Congratulations to the March Writing Challenge winners!
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** Read the winning stories below **
The Southern Christian Writers Conference's March Writing Challenge was to write a reflection on a favorite Bible verse or story, with the encouragement to "show, not tell" in the piece.
We were sent so many wonderful submissions, making the decision on winners a very difficult one.
Thank you to everyone who submitted! We loved reading each and every one of them.
Congratulations to our top winners:
1st place: Drew Oakley
2nd place: Teresa Finch
3rd place: Ranae Seestadt
Honorable mentions: Cindy Mount, Pamela Hatch, and Karen Huffaker
Enjoy reading the winning reflections...
"The Voice that Grace Silenced"
by Drew Oakley
I’m sick and tired of this little voice inside my head. I’ve been listening to it for as long as I can remember.
It’s whispers that whatever I’ve done so far isn’t quite enough. This voice wants me to live in constant production mode because otherwise people will be disappointed in me; God too. In fact, for most of my early adult life I believed something about God that I carried like a quiet law written across my soul: only if I worked hard enough, served faithfully enough, and accomplished something meaningful, would God finally be pleased with me.
I never would have said it that bluntly. I used the word calling. I said it was my passion for ministry. But beneath the long hours, the overloaded calendar, and the constant pressure to succeed was a simple yet dangerous assumption: my worth to God and others wasn’t secure.
For years I carried a quiet pressure of self-imposed high expectations in every direction. My wife deserved a husband who could provide stability and build a meaningful life for our family. My parents had sacrificed relentlessly to give me the chance to pursue my calling, and I felt a deep responsibility to make their sacrifices worth it. Above everything else was an unrelenting belief that since God had done so much for me, I owed Him something big in return.
So I worked harder. I pushed further. But the pace slowly eroded parts of my life I should have been protecting.
Rest disappeared. Friendships thinned out. Even in rooms full of people, I felt increasingly alone.
By the time my father died in September of 2009, I was already stretched to the breaking point. His death didn’t just bring grief; it exposed how fragile everything inside me had become. The exhaustion I felt gave way to a darkness I had never experienced before. I began to hate the life I was living and the person I was becoming.
Thoughts I never imagined entertaining crept into my mind and I began to question whether life was even worth continuing.
Eventually my body began to protest the life I was trying to sustain. I became so violently sick in the winter of 2009 that I tore muscles in my back and ended up on pain medication. It felt as though the strain I had been carrying internally had finally surfaced physically.
It’s painfully clear now how badly my priorities had drifted. I thought I was living faithfully, but in reality I had built my life on pressure, obligation, and the constant need to prove myself. I now understand something I didn’t have language for at the time. What I was experiencing was chronic stress, and chronic stress doesn’t just exhaust the body; it reshapes the way the brain interprets the world.
When a person lives long enough under pressure and isolation, the nervous system begins to operate in a constant state of threat. Everything feels urgent. Everything feels heavy. Even hope becomes difficult to access.
Looking back now, it’s clear that my body and mind were reacting exactly the way they were designed to react under prolonged strain.
In the middle of that season a member of my church convinced me to attend a Christian retreat focused on spiritual renewal, faith, grace, and discipleship. All things I didn’t think I needed but was about to find out that my soul had been screaming for.
Full transparency, I didn’t arrive with great expectations. I was exhausted, emotionally numb, and unsure how to begin untangling the mess my life had become. To make matters worse, I was a cynical seminary student who was far more confident in my theological opinions than in my own need for grace. I remember sitting through the first talk feeling more like a critic prepared to analyze the content than a man searching for help.
Then somewhere in the middle of the weekend, the theme passage from Ephesians chapter 2 was read:
Everything was utter chaos. The Mississippi Gulf Coast looked like a war zone, and there was nothing much recognizable.
With the storm having passed, we were slowly making our way home, ever mindful of the lurking dangers all around. My husband gripped the steering wheel tightly, knowing we might have to make an abrupt stop. It wasn’t just the fallen trees. Traffic lights suspiciously swung as if they might fall at any moment, some already down, and heaven only knew where they made their final resting place. There was flooding, especially in low-lying areas, and sagging power lines occasionally popping with blue sparks.
It’s whispers that whatever I’ve done so far isn’t quite enough. This voice wants me to live in constant production mode because otherwise people will be disappointed in me; God too. In fact, for most of my early adult life I believed something about God that I carried like a quiet law written across my soul: only if I worked hard enough, served faithfully enough, and accomplished something meaningful, would God finally be pleased with me.
I never would have said it that bluntly. I used the word calling. I said it was my passion for ministry. But beneath the long hours, the overloaded calendar, and the constant pressure to succeed was a simple yet dangerous assumption: my worth to God and others wasn’t secure.
For years I carried a quiet pressure of self-imposed high expectations in every direction. My wife deserved a husband who could provide stability and build a meaningful life for our family. My parents had sacrificed relentlessly to give me the chance to pursue my calling, and I felt a deep responsibility to make their sacrifices worth it. Above everything else was an unrelenting belief that since God had done so much for me, I owed Him something big in return.
So I worked harder. I pushed further. But the pace slowly eroded parts of my life I should have been protecting.
Rest disappeared. Friendships thinned out. Even in rooms full of people, I felt increasingly alone.
By the time my father died in September of 2009, I was already stretched to the breaking point. His death didn’t just bring grief; it exposed how fragile everything inside me had become. The exhaustion I felt gave way to a darkness I had never experienced before. I began to hate the life I was living and the person I was becoming.
Thoughts I never imagined entertaining crept into my mind and I began to question whether life was even worth continuing.
Eventually my body began to protest the life I was trying to sustain. I became so violently sick in the winter of 2009 that I tore muscles in my back and ended up on pain medication. It felt as though the strain I had been carrying internally had finally surfaced physically.
It’s painfully clear now how badly my priorities had drifted. I thought I was living faithfully, but in reality I had built my life on pressure, obligation, and the constant need to prove myself. I now understand something I didn’t have language for at the time. What I was experiencing was chronic stress, and chronic stress doesn’t just exhaust the body; it reshapes the way the brain interprets the world.
When a person lives long enough under pressure and isolation, the nervous system begins to operate in a constant state of threat. Everything feels urgent. Everything feels heavy. Even hope becomes difficult to access.
Looking back now, it’s clear that my body and mind were reacting exactly the way they were designed to react under prolonged strain.
In the middle of that season a member of my church convinced me to attend a Christian retreat focused on spiritual renewal, faith, grace, and discipleship. All things I didn’t think I needed but was about to find out that my soul had been screaming for.
Full transparency, I didn’t arrive with great expectations. I was exhausted, emotionally numb, and unsure how to begin untangling the mess my life had become. To make matters worse, I was a cynical seminary student who was far more confident in my theological opinions than in my own need for grace. I remember sitting through the first talk feeling more like a critic prepared to analyze the content than a man searching for help.
Then somewhere in the middle of the weekend, the theme passage from Ephesians chapter 2 was read:
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith… not by works.” I had read those words many times before. But in that moment, something about them landed differently and I realized something uncomfortable: I believed in grace theologically, but I had been living as if God’s approval still had to be earned. To say this realization wrecked me would be a gross understatement. And so it should come as no surprise that this verse has become my favorite in all of scripture. Those words broke every chain I had been living under. The full text goes like this:
The people Paul originally wrote these words to lived in a culture where spiritual favor was something you tried to earn through rituals, sacrifices, and religious performance. In many ways, the system I had built for myself wasn’t that different. Performance had become a second language to me and I, like Paul’s original audience, needed a wake up call.
Grace means God’s love is not a reward for good behavior, or a paycheck for religious effort. Grace is a gift.
That means the foundation of our relationship with God is not our performance but His generosity.
I had quietly reversed that order. I lived as though the Christian life worked like this: work hard, prove your devotion, accomplish something meaningful for God, and then (maybe) receive His approval. But Paul insists the order runs the opposite direction. We are saved by grace first. Only then do good works follow.
The line that shattered my assumptions entirely was verse ten: “For we are God’s handiwork.” The Greek word Paul uses, poiēma, refers to something crafted with care like a work of art. Before I was a worker in God’s kingdom, I was a work of God Himself. That realization changed everything. My value to God did not come trom what I produced for Him. My worth began with Him and Him alone. And once that truth began to settle into my soul, the relentless voice demanding I prove myself finally started to lose its power.
I’ll be the first to admit that this voice didn’t disappear. We live in a world that quietly trains us to keep striving, to keep proving, to keep chasing the sense that we’ve finally done enough. That voice still whispers from time to time that I need to work harder, prove more, and accomplish something impressive for God. But now I recognize it as a lie I no longer have to obey.
But Ephesians reminds me of a deeper truth: I am already God’s handiwork. Grace settled the question my striving never could. My life is no longer about earning God’s favor but living from it—trusting that what God has already given is enough, and that I am enough because of Him.
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves,
it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:8-10
Grace means God’s love is not a reward for good behavior, or a paycheck for religious effort. Grace is a gift.
That means the foundation of our relationship with God is not our performance but His generosity.
I had quietly reversed that order. I lived as though the Christian life worked like this: work hard, prove your devotion, accomplish something meaningful for God, and then (maybe) receive His approval. But Paul insists the order runs the opposite direction. We are saved by grace first. Only then do good works follow.
The line that shattered my assumptions entirely was verse ten: “For we are God’s handiwork.” The Greek word Paul uses, poiēma, refers to something crafted with care like a work of art. Before I was a worker in God’s kingdom, I was a work of God Himself. That realization changed everything. My value to God did not come trom what I produced for Him. My worth began with Him and Him alone. And once that truth began to settle into my soul, the relentless voice demanding I prove myself finally started to lose its power.
I’ll be the first to admit that this voice didn’t disappear. We live in a world that quietly trains us to keep striving, to keep proving, to keep chasing the sense that we’ve finally done enough. That voice still whispers from time to time that I need to work harder, prove more, and accomplish something impressive for God. But now I recognize it as a lie I no longer have to obey.
But Ephesians reminds me of a deeper truth: I am already God’s handiwork. Grace settled the question my striving never could. My life is no longer about earning God’s favor but living from it—trusting that what God has already given is enough, and that I am enough because of Him.
"Refuge"
by Teresa Finch
Familiar landmarks had vanished. Trees were snapped in half like broken pencils, some pulled right from the ground with their roots completely exposed, and others lying in heaps like a giant game of pick up sticks. When they fell, they blocked roadways or toppled onto the homes that once sat underneath the shade of their leaves.
With the storm having passed, we were slowly making our way home, ever mindful of the lurking dangers all around. My husband gripped the steering wheel tightly, knowing we might have to make an abrupt stop. It wasn’t just the fallen trees. Traffic lights suspiciously swung as if they might fall at any moment, some already down, and heaven only knew where they made their final resting place. There was flooding, especially in low-lying areas, and sagging power lines occasionally popping with blue sparks.
Emergency responders were already out with their chainsaws and other equipment clearing the unimaginable devastation, so we were mindful of them, too.
With my heart racing and hands trembling, I clung to the dash as we made our way through our neighborhood. The devastation was so much worse than we had expected. We both had a feeling of foreboding as there were so many homes horribly damaged or, in some cases, no longer there. I felt warm tears sliding down my cheeks.
We were holding our breath as we turned into our cul-de-sac, but soon let out a sigh of relief. Our home was still standing...though it had rightly taken a beating. It appeared to be bent in sorrow—the pain, almost too great for it to bear. Exiting the car, we had a first-hand view of what twelve hours of relentless, screaming winds and rain could do. Hurricane Katrina had not been a lady, staying much too long, like an unwelcome guest. She chose her arrival at high tide, leaving a trail of destruction behind.
The roof had been skinned, not a shingle left. The garage door was crumpled, hanging only from the right track, with the remainder resting on the roof of the car left inside.
The shrubbery and flower beds were no longer adorning the entrance. It was as if all had been angrily chewed up and spit out by vicious monsters. The lovely crepe myrtle that I had taken such pride in was at least still standing, flanking the right corner of the house. Though it, too, had been stripped of all its glory, the limbs were now leaning in the direction where the howling winds had blown.
There was a sinking feeling when we tried to open the front door and found it would no longer swing open freely. My husband had to put his shoulder into it, pushing and shoving over and over to get the door open enough to squeeze through.
There was evidence of how the water had streamed down the walls in places. Piles of wet sheetrock were all around, making it clear why we had such a hard time getting the door open. It appeared we had skylights as the sun beamed through what had once been our ceilings. The furniture was either completely soaked or sitting on wet, squishy carpet. It was overwhelming.
There was evidence of how the water had streamed down the walls in places. Piles of wet sheetrock were all around, making it clear why we had such a hard time getting the door open. It appeared we had skylights as the sun beamed through what had once been our ceilings. The furniture was either completely soaked or sitting on wet, squishy carpet. It was overwhelming.
As we were appraising the devastation, we had no idea how we were ever going to get all of the mess cleaned up and out before more damage was done. As we continued our assessment of the horrific circumstances, we stopped in the kitchen, which was the heart of our home.
That’s when we noticed it. How could this be possible? It was an oddity for sure, sitting there surrounded by waterlogged appliances and other paraphernalia adorning the counter still dripping wet with water from above. Right there amongst the dishevelment, the little daily flip Bible verse calendar was perfectly pristine and intact, just as pretty as you please, seemingly untouched by the wind or rain.
Walking over and gently picking it up, I read the words on the page from Nahum 1:7: “The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in him.”
My husband and I looked at each other in awe as we stood in the middle of our storm damaged home. The scripture was just what we needed at that moment to give us comfort and remind us that God was with us, especially right then, in our actual time of trouble. The Lord became our shelter in the storm.
It gave us the renewed hope and strength we needed to wipe away our tears and begin counting our many blessings. We knew others had suffered far greater.
Right then and there, we found peace in knowing we were going to overcome this crisis. The words gave us a whole new perspective on our life and purpose. Things could be replaced and houses could be rebuilt. In that time it was the hurting people who needed someone to give them hope just as the Lord had done for us.
As the days passed, we kept that scripture constantly in our thoughts and actions. We experienced getting to know our neighbors beyond name alone and helping one another repair the damages. With no electricity, people actually gathered together outdoors to enjoy a meal or cup of coffee and conversation as we became proficient at cooking on grills or making lots of peanut butter sandwiches!
Reflecting on times like this, I’m reminded that God doesn’t always calm the storm itself, but He calms our hearts in the middle of it. Just like the eye of a hurricane, where everything grows quiet even while the danger still rages all around, He holds us steadfast and carries us through it.
"Reckless Devotion & Profound Betrayal"
by Ranae Seestadt
“Mary”
Mary opened the door to Simon’s packed house and was instantly overwhelmed with competing scents: spiced cumin, herbed oil, and men sweaty from working in the heat. She smiled at the brotherly banter flowing back and forth. Nothing could disturb the festive mood. At least, she hoped.
Mary hugged Martha while scanning the room; she quickly spotted Jesus at the table. He was leaning forward, smiling while telling a story. Mary loved that about Him—He always knew just what to say. Nervous energy flickered in her chest as she mentally prepared herself to do what she had planned. She steered around the table until she was directly behind Jesus. He was laying on his side, his elbow resting on the bench, his head cradled in one hand as He ate with the other. His posture was relaxed, but she knew that He sensed her. He never missed anything.
Mary clutched the alabaster jar in her hands, careful to not let it slip. She remembered how she felt when she first saw it. The merchant said it was the finest perfume: lavishly expensive. It was meant to be her dowry; the gift for the man who would take her as his wife.
Mary silently counted the cost.
She knelt behind Jesus, close enough to touch Him. Only then did some of the other men perceive her invading the intimacy of the table. They looked away, pretending not to notice.
Mary took a deep breath…CRACK!
She snapped the neck of the beautiful bottle. In seconds, the room filled with the heavenly scent. All sound ceased. Everyone was watching now.
Mary fixed her focus on Jesus. Her hand shook slightly as she tipped the bottle and gently poured the perfume over his head. Jesus tilted His chin back just enough so He could look up toward her. As the oil dripped down his hair, involuntary goosebumps sprang up on her arms. Anointing like this was reserved for religious rulers and royalty. And now, Jesus. Was there meaning beyond what she had even intended? It was too much to comprehend.
Quickly, Mary moved back toward Jesus’ feet. How many times had she sat here before? But this time felt different. She wasn’t here to receive from her Rabbi—she was stooping to serve her Savior. Her heart raced as she poured the rest of the perfume from His ankles to calloused soles.
She set the pieces of the jar down and raised her hands to the scarf covering her dark hair. She pulled it off in one swift motion and shook her locks loose. Mary’s cheeks flushed, knowing what the men around her were probably thinking; she didn’t look up to see. All that mattered was what Jesus thought. This was for Him.
Mary tilted her neck and let her hair fall onto the oil-soaked feet of the Man—the Lamb—the One who was going to be slain. That thought cut her to her core. She wouldn’t have believed it, except that Jesus Himself kept talking about how He would be dying, and she knew that He was serious. His slaughter was as close as the smell of betrayal coming from somewhere in the room. The fragrant perfume almost overpowered the other sinister scent—almost, but not quite.
Mary used the ends of her hair to gently spread the oil across Jesus’ feet as she breathed in the aroma. For a moment—in the purest way—she shared that aroma with Him. He was the fragrance of life to everyone who loved Him…He was more than everything to her…a lump formed in her throat.
*****************
“Judas”
“She’s making a spectacle of herself.” Judas narrowed his eyes at Mary as he spoke to James under his breath. “I mean, don’t you think? I know she’s with us a lot, and that’s fine—but she forgets her place. And HE just lets her.”
A couple of the guys near him nodded. Judas felt validated. He spoke again, a little louder, “What a waste! Do you know how much pure nard costs?!?” A murmur of agreement rose from those within earshot.
Good. Everyone could see that he was right. He hoped the Teacher would see it, too. Jesus was a good guy, and He had influence, but He didn’t use it like He should. That’s one of the reasons that Judas stuck with calling Him “Rabbi,” and not “Lord.”
“Woman!” For the first time, Mary looked up. Judas met her eyes, “You need to think! If you wanted to do something generous, we could have sold that and given the money to the poor!”
A handful of others voiced their support:
“It’s true!”
“Judas is right, you know!”
“Leave her alone.” Jesus suddenly interjected, His tone calm but firm. He looked around the table as some of the men averted their eyes. It was clear He was speaking to the group, but His gaze rested on Judas, “Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to Me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have Me. She has done what she could; she has anointed My body beforehand for burial...” As usual, Jesus’ word was final. Sheepishly, side conversations resumed as everyone thought of new things to talk about.
Judas seethed. He wished he could say he was shocked, but he wasn’t. Jesus always did stuff like this defending women, and the poor, and sinners. If He wanted to be that way, fine, but He also needed to put some effort into bringing about the kingdom He kept talking about. Judas was sick of waiting; someone had to put their money where their mouth was, and if Jesus wouldn’t….
Judas slipped out the door, determined to find people who really did know how to use their influence. The chief priests were all too happy to see him show up alone. Judas didn’t mince words: “I know you want Jesus. I can lead you to Him. What will you give me if I do?”
Caiaphas and Annas exchanged glances. “30 pieces of silver.” Caiaphas smiled coldly.
It was the price of a slave—a dead one.
The coins clanked as they were counted into Judas’ hand. The sound excited the demonic beast within him; it was time!
Satan stamped the ground, lowered his head, and pointed his horns directly at Jesus.
***********
King Jesus, work deeply in my heart as I meditate on Mary’s devotion to You. She willingly poured out her most precious possession, along with her reputation, all for You. She saw Your surpassing worth and responded with reckless worship. Make me like that, too.
Lord Jesus, work deeply in my soul as I ponder Judas’ staggering betrayal. He wanted You only as much as You would advance his desires and purposes, but his loyalty ended there. Please shine light into the dark places in my heart where I do the same. Cleanse me and forgive me.
Jesus, You are worthy! You alone deserve my purest worship and deepest loyalty. Remind me. Remember me. And resurrect me with You.
Mary opened the door to Simon’s packed house and was instantly overwhelmed with competing scents: spiced cumin, herbed oil, and men sweaty from working in the heat. She smiled at the brotherly banter flowing back and forth. Nothing could disturb the festive mood. At least, she hoped.
Mary hugged Martha while scanning the room; she quickly spotted Jesus at the table. He was leaning forward, smiling while telling a story. Mary loved that about Him—He always knew just what to say. Nervous energy flickered in her chest as she mentally prepared herself to do what she had planned. She steered around the table until she was directly behind Jesus. He was laying on his side, his elbow resting on the bench, his head cradled in one hand as He ate with the other. His posture was relaxed, but she knew that He sensed her. He never missed anything.
Mary clutched the alabaster jar in her hands, careful to not let it slip. She remembered how she felt when she first saw it. The merchant said it was the finest perfume: lavishly expensive. It was meant to be her dowry; the gift for the man who would take her as his wife.
Mary silently counted the cost.
She knelt behind Jesus, close enough to touch Him. Only then did some of the other men perceive her invading the intimacy of the table. They looked away, pretending not to notice.
Mary took a deep breath…CRACK!
She snapped the neck of the beautiful bottle. In seconds, the room filled with the heavenly scent. All sound ceased. Everyone was watching now.
Mary fixed her focus on Jesus. Her hand shook slightly as she tipped the bottle and gently poured the perfume over his head. Jesus tilted His chin back just enough so He could look up toward her. As the oil dripped down his hair, involuntary goosebumps sprang up on her arms. Anointing like this was reserved for religious rulers and royalty. And now, Jesus. Was there meaning beyond what she had even intended? It was too much to comprehend.
Quickly, Mary moved back toward Jesus’ feet. How many times had she sat here before? But this time felt different. She wasn’t here to receive from her Rabbi—she was stooping to serve her Savior. Her heart raced as she poured the rest of the perfume from His ankles to calloused soles.
She set the pieces of the jar down and raised her hands to the scarf covering her dark hair. She pulled it off in one swift motion and shook her locks loose. Mary’s cheeks flushed, knowing what the men around her were probably thinking; she didn’t look up to see. All that mattered was what Jesus thought. This was for Him.
Mary tilted her neck and let her hair fall onto the oil-soaked feet of the Man—the Lamb—the One who was going to be slain. That thought cut her to her core. She wouldn’t have believed it, except that Jesus Himself kept talking about how He would be dying, and she knew that He was serious. His slaughter was as close as the smell of betrayal coming from somewhere in the room. The fragrant perfume almost overpowered the other sinister scent—almost, but not quite.
Mary used the ends of her hair to gently spread the oil across Jesus’ feet as she breathed in the aroma. For a moment—in the purest way—she shared that aroma with Him. He was the fragrance of life to everyone who loved Him…He was more than everything to her…a lump formed in her throat.
*****************
“Judas”
“She’s making a spectacle of herself.” Judas narrowed his eyes at Mary as he spoke to James under his breath. “I mean, don’t you think? I know she’s with us a lot, and that’s fine—but she forgets her place. And HE just lets her.”
A couple of the guys near him nodded. Judas felt validated. He spoke again, a little louder, “What a waste! Do you know how much pure nard costs?!?” A murmur of agreement rose from those within earshot.
Good. Everyone could see that he was right. He hoped the Teacher would see it, too. Jesus was a good guy, and He had influence, but He didn’t use it like He should. That’s one of the reasons that Judas stuck with calling Him “Rabbi,” and not “Lord.”
“Woman!” For the first time, Mary looked up. Judas met her eyes, “You need to think! If you wanted to do something generous, we could have sold that and given the money to the poor!”
A handful of others voiced their support:
“It’s true!”
“Judas is right, you know!”
“Leave her alone.” Jesus suddenly interjected, His tone calm but firm. He looked around the table as some of the men averted their eyes. It was clear He was speaking to the group, but His gaze rested on Judas, “Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to Me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have Me. She has done what she could; she has anointed My body beforehand for burial...” As usual, Jesus’ word was final. Sheepishly, side conversations resumed as everyone thought of new things to talk about.
Judas seethed. He wished he could say he was shocked, but he wasn’t. Jesus always did stuff like this defending women, and the poor, and sinners. If He wanted to be that way, fine, but He also needed to put some effort into bringing about the kingdom He kept talking about. Judas was sick of waiting; someone had to put their money where their mouth was, and if Jesus wouldn’t….
Judas slipped out the door, determined to find people who really did know how to use their influence. The chief priests were all too happy to see him show up alone. Judas didn’t mince words: “I know you want Jesus. I can lead you to Him. What will you give me if I do?”
Caiaphas and Annas exchanged glances. “30 pieces of silver.” Caiaphas smiled coldly.
It was the price of a slave—a dead one.
The coins clanked as they were counted into Judas’ hand. The sound excited the demonic beast within him; it was time!
Satan stamped the ground, lowered his head, and pointed his horns directly at Jesus.
***********
King Jesus, work deeply in my heart as I meditate on Mary’s devotion to You. She willingly poured out her most precious possession, along with her reputation, all for You. She saw Your surpassing worth and responded with reckless worship. Make me like that, too.
Lord Jesus, work deeply in my soul as I ponder Judas’ staggering betrayal. He wanted You only as much as You would advance his desires and purposes, but his loyalty ended there. Please shine light into the dark places in my heart where I do the same. Cleanse me and forgive me.
Jesus, You are worthy! You alone deserve my purest worship and deepest loyalty. Remind me. Remember me. And resurrect me with You.
"The Geography of Grace: A Map of Every Season"
by Cindy Mount
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When I first read about the challenge to write about my favorite Bible verse, my honest reaction was, “How could I possibly choose just one?” It felt like being asked to pick a single breath that sustained me or a single drop of rain that ended a drought.
Over the years, I’ve kept a record of the verses that have carried me. These highlights have become a kind of spiritual map—markers of where God met me, rescued me, and gradually reshaped the story I was living inside. When I look at my life decade by decade, I see His intentional formation at work.
The Awakening and the Lifelines
My journey began with a jolt through 1 Samuel 15:22-23. I had always lived as if performance was the currency of faith, but God was teaching me that He desired my heart, not my rule-keeping. I hadn’t yet seen how fear distorted my view of Him. Even then, He was inviting me into a relationship, not intimidation.
As the terrain grew more difficult, certain verses became literal lifelines:
** Through Depression: Habakkuk 3:17-19 taught me to rejoice in God even when everything felt stripped away. I learned to rejoice, not because the figs were on the tree, but because He was still God.
** Through Family Crisis: Proverbs 3:5-6 anchored me when trust was the only way
forward. “Lean on Me,” He whispered. “I will make Your path straight.”
** Through the Unknown: Jeremiah 29:11 spoke of a future when all I could see ahead was darkness.
Finding Steady Ground
Two verses taught me how to stand when my internal world was shaking:
Two verses taught me how to stand when my internal world was shaking:
** 1 Peter 3:6 showed me that fear was not my master. Courage isn’t loud or dramatic – it
is quiet trust in the One who holds me.
** Psalm 37:1-5 carried me through one of the longest wilderness seasons of my life. I
learned to delight in the Lord instead of striving to fix everything myself - a tough, but
necessary lesson.
is quiet trust in the One who holds me.
** Psalm 37:1-5 carried me through one of the longest wilderness seasons of my life. I
learned to delight in the Lord instead of striving to fix everything myself - a tough, but
necessary lesson.
The Shift from Duty to Delight
As I matured, the verses moved from survival to abiding.
As I matured, the verses moved from survival to abiding.
John 15:4-5 and 7-11 taught me that abiding is not passive. It is the place where joy becomes strength, not a reward for good behavior. I realized His presence alone is enough. Psalm 89:15 echoed this freedom - walking in the light of His presence became my deepest desire, not a duty.
Matthew 22:37-39 shifted my perspective. Love – both receiving and giving it – became the true standard of maturity. I didn’t realize how much I had resisted God’s love until I let go of my striving heart.
The Heartbeat of the Map
Looking back, I realize every one of those verses was echoing the same invitation – a truth that eventually gathered all my seasons into one:
Matthew 22:37-39 shifted my perspective. Love – both receiving and giving it – became the true standard of maturity. I didn’t realize how much I had resisted God’s love until I let go of my striving heart.
The Heartbeat of the Map
Looking back, I realize every one of those verses was echoing the same invitation – a truth that eventually gathered all my seasons into one:
“Come to Me with your ears wide open. Listen, and you will find life.”
Isaiah 55:3 is the heartbeat of God toward a weary, wounded soul. It reveals that Proverbs 3 wasn’t about figuring out God’s will – it was about listening. John 15 wasn’t about producing fruit – it was about abiding.
A New Season: The Aroma of Christ
In this season of my life, the striving has given way to belovedness. Two verses name what God is doing in me now.
“We are the aroma of Christ.” (2 Corinthians 2:15) The more I listen, the more His presence becomes the quiet fragrance of my life. Not forced. Not performed. Simply the overflow of being held by Him.
“He has given us the ministry of reconciliation.” (2 Corinthians 5:18) This names the desire growing in me – the longing to share what I’ve learned about His love. After decades of being restored, I now offer others the same invitation He offered me: Come. Listen. Live.
I used to think my testimony had to be a finished product—a polished story of victory. But as I’ve started sharing these mid-stream reflections on Substack and in my small Facebook community, Ordinary Faithfulness, I’ve been surprised by the response. People aren’t looking for perfection; they’re longing for permission to be loved right where they are. And in every weary soul who whispers, “I needed to hear this today,” I see God using my healing to begin theirs.
Life begins when we turn our ear toward the God who has already turned His heart toward us.
"Joy Over Me with Singing"
by Pamela J Hatch
Music. If I had to chose one thing in life – that I could keep – among everything that was precious to me – it would be music. I am a writer, editor, publisher, creative writer instructor, and librarian – but I would choose music over words.
As a preacher’s kid (PK), I grew up in church. However, it was only within the last few years that I came to understand the concept of “worship.” I thought that the worship service was everything from reading of the announcements, the songs, the sermon, all the way through the invitation. Now I have come to realize that the worship part is the congregation’s praise to the Lord – the interactive, personal, relationship part of the service.
I was attending a little “house church” in the home of a couple in Iowa. There was an average of 15-20 people who attended each Sunday morning. This Sunday there was a young college lady there with her guitar providing music for the singing portion of the service. She played two or three songs that we all sang along with. Then she read a scripture verse – which when done, I asked her to read it again. I was unfamiliar with the verse – but it had struck a chord in me:
Zephaniah 3:17 – The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.
The one person that I knew that loved music even more than I did was my brother. When I got home from the service – I showed him the verse asking, “Does that mean what I think it means?”
He read it for himself, and must have read it again because he was silent for a short time. Then he nodded his head and said, “Yep.”
My head was reeling. The mighty God who created the universe, who sent His son to die for my sins, who was worthy of all glory and praise – my God “sang” over me.
After hearing that – I can’t forget it. And I have been thinking about it as well. God created music not only for praise, but for communication, for comfort, for relating to each other. God sings to his children, like a parent. The singing can serve to silence the other noises of the world and bring a silent moment of comfort and connection. The singing can serve as praise to God, or if you reverse the thought, God can praise us for a job well done. Singing can be used to praise God with our earthly voices combining with the heavenly choir – and just imagine God accepting our praise and maybe even joining in as a way of showing his acceptance of our song of gratitude and thanksgiving.
I’m not sure if my personal observations are correct – however, it has made my personal praise songs much richer coming from my heart and lungs. It makes me more soulful in my conversations with the Lord as I listen for His joyous song to provide the soundtrack of my spiritual life. There is always a song that accompanies through my day – maybe that is the vibration of his song resonating through me as He will joy over me with singing. Let the praise songs continue, forever and ever. Amen.
"Giant Sized Confidence"
by Karen Huffaker
The lush green field was the traditional location of the fight between a boy named David and a giant, Goliath. The boy would one day become king.
I love the story of great David’s courage. How did he become so brave? Israel’s army didn’t fight against their enemy that day in the Valley of Elah. They were too afraid. King Saul didn’t fight either. Instead, he loaned his own armor to this unknown youth, who declined to wear such heavy covering. No armor, no weapons, just a sling and some stones.
David bravely approached the giant alone, and boldly proclaimed that God would deliver Goliath into his hands that day. What confidence in God!
My confidence doesn’t often soar so quickly, easily or assuredly. I try to do things in my own power but my courage wanes, my spirit shrinks.
The Scriptures teach us about facing our problems and opponents with courage, a courage built upon unwavering confidence in Almighty God. Whenever I’ve reflected on the many times God helped me face obstacles, my trust and confidence in Him grew just as it did for David. In the past he experienced favor overcoming the bear and the lion while protecting his sheep. His confidence in the Lord grew stronger with each challenge. Based on prior experiences he was certain he would prevail in the future.
As parents we can muster up boldness to protect or defend our children, without hesitation or giving it a second thought. When we pray for God’s guidance, we find ourselves in the midst of courageous conversations, whether at the school meeting with the teacher, or on the ball field with the coach, or the studio with the dance instructor, or the doctor with an unexpected diagnosis. He gives us that confidence to face anything.
Israel’s newest hero knew God would be with him as he stood facing the enemy. He was fully assured he would be victorious in the battle against the giant Philistine. For David, the battle was not about making a name for himself, but for the honor and glory of God, the name above all names.
God is the source of our confidence. May we find courage to stand tall and be fully confident in Him, as David was, remembering “the battle is the LORD’S” (1 Samuel 17:47 ESV). God always wins His battles and He will help us with ours when we fully trust in Him.
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