Today brought a quiet honesty... Sometimes surviving it is the victory.

 

Today brought a quiet honesty—an acceptance in my heart that the holidays will never be the way they once were. Too many of my loved ones are in heaven now, and life has unfolded very differently than I once imagined.

I know many of you are walking through a season that feels unfamiliar, even disorienting—where the calendar says celebration, but your heart knows something has changed.

This morning a simple thought came to me… some seasons are just hard seasons of missing. And no amount of effort can force life back into the shape it once had.

So I’m learning not to fight that.

Instead I’m trying to balance the ache by paying attention to what’s still here… there is so much to be grateful for.

A steady body.

Friends who check in.

Animals who give me love and purpose.

This makeshift ministry where we find one another.

And peace that arrives in small, unexpected moments.

These aren’t loud or flashy gifts, but they are precious ones.

If you moved through this holiday feeling tender, disappointed, or simply aware that you’re standing in a chapter you never intended to be in—you didn’t fail the season. Sometimes surviving it is the victory.

As the year draws to a close and we look toward what’s next, I hope you give yourself permission to honor the life you’re actually living—not only the one you miss.

May we cherish our memories with all our hearts,

and may we also be grateful for the days still ahead of us.

I’m already claiming 2026 as a year of healing… for all of us.

Much love,

LaurieAnna

Source: Cupola Ridge on Facebook

With Us in Our Loneliness

Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you. Hebrews 13:5

Henry David Thoreau described a city as a place where many people are “lonesome together.” Those words have the ring of truth. In my youth, songs like “Mr. Lonely,” “Only the Lonely,” and “Eleanor Rigby” focused on isolation and loneliness. In recent years, the pandemic was one of the most isolating seasons the world has known. And social media can feed that loneliness, giving us connection without relationship. Perhaps loneliness is the new pandemic.

As Matthew shared the story of the birth of Jesus (1:18-25), he told us, “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet [Isaiah]: ‘The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel’ (which means ‘God with us’) ” (vv. 22-23). Ponder that for a moment. God with us!

As believers in Jesus, we’re never alone. We’ve been born again into the family of Christ, a family that spans the globe and the ages. The apostle Paul said, “You are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household” (Ephesians 2:19). We’re loved by the ever-present God, who said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

Whatever you’re facing today, your heavenly Father is present with you. Allow Him to help you as you step into life’s uncertainties and challenges. He’s with you.

By Bill Crowder

Our Daily Bread

Lonely, Not Lonely

My name’s Daniel, I’m 45, and two weeks ago I learned something about my mother that I’m still ashamed I didn’t see sooner.

She’s 80, lives alone in the little tan house she’s been in for half a century. The one with the peeling shutters and the mailbox she still refuses to replace because “it works just fine.”

Last Wednesday, she called and said:

“Danny… I need help with my grocery list. Can you come? I think I’m forgetting things.”

My first instinct?

Annoyance.

I had deadlines.

Kids’ activities.

Bills on my desk.

A hundred things pulling me in every direction.

So I said, “Just tell me what you want. I’ll order it all online.”

But she was quiet for a long moment before whispering:

“I’d rather you come.”

So I did.

When I walked into her kitchen, three grocery bags were already sitting neatly on the counter.

“Mom… you already shopped,” I said, confused.

She waved her hand. “Those are just basics. I still need a few things.”

She opened her notebook — the same spiral-bound one she’s used for years — and handed it to me.

The list said:

• grapes

• paper towels

• coffee creamer

• company

And suddenly everything inside me went still.

She looked embarrassed, like a kid caught doing something wrong.

“I just… didn’t know how else to ask you to come,” she whispered. “You’re always so busy, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

That sentence —

those ten quiet words —

hit harder than anything I’ve felt in years.

My mom, the woman who worked two jobs and still made every school concert…

the woman who saved every drawing I ever made…

the woman who put herself last for decades…

felt she had to pretend she needed groceries

just to feel worthy of a visit from her own son.

I hugged her so tightly she laughed and said, “Oh goodness, you’ll break me.”

We never went to the store.

Instead, we sat at the tiny kitchen table covered in little sunflower placemats she’s had since the ’90s.

We talked about the neighbor’s new dog.

About her tomato plant that refuses to grow.

About my dad, and how she still forgets he’s not coming through the door sometimes.

I stayed longer than I planned.

Drank terrible instant coffee.

Listened — really listened — the way she used to listen to me.

Before I left, she walked me to the door and held my hand for a moment longer than usual.

“You made my week, sweetheart,” she said softly.

Driving home, I couldn’t shake one thought:

How many times did she wait by the window, hoping my car would turn into the driveway?

How many afternoons did she tell herself,

“He’ll come when he has time,”

while the house echoed with loneliness I didn’t notice?

I realized that somewhere along the road of adulthood —

work, kids, obligations, noise —

I started treating her like an errand.

Someone to “fit in” when life allowed it.

But to her?

I was never an errand.

I was her world.

And all she wanted

was an hour with her son

in the home where she raised him.

THE LESSON

Your parents won’t always tell you they’re lonely.

They won’t always say they miss you.

They won’t always ask directly.

Sometimes they’ll hide it behind a grocery list.

Behind a broken lamp.

Behind a request that doesn’t really need doing.

Go anyway.

Sit at their table.

Drink the bad coffee.

Let them tell you stories you’ve heard a thousand times.

Because one day the chair will be empty.

The notebook will be closed.

The porch light will be off.

And you’ll wish you had treated an ordinary Wednesday

like the priceless moment it truly was

Copied from someone else

Credited to Rosentreter Devin for take a picture of the last place when I saw my mother for the final time at her end of life in 2002. In Sandwich, RT. 34

This hit every nerves that nobody can imagine how many nerves had strikes the nerve system. This die down deep inside me to bring a hope of life where memories buried in and shed a light of happiness and hopes of joys.

I'm thankful for my mother and father also brother who I lost for many many years of losing someone you loves. Loves are what taught and carry the memories through my children and grandchildren to share with that my loves and I created.

Keep them close to our heart where home at.

Father, without your strength, I would have been completely lost and self destructive with the universe. You showed me the way of LIFE! I continue to make the way of life at works regardless of what society thriving in.

SOURCE: Danny Kennedy Jr. Facebook

Crushed in spirit...

 

Sometimes, sitting alone in the quiet of winter, I feel my soul stretch: aching for answers, for hope, for God. Lord, You know the leaves that have fallen from my heart this season: loss, longing, uncertainty. Yet here, on this cold bench, I remember Your promise: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18) Father, meet me where I am. Heal my hidden places. Let Your presence wrap round me like a warm coat that won’t wear thin.

Credit: Word Of Encouragement/ Facebook

Above image created by me.

...so act like it!

If you're anything like me, we've lived too much of our life captive to everything and everyone else.

I woke up this week and realized that I needed something more.

I really don't know what it is yet, but what I do know is how empty I feel.

I think some of you might get that.

Like many, I've been so busy being busy that I've rarely stopped, stepped back and really thought about what I want..not what I need.

What to wear, how to be, what to say...all the things that really don't matter in the end..

And will never make me happy.

So I'm done with that life.

Join me.

Let's break out of the mold, stop fitting into the labels and start chasing our dreams and happiness.

Close that other chapter.

I'm starting a new chapter ..heck, maybe a new book.

I can't and won't keep going down that road ..the empty one.

My happiness isn't down that path and I'm done doing the things that don't serve me.

I'm going to do, find and enjoy the people and things that I love.

I don't know where I'm headed, how I'll get there or where I'll end up..

But I do know one thing and it's the one thing that matters.

That everything that happens from now on is my choice.

My life, my happiness..

And now, my way.

Ravenwolf

Source: Facebook - The Ravenwolf 

Your heart will fix itself

 

Your heart will fix itself. It’s your mind you need to worry about. Your mind where you locked the memories, your mind where you have kept pieces of the ones that hurt you, that still cut through you like shards of glass. Your mind will keep you up at night, make you cry, destroy you over and over again. You need to convince your mind that it has to let go…because your heart already knows how to heal.

Credit: Rivers in the Ocean/ Facebook

Nikita Gill

Unknown artist

You Say - Lauren Daigle (Lyric Video)

If you asked me...

If you asked me how I did as a mom, I'd say I did my best.

I showed up. I loved hard. I kept going.

But if you asked me deeper, I'd say: I'm sorry for the moments I was short tempered or overwhelmed.

I'm sorry if my unhealed parts ever made you feel small. I'm sorry for the times I let my stress speak louder than my love.

Please know my messiness was never a reflection of your worth. You are my greatest gift.

And I'm still learning, even now, how to love you better.

______________________________

I hope one day you’ll understand that motherhood doesn’t come with a guide, and many days I was building myself while trying to raise you at the same time. Sometimes I stumbled, not because you deserved any less, but because I was still healing parts of myself I didn’t even know were broken.

I hope you remember the laughter, the warmth, the moments I tried again even after I failed. I hope you see the strength it took to keep showing up when life felt heavy on my shoulders. I hope you recognize that every choice I made—right or wrong—was rooted in a love deeper than anything I’d ever known.

And if you ever felt unseen, know that I was fighting to become the version of myself you deserved. You taught me patience, forgiveness, and how to grow beyond my limits. You made me softer and stronger in the same breath.

Credit: Metro 22& on Facebook

God said otherwise...

Walt Disney once told Charles Schulz he wasn't good enough to draw background art.

Form letter. Very polite.

"We only hire the very finest artists."

Sparky wasn't one of them.

His yearbook rejected his cartoons.

His school gave him a zero in physics. 

He failed every subject in eighth grade.

The other kids called him "Sparky"

— after a horse in a comic strip.

They were calling him an animal.

Paul Harvey said it best:

"Sparky wasn't actually disliked by the other youngsters. No one cared enough about him to dislike him."

So this invisible boy did something strange.

He didn't try to prove Disney wrong.

He wrote his autobiography in cartoons instead.

Named the main character after himself.

Charlie Brown.

A kid whose kite never flies. 

Whose team never wins. 

Whose crush never notices him.

Then Schulz did something the network executives hated.

He put Luke 2 at the center of his

Christmas special

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy..."

They told him to cut it.

Too religious.

He refused.

At Christmastime, millions of people will watch that scene.

A loser became the messenger.

Disney said he wasn't good enough.

God said otherwise.

Credit: Kathy Troccoli - Facebook

God's Grace

There are moments when you feel that familiar heaviness resting inside your chest that no one can see.

You pause before moving forward, gathering yourself in the hush that settles around you. You tell yourself you should be stronger by now, more used to life and all its changes. Yet there you are, holding a quiet ache you rarely name out loud. It is that tender mix of exhaustion, longing, and the sacred hope that things might still turn toward the good.

There is a deeper truth beneath feelings like these, one that deserves to be spoken softly. You carry far more than most will ever see. You have loved faithfully, given generously, prayed through storms, and held your family together with a strength that came at a cost. Your smile has been a shelter for others. Your hands have steadied people even when your own spirit trembled. And deep down, in the quiet corners of your heart, you sometimes wonder if God still remembers every seed you planted along the way.

What rises in you is human. It is normal to feel stretched by life. Seasons shift before you are ready. People you once leaned on have drifted or gone home to the Lord. The routines that used to bring comfort feel different now beneath the soft glow around you. And there are days when you wish someone would simply sit beside you and say, I see how much you have carried. I see the weight. I see the trying.

But then another truth begins to unfold, gentle and steady. God meets you right in these tender spaces. Not after you put yourself back together. Not after you hide your tiredness. He draws close while the heart is still worn thin. His presence settles quietly, like warm light filtering across a familiar room, touching the places where so many of your prayers have rested. In that light, the ache shifts from something heavy to something holy.

When God steps into the moment, everything softens. The long road behind you is no longer a sign of weariness but a testimony woven with faith. Every tear watered something unseen. Every prayer became a seed tucked into the soil of His promise. Every rise from the depths, every choice to love, every quiet yes was witnessed by heaven. You have not been overlooked. You have not been forgotten. You have been growing, even in the dark.

Think of the times God carried you without you even realizing it. The still hours when the only sound was the hum of the house. The quiet moments when you pressed your hand to your heart and whispered, Lord, just help me keep going. He heard every breath. He held every fear. He wrapped every unspoken hope in His care.

There is something sacred in how God moves through the ordinary. The soft creak of a well-loved chair. The warmth of a cup resting between your hands. The gentle hum of a hymn that has followed you through the years. These threads weave a tender reminder that you are loved by a God who notices everything. Nothing in your life has been wasted. Not one act of kindness. Not one sacrifice. Not one moment of endurance or forgiveness or steady faith.

He is still working. Still restoring. Still bringing beauty from places that once felt broken. Even now, He is preparing blessings shaped by every step you have taken with Him. You can let that truth settle over you like a soft covering. You can let your spirit breathe again.

So let your heart lift a little. Let the old worries loosen their grip. Let God remind you that your story is not finished, and neither are you. The same faithful God who has carried you this far will carry you forward.

Let us pray together.

Lord, thank You for meeting us in the tender places where our hearts feel vulnerable and worn. Thank You for seeing every burden we have carried and every seed of faith we have sown. Remind us today that we are held, remembered, and deeply loved. Lift the heaviness from our spirits and let Your hope rise within us like gentle light. Guide our steps, steady our hearts, and bless the path ahead. Amen.

Credit: God's Grace 

ai art by me