When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who knows my way.

Part of me wanted desperately to be at the writers conference, but another part of me wanted to flee. Adrenaline set every nerve ending on fire. Fear of getting lost on campus or literally trembling in front of someone plagued me. How could I manage a week of meeting with editors and a full schedule of classes while struggling with panic attacks? I felt exhausted before the conference began. I begged God to equip me for the task ahead and I stepped forward in faith that He would help me.

God knows when our spirit grows faint. He sees where we are and is always faithful to minister to our need. He may do it through scriptures, a story of victory, or someone’s prayer of encouragement for us. At the times when God seems absent, things can look very dark and frightening. That’s when the truth of His Word saves us from despair. He is the lifter of our heads. He is our constant companion and comforter.

All of us battle something. It could be illness, job loss, or strife in our family. Whatever it may be, realize you don’t have to remain faint and discouraged. Cry out to God; tell Him about your heartaches and questions. Read the Word and plug into its power. Ask others to pray for you.

God provided for me at the conference. Each day I was given the strength and grace necessary to do what lay before me. Over and over through keynote speeches or personal conversations, I would discover others were dealing with hard, often similar problems. They understood my struggle and could empathize with my pain. They shared with me how God was helping them overcome their trials day by day.

Are you weary today? Will you reach out to God and let Him renew you? If so, you may discover the Lord is already at work using His power and the comfort of others to strengthen you. Please don’t give up. Give thanks, instead.

Joy Miller lives in Central Virginia. She is passionate about volunteering at her local crisis pregnancy center. One of her greatest pleasures comes from encouraging others, both at the center and through writing devotionals and sending notes to loved ones. Having worked at one time at a home improvement store, Joy now has her own interior decorating consulting business. Fun times are spent with friends, her precious niece and nephew, and her beloved golden retriever.
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Ever needed a miracle like… now? My son called to say his wedding, postponed the previous summer, would take place in one month. Anticipating the first wedding date, I’d bought a dress that fit perfectly.

I hung up the phone and dropped my head into my hands.

How would I ever lose the fifteen pounds gained since summer?

I began working out and counting every calorie. Holding my stomach in, I got into the dress without bursting any seams.

Maybe another day without food and I’d look just right.

However, when time neared for the big event, a vision flashed before my eyes of the groom’s mother waddling down the aisle in a beautiful, lavender dress with bulges everywhere — around her waist, around her hips, and around her thighs.

I dashed to the mall in search of the perfect slimming garment and spotted a sign boldly proclaiming Miracle Suits. I snatched that garment from the rack and practically danced my way into the fitting room. I pulled, tugged, and stuffed myself into the suit. My now-bulging eyes told me I was enhanced, slenderized, and shaped as the label claimed.

So I bought the suit, returned home, and removed my purchase from the bag. My family stopped what they were doing as their mouths fell open. They agreed I could not wear that suit of armor under my elegant dress. I realized the only thing slenderized was my brain.

Sanity returned to my panicked mind and I returned that miracle suit to the mall. The day of the wedding, I put on my dress and found that those huge bulges I’d imagined existed only in my panic mode.

Later, I was able to laugh about the suit of armor I’d almost worn to my son’s wedding, but I also realized that many times I react the same way in a perceived crisis. I take the problem to God in prayer and then rush out to try to fix it myself.

I’ve learned with a little discipline — physical, mental and spiritual, and putting on the armor of God daily — I don’t get myself into situations where I have to struggle with pleading to God for a miracle.

Are you in need of a miracle today? Trust God and watch him come through for you.

Susan Shelton Dollyhigh is a freelance writer and columnist who recently won the Women of Faith Shine the Light Contest and 3 awards at the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference. She resides in Mount Airy, NC. www.inspirationfrommayberry.com.

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Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

My diagnosis had finally been confirmed. It had taken five months as my family and my church prayed for me. The diagnosis was changed from a dormant type of lymphoma to non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and chemotherapy seemed to be the most effective treatment. The prognosis was good but chemo scared me to death. I’d heard all the bad stuff chemo caused… sickness, nausea, fatigue, and loss of hair. It sounded so bad but all I knew to do was pray. So I did.

The first treatment was scheduled and I saw my doctor first. He reassured me whatever side effects I faced he could counteract with medication. Still, fear grew faster than the cancer. Eventually I realized God had brought me this far and He wouldn’t leave me just when things got tough.

Hooked to IV’s in the infusion chair, the medicines that would cure my cancer dripped slowly into my veins. It took all day but I got through just fine. “Piece of cake,” I said. “I can do this.”

My treatments were scheduled twenty-one days apart. There would be one week of fatigue, then two weeks when I would feel better. The first two treatments were easy, but the third one left me tired and nauseated. It seemed as though the three weeks of recovery would never end and neither did my prayers. And they paid off because I was able to spend Thanksgiving with my family.

This whole incident reminds me of the poem, “Footsteps in the Sand,” where God walks beside me during my life but when it gets tough, He carries me. I know God is carrying me right now. I am halfway through my treatments and with each one, it gets a little harder. But I know God will never leave me. He will be with me, whether He is walking beside me or carrying me.

Have you ever felt afraid or alone going through a trial? Let God walk along with you. You are His child and He loves you so much. When things get tough, He’ll pick you right up and carry you through it.

Barbara Duram is a retired Human Resources Assistant, grandmother, served in various women’s fellowship positions at church including circle chairman and retreat chairman. Read Barbara’s devotions.

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For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts…

Nothing happened.  I hit “start” on the coffeemaker and nothing happened.

I hit it again and the lights started to blink. It beeped and blinked, but no coffee. I flipped the light switch – no light, but the garbage disposal worked. It shook and ground. In the dark I slapped at another button. Finally, water started to gurgle. In the midst of beep, blink, grind, shake, and gurgle, the coffee water started to dribble. I watched as thick coffee grounds pulsed over the top of the filter, flooding anywhere except into the carafe.

At 5 a.m. in the darkness of my sister’s kitchen, I couldn’t find the light. I couldn’t see to unplug the thing or find towels to stop the flood. It was a frantic face-off with this crazy machine.

Another more serious morning, “You have cancer,” hit with a sickening thud. My heart raced and I couldn’t catch my breath. Shock, fear, and grief overwhelmed me. Lost in the dark, there was nothing to unplug and no light switch.

Like the blinking lights on the coffeemaker provided a inkling of light in the dark kitchen, the light of Christ on my life did the same thing. But in diagnosis-agony, an inkling of light is not enough.

Jesus is not some distant light above, separated from who we are. Paul told Christians that Jesus has made his light shine in our hearts…

God knew exactly what to do. A childhood melody came to mind, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.”  The simple and profound words reminded me I had known Jesus as my light for a long time. He was going to be personally involved. He began proving to me His light deepens in perfect accordance to the depth of my personal need. Wherever I was, He met me with His light.

When chaos seems to loom around you, reach up for the light that never burns out.

Father of lights, I am in the darkness of diagnosis. Through your Son Jesus Christ, please give my heart light to cope and hope.

Venita McCart, founder of Faith Force Cancer Support Ministries has, with her group, ministered to hundreds of patients since 2005 through group meetings, personal contacts, writing, and speaking.  A cancer survivor herself, Venita is currently working on materials to comfort and encourage cancer patients and their loved ones, and to help others create support ministries for the same. She and her husband live in central Illinois.  Venita may be reached at venitamccart@yahoo.com.
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The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

He would have loved this peaceful garden. If I could have one more afternoon with him, what would we talk about?

As I crossed the covered bridge into the prayer garden, the serenity immediately welcomed me. I drank in the beauty of the blooming flowers in the midst of the Mountain Laurel. The brook sang as it skipped over smooth stones.

How I wished I could share this moment with my dad! Four years ago, he had joined my mother in Heaven, a mere five months after her death.

On second thought, I wouldn’t bring him to this mountain. I would take him to a clear stream near his childhood home in the Smoky Mountains. Maybe we’d hike along those paths he once loved.

I’ve often wished for his wise council in the past year. His words had a way of pointing me in the right direction. He helped me consider the costs. Even so, if I could spend an afternoon with him, I wouldn’t ask questions. I’d simply listen to whatever he wanted to say. I’m sure we’d stop talking to enjoy the gentle rush of the stream as the birds serenaded us.

Even though my dad couldn’t meet me here, God did.

God joins us wherever we are – serene gardens, neighborhood sidewalks, and quiet times on our knees. He offers wisdom from His Word and from His Heart, freely given to His loved ones – each one of us. Like a parent with a toddler, He gently guides faltering steps. In our times of prayer, He helps us count the cost of our decisions. His instruction is always just what we need.

God will be with us not only for an afternoon in the garden, but for all our days.

Sandra M. Hart writes for the A Hart for History link on DevoKids.com, where she serves as Assistant Editor. She has written for The Secret Place, Voice, Afictionado, and Common Ground. She is a contributor for Faith & Finance: In God We Trust, and writes historical romance novels.

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When I was nine, my parents gave me a green dress for Christmas. Money was always tight, and the dress was my big present that year.

I didn’t like it. I planned to complain and say it didn’t fit so I could exchange it.

My dad immediately said, “How do you like your present? I picked it out for you. When I saw that dress, I knew it would look pretty on my little Sandy.”

Dad never shopped for our clothes. That was my mother’s department. His favorite color was green and he was excited about his gift for me.

I couldn’t disappoint him, even though I knew I wouldn’t be receiving any new clothes until school started the next fall. I would receive one gift for my birthday, but it might not be anything to wear.

I thanked my dad and tried on the dress. To his immense pleasure, it fit perfectly.

I wore that dress often to please my dad. “Sandy’s wearing that pretty green dress again,” I would hear him say. In time, the green dress became my favorite outfit.

Long into my adulthood, my dad bragged about the time he picked out that Christmas gift for me and I answered truthfully, “I loved that dress.”

I did love the gift. My father chose it especially for me.

Sometimes God gives us gifts we would really like to exchange. One person might desire to sing like an angel rather than have the gift of encouragement. Another person wishes for an outgoing, vivacious personality, but instead displays the gift of hospitality. Someone else wants to be a great speaker, but possesses a generous spirit.

The gifts we would rather exchange may be the way we offer the greatest blessings to our loved ones. God is the most generous giver of all, and He knows what we truly need.

At this time of year, we remember God’s most precious gift, His only Son. That baby, who laid in a manger, brought salvation to the world. God, in His infinite wisdom, knew what we needed most and He gave it freely.

Sandra M. Hart writes for the A Hart for History link on DevoKids.com, where she serves as Assistant Editor. She has written for The Secret Place, Voice, Afictionado, and Common Ground. She is a contributor for Faith & Finance: In God We Trust, and writes historical romance novels.

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I arrived at the homeless shelter and stopped in the kitchen doorway upon seeing two-year-old Kate and five-year-old Hope apparently waiting for me. They clapped and chanted, “Yea, Miss Susie’s here! Yea, Miss Susie’s here!”

“Wow, what a welcome,” I said, looking at their smiles and glistening eyes. My heart grew warm with love.

The small group of women and children gathered around the table where a centerpiece of pink and purple candles nestled among shiny evergreen leaves and red berries to form our Advent wreath.

“I know what the first candle stands for.” Hope’s mouth rounded into an O. “Hope, just like my name! And the second one is for peace.”

“You’re right, Hope! And tonight we’re going to light the candle that symbolizes God’s love for all His children, even those who feel they don’t deserve to be loved.” Thirty-year-old Debbie’s eyes met mine and I knew she fell into that category.

I shared with them that no matter what we think of ourselves or what others think about us, God sent His Son, Jesus, for each of us. Gazing at the faces of women who’d suffered illness, battled addictions, or spent time in jail, I assured them that God sent Jesus for the ill and the healthy, for the homeless and the wealthy, for the addicts and the sober, for the imprisoned and the free. The Father lavished this great love on us, His children.

As I prepared to leave, Debbie placed a small box in my hand. “This is for you. Open it now.” I lifted the lid to find a plastic angel ornament. “Thank you for loving us,” she whispered.

I had come to the homeless shelter to give of myself to the residents. I hope my message of love came across as clearly as the one I received from little girls excitedly greeting me, Hope wanting to please me by remembering what I’d taught about the Advent candles, and my most treasured gift of the season – a little plastic Christmas ornament given with love.

I wanted to give without receiving, but as I left the shelter I was very much aware of the thought, How great is the love that the Father has lavished on me…

Father, we thank you for the many blessings of this holiday season. Thank you most of all for the great love that you lavished on us by sending your Son Jesus Christ. Amen

Susan Shelton Dollyhigh is a freelance writer and columnist who recently won the Women of Faith Shine the Light Contest and 3 awards at the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference. She resides in Mount Airy, NC.

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Our son’s first deployment was the first time our family was apart during Christmas. I found myself dreading the holidays and postponing decorating the house. This was way out of character for me. I’d always delighted in filling the house with multiple trees, twinkling lights, and all the trimmings of Christmas. But somehow it didn’t seem right to celebrate so abundantly when my son was halfway around the world in the middle of a war.

I was also feeling guilty about our other two sons. I didn’t want them to think they were any less important to me than their older brother. The closer Christmas got, the more conflicted I became. It seemed there was no right answer.

Fortunately my husband is a wise and caring man. Even though I hadn’t mentioned my dilemma, he was well aware of what was going on in my mind. He and the other two boys took matters in hand and organized a decorating day. Normally, I have to browbeat everyone into helping me drag the decorations out of the attic. This year they took the initiative and soon the house bustled with activity.

We didn’t put up as many trees that year, but we started a new tradition. It was the year our boys discovered decorating wasn’t a chore, but a time of bonding. We pulled together that year, taking time to relive old memories and anticipate new ones—and we’ve done it every year since.

I learned that God sometimes allows trials so we’ll hold each other close and appreciate what we have. And I’m thankful for all of my sons—for the memories and for the joyful times ahead!

Edie is a freelance writer and editor with over 16 years experience in the publishing industry. She’s a prolific writer, publishing over 700 articles in 2010. She also has a popular writing blog www.thewriteconversation.blogspot.com and is a frequent contributor to many others. As a sought after writing instructor, her heart to help others define and reach their dreams has connected her with writers all over the country. In keeping up with the leading edge of all things digital, Edie has become known as one of the go-to experts on Twitter, Facebook, and social media for writers wanting to learn how to plug in. Fighting Fear, Winning the War at Home, is one of Edie’s latest projects. This devotional book for those with family members in the military made its debut in the fall of 2011 with Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Edie is a member of numerous professional writing organizations, including The Christian Pen, The Christian Writer’s View I and ACFW, where she serves as Editor for the Southeast Zone Newsletter and staff reviewer for Afictionado Magazine. She’s also an assistant proofer/editor for the Voices E-zine, a publication of My Book Therapy and a part of the My Book Therapy Special Teams Blog. Married 30 years to husband, Kirk, they have raised three sons.

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In vain she tried one position after another, but comfort had long since fled the waves of pain flowing over her in the dark. As time ground on, each successive wave peaked higher and arrived quicker than the one before. Before long she knew it was time—but I had no clue my wife was in the throws of labor with our first child.

Even though I was with her through every moment, my company was more in body than spirit. Lost in sleep, I was shooting the winning goal, swashbuckling on my pirate ship, or swaying in a hammock over a windswept beach. Who knows what I was dreaming that night? The same bed which supported her in painful labor, cradled me in contented sleep. That is, until she demanded I get up and take her to the hospital, which I obediently did, of course.

I’m often reminded of that night, usually by my wife. But around Christmas my mind wanders there itself. Could this same scene have played out during Jesus’ birth? Did Mary labor to bring Jesus into the world while Joseph lay there snoozing, leaving her to work alone? I’m sure we’ll never know.

Regardless of what happened then, I’ve come to realize I still do this today. Too often I’ve slept, leaving others pregnant with Christ’s message to labor by themselves. I’ve been content to let others do the work of delivering His message to my corner of the world. Sometimes I even dream my pocketbook will substitute for my labor. But in the end it’s only a dream. The reality is, someone else’s work will never birth Christ into the world I alone can touch.

This Christmas the waves of labor are beginning to build. From inside, Jesus is rousing me from my slumber. I know it’s time–time to wake up, time to go, and time to deliver Jesus into my world.

Has your labor begun? Can you feel the good news message kicking from inside you, desperate to get out? Perhaps it’s time to join others already in labor for the Kingdom. After all, the world to which Jesus introduced you is waiting for you to introduce Him.

Greg Watson is an environmental engineer at a chemical plant in far western Kentucky. He likes to view himself in the role of secular minister based in the workplace. Greg enjoys spending time with his wife and three children and enjoys blogging when he gets the chance. His blog of essays and devotions can be found at www.RiverGroups.com and www.quesoveritas.wordpress.com.

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I don’t have rhythm, can’t keep a steady beat, and can’t play the drums to save my life. But one of my favorite Christmas songs is “The Little Drummer boy,” not just because I like the tune and the pa rum pum pum pum, but because I love the rest of the lyrics.

See, the song is about this kid. Everyone around him wants to go see the new baby king, the Messiah. They have their expensive gifts, their gold and silver and fancy perfumes. Gifts for royalty. Only he doesn’t have a gift to give, nothing of any worth; he’s poor as dirt in a drought.

But he has one thing, a talent. He can play the drum. Boy, can he play. So after everyone else has laid their costly gifts at the feet of the child, the boy steps forward with his drum hung around his neck and perched on his hip.

I’ll let him tell the rest.

“Mary nodded. The ox and lamb kept time. I played my drum for him. I played my best for him.”

Did you catch that? I love it. He had one thing to give the newborn king, his one talent. He played his drum for his Lord; he played his best for his Savior. What he could do he did to the best of his ability for Jesus.

Now, here’s the best part, the last line of the song: “Then he smiled at me, me and my drum.”

Jesus was pleased.

I’m sure the boy was good on the drum, but he was no maestro. Still, his effort, done the best he could, put a smile on the face of the King. That gift was more than all the gold in the world.

It kind of reminds me of Colossians: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord . . .”

Quite a challenge, isn’t it? We can learn a lot from a simple drummer boy, from a simple Christmas song. The gifts we have—the talents, skills, opportunities—are gifts we lay at the feet of our Savior. We bless Him by doing our best, giving it our all, and directing the glory back to Him.

So what’s your gift? What can you give?

Mike Dellosso writes novels of suspense for both the mind and the soul. He writes to both entertain and challenge. In addition to his novels, Mike is also an adjunct professor at Lancaster Bible College and a faculty member at the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writer’s Conference. Visit Mike at www.mikedellosso.com.
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