scared child from his outstretched arms.

No matter how she tried to console the boy – cuddle, rock, or sing softly to him, nothing worked. Next, Dad appeared in relief, but Johnny’s shrill cries continued, broken only by his gasping for breath in between.

When Dad carried the child out to their waiting guests, the baby’s cries ended immediately. He broke into a smile as sweet as a Dominican pineapple.

“That’s all he wanted,” Dad smiled jokingly. “He must’ve wanted to join the celebration.”

He’d barely finished when a loud noise from the nursery shook the whole house. A cloud of dust wafted from the bedroom as they all rushed in. A ceiling fan had fallen from right over Johnny’s crib. Huge pieces of wood and plaster were piled on the spot where the child had just slept.

The grace of his cross alerted the little boy… and likely saved his life.

Anyway, that’s how the story was told to him.

The cross he wears today isn’t to honor the Dad that may’ve saved his life. It hangs on a thin, gold chain that his Mom wore before her passing.

It’s not jewelry, nor meant to be flashy. For him, it offers both spiritual and sentimental significance.

First, it's meant to remind him of Jesus’ sacrifice on that torturous cross. It prompts him to take up his cross every day. In the words of John Wesley, "Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can."

Another reason he wears a cross is so that others know that he’s a Christian and to hold him accountable for that claim. It challenges him to live his faith publicly.

Finally, he keeps his cross near his heart to remind him of Christ’s promise of eternal salvation. He knows that he’ll be reunited with loved ones in Heaven someday and will recognize his mother and father immediately.

There may be other methods of achieving this, but for him, the cross he wears is the best. Jesus died on a cross; it’s the least he can do!

“Heavenly Father, lift the darkness from our hearts. Instill in us proper Christian faith, assured hope, confident action, and perfect love, that we may do Your holy and true command.” ~ St. Francis of Assisi

Cold As Ice

 “Love one another deeply, from the heart." ~ 1 Peter 1:22

Jerry awoke to silence and tranquility, the world outside blanketed with delicate blooms of feathered crystals in their most artistic form. Heaven's sunlit glitter appeared as if each snowflake had its own LED. This snowfall was more than western Kentucky had seen in a decade.

The rest of the world and its worries ceased to exist for a few precious moments. Cozy in the warmth of their trailer home, he dreamed of building a snowman with twiglike arms and a bubblegum grin with his children.

A bitter reality shattered his fantasy when he tried to turn on the shower. Nothing! Not a drip or a groan. Temperatures had dropped into the twenties overnight. A frigid north wind made it feel much colder. He’d left water dripping from faucets last night, but the pipes had frozen solid.

So, he pried open the vinyl skirting and belly-crawled under the trailer to where the water line emerged from the ground and ran up into their home.

Field mice scattered as Jerry ran extension cords to a space heater and hairdryer, hoping to get water flowing again.

While Jerry lay atop the icy ground, he fought the urge to shiver. His desperation grew from the lack of progress as the afternoon shadows lengthened. He wanted to scream, throw a tantrum, and beat his hands on the ground like a toddler out of control.

Just then his beautiful three-year-old daughter poked her head under the trailer. “Daddy,” she said with the clairvoyance of an Angel. “Mom made me some hot chocolate. I put some marshmallows in it for you!” she said, offering her little sippy cup in Jerry’s direction.

Jerry smiled, took a sip, and let the liquid heat flow down his throat and warm his insides. He took a second sip. It was the best hot chocolate he’d ever tasted.

Just as Jerry thanked his sweet child, he heard a miraculous sound: water flowing from the kitchen faucet. He exited the trailer’s underside and carried out the heaters, he gazed up at steel-grey clouds and thanked God for a productive day. Then he carried his loving daughter back inside for another cup of steaming cocoa.

Sometimes our world feels like a very cold place. But there’s beauty all around us. When a ray of sunshine strikes the wintry ground, the snow sparkles with His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9). In the silence of falling flakes, the Lord whispers in your ear. (Matthew 10:27). The warmth of God's love doesn't just cover us in wintertime (1 John 4:7-8).

When we share our warmth we help God to take away the cold. And when we share our Love we can help God to melt the ice casing around another’s heart.

Almighty Father, there’s no frostbitten heart that can stand up for long under the radiance of Your Son’s love and grace. Melt our frozen hearts so that the living water of the Spirit will flow unhindered into our hearts. Amen

Sand Dollar Mysteries

 “[In Heaven] there will be no more death, sorrow, crying, or pain." ~ Revelation 1:4

Quinn, his wife, and a gifted artist left this world to join the Lord after her debilitating fight against brain cancer. Since her death five years ago, Bradyn still struggles with her loss.

He’s well aware of the logic - Quinn is with God, perfect once again and free of all pain, suffering, and tears. But the grief from missing her remains overpowering.

As he walked along the beach at daybreak, Braydyn prayed for any sign that might connect him with his soulmate again. A butterfly, cardinal, or even a rainbow - anything for some reassurance that all would be ok.

At low tide, the beach was littered with tiny pieces of broken seashells. Brayden turned toward a rising sun that warmed a gentle passion in his heart. “Every day the sun comes up,” he thought, “brings new hope. We can always count on God’s promises.”

He turned to continue his walk. Not ten paces ahead, he gently picked it up, lightly brushed off the sand, and felt tears tumble from his cheeks. Some may read this with skepticism, merely a coincidence. But for Braydyn, it was a prayer answered.

Their delicate, intricately patterned shells are considered a prized treasure at the beach. Scientists believe that about 150 different species exist in coastal waters today. These little ocean creatures carry a message about the world’s history and God’s purpose in creating them.

Sand dollars are akin to sea urchins. When they wash up on the beach and are bleached by the sun, they look like a large coin, hence the nickname.

With their intricate patterns and delicate shapes, they’ve captured our imaginations for centuries. Archeologists found sea fossils belonging to the same genus in Mount Everest’s limestone which help validate the biblical accounts of the global Flood recorded in Genesis 6-9.

It’s said that Jesus left the sand dollar as a symbol to help teach the Christian faith.

On one side, there’s an outline of a poinsettia, the Christmas flower symbolizing Jesus’ birth. The flip side of the shell displays a star-like image, reflecting the Star of Bethlehem that guided those wise men to the newborn Christ Child.

Five surface holes are said to depict Jesus’ wounds. Spines on the surface portray the crown of thorns worn during his crucifixion. A silhouette of an Easter lily circling the star represents His resurrection.

If you carefully break open a sand dollar, five white, dove-shaped pieces emerge. These are said to symbolize peace and the joy that spread while Jesus roamed the earth.

Whether you’re drawn to their beauty, intrigued by their symbolism, or simply appreciate their unique shape and patterns, sand dollars continue to inspire us. Just ask Bradyn.

“This simple little symbol, Christ left for you and me, to help to spread His Message through all eternity. Now break its center open, and here you will release, five white doves waiting to spread goodwill and peace.” Amen (“Legend of the Sand Dollar,” Unknown)

Saints as Sinners

 “God blesses those who endure temptation and persecution." ~ James 1:12

Genesius, a gifted actor, comedian, and writer, was also the troupe's leader. Yet acting in early Roman society wasn’t a respectable career; its status was similar to that of a slave or pagan laborer. The group rarely performed the original Greek and Roman dramas.

Ancient Roman comedy was boisterous, crude, and offensive. But the cunning performer had a plan that might land him a position at the Imperial Palace.

Emperor Diocletian planned to visit Rome in the summer of 303 to celebrate his twenty years as Rome’s sovereign leader. Various cultural events were being organized for his visit. Given the Emperor’s hatred of Christians, a satire mocking Christianity performed during the jubilee might amuse the emperor and win Genesius notoriety and favor with other nobles.

For research, he presented himself as a catechumen (person seeking faith instruction before baptism and admission to the Catholic Church). Genesius sought material to use for his play but had no plans of converting to Christianity.

During his months of training, Genesius chose to make Baptism the subject of his irreverent play. He planned to mock the claim that baptism washed away sin and invited those baptized into a new life in Christ! When he’d done enough study, he left the membership training.

The farcical play began after Emperor Diocletian took his seat in the Imperial Box. Genesius cast himself in the role of a bedridden man screaming to be baptized. As the play grew more extreme, an actor priest entered the stage to “baptize” the ailing catechumen.

Then something miraculous happened. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, Genesius arose from his bed and began to profess his faith in Christ:

“I hoped to please an earthly Emperor but instead I will praise a heavenly King. I came here to give you humor, but I will praise God and bring joy to His angels. I will never mock these great mysteries again.

Jesus Christ is the only true God, the Light, the Truth, and the Mercy of all who receive His gift of baptism.”

Genesius was arrested immediately and urged to recant his claims. Despite being beaten, racked, slashed, and burned, he remained faithful. After immense suffering, he was condemned to death and publicly beheaded.

Legend claims that his final words were, “Our Lord Jesus Christ is God. We shall have life in His name.” Through his martyrdom, he’s considered to have been “baptized by blood.”

A similar transformation takes place in every Christian. Jesus teaches that we must die to live. St. Genesius’ conversion shows that it’s never too late to turn to God and embrace Christianity. His courage is an inspiration to boldly witness our faith. His actions remind us that joy and laughter can be powerful evangelization tools.

Saint Genesius, Patron Saint of theatrical performers, we ask for your intercession as we seek to use our talents to bring joy and motivation to others. Grant us the courage to remain true to our faith, even in the face of persecution. Amen

Cherishing Old Friendships

 “Give thanks in all circumstances." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

After the champagne pops and the ball drops, revelers queue up the same ditty they’ve been singing for decades. You know the one - it makes you tear up, perhaps washing away the soul’s inner clutter. Most of us don’t know all the words. Even fewer know its origin.

“Auld Lang Syne” roughly translates to "for old times' sake." Robert Burns, a Scottish poet and lyricist authored the poem in 1788. It alludes to the custom of sharing a drink (“cup o’ kindness”) with friends or raising a toast to loved ones.

Today, it’s popular throughout the world. Countless artists (i.e., Beethoven) created their own version of "Auld Lang Syne” through the centuries. In 1877, Alexander Graham Bell aired the tune to publicize his telephone’s function. In 1890, “Auld Lang Syne” was one of the first songs recorded by Emil Berliner on his gramophone invention. The song gained more notoriety when it was sung at the first World Scout Jamboree in 1920.

Long before Dick Clark's ‘Rockin' Eve’ party debuted in 2008, a radio broadcast featuring Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians became the center of many families' New Year's Eve traditions. From 1929 through the mid-1970s, Lombardo closed each show with "Auld Lang Syne."

Times Square featured the song’s lyrics on its electro-mechanical ticker in 1929, rapidly expanding its familiarity among American households. Since then, the tune has appeared in TV shows and movies, famously closing the story of “It’s a Wonderful Life” in 1946.

Today, “Auld Lang Syne” remains one of the most recognizable songs in the world. Today, it’s played at funerals, graduations, and as a goodbye or the closing of other special occasions.

A new year may be a good time for new resolutions. But the ending of an old year is also a good time for reflecting on what’s passed; treasures once given that we’ll never experience in the same way again (we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught).

Old friendships are that sort of jewel. Few gifts in life are as precious as friends whom we once talked with until dawn confiding our hopes and fears; with whom we shared thrilling adventures and calamitous failures; and with whom we laughed deliriously and sat silently in mourning a loss.

Before it’s too late, schedule lunch with or make that phone call or send that email or handwritten letter to a cherished friend to simply express again what they’ve meant to you; and still mean to you. Or if they’re now beyond contact, it might be fitting to honor their significance with someone who can share the sweet memory of that person you both once knew.

As you toast the arrival of 2025, lift a prayerful cup of thankfulness for God’s kindness.

Lord, thank You for giving me such a precious group of friends to do life with. I’m grateful for the people You’ve blessed me with, the ones who have loved, encouraged, supported, and uplifted me through all the twists and turns of life. Amen

Ice Cream Bliss

 “Live in harmony with each other. Enjoy the company of all people." ~ Romans 12:16

Shandra sat on a balcony straining to see the street below. At 93, her curious eyes were failing. In her much younger years, few pleasant sounds could be heard on this street.

Police and ambulance sirens. Occasional gunfire. Their television played loud enough to mask the vicious yelling from the apartment next door. She (10) and her brother (8) were often home alone.

Mom showed them places to hide when they felt scared - in the bathtub with the shower curtain drawn, beneath a pile of clothes in the closet, under the kitchen sink with some pots and pans. They weren’t allowed to go outside while she was at work.

They couldn’t ride their bikes outside or walk in the nearby park. The sound of children’s laughter, cheers from athletic competition, and greetings of friends were absent from this neighborhood. Shandra had never moved from this place, but the streets below were now much safer and quieter. Less like a war zone – more like a community.

Her reminiscing was interrupted by the melodic chimes of an ice cream van rounding the corner four floors below. A symphony of joy drew opposites closer together.

With wide smiles and shrill pleas for cones, popsicles, and other frozen treats, kids rushed the truck from every direction to claim the melting creations. Such a welcome surprise on any day. Always random. Forever bringing a sweet rush of pure happiness.

Shandra watched little Zella wave goodbye to the school bus driver and sprint down the sidewalk toward the ice cream van’s cheerful jingle.

Vincent straightened his shirt collar as he exited the hardware store. Without appearing too eager, he searched his pocket for cash and nonchalantly sauntered toward the music box on wheels.

Saul and Anna stopped by the synagogue after an exhausting day. They heard the happy tune and, grinning at each other, stepped back outside and headed toward the treat mobile.

Chen knew leftovers could wait for dinner. Meandering through the neighborhood, he heard the excitement and picked and rushed toward the crowd. Desert should come first he reasoned.

Officer Haily sat in her parked patrol car writing up another report. She rolled down the window to listen, set her paperwork aside, and joined the chorus of frosty aficionados.

Bryce had lost his job... and his girlfriend. His eyes were closed. Hearing the distant chimes, he jumped up. No more self-pity! Time to change his life’s trajectory and treat himself to a little bliss.

Shandra made her way to the van just in time.

The ice cream truck entering When you hear an ice-cream truck on your street, it signals that the sweetness of summer fun is just around the corner and maybe even a chance to reconnect with your neighbors after a long, cold winter.

Father God, we ask for a thriving community, where neighbors learn to love each other and come to know You. Help us learn from our community, and it may be a place where all are welcome. Amen

Oh Danny Boy

 “Understand, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep God’s love is." ~ Ephesians 3:18-19

Every song tells a story. Or at least it should.

Such is the legendary piece written in 1910 by English barrister Frederic Weatherly. The poetic version of “Danny Boy” was written by Weatherly’s own hand after his Irish sister-in-law introduced him to the sweeping melody of “Londonderry Air." 

Frederic, a prolific songwriter before practicing law, published about 1,500 songs in his lifetime. “Londonderry Air” was discovered by Jane Ross in the early 1850s on the streets of northern Ireland, who composed the tune played by an anonymous street fiddler.

While millions have sung “Danny Boy” since it was written, its fame blossomed quickly thanks to the operatic voice of Elsie Griffin who recorded the first ever version of the beloved Irish ballad. Traditional versions have but four verses, but the most popular version has six.

More than a century has transpired since ink was put to parchment, “Danny Boy” stirs up deep emotion and feelings of Irish national pride. Yet, even today, the interpretation of its haunting lyrics remain up for debate.

Many believe it’s a loyalty message from a father to his son going off to war or emigrating (Irish immigrants brought the song to America in the 1920s).

Others suggest a parent wishing their boy to return to them before they pass away. Both are powerful themes in pain of parting and longing.

After the tragic events of 911, the strains of “Danny Boy” rose from memorial services of many Irish American police and firefighters who were among the victims. It honors both the notion of loss but also love reaffirmed by the joyful anticipation of being reunited again someday.

No matter its origins or meaning, "Danny Boy" has found a special place in Irish folklore; one of deep love that may reflect heritage and, perhaps, even romance with Ireland’s struggles. It reaches into one’s heart with an enduring power to move, uplift, and almost always yields soulful tears in expression. I’ll leave that up to your own senses of emotion and purpose.

The song reminds me of what Christ has done for us to elicit a response of love for Him.

“But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, or when the valley's hushed and white with snow. I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow, oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so.” (Danny Boy Verse2)

When you accept Jesus’ invitation to begin a relationship with God, you are secure in His love forever. Nothing can separate you from God’s love. Even when things are difficult or you feel far from God, it’s not because God stops loving you. The truth is that God will never stop loving you, no matter what you do.

“May God be with you and bless you; May you see your children’s children. May you be poor in misfortune and rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. Amen” (traditional Irish Blessing)

Sacrifical Love

 “He works for the good of those who love Him, who’ve been called to His purpose.” ~ Romans 8:28

Still in their teens, Matt and Nicole were adorable newlyweds, her perky optimism, his laugh contagious. They told hilariously frank stories, one finishing where the other left off. They glowed with love, youth, and health.

Thirteen years later, they enjoyed a comfortable life, two young daughters, and a common friend of uncommon affinity. Their script changed with Nicole’s ovarian cancer diagnosis. With it came the shock of mortality, a husband’s emotional trauma, and a dear friend’s refusal to let it happen.

After hearing the heartbreaking news, their close friend, Dane, traveled the few hundred miles to offer support and encouragement. He knew almost immediately that her story would have no surprise ending, no miraculous cure, no illusions of dignity.

Dane decided to stay for a few days and help where he could. His visit grew into weeks and ultimately two years. He left behind his life - a job, a girlfriend, and his own ambitions - to help with the overwhelming tasks of caregiving.

All without being asked.

Dane took on the concurrent roles of housekeeper, babysitter, and caregiver, especially during periods when Nicole's condition deteriorated. He cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and went grocery shopping to help all the family maintain some sense of normalcy.

He was also there for his friend, reminding him to sleep, eat, and at one point Dane even arranged a hiking trip for the two of them so Matt wouldn’t burn out. It was a story of friendship so deep, so kind, and so enduring that it almost seemed fictitious.

Despite his selfless efforts, nothing could stop Nicole’s steady decline. He couldn’t stop the girls from losing their Mom and his buddy from losing his wife. Yet his presence honored the rarity of a faithful friend who showed when needed most; willing to both sharpen and soothe.

“Dane’s my hero, Matt admitted. “He also just happens to be my best friend.” He’s not perfect, but he’s a close-to-perfect friend.”

Their story speaks volumes about what it means to love someone and how faith in God can carry people through even the most difficult times. None of that would have been possible without His earthly Angel. It reminds us that the job of a “faithful friend” is a High calling.

The loneliness and brutality of this life can’t possibly be endured without relationships. By God’s design, we are essentially social beings. The myth of autonomy - that life is best when totally self-reliant, unencumbered, and accountable only to yourself - is a devastating falsehood.

It’s especially true today when it’s easy to isolate and pretend “social connectedness” that masks real loneliness. We need each other and are happiest when we acknowledge that need.

Thank You, Lord, for sharing Your joy with the world. Help us not take for granted the gift of Your gospel with the nations, and our neighbors. Open our eyes to see the needs around us and respond to those needs with joy and hope. Amen