This devotional explores patience as waiting with history, especially when prayers involve adult children and long-standing concerns. It validates the ache of delayed answers and the surrender required when control is no longer possible. Patience is framed not as calm acceptance but as faithful trust rooted in prayer. By connecting patience to hope and constancy, it reassures readers that waiting does not mean inactivity. God is still working deeply, even when outcomes remain unseen.
Joy is not what it used to be. It is no longer loud or obvious. It does not always arrive with celebration or certainty. In this season of life, joy often comes quietly, almost unnoticed, and you have to slow down enough to recognize it.
Comfort becomes something different as you get older. It is no longer a luxury or a reward. It is a necessity. There are seasons when life has taken enough that you can no longer pretend strength is endless.
There is a kind of adversity that arrives after you thought you had already survived the hardest chapters. You did the work. You endured. You stayed faithful. And yet here you are again facing loss, uncertainty, or pain you did not plan for.
You thought challenges would ease once the kids were grown. You imagined fewer sleepless nights, fewer decisions that kept you up praying in the dark. Instead, the challenges simply changed shape. They became quieter but heavier. Adult children making choices you cannot control. Bodies that no longer bounce back. Dreams that feel postponed, altered, or quietly grieving.
Ok, so I have to admit I get a bit excited about Christmas. I enjoy decorating. I love to sing the songs about the birth of Jesus. I also exclaim over every gift opened no matter who received it. “Wow! How cool! I love it!”
What a blessed Thanksgiving we had. Eight adults and 6 children at our table, the merriment delighted us. Soon, after everyone left and the clean up had taken place, out came the pre-lit Christmas tree. Much to my dismay, half of the lights did not shine.
Our four-year-old grandson started a story with, “the people were naughty.” Of course, that piqued my curiosity. He continued to tell me about a wall and how Jesus had to knock it down, it had to break, and the naughty people got hurt. He used parts of our marble track to act it out and really enjoyed the knocking it down part.
Many times, we reach for our same vices over and over instead of leaning on our All-Powerful God. These vices reap the same harvest every time – more damage. They do not have the power our All-Mighty God has to overcome whatever we face.
Emotional wounds can act in the same way. A trauma happens which causes injury and pain. God’s guidance, good friends, encouraging music, counseling, and other strategies help as we navigate the emotional hurt.
Christmas is about... So many words could complete that sentence, but only one word completes it best—Jesus. Christmas is about Jesus! Let us fix our eyes upon our Savior, Jesus, the author of our faith.
God interrupted the commonplace. The glory of God shattered darkness. A message from an angel broke the silence. The Savior, Christ the Lord, had been born! As shepherds in the field beheld the angel, their initial response was fear. But with the announcement of the birth of the awaited One, fear turned to determination. The shepherds said, Let’s go…and see... (Luke 2:15). They hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the heralded baby lying in a manger.
The Christmas story is about small beginnings. It revolves around the birth of an infant—one vastly different from any other infant ever born. This infant was the majestic, eternal Son of God. The mighty Lord God became man to fulfill His work of salvation offered to all mankind. A small beginning became God’s greatest work and greatest gift to you and me.
The blind man tells the story of Christmas. He was born in darkness and remained in darkness… until Jesus came to him. In his hopeless state, the blind man couldn’t come to Jesus, so Jesus came to him.
Soon the family will be here for Christmas. It’s always a busy and fun time, and often, I crawl into bed exhausted. However, I know myself well. I will awaken early and quietly slip to my sunroom with coffee in hand to spend time with my Lord before everyone gets up. And yet, I also know that the things to be done will plague my thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate on God’s Word and pray.
Oh, the sights, sounds, fragrances, tastes, and textures of my Czech family Christmases! Clove-studded oranges. Fresh, sappy, evergreen boughs bound into garlands and wreaths. Almond crescents, colorful lights, flannel stockings, crunchy peanut brittle. Fresh-baked hoska (braided sweet bread). Hot chocolate. Roasted chestnuts. Christmas caroling outside our front door. I didn’t yet understand most of the carols, but I sang along.
In my first childhood home, our freshly cut Christmas tree stood in the middle of a platform of two four-by-eight-foot panels hinged together. Attached to the platform lay a figure-eight train track. My older brother crafted scenery, a town, and papier-mache mountains with tunnels to scale. We enjoyed many hours playing and trying to keep the cat from chasing and derailing the train! A few presents were placed on the floor next to the train display. As a traditional Czech family, we celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve with a meal of homemade barley soup.
Dad had a particular order for decorating our Christmas tree. First, secure the tree in its stand and wrap it with strands of multicolored, large-bulbed lights all pointing up. Then he and Mom draped aluminum foil garland in perfect arcs that alternated between high and low points from top to bottom at each level. Once the garland was placed, my brothers and I were allowed to add some ornaments, if they were evenly spaced and hung from branches—not the garland or lights. We worked in solemn silence. Mom and Dad gently secured antique, fragile glass ornaments around the top branches. The final step was to grab lots of foil tinsel and place it over the garland, so each piece was straight and untangled. After Christmas, we tediously removed the tinsel strands and packed them back in their designated boxes for use the following year.
After our family tree was decorated sixties-style and the felt tree skirt lay around the stand, our nativity set and stable were unwrapped and placed on the handcrafted stereo cabinet. Joseph, Mary, an angel, a couple of shepherds, animals, and three kingly-type men with gifts gathered around baby Jesus in a manger. This replica of an ancient historic scene was merely a part of our Christmas holiday decorations. But who were these people? I wondered through the years. Who was Jesus? Why do we celebrate His birth? Traditional carols gave me a clue, but not much else
For some reason, I was allowed to choose the family Christmas tree when I was about eleven years old. We planned a Saturday in early December—packed a sack lunch, poured hot chocolate into the Thermos, bundled up, and piled into our late-model station wagon.
