I find myself in the valley, surrounded by mist. The way forward is hidden; dangers lie unseen. Mystery rises around me, and though my eyes strain, I cannot see the path before me. So I call to You, my God. In the midst of the valley, Your eyes become my own. Though the way is unclear, Your voice steadies my heart, And You direct my steps through what I cannot see. If I could see the road ahead, would I tremble at the shadows waiting there? But You — You order my steps. Your hand rests gently upon me, guiding me through the valley I feared to enter. I will not be afraid, for You are with me. Though my eyes cannot see, I trust the One who leads. Your voice becomes my compass, Your whisper my courage, Your touch the quiet assurance that I am not alone. You lead me along unfamiliar paths, overgrown with the weeds of my own choices. Yet even here, Your mercy clears a way. You bring me to a quiet clearing beside still waters, and I hear the river of Your presence rushing nearby. I pause — breath held — waiting for Your next word. Then You lift me higher. The mist begins to thin. The path becomes faintly visible as You draw me upward, step by step, toward a summit I did not know existed. And as the path ends, I see it — the whole valley beneath me, now covered in the mist of Your love, not the fog of my fear. You have led me safely to heights beyond myself. You bring me to the mountain that is higher than I. Here, I reach toward the heavens. I cannot grasp them, yet I feel their nearness. Your beauty overwhelms me; Your majesty silences every doubt. How can I comprehend the depth of Your love? But the mountain is not forever. Your voice calls me onward, for there are more valleys to walk, more places where Your presence will guide me, more shadows for Your light to break open. So I stand in Your goodness, rest in Your grace, and place my trust in the God who leads me to the mountain’s height and walks with me through every valley below.

Words spin circles in my mind— some carrying love, some carrying fear. They can tear the soul apart, or stitch it back together with life, joy, and peace. We eat the fruit we speak; the harvest tells its story. Life and death rest quietly on the tongue. There are words that praise, words that comfort, and others that carve deep rifts where light once lived. A heart broken by words shrinks from being comforted. Foolish sentences can tear down a whole house— our own hands doing the wrecking. Who can I trust? Who holds the words of life? Truth sometimes wounds, yet spoken in love it heals. Your words I hide in my heart. Your words light the path beneath my feet. Your words breathe acceptance, mercy, love. So I come searching— What do You whisper in the stillness of the night? What light do Your words reveal in the dark corners of my heart? Touch my lips— teach them to praise. Give me Your words of life when shadows gather close. Let Your truth sink deep into the quiet places of my soul. Teach me to listen. Teach me to hear. Teach me to speak Your words.

We often picture a wooden manger… but in ancient Israel, mangers were usually stone feeding troughs. So when Jesus was laid in one, it wasn’t just a cute detail—it was a sign. The shepherds around Bethlehem weren’t ordinary shepherds. They raised unblemished lambs for the temple sacrifices. When a perfect lamb was born, they would wrap it tightly in cloth to protect it and place it in a stone manger until it was safe. So when the shepherds found a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger, they knew exactly what God was saying. This child wasn’t just born. He was given. The spotless Lamb of God. The One who would take away the sins of the world. The true Bread of Life, placed in a feeding trough. God’s message was unmistakable—and it was wrapped in humility. The manger pointed to His humility, the swaddling cloths to His perfection, and His birth among sacrificial lambs to His destiny. And just as a manger held food, this moment pointed to Jesus as the true nourishment—the Bread of Life—given for the world.

Have you ever read a story in the Bible and thought, God… You could’ve picked someone else? I feel that way sometimes when I read about Lot. God knew how everything would turn out, and yet He still rescued him. And the truth is — it wasn’t because Lot was faithful. It was because God made a promise to Abraham, and He keeps His covenants even when people don’t. Lot’s whole attitude shows a man who struggled to trust God. When the angels arrived, he tried to protect them in his own strength. When destruction was coming, he lingered. He had to be dragged out of Sodom. Even after being rescued, Lot had left Sodom but Sodom wasn’t fully out of him. And yet… God was patient. Lot was told to flee to the hills, but he asked for something else — a little city called Zoar. And God, in mercy, agreed. He waited until Lot reached Zoar before judgment fell. Even then, Lot didn’t stay. Fear moved him again, and he ended up living in a cave — and the story only grows more heartbreaking from there. Lot’s journey is one ruled by fear rather than faith. Fear caused him to doubt God’s protection. Fear caused him to cling to alternatives. Fear caused him to step away from the very places God said were safe. And the consequences were devastating. But here’s what this story reminds me of: God’s patience is bigger than our fear. God’s faithfulness is stronger than our hesitation. God’s mercy reaches further than we think. Lot may not be the hero we expect… but he reveals a God who keeps His promises, even with people who stumble and struggle to obey. His story is a warning about living by fear — but also a witness to God’s relentless grace. Maybe the real question is this: Where am I still moving in fear instead of faith? And what might God be patiently rescuing me from even now?

Stars shoot across a velvet sky on display for the whole earth. They glimmer, they gleam through the cosmos, each a twinkling diamond of light. Glowing, giant, luminous spheres — great balls of fire, The light of your love that lights the way home. Energy that speaks of your power and majesty. Praise him, sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars. Each glimmer shouts out your name in praise. The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Like a master craftsman, each held in place by your word — A blanket rolled out, exposing the wonders of creation. Stars that guide to treasure beyond compare, Stars that shone while the angels declared the joyous hope of your salvation. A star is a promise of a future, of a hope. The wise will shine like the brightness of the stars. Incomprehensible is the number of the stars, because you are incomprehensible. Each one you know by name. Each one you put and hold in place. You know their coming and going — And just as you know the stars… you know me. You trace my orbit with tenderness, Call me by name with the same authority that scattered light across the galaxies. In the vastness I am not lost; In the darkness I am never unseen. So I lift my eyes to the heavens you crafted, And find my hope anchored in the One Who hung the stars — And still holds my heart.