I had just dropped onto the couch for a little quiet time after a day of work, school carpool, dinner, and homework help.

Now my 10-year-old son, Zac, had raced out of bed.

He stood at the top of the stairs, chest heaving.

Tears welled in his ocean-blue eyes.

I shook off my almost-slumber, leapt from the couch, and hurtled up the steps two at a time, stretching the gait of my short legs.

After catching my balance, I settled my hand on Zac’s back. “Sit down, Buddy.”

My wife, Kathy, rushed out of our bedroom. I looked up, rubbing Zac’s shoulders as they pumped like pistons in an overworked engine.

Kathy pointed downstairs. “Emergency room.”

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

Zac had been fighting off something the past few days.

Barking cough.
Congestion.
Sore throat.

But he seemed to be improving.

An urgent care visit the day prior had put him on the mend.

Now only an hour into bedtime and he couldn’t catch his breath.

We arrived at the ER, and five minutes after check-in, they put him through a rigorous gauntlet of tests and treatments.

Throat swab.
Nose swab.
Blood test.
Urine test.
Chest X-ray.
Neck X-ray.
CAT scan.
Fluids.
Steroid.

“I’m scared,” Zac said with a rasp as I walked with him from the bathroom. He pointed at his forearm. “I don’t want them to put that thing in me.”

I stopped and hugged him. “I know. It’s not fun. But the IV will help you.”

After his medical gauntlet, we hid behind the curtain, waiting for answers.

Zac sat propped up in bed, stuck with wires and tubes, breathing mask covering his face up to his dimple.

Kathy and I, hunched over in chairs, stared at him.

The clock ticked past 12:30am.

Beyond the curtain, emergencies echoed around us.

“Code stroke in room 204.”

“Mommy, no! I don’t want to!”

“What’s your relationship to the patient?”
“I’m her husband.”

I gazed at Kathy, appreciating the righteous beauty of a caring mom.

Then at Zac, the dirty-blonde boy who introduced himself by wrapping his tiny hand around my finger the day he was born.

Two precious gifts.
Given by God.

Bestowed upon a messed-up man who deserves neither.

Thank you, Lord, for my beautiful family.

Help me to never squander any moment we have together.

We have so few.

And we don’t know which one may be last.

Zac let out a deeper breath.

Then another.

And another.

Kathy and I sat up.

His heart rate settled on the screen.

He closed his eyes.

His hands relaxed.

Rest.

The curtain slid back as the doctor entered. “He’s fine. Everything was negative. Just looks like a nasty case of the croup.”

Zac, eyes half-open, pointed at his IV. “Can I get this out?”

I smiled. “Let’s go home.”

Your Heart Change Habits Morning Prayer Motivator Prompt

Focus: Always Cherish Your Family

Instructions: Take the questions below to your quiet spot. Notebook open. Phone in another room.

Download This Printable Prayer Prompt

3 Questions To Answer Before You Pray:

1. Who are the people in your family you appreciate? List them by name. Why do you love them so much?

2. Is there anyone in your family you take for granted at times? Who?

3. What words of love and praise have you never spoken to that person? Write exactly what you’d say to them. What’s kept you from saying it?

Start your prayer: “Father, I thank you for my family because…”

Want to feel God’s eternal joy in your heart EVERY day—no matter what happens to you?

Click here to join my 30-Day Heart Change Habits TOTAL Joy Challenge:

YES! I WANT HEART CHANGE HABITS!

Inside, you’ll discover how to seamlessly add the 4 Essential Godly Habits to your daily routine, bringing you closer to Christ each day:

• The Morning Prayer Motivator

• 5-Minute Bible Reading Breakthrough

• Worship Music Wonders

• Godly Gain Journaling

When combined, these give you The Heart Change Habits Joy-Filled Day.

Let’s all become more Joyful Disciples—together!

YES! I WANT HEART CHANGE HABITS!

"Nope," my beautiful wife says, “can’t remember the last time I saw you with it.”

I shrug, eyes wide. “Just been too busy, I guess.”

She shakes her head. “You’ve seemed a little lost lately, almost sad. Maybe that’s why.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. You just haven’t been yourself, that’s all.” She glances at our son playing with Lego in the corner. “Zac can tell too.”

“I’m fine,” I say, walking away.

Maybe she's right. I’m not surprised my Bible disappeared. I haven't cracked open its worn, brown cover for a few weeks...maybe a month or two.

I've been too distracted. Too detached. Too lazy.

Now I'm scrambling around our 3-bedroom, toy-packed apartment hunting for my misplaced Word of God.

Because the truth is….I need it. I need Him. Badly.

I've been neglecting my relationship with Christ for a while now.

I just haven't felt like talking to Him. I've been infected with a severe case of Christian apathy.

The joy and peace of Jesus Christ has vanished from my heart.

Maybe it’s because of all the craziness in the world these past few years:

Watching World War III potentially break out across the globe…

Being stuck at home and banned from social functions...

Focusing on financial survival instead of my eternal destiny.

It seems the world is falling apart and I'm falling away from God.

My roaring fire for Christ has been snuffed down to a tiny flame.

And my spiritual detachment from God is blatantly obvious in my actions...

I stopped going to church....

Stopped regularly tithing...

Rarely read my Bible...

And I can't remember the last time I listened to worship music.

Thank God, I have my son, Zac.

Even with my faith at its weakest, I know it’s crucial that Zac has a relationship with Jesus.

So we enrolled him in kindergarten at a local Christian school.

I also talk with him about God often—like when we pray together every night.

I lie on the floor in his darkened room. His little night light glows in the corner, carrying a subtle glimmer across his bed.

He snuggles under his 3 blankets and 18 stuffed animals as I lead us in prayer with our Heavenly Father.

Now here I am today...scurrying around our apartment like a lunatic, looking for my lost Bible.

I know I need His Holy Word. So why don't I seek it—and seek Him—every day like I should like as a Joyful Disciple?

I check on my office desk covered with my Macbook and 25 green sticky notes. No Bible.

I check on the kitchen island, covered with keys, wallets and random toys. No Bible.

I even check our infamous, bursting junk drawer. Only rubber bands and nail clippers. No Bible.

I finally decide to ask God. Maybe He knows where it is...

"Lord, where did I put your Holy Word?"

And then, I find it....

Buried at the bottom of my old laptop bag in the back of my office closet.

I wipe grime off the cover, sit in silence, open to a random page, and the first verse is exactly what I need to be told:

"If you love me, you'll follow my commands."

Yikes.

OK. Time for a heart check.

Do I still love Jesus? Yes, I do.

Do I want to follow his commands daily? Yes, of course.

So how do I stay committed to Him, restoring His joy and peace in my heart for the rest of my life?

I've fallen way off track. I need to reconnect with my Lord in a deeper, long-lasting way…

And I have NO idea what to do next.

Thank God, He reveals to me exactly how to do this in Nicaragua of all places…

Using the ONE CRUCIAL MORNING HABIT you’ll see below that guarantees you stay close to Christ no matter what happens to you or how you feel in the moment…

And NO… It’s not reading your Bible… OR listening to worship music… OR even kneeling in prayer…

While those are all important, this 1 Biblically-Proven Habit is what truly separates the Joyful Disciples from the Struggling Believers…

Do You Ever Ignore God and MISS OUT on His Unshakable Joy and Peace?

If so...you're not alone.

So do many professing Christians.

Just look at the eye-opening results from this recent survey I sent to my Heart Change Habits email list...

A whopping 66.1% of Christians admit they struggle with repeating the same sins, reading their Bible or going to church regularly.

And let’s be honest…these are all forms of ignoring God and doing what we want.

It's no wonder many of us feel less joy, less freedom, less peace than we should after following Christ...

We're frequently disconnected from the main source of all these amazing blessings—our Heavenly Father.

On some days I feel like God and I are best friends, in an unbreakable bond for all of eternity.

Then on other days, I feel far away from Him, wondering how our once-close relationship has become so distant.

And I know it's MY fault.

I don't give Him the consistent attention, the time, the glory and honor that my Lord and Savior deserves.

He suffered in agony on The Cross for all my sins...and I can't focus on Him for even 10 measly minutes a day? Geeesh!

So then I waffle back-and-forth from freedom to guilt, guilt to freedom, freedom to guilt depending on how "good" of a Christian I was that day.

My faith is like an airplane on autopilot, flying in circles, and I don't know how to change my direction.

And then, on this one, life-changing mission trip in Nicaragua, when I actually DID follow God’s commands…

He showed me the answer to this rampant problem that destroys the joy and peace of His disciples…

But He didn't show me in some grand vision or vibrant dream...

Instead, He simply lead me to an obvious truth—one that's spread throughout all of Jesus's teachings in the Bible.

Sadly, 99% of Christians miss this crucial message even though it's right in front of their eyes...

And I'm going to reveal it to you below in just a minute.

But first…

WHY Do So Many Christians Ignore or Forget About God During The Day (And Feel More Stressed Because Of It?)

We're bombarded with non-stop, Earthly distractions in this fallen world—and it's become worse since the global pandemic in 2020.

Fears of the next virus. Arguments about elections. Concerns of rampant inflation. Potential World War III.

Not to mention the terrible personal problems many of us struggle with…

Broken relationships, sickness and disease, job losses…

The stress-inducing list goes on and on...

With all these visible problems we see daily, it can be near-impossible for us to see the joy and freedom we've been given by our invisible Lord and Savior.

But you CAN—only if you stay consistently connected to Him.

There’s just one small catch if you want this blessing in your life:

God will always help you. But you must also seek Him.

He won't hand you these blessings on a silver platter.

Because He knows you don't grow in your faith this way.

Any Earthly parent understands this universal truth with their own kids.

If you remove all their struggle, you remove all their growth.

So how do you stay tuned into the subtle voice of your Heavenly Father to be the Joyful Disciple He’s called you to be?…

The Day God Showed Me This ONE Joy-Boosting Morning Habit In The Nicaraguan Jungle

After my frantic Bible search, I ironically left the next week for my first mission trip.

Next stop: Nicaragua.

Our merry band of believers bounces in our white van down the washed out river bed to the secluded village. Hordes of bronzed faces emerge from the trees.

We hop out between their brick huts, dust exploding as our boots hit the ground.

A swarm of kids huddles by the animal trough, pointing at us and whispering. I’m sure we looked out of place.

But we were right where we belonged.

Pastor Doug threw his arm around me. “This is what discipleship is all about. Meeting physical needs with the spiritual ones. Let's get drilling.”

For the next five days, we worked for their fresh water. We sweat. We laughed. We prayed.

Circled around the 50 foot hole in the ground, we held hands with our Spanish friends, asking our Heavenly Father for help.

We spoke English. They spoke Spanish. We lifted up each other's prayers.

Pipes went into the ground. The air compressor hose was dropped in to flush it out. And at last, we flipped the switch.

We all stared at the end of the long, white PVC pipe looking for a sign of hope...

At first, nothing. Then, a small trickle of water.

It grew bigger. And stronger. Finally, the flood gates were opened. Water was gushing out.

All of us “gringos” were happy we trusted God—and that He could depend on us as His disciples...

Later that night, I sat in a wicker rocker on the patio, biting my lip as I took a deep breath.

Pastor Doug sat next to me. “What's wrong, Ryan?”

“All the joy I feel in Christ here. I know I'm going to lose it as soon as I go home. How can I be joyful with God no matter where I am?”

“I see.” Pastor Doug nodded. “Mind if I share a little morning habit I use? Something that keeps me connected to God every day?”

I leaned forward. “I'm all ears.”

He opened His Bible and shared with me this proven habit that he's personally used in his last 40 fruitful years of ministry...

And it all made sense...

Why not only myself, but 99% of believers fall short when it comes to being Joyful Disciples for Jesus—missing out on all His peace.

I immediately went home and applied this one daily morning habit to my life…

My relationship with Jesus has NEVER been the same.

10X Your Godly Joy and Fruitfulness with Biblical Habit Hooking

As I started to use this powerful morning habit, God made me realize that I could (and should) go deeper by using my own life experience.

He called me to combine this daily Biblical habit with the behavioral and psychological tricks I've learned in the past 18 years as a successful entrepreneur…

Creating an innovative “Habit Hooking” Technique that makes it super-simple for you to strategically add Biblical habits into your life every day…

Guaranteeing you feel God’s presence…

And live constantly in His peace…

All while being the Joyful Disciple He wants you to be.

In John 14:22, when Jesus is asked: "But, Lord, why do you intend to show yourself to us [be in constant relationship] and not to the world?"...

What does He say over and over again?

"If you love me, you will follow my commands."

"If you love me, keep my commands." —John 14:15

"Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them." —John 14:21

"Jesus replied, 'Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching.'"

—John 14:23

"Whoever says, 'I know him,' but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person."

—1 John 2:4

This does NOT mean you must do certain works to be saved. Only Jesus's sacrifice on The Cross will clear you of your sins.

But as it says in James 2:14....you reveal the authenticity of your faith through your good deeds.

So what are these "commands" when you follow them daily?...

What are these "deeds" when you do them regularly?...

YOUR HABITS.

Aristotle says: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit."

He isn't in the Bible, but Aristotle's famous quote still overflows with Biblical truth.

Your habits come from the outpouring of your heart that's been changed by The Gospel…

And then these daily habits in Christ refill your heart with more change.

It's an on-going, cyclical process of heart change that happens every day.

This is the crucial message God revealed to me when I sat in Nicaragua next to Pastor Doug.

I needed better habits—continual routines that place Jesus in the center of my daily life...guaranteed.

Ever since He opened my eyes, I've been on this quest...

Now, I’ve applied my entrepreneurial knowledge to my faith so that I have powerful, daily habits that keep me connected to God—and full of his joy and peace—no matter what happens to me.

And now I'm asking YOU to join me on this spirit-lifting ride with Christ.

Introducing: The 30-Day Heart Change Habits TOTAL Joy Challenge

The FIRST Easy-To-Use, Digital “Biblical Habits" Program Specifically Designed To Help You Build a Consistent, Deeper Relationship With God—Automatically Restoring Your Joy and Peace In EVERY Situation…

• You'll stop ignoring God and talk with Him throughout the day...

• You'll stop repeating the same sins that plague you daily...

• You'll stop coveting worldly possessions that are “never enough”…
  
  AND INSTEAD…

• You'll START feeling the unfathomable joy and peace of Jesus Christ...

• You'll START trusting in the timing & promises of your Lord and Savior...

• You'll START living the life of a Joyful Disciple you were always meant to live...

Inside this simple, 30-day Bible-based challenge you'll discover all the proven tips, tricks & tools you need to build strong, life-long habits that keep you connected to Christ all day, every day—Including...

🙇 The Biblically-Proven Morning Habit that fully-committed my life to Christ…

📖 My old-school “sneaky Bible ritual” specifically designed to plant God's Word securely in your heart...

🙏 The 1 powerful prayer hack that builds a deeper bond with God...

🎵 A little-known worship music “listening technique” proven to lift your spirit throughout the day...

And much more...

And NO: You DON'T need to be a Bible scholar to do this...

You DON'T need an extra 3 hours a day...

You DON'T need to re-arrange your entire life (well, unless God commands it).

All you need is a heart willing to grow....

....And to open up to your all-gracious, all-merciful, all-loving Lord and Savior.

He's knocking on your door. He wants to be invited in.

Open it. Let Him inside. Every day.

You do this by creating better habits. Habits that automatically strengthen your faith—even on those days when you don't feel like doing it.

God designed us this way. Why not use His creativity to our advantage? To form a deeper relationship with our Heavenly Father.

Now is it OK if I ask you a personal question?…

What’s the chance you’ll actually do these habits every day—on your own?

10% chance? Maybe 20% if you’re lucky?

Same with me.

I didn’t consistently use these crucial, joy-boosting habits until I finally added this ONE IMPORTANT THING in my life as commanded by the Bible:

Daily Encouragement.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. —1 Thessalonians 5:11

And NOT just any encouragement…but from other fully-committed disciples.

That’s exactly why I’ve included the Heart Change Habits Encouragement Community as a crucial part of this TOTAL joy program…

Inside, you get:

• 💗 VIP Access to our brand new 30-Day Heart Change Habits Challenge so you can live in Christ’s joy & peace every day (I do this along with you)…

• 🎟️ Full admission to the Heart Change Habits encouragement community for member-only chatting and fellowship (we all need support!)…

• 🙏 Bonus 1: Creative Prayer Kickstart Guide - 57 Creative Prayer Prompts Guaranteed To Re-Energize Your Conversations with Christ

• 📖 Bonus 2: Bible Reading At-A-Glance Cheat Sheet - A Simple, Easy-To-Use Tool To Clarify God’s Word in 30 Seconds or Less

• 🎶 Bonus 3: HCH Worship Music Playlist - An Updated List of Hand-Picked Tracks Designed To Keep Your Spirit Constantly Refreshed in Praise

• ☎️ For Devoted Stewards Tier: Weekly Q&A Habits Review Group Calls - Get Personal Help Directly From Ryan To Fit These Godly Habits In YOUR Life, Ensuring They Stick For Good

• 💯 And much more!…

YES! I WANT HEART CHANGE HABITS!

God is doing amazing work through the habits we’ve been able to build…

• More lost souls saved for eternity…

• Constant worries replaced with God’s peace…

• Prayers answered and miracles made…

• And according to His promises, He’s just getting started…

When you join, you'll become part of a rare online community of real Jesus-Followers who want to do more with their faith.

To have more joy. More peace. More strength. More fun. All while sharing the love of The Gospel around the globe.

Click The Button Below To Get Instant Access To The 30-Day Heart Change Habits TOTAL Joy Challenge:

YES! I WANT HEART CHANGE HABITS!

Still on the fence? Watch what Joe has to say about his experience with Heart Change Habits…

YES! I WANT HEART CHANGE HABITS!

And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you.

—Psalm 9:10

Laura had snooped in Geoff's texts for years, but still never thought he would break her trust.

Until he did.

She asked him to go buy sauce for her world-class Zucchini Lasagna. She loves satisfying her hubby with his favorite dish.

But what’s taking so long? She glances at the microwave clock, fidgeting with her diamond ring. 6:17pm. Two minutes late.

She sends him a text.

A chime rings from the kitchen table. She grabs his phone, shaking her head. How does he forget this so often? But now, holding this digital record of her husband’s life, her brain burns with curiosity.

She hasn’t snuck a peek in a few months. Someone’s gotta keep this family strong and safe.

She plops down at the marble island, tops off her wine glass, and taps in his passcode, rifling through his messages.

Sports chat with the twins. Strategizing with his VP for a new deal at work. A quick “I love you” to her.

She scrolls further until an unfamiliar name freezes her thumb.

Who’s Hank? I don’t know any Hanks. But it seems Geoff knows this one well. Really well.

Laura’s heart flutters as she sifts through their texts over the past couple months. Their first chat reads formal with usual get-to-know-you questions.

But their exchange a few hours ago?…

Flirty. Like a pair of teenagers.

Laura drops the phone, her hand shaking. He wouldn’t dare. She sucks in a breath, and picks up the phone (now heavy as a brick), baring her teeth at the cracked screen as she reads Hank’s last message:

I'm gonna kill him. Twenty-three years together and he wants to destroy us like this?

She closes his texts, attempting to run from anything and everything Geoff. No luck.

A family picture glows from his phone’s background. Their camping trip to Yosemite last year. Laura leaning on him, the tip of her blonde ponytail resting on his chest. Their identical sons, Tyler and Taylor, wearing that wavy, auburn hair, almost carbon-copies of their father from decades past.

What should I do? Confront him? He’s hid this for months. He’ll probably just concoct some bogus story. Laura squeezes her fist. Thank God I looked at his texts. I’m going to end this—tonight.

So who is this “Hank”? Because as little as I seem to know about Geoff, he’s certainly not chatting with a “Hank”.

Laura heaves a sigh and taps a response.

She gulps her red wine, glaring at the screen. A chat bubble with three dots appears. Laura bites her lip.

Hanks sends a Google Map link to The Starlight Cafe in Maple Grove, the next town over.

Laura returns a thumbs-up, downs her wine, and grabs her jacket, storming toward the front door.

As she tears out of the driveway in her SUV, she feels dumbfounded by how her marriage had fallen apart.

After all they’ve battled over 21 years. Sure, what couples don’t collect a few scars? But they always sought help to heal the wounds. No matter how deep.

Laura whispers. “Nathaniel.”

A tear hangs from her chin as she screeches the brakes on an icy patch before a stop sign.

A red BMW turns into their neighborhood as Laura takes a right. Geoff waves, but she glares forward, wiping her face.

Twenty minutes later, Laura eases into the parking lot of The Starlight Cafe and kills the engine.

She reaches for the door handle, then stops. Pursing her lips, she bows her head.

As “Heavenly Father” is about to leave her mouth, a filmstrip of flashbacks flickers before her moist eyes.

Her twin boys “escaping” (in their words) to opposite ends of the country as soon as high school ended…

A younger Laura, lying in a hospital bed, drenched in sweat, cradling a dead newborn in her arms…

Now these damning text messages from “Hank”.

She lifts her head and shrugs. “What's the point?”

Seizing Geoff's phone from the center console, she marches inside the cafe.

A silver-haired man in a brown sweater vest reads by the front window, hunched over his steaming mug.

A beaming couple in their 20’s snuggle in a booth, grinning and laughing between whispers. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Through cluttered book shelves, she sees a lone patron at a table nestled in the nook around the far corner.

Laura weaves around empty wooden chairs, the scent of freshly ground coffee flavoring her every gasp.

As she turns the corner, she jolts back, jaw dropped. It can’t be. Her?

Dr. Lyons. Katrina Lyons. Their couple’s therapist. Christian couples therapist.

Katrina looks up with a wide grin, seeming to expect someone.

Her welcoming gaze quickly morphs into a look of shock, her wide eyes magnified by thick-rimmed, black glasses.

Laura stomps forward, pointing at Katrina. “You! Out of all the people. It’s you?!”

Katrina shakes her head. “I’m surprised it took you this long, considering that two-inch leash you keep chained on Geoff.”

“It should have been shorter! He just couldn’t keep his hands off the nearest tramp!”

“Name-calling. So undignified. Even for you. “But”—Katrina takes off her glasses, wiping them with her emerald blouse—“I recognize how distressed you become when life doesn’t go your way.”

“Uh uh. Don't turn this on me! You're the floozy cheating with my husband.”

“Of course we should hold you culpable,” Katrina says, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Who do you think drove Geoff into my sympathetic embrace? You were choking the joy out of him.”

Laura paces between tables, restraining from throwing a chair at the pretentious home-wrecker. “I’ll report you! You’ll lose your license.”

Katrina shrugs. “Do what you will. I’ve planned an early retirement. And Geoff is too, remember? We’re going to traverse the world together.”

“The hell you are! He's my husband!”

“There you go again,” Katrina says with a chuckle. “Gripping so tight, it all slips from your fingers. You don't deserve him.”

Laura collapses into a chair. “How could you do this? What have I done to you?”

Katrina looks away and swallows. “God helped me rekindle flames for hundreds of relationships. But He refuses to light one for me.” She snaps her head back around, glaring into Laura's eyes. “So I’ll do it myself.”

A bell jingles as someone enters the cafe. Chairs scrape on the floor beyond the book shelves. A throat clears behind Laura. She turns to a panic-stricken man sporting a black wool coat and matching scarf.

Geoff holds out his hands. “I saw the texts on my laptop.”

Laura rushes toward him, reaches up, and slaps him in the face.

He lowers his head as he rubs his cheek. “I deserve that.”

She punches him in the chest. Again. And again. After her seventh haymaker, a flood pours from her eyes. “What did I do wrong?”

Geoff hesitates before he mumbles. “It's not you, it's me.”

Laura backs away, rolling her eyes. “You’re lying. Tell me the truth.”

He stares at the black-and-white photos on the wall. “It's just…you were never the same after Nathaniel.”

“What do you expect? My son died! Do I not have the right to grieve?”

“Of course. I miss him too. But after endless fist-shaking and prayer, God helped me move on. You never did. Just gripped our family tighter and tighter, slowly suffocating the joy out of our lives.”

“I’m not that bad.”

Geoff tilts his head. “I left my phone on purpose tonight. Knew you’d have me on the clock, counting down the seconds. Why do you think the boys never visit?”

Katrina pipes up from behind. “I tried to tell her.”

Laura spins and points at her. “Stay out of this.”

Katrina stands, pushing in her chair. “Too late. I've been in this for years, trying to help you. Now I'm going to give Geoff the life that he—and I—deserve.”

She strides past Laura, keeping a table between them, and sidles up to Geoff, settling her hand into his. “Come on. Let's go.”

Geoff looks down at Katrina, then gazes at Laura, torment strewn on his face.

As Laura locks into those cobalt eyes that charmed her twenty-five years ago, she's struck with a devastating truth.

She’s about to lose him.

First Nathaniel. Then the twins. Now Geoff?

Followed by the worst loss of all…

She lowers her head and whispers. “I'm sorry, Lord.”

Geoff leans in. “What’d you say?”

“I said”—Laura blows out a breath—“this choice is yours.”

Katrina laughs. “He’s already made it. Based on my expert opinion, a wise decision.”

Geoff drops Katrina’s hand, taking a step forward. “You serious?”

“I can't force you to do anything. Already lost enough thinking I could.” She motions between Geoff and Katrina. “But this is 100% wrong. And I will fight until my last breath for our marriage, if you're willing to stay.”

Geoff purses his lips and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry too. I only talked with her. Nothing else. I swear.”

Laura nods, her chin shaking. “That’s something, I guess. Pray with me?”

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👉 1 Biblically-Proven Morning Habit Guaranteed To RESTORE God's Joy In Your Heart (No Matter What Happens To You)

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.

—Psalm 139:16

“I wish you’d never been born! That what you want to hear?”

“I just need help, Mom,” Hailey says, sitting across the kitchen table. “I’m as shocked as you are that I got in.”

“Your grandmother told you to come here, didn't she?"

Hailey averts her eyes. “Kind of.”

“You tell her,” Andrea says, pointing at Hailey, “when she took you in two years ago she took responsibility for all of you—including this.”

“Gram doesn't have that kind of money. Berklee costs seventy-three thousand a year.”

Andrea shrugs, swiping the wisp of blonde hair from her eyes. “What about loans? Or are you too good for that?”

“I can’t. My counselor said I wouldn’t qualify because you have too much money. And Berklee rarely gives out scholarships. So it’s either you help with some of the money Dad left you or—”

“The only reason I have that is because you took him from us—from me.”

Hailey drops her head and mutters. “I know. Heard it every day before I left.”

“Glad you finally admit it.” Andrea stares out the kitchen window, tears bubbling. “I was forced to give up everything when your father passed. I could have been dancing on Broadway. Instead, I had to”—she shakes her head—“take care of you. By myself.”

Hailey shifts in her chair, picking at her fingernail, a flood building behind her eyes.

“We didn't even want kids, and then, there you were! An accident from the start.

“I shouldn’t have been surprised when you’d later cause the biggest accident of my life, stealing from me the only man I could ever trust.”

Hailey wipes her cheeks, quivering with every breath. “I'm sorry, Mom. I’m trying to fix what I did. Sharing Dad’s music with the world is the best way I can. Berklee will help me do it.”

Andrea waves her off. “No. No. If I had to give up my dreams, I certainly won’t use your dad's insurance money to pay for yours. I'd like to be alone now.”

Hailey stands, holding out her arms, aching for an embrace. Andrea shakes her head. “Please go.”

Hailey drives back to her grandmother's faded brick, two-bedroom house, unaware of how she transported from one driveway to the other.

She drops onto her bed face-first, squeezing the pillow over her head, down comforter muffling her sobs. Lord, if I can’t go to Berklee, can’t learn from the best, then what’s the point? I have no other purpose here. Maybe Mom’s right. I am a mistake.

After draining her tear well dry, Hailey flips over and pries open her moist eyes. Behind the cracked-open closet door, she catches a glimpse of a worn, black leather case plastered with stickers.

She flops over, facing the wall. No. I won’t. I can’t. It’s sat there for eleven years.

But something, someone was pulling her toward that case—like a bee drawn to a flower. A whisper graces her ear. “Open it.”

She crawls out of bed, shuffles to the closet, and clasps the handle, cradling the case in her arms. She rubs her palm along the top and leans in for a sniff. Still smells like him.

Setting it on her bed, she unhooks the three snaps and lifts the top.

Gripping the neck, she wields her dad’s guitar, holding it as if she’s about to play. She strums and smiles. If only I could play you at Berklee.

Hailey strikes a few more chords before returning the precious instrument. As she does, she notices a white object taped on the backside. An envelope. Addressed to “Hailey Bear”. Dad’s handwriting.

She peels off the envelope, bites her lip, and opens it.

My Sweet Hailey Bear,

If you're reading this, Honey….well, I’m with Jesus now. I know it's not ideal losing your dad and all, but I promise you, there’s no need to worry.

Because you have TWO fathers in Heaven. And The One on the throne loves you more than I ever could (as hard as that is to believe).

Now we both want you to know one thing:

My accident is NOT your fault. You were just being a kid. And sometimes, danger lurks around the corner, waiting to pounce. Since the day you were born, I vowed to always step between that danger and you.

If I had to jump in front of that truck a thousand times, I would. Over and over and over again.

Why? I love you. You’re my child. God’s child. In His infinite wisdom, He handcrafted you as His beautiful masterpiece. In His Holy image. A cherished artwork your mother and I would marvel at every time we gazed into your stunning emerald eyes.

Your Heavenly Father, The Eternal Artist, makes every masterpiece with purpose. A reason for being. To bring a glimmer of His graciousness and goodness into this fallen world.

From what I see, I believe your purpose, your passion, your calling, all flow from the same creative spring as mine. Music.

God blessed you with this marvelous gift of melody. Please never, ever use my accident as an excuse to neglect what God created you to do.

He put you in this very moment, right now, to walk with Him. Serve Him. Enjoying the unique talent He gave you.

Now take this guitar o' mine and make some fine music with it. And don’t let any of the naysayers, no matter who they are, stop you from reaching your dream.

Rock on!

Love,
Dad

P.S. Your Mom will need you more than ever now. Keep her close and never let go.

Hailey stares at the black ink dotted into the final period, hand shaking as a tear smears her father’s words.

She grabs her phone, snaps a picture of the letter, and sends a text. “Mom. Please read this. We need to talk more.”

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…even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him.

— Ephesians 1:4

Olivia throws her phone against the wall.

Dropping onto the bed, she buries her face in her hands. Why does this always happen to me?

She grabs her phone from the floor, glaring at the text message revealed behind the new crack split down her screen:

“I think we should see other people.”

We've been together a year. Talked about getting married. And he sends me this?

She calls him. Sent to voicemail—after two rings.

She texts him. “Why are you doing this???”

An animated chat bubble appears.

“Can't talk. Busy. Will call you tomorrow.”

Olivia shakes her head as she grips her phone. I need Angela.

“Hey, you, what's up?”

“You were right,” Olivia says, her voice shaking. “He broke up with me.”

Angela sighs. “I’m so sorry, O. What happened?”

“He just sent me a text.”

“That's it?”

“Yeah.”

“At least I can finally say it. He’s a jerk.”

“You never really tried to hide your feelings about him.”

“No, but it feels good to say it. You deserve so much better.”

Olivia fidgets with her phone case. “But do I? He's the first and only guy I've dated. And we can both agree he's way out of my league, but for some crazy reason, he seemed into me.”

“Stop right there. What league? This isn't high school anymore.”

“Gimme a break. He's tall, handsome, and a hero firefighter. I'm a five-out-of-ten at best, live in my parents’ basement, and work part-time at Barnes and Noble.”

“So? You're figuring out life. What about your writing?”

Olivia scoffs. “I’ve been rejected, what, seventy-three times? Just like all the colleges that turned me down. I'm not the last kid picked. I'm never picked.”

“I'm coming over right now, and we’re going out.”

“No. I want to be alone. But thanks for listening. Just needed to vent.”

“I’m always here for you. But seriously, stop being so down on yourself. I picked you, didn't I?”

“You must love charity cases.”

“Only the coolest, sexiest ones.”

Olivia hangs up and lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “God, you say you lift up the lowliest of people. Well, I’m crawling in a cave down here.”

She springs out of bed. I wonder if there's someone else. Opening Instagram, she scrolls to Jake’s profile.

Her eyes widen as his newest photo pops on-screen. Jake sits in a restaurant, his beefy arm hanging around a blonde with ocean blue eyes, a low-cut dress and three inches of make-up caked on her face.

“Molly? I'm gonna kill that—” Olivia takes a deep breath. She leans closer to her phone. That's Bennington's. Slipping on her shoes, she heads upstairs. Maybe they're still there.

After coaxing her dad to borrow the jeep, she races to the restaurant. She pulls into the lot, takes a handicap spot for her ailing heart, and kills the engine.

Adjusting the rearview mirror toward her, she runs a finger under her eyes, sweeps her brown hair to the side, and slaps on some lip gloss. Good enough.

Charging inside, she blows past the hostess stand and weaves between tables, pursuing the wrap-around booth where her targets dine in ignorance.

She bumps into a server, almost knocking a drink tray out of her hands “Sorry,” she says, bracing against the wall littered with modern art. The server cocks her head with narrow eyes and keeps walking.

Olivia turns the corner in front of the open kitchen and stops. Along the opposite wall. Jake and Molly. Nestled shoulder-to-shoulder. Sharing a bottle of wine.

Olivia straightens and walks over. “Jake.”

He unlocks from Molly's gaze and looks up. “Olivia? Why are you here?”

“To, uh, finish our conversation.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “I told you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“We've been together a year. And this is how you break up with me?”

Molly sets down her wine glass. “Girl, you're embarrassing yourself. People are staring.”

“Stay out of this,” Olivia says, clenching her jaw. “I'm sure you’ll be onto your next guy in a week anyway.”

Molly laughs. “You haven't changed since high school. No manners. No class.”

Jake holds up his hands. “What do you want me to say? That I made a mistake? That I want you back? I’d be lying if I did.”

“I just want to know,” Olivia says with a whisper, “why did you choose her"—she points at Molly—“over me?”

He shrugs. “Bored, I guess.”

Olivia drops her head, warm streams flowing down her cheeks. “Sums up my life.” She staggers away, wiping her face as she lumbers past the curious onlookers. Stumbling into the bathroom, she hides in a stall.

After a couple minutes of sobs, a knock rattles the door.

She stammers. “Occupied.”

“You OK?” a female voice says.

“I'm fine.” Olivia’s breath flutters.

“You don’t sound it. Please open the door.”

Olivia turns the lock to find the server she bumped into earlier. This concerned woman, somewhere in her 40’s and bearing the name tag “Misty”, hands Olivia a cloth napkin. “You've already been chosen, you know.”

Olivia dabs her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“He already chose you.”

“Who?”

The server points up. “Your Father.”

Olivia glares at the hanging toilet paper roll. “Don’t need to tell me. Been a believer a long time.”

“I think I do. Otherwise, you wouldn't have wasted one extra minute with that dirtbag out there.”

“But it hurts.”

“Course it does. Rejection sucks. But don’t ever calculate your self-worth based on the flawed opinions of human beings—no matter who they are.”

“What if everyone says I’m worthless?”

“Makes no difference. In the eyes of God, your value transcends any fancy math that the human mind could ever conceive. Our Father, He works with eternal calculus.

“And He says your worth stretches beyond infinity, not because of anything you say or do, but because of Him—the loving God who created you.”

“How do you know that?”

Misty rolls up her sleeve, revealing the name “Travis” etched in cursive on her wrist. “After enough black eyes and bloody lips, I started taking God at His Word.”

Olivia raises her chin and hands back the napkin. “Guess I’m not the unpicked kid.”

Misty smiles. “None of us are.”

Olivia reaches into her back pocket, purses her lips, and holds up her debit card. “For their dinner. It’d be the classy thing to do.”

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Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.

— Galatians 1:10

Linda rips the yellow notice from the faded soup kitchen door.

“Hungry Hearts Kitchen — Closed Permanently — In 72 Hours”

I expected big changes around here, but not this. She snaps a picture of the sign and texts it to Donald. “My heart hurts…”

Stepping inside, she weaves through the throng of a hundred-something patrons to the buffet line. The regulars gossip about the looming death of their daily meals.

Linda drops her jacket on a table, folds her grayish-blonde ponytail under a hairnet, and rolls up her sleeves, grabbing the bacon tongs.

A man wearing a black winter hat and flannel coat with a hole in the sleeve reaches out his plate. “You see the news?” Paul says.

“I did.” Linda gives him two strips of bacon. “Didn't think they'd actually shutter the doors.”

Paul shrugs. “From what I hear, it was poor planning and greed. Denise didn't have anything in writing to protect her assets. Now her kids are fighting over their dead mother’s money. This place is the last thing on their minds.”

“Isn't there anyone who can help?”

“Doesn't look it. Denise always said she was a month from closing. It was only by God's grace it stayed open this long.”

Linda tilts her head. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t know yet. Been getting my meals here for years. Gonna miss those extra beds upstairs too. Might have to suck it up outside for a bit.”

“I won’t accept that. God must have an answer.”

“If He gives you any ideas, let me know.” Paul’s eyes crinkle with a shimmer. “Our Father is a smart one.” He roams to his usual chair and bows his head over his plate.

Linda hands out more bacon, gazing at the words hand-drawn on the far wall in flecks of peeling blue paint:

For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you took Me in…

— Matthew 25:35

She scans the room. Jesus forks into his pancake. Jesus drinks his orange juice. Jesus breaks bread with his friends.

Her phone dings with a new text. “Sorry to hear that,” Donald says. “On the bright side, it’ll be easier to say goodbye in a couple months.”

Linda sighs, biting her lip. He doesn’t get it.

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And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.

— 1 Peter 5:10

Allison points at the tiny casket in the next room. “Where is that jerk?”

“I'm not surprised he didn’t show. Would you?”

“If I killed someone's kid? Yeah, I'd at least come to the funeral.”

“Honey,” Tim says, “it's Walter. That guy doesn't care about much of anything.”

“So what? You convinced me not to press charges! Why’d I listen to you?”

Tim leans down and whispers. “Please lower your voice.” He glances through the door at the rows of seated mourners. “People are staring.”

“They all know what he did. I'm calling him.”

Tim checks his watch. “Everything begins in a few minutes.”

“We'll start when I”—Allison points at her chest—“say we do.”

“Fine. I'll be waiting up front.” He turns toward the funeral parlor then spins back toward her. “You know, it wasn't his dog who stole Ethan from us.”

Allison pulls her phone from her purse. “It didn't help.”

A rasping voice answers after nine rings. “I told you, stop calling me! I don't want your stupid home warranty! Go bother some other sucker!”

“Walter,” Allison says, “what are you doing?”

“Who's this?”

“Don't play dumb. Why aren't you here?”

“Why aren't I where? Is this another prank call?”

Allison grips her phone, the wiry vein bulging in her arm. “I get it. You're old. But not senile. This is Allison Goodwin, your neighbor. The mom whose son you took from her.”

Walter scoffs. “You again? I'd rather talk to the sales guy from India who keeps bugging me.”

“Ethan's funeral starts soon. But I won't let it until your rear is planted in the front row next to us.”

“Eh, I'm not one for funerals. Seen enough of ‘em. Sorry your son died. But what's that got to do with me?”

“Are you kidding?! What about your mangy mutt who attacked him?”

“Ricky was provoked. Told you to keep off my property. Your boy got roughed up a little. That’s all. Not my fault he was so brittle.”

Allison grits her teeth, her eyes bubbling. “My boy was a fighter. Never gave up until his last breath. Now are you going to show up, or do I need to get you?”

Walter clicks his tongue. “I'm settled in my recliner, watching the game.”

“Then I’ll drag that chair down the street with you in it.” She hangs up. I could strangle that man.

As she throws the phone in her purse, a souvenir nestled inside catches her eye. Her stomach turns. She pulls out a child-sized hospital bracelet. Ethan Goodwin, Age 5. She runs her finger along his name. This got looser the sicker he got. She shakes her head. “He didn't deserve this, Lord. And neither do I.”

She marches past the swarm of lilies and carnations, ignores the condolences of loved ones, and sticks her hand out at Tim. “Gimme the keys.”

He raises his brows. “Where you going?”

“On a field trip. A certain grumpy, old man requires a home visit.”

Tim shakes his head. “Sit down.”

“No, I won’t.” She reaches for his pocket.

Tim covers his upper thigh. “You're not going to feel better by making him feel worse.”

She leans down, brings her face within an inch of his, and whispers. “I need to do something.”

He drops his head and shoves the keys in her hand. “Just don't give the guy a heart attack.”

“If it’s God’s will, so be it.”

Allison climbs into their black Suburban and peels out of the lot toward their neighborhood.

Squeezing the steering wheel, she gazes at the cactuses peppered across the arid landscape. We don't press charges, his dog still roams free, and he can't even come to the funeral?

If I'm going to lose my son, he’s going to lose his dog.

She tears into his cracked driveway, blades of grass peeking out from the concrete. Stomping onto his porch, she hammers on the door. “Walter! Open up!”

She pokes the doorbell four times and slams the door again. “I know you're in there!”

A wicker rocking chair creaks from a gentle breeze.

Allison shakes her head. Forgive me.

She goes down the steps, seizes a hand-sized rock from the weeds ruling the flower bed, returns to the door, and heaves it through the window.

Glass shatters, forming a jagged jigsaw puzzle. She wraps her hand in a dirty rag that was draped on the bannister, knocks out the remnant pieces, and unlocks the door from inside.

Dusty drapes blanket every window, permitting only a sliver of sunlight to beam through the shadows. A heavy musk lingers, making the entry smell like an attic.

She steps through the foyer, scanning for her prey. Bingo. Walter lies in the recliner, eyes closed, snoring, with the baseball game playing on mute.

She shakes him. “Wake up!”

He cracks his eyes and jolts back. “How’d you get in here?”

“I made my own key.”

“What?” he says, leaning forward. He holds up a finger and presses his hearing aids. “Are you crazy, Lady?”

She points toward the front door. “Get dressed and outside. You’re saying goodbye to Ethan.”

He turns away his head. “No, I'm not.”

“If you won't come with me, I’m taking your dog.”

Allison heads for the rest of the house. “Where is it?” She bursts into the kitchen, scouring every inch of the linoleum floor. “How about in here?”

She opens the door to another room and peeks under the unmade bed. An American flag hangs on the wall next to a glass display of medals.

“You won't find Ricky.” Walter shuffles into the room, dragging his left leg. “He's gone.”

“Where are you hiding it?” Allison tears open the closet. Heaps of clothes and fishing poles fall onto the floor.

“Not hiding. Gave away." He bites his lip. “To a farm. A long way from here.”

“Why'd you do that? The dog's a menace. Needs to be put down before anyone else gets hurt.”

Walter shakes his head. “Ricky’s far from kids now. Like I said earlier, I'm sorry you lost your boy.”

Allison throws up her hands. “You don't care.”

Walter limps to a photo on the wall. A 20-something man, decked in camo, stands on a tank. “That's mine. Well, was.”

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “What happened?”

“KIA. He’d still be alive if I hadn’t pushed him into service. Thought it would be good for him. But I knew the risks.” He pats his leg. “Tore my family apart.”

Allison drops onto the bed, bent over, both hands gripping the edge. Tears soak into the shag carpet. “I miss him so much.”

“Just don’t end up like me.” He places a hand on her back. “The bitterness, the guilt, they’ll consume you.”

Allison raises her head, wiping her eyes. “I know Ricky didn't do it. The Leukemia’s the culprit. Always was.”

“God sure allows some awful things to happen down here, doesn't He?”

Walter nods, peering at his son’s photo. “Yeah.”

“You don't have to attend the funeral, but we do have family dinner every Sunday. You want to join tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You won’t be. I consider it a blessing.”

Walter smiles. “Good. I make one heck of a Tuna Noodle Casserole.”

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But there is nothing covered up that will not be revealed, and hidden that will not be known.

—Luke 12:2

“I'm not giving you extra money.”

“Don't you care about him?”

Kurt rubs his forehead, slouching on the edge of the bottom step. He whispers into the phone. “Obviously. He's my son. But I have my real family to support too.”

Toni scoffs. “Real family?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Just get here soon with the extra five-hundred. I doubt you want your wife to know about our little deal.”

“Listen here,”—Kurt stands and narrows his eyes—“you stay away from Joanna. Or you get nothing. Got me?”

“It’s either more money or I take you to court. Your choice.” She hangs up.

Kurt drops his shoulders and sighs, studying the family pictures hanging along the stairs. He grabs a black frame from its nail. Hawaii, three years ago. His rugged hand, grasping a deep secret, rests on his clueless wife’s shoulder. All four of them—including their kids, Jackson and Phoebe—beam smiles on the beach, adorned with purple leis.

“What are you looking at?” Joanna descends the stairs, shrouded in a bath robe. A few strands of dirty blonde hair dangle from under her wrapped towel. She settles her chin on his shoulder. “I miss that place.”

“Me too.” Kurt points at the picture. “Funny thing about islands. You feel completely cut off from your problems as soon as you land on them.”

Joanna lifts her eyes. “Why? You need to hide from something?”

Kurt bites his lip, then rehangs the picture. “Nope. Just having a Seinfeld moment. You know, an observation.”

“Very profound,” she says, smiling. “Ready for lunch?”

“In a few. I need to run a quick errand.”

“For what?” She glances at the clock. “We meet the Bronsons at twelve-thirty.”

“I, uh, it's a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“I love surprises,” she says, putting an imaginary gun to her head and pulling the trigger.

Kurt grins. “Don't worry. It’s worth the torture.”

He leans forward for a peck on the cheek and walks out, berating himself as he climbs into his green Dodge Ram. A surprise? What was I thinking?

He cracks the glove box, digging under stacks of paper to pull out the leather-bound owner's manual. Unzipping the book, he flips past the back cover, seizing a white envelope. He opens the flap and fingers through the cash. This better be enough.

He drives for about five miles before pulling behind a dilapidated convenience store on the outskirts of town. Rolling up to the back door, he kills the engine next to a rust-infested, Hyundai Accent. The building door opens as soon as he pulls the key from the ignition.

Toni appears from the shadows, the sun glistening off her chestnut hair as it perches on her bronzed shoulders. Still beautiful. Too bad she’s nuts.

He rolls down the window.

She holds out her hand. “Got it?”

“Don’t I always?” he says, clutching the envelope.

She reaches for it before he snaps back his arm. “How is Leo, anyway?”

She rolls her eyes. "Since when do you care about that?"

“If I didn't, I wouldn't be here.”

“Uh huh. You just don’t want your wife busting you.”

“That too.”

She shrugs. “Give it to me and you'll be safe another month.”

Kurt motions as if he’s going to speak, then stops, and hands her the envelope.

She opens the flap, adding the cash. “Leo's good. Smart kid. Straight A's. Student council. Not sure how with an absent father and a mother, well—”. She finishes counting and looks up. “Where's the five hundred?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I told you. I can’t do that.”

She waves the envelope in his face. “You seen how expensive everything is? Landlord jacked my rent last month. And I can barely afford to walk into a grocery store.”

“Why don't you, I don’t know, get a job?”

She points at the store. “I do.”

“You help your uncle a few hours a week.”

“And I sell Amway.”

“Sure, one of your fifty flourishing businesses. How’s that going?”

Toni smacks the envelope against her palm. “I want the extra cash today, or I’m gonna turn your world upside down.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You’ve threatened me how many times? I refuse to be your personal printing press anymore. I’ll help Leo, and this is what I can do. Take it or leave it.”

Toni glares at him, gritting her teeth. “I'm leaving it.” She runs to her car, jumps in the driver’s seat and takes off.

Kurt cranks his engine. Joanna.

Whipping around in a one-eighty, he squeals his tires as he barrels for the main road, screaming past the parking lot stop sign.

Toni whizzes ahead, passing cars from the wrong side of the road.

Kurt approaches a law-abiding minivan and swerves into the oncoming lane, trying to keep up. A tractor trailer dares him to a game of chicken, its menacing grill bearing a jagged scowl.

He fish tails back into his lane just before the oil tanker hurtles by.

Kurt grips his steering wheel. He imagines Joanna, tears streaming down her face, pointing at the front door. “Get out and never come back!” Please, no.

He pulls into the opposite lane again, passing in front of the minivan before a city bus rolls the other way.

Stomping the gas pedal, he glances at the speedometer. Seventy in a forty. Might be thirty. Whatever it takes. Red lights flash in his periphery. Slamming the brakes, he screeches across the tar, stopping within a few inches of a blue Mini Cooper.

One car ahead? Toni’s red jalopy. I got you.

The traffic light glows green, beckoning the cars to roll forward like an assembly line. Kurt weaves in his lane, the mounting angst wanting to burst from his heart.

As they approach the right-hand turn into his neighborhood, Toni slows, showing no signs of a blinker. She swings onto his road as the Mini Cooper meanders, adding crucial seconds to Kurt’s lap time.

He finally makes the corner, squawking his tires past the “Slow! Children At Play” sign. How can I spin this? he thinks. Joanna hates surprises. But this?

He whips around to his road. Just three more houses. A black blur rolls in front of his truck. What was that? He peeks in his rearview mirror.

His neighbor, Tracy Simmons, shoots up from the ground, scampering to the baby stroller toppled over. Kurt narrows his eyes and taps his brakes. She lifts little Tommy out, caressing his head. That was close.

He pulls into his driveway and hops out, engine running. Toni stands on the porch with Joanna, holding up the envelope. “That's been our deal the last twelve years,” she says.

Kurt holds up both hands as he approaches. “I can explain.”

Joanna crosses her arms with wide eyes. “You better start talking.”

“I screwed up. I had a son with her”—He points his thumb at Toni—“fifteen years ago, before we married. I didn't know about him until he was three. By then, you and I were hitched and you were pregnant with Jackson."

Joanna nods. “Go on.”

“Toni didn't want me in Leo's life for reasons I still don't understand.”

Toni holds up a finger. “For one thing—”

“Let me finish,” Kurt says. “But she demanded financial support. And I didn't want to abandon him. So we've had this deal ever since.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Kurt looks down. “I was ashamed. Remember how wild I was before we met? Thought you'd leave me if you knew what sort of mess I caused.”

“But I didn’t leave you.”

“Why would you? I hid it all.”

“Kurt.” Joanna cocks her head and purses her lips.

He drops his jaw. “You knew?”

“You're not as sneaky as you think. Once I noticed the money disappearing and you acting weird, I started snooping around. Hired a private investigator to figure out what was going on. When I did, I left the choice up to you.”

“To do what?”

“Tell me the truth. Bring your sin into the light. Sucks it went down like this. But doesn't it feel good? Not being burdened by the lies and deception?

Extending your arms, allowing God to hammer these cold shackles from your wrists?”

Kurt drops to his knees. “I’m so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”

Joanna steps from the porch, taking his hand. “I already did.” She turns toward Toni. “Any chance I can meet Leo?”

Toni wipes a tear from her cheek. “I’m sure we can work out something.”

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Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

— Philippians 4:8

“I’m not stepping one foot inside that funeral parlor,” Dawn says, gripping her phone.

Deborah stammers through her sobs. “You don’t even want to say goodbye?”

“He said it himself—every day of my childhood. I've been a burden since I was born. Wouldn't want to stress anyone at John’s big farewell party.”

“I'll admit, your father had a blunt way about him. But he did his best—considering what happened to Wendy.”

Dawn shakes her head. “I’m shocked. You, standing up for him? He can’t hear you now, Mom. Speak the truth for once.”

“The truth,” Deborah says, sucking in a deep breath, “is he wants our family back together.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“I discovered yesterday that your father packed away sizable savings into a secret account. He allocated about fifty grand to you. But there's as catch. You need to attend his funeral. And you need to sit next to me.”

“So what? He’s going to buy my love now that’s he’s gone?”

“No, but it’s something, isn’t it? Money is money.”

Dawn purses her lips, lifting an envelope from First National Mortgage Company off the kitchen counter. A bold red stamp blazes on the front:

Past Due — Last Notice.

She opens her mouth, but before she can utter a syllable, a familiar home video plays in her mind.

Dawn stands, head drooped, draped in a sky-blue nightgown, clutching Rocky, her favorite teddy bear. John wags his finger, spit raining upon his belly as he yells. “You’re gonna be nothing in life! Been a disaster since birth! Your sister’d still be here if it weren’t for you!”

“You there?” Deborah says.

“Sure am.” Dawn tosses the envelope. “I wouldn't take one cent of that jerk's money. I can make it on my own. Actually, I have a second job interview today.”

“At least come pay your respects. He is your father.”

Dawn checks the clock. 2:30pm. “I need to go.” She grabs her purse. “I’m sorry your husband died. But I lost my dad a long time ago. Never sure I really had one.” She hangs up.

Dawn hops into her blue Nissan Sentra and heads toward Jackson Manufacturing. She adjusts the rearview mirror and removes her glasses, locking mocha brown eyes with herself. “You can do this. They want you. Sure, you've never done sales, but how hard can it be?”

“Very, very hard.” John’s voice echoes in her ear. “Especially for you.”

Dawn narrows her eyes, shaking her head. “Leave me alone.”

“You think you're worthy of this new career? You were a lousy bookkeeper for thirty-two years and then they dropped you like nothin’.”

“They laid off a bunch of folks. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Bah! Liars. They finally discovered how useless you are.”

Dawn drops her shoulders as she turns into the parking lot. “Maybe I am.”

Stepping from her car, she glances at her phone. Three missed calls—from Jackson Manufacturing. She taps redial.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Rachel Bonner from HR at Jackson. I was trying to catch you before your interview.”

“Sure, Mrs. Bonner. What do you need?”

“Unfortunately, we just hired another applicant. I’m sorry to tell you on such short notice.”

Dawn cocks her head, glaring at the brick office building. “Can you tell me why I wasn’t chosen?”

“We usually don't get into the particulars like that.”

“Well, I'm standing in your parking lot right now. It’d be nice to know.”

Rachel sighs. “You're a very bright person. Scored off the charts on the cognitive tests. Even though you’ve never done sales, we believed you’d grasp the concepts quickly.”

“So what’s my problem?”

“In all transparency, confidence. In sales, you need to believe in yourself and what you say. You seemed extremely hesitant during role plays. This isn’t a skill we can teach. You have to discover it yourself.”

“Uh huh. Well, thanks for your candor. I'll consider your feedback. Bye.”

Dawn slumps back into her car, holds up her hands and screams. “What in the name of God's green earth is wrong with me?!”

John's voice whispers. “Everything.”

“Stop!” She pounds her head on the steering wheel, beeping the horn. A man walking by glances into her window. She throws up a little wave, forcing a grin.

“God,” she says, pointing toward the sky, “this is it. I refuse to be chained by my wretched father anymore. He was a miserable man whose anger was with You, but he poured it out on me. I know that. But it still hurts—he was my dad.” She shrugs. “I don’t know what to do.”

Dawn drives home, blaring talk radio to drown out her thoughts. She grabs the mail and steps inside, rifling through the envelopes as she drops onto the couch. Great. Another late notice from Dr. Wallace.

The doorbell chimes.

Nope. That’s enough people for one day.

Doorbell chimes again. And again.

Dawn rises from her heap and shuffles to the door, glancing through the window. She jerks her head back. It’s official. I’m certifiably insane. She opens the door. “Hello?”

A reflection stands on the porch—A woman, about fifty, bearing a short stature similar to Dawn, but with a tighter physique, fewer wrinkles, and a bit more make-up. “Hi, Sis.”

Dawn leans against the entryway, her mouth gaped. She waves her hand at the woman. “No. No. Can’t be.”

The woman nods. “I’m Wendy Sampson. But my birth name is Gallagher.”

“I thought you were—”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I felt dead for a long time. But who wouldn’t after discovering your family gave you away? They thought this surprise child would be too much of a strain on the ol’ checkbook.”

Dawn widens her eyes. He wasn’t ravaged by anger. He was overwhelmed with guilt. “Consider yourself lucky. They—or rather him—didn’t accept me either.”

“Seems our birth parents messed up twice. But I’m here now, still paying my respects.”

“For the money?”

Wendy furrows her brow. “What money?”

Dawn narrows her eyes and nods. “Why bother then? He didn't do anything for you.”

“He sure didn’t. But I will never let his bad choices control my thoughts—or my life. Only God sits in that driver’s seat.”

Dawn drops her head. A tear falls upon the hardwoods of the foyer. “How do you stop these terrible thoughts from consuming you?”

Wendy steps forward. “By knowing with this”—She points at Dawn's head—"how wide and long and high and deep God’s love is for you. And believing this miraculous truth”—She points at Dawn’s heart—“right here.

“Anything less is straight from Satan himself.”

Dawn wipes her eyes and embraces her once-lost sister. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.”

“Please come.” Dawn steps in, motioning Wendy to follow. “We’ve got fifty-one years to chat about. You know, before the funeral tomorrow.”

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It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.

— Deuteronomy 31:8

Kayla flaps her arms in the water, lungs searing as she aches for another breath.

No matter how hard she thrashes, she advances in one direction. Down.

She watches her toes scrape the cement pool bottom. After all she’s endured the last two years, this is how it ends?

Her eyes shutter. Water engulfs her throat. Silence pervades as she stops her fruitless flailing. The world she once knew evaporates into nothingness.

A splash. Kayla floats upward, launching from the abyss like a bottle rocket. Is this what the stairway to Heaven feels like?

“Kayla! Kayla!”

Read more

Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

— Matthew 26:41

Holly storms out the front door and points at their house. “I'm not going back in there!”

Brent follows, holding up his hands. “We just want to talk. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, right. I refuse to be ambushed by my own family.”

“It's not like that.” He touches her shoulder. “Come back inside.”

Holly rifles through her purse, then looks up. “Gimme my keys. I'm leaving.”

“Can't do that,” Brent says, shaking his head. “You're not disappearing until you talk with us first.”

“I’m so embarrassed.” Holly looks around the cul-de-sac, tossing up a little wave at Mrs. Stephenson digging in her vegetable garden. She leans forward and whispers. “Neighbors talk.”

“No one will know.” Brent takes her hand, walking back inside.

Holly drops into the recliner as Brent sits on the couch next to their daughter, Morgan. Holly's sister, Beth, shifts in her folding chair, sweeping aside her straight, black hair. “Thanks for staying, Sis.”

Holly rolls her eyes. “Let's get this over with.”

“We’re here,” Brent says, “because we love you and want you to get healthy. And honestly, you need help. It’s obvious you have an addiction problem and we can't let it go any longer.”

“Gimme a break,” Holly says. “I’m not addicted to anything.”

“You might change your mind after what we say today.” He holds up a brochure. “We also lined up a therapist you’ll see right after, if you’re willing.”

Holly scoffs. “I'm not. But please, continue with this charade.”

“Mom,” Morgan says, fidgeting with a spiral notebook in her hand. “Each of us wrote a letter to you. Please listen and try to have an open mind.”

“Fine,” Holly says, heaving a sigh.

Brent clears his throat. “Dear, Holly. First, I want you to know how much I care about you and love you. Everything I say today is rooted in that simple truth.

“I don't know who you are anymore. What happened to the cheery, optimistic, fun-loving woman I married eighteen years ago? I get it. Life’s hard. We all go through storms. And we all change as we get older.

“But I don't even see a tiny resemblance of my beautiful bride. Your selfish addiction has significantly harmed our marriage and our family. I thought this was a phase that would pass with time, but it’s only gotten worse.

“And after what you did to Morgan, I had to finally put my foot down. You need professional help. And above all else, you need God back in your life.

“I see how deeply disconnected you are from Jesus. And it breaks my heart to see you like this. Once again, I love you and want you to heal. Love, Brent.”

Holly looks up with wide eyes, shaking her head. “Am I living in the Twilight Zone? Or is this some elaborate prank?” She looks around the room. “Maybe Candid Camera? What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know,” Brent says, cocking his head. “It's time to finally confess. You have a problem.”

“If I do, then so does the rest of the country.” Holly motions her hand between Morgan and Beth. “Who's next?”

Beth sits up, wielding her letter. “Dear, Holly. I miss you. Where’s my amazing, little sister I once admired so much? The hard-working, fully-present mom who could run circles around me—literally and figuratively.

“I know how stressful it is trying to be that perfect mom the world expects. I fight the same battle every day. But please, don't do what our parents did, burying yourself in destructive habits.

“Dad had the pub. Mom had her trashy books and nightly bingo. They always hid from life, never tackling it head-on. And because of that, they missed out on the best part of it all—us.

You need help, Sis. Please go see this therapist today. I want my sister back. Love you, Beth.”

Holly raises her hand. “I’m right here, crazy. Don’t you see me?”

“Yeah,” Beth says, “but it’s not my sister.”

“This must be a dream.” Holly pinches herself. “Wake up!” She points at Morgan. “Don't let your dad suck you into this.”

Morgan frowns. "I chose to be here, Mom. Will you please listen to me? You know, like you used to?”

Holly nods.

“Dear, Mom. I hate this. I'd rather be out with friends, or even finishing my algebra homework. But here I am, at a family intervention, trying to save you from a dangerous substance you and Dad warned me about years ago. Thank God I obeyed.

“Now you’re addicted. See what it’s done to you? You used to smile, always finding joy in the little things. Now your eyes look vacant, the Godly twinkle darkened by anxiety and stress.

“I was so disappointed in you last week. I scored my first soccer goal ever and glanced at you on the sideline, looking for a smile, a cheer, a thumbs-up, a something. But all I get is you, totally out of it, consumed by your own little universe, oblivious to your daughter’s big moment.”

“Morgan—” Holly says.

Morgan holds up a finger. “I’m not done.” She grips her notebook. “And then, last week, you pick me up from school in the same drunken state, swerving all over the road. That truck almost killed us.

“I care about you Mom.” Morgan wipes her eye with her sleeve. “I don't want you to die. But inside, you already seem dead.”

Holly reaches out, resting her hand on Morgan's knee. “I'm sorry. About your soccer game and the car. It won’t happen again.”

She sits back and looks at Brent. “But I don't need to see any therapist.”

Brent leans forward. “I know you have it on you right now.”

Holly shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

He sticks out his hand. “Give it to me.”

She pulls back. “No. Leave me alone.”

“Give it to me.” He points at Morgan. “Or we're leaving.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Brent nods. “Bags are already packed.”

Holly presses her lips together. “This is stupid.” She sticks her hand in her back pocket, pulls out her phone, and hands it over. “There, happy?”

Brent holds up the phone. “See this? It's the most rampant drug in the world—and 95% of people don't even know they’re addicted. With every Facebook update and Youtube video, this deceptive device wires your brain to crave that next dopamine hit. It’s a vicious cycle that never ends.”

“It's not that bad.”

“Really? I guarantee you’re drowning in a constant hum of anxiety right now. You feel you’re missing out on something only your phone can provide. That’s a lie—straight from Satan’s blasted mouth. He uses digital distraction to keep you from the One True Source of all your blessings.

Morgan grabs something from behind a pillow and walks to Holly, placing it in her mom’s hand. “Gram gave you this for a reason.”

A cracked and tattered leather Bible.

Holly stares at the floor, her chin trembling. “Maybe I do need help.”

Brent throws his arms around her. “Thank God you said that. Awareness is the first step.” He kisses her on the forehead. “I love you.”

“So do I,” Morgan says, embracing her parents.

Beth chuckles. “Don’t leave me out.” She stands and extends her arms, joining the hug.

Holly smiles. “Will you all come with me to the therapist?”

“Sure,” Brent says. “Whatever you need.”

“Good. And let’s all leave our phones here. It’ll be more fun that way.”

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God bless,
Ryan

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👏 What Happens When You Don't Spend Time With God

🎨 PROOF God Made You With His Creative Love (Not Cosmic Luck)

⏱ God's Consequence When We're Selfish With Our Time

🙏 How To Live By Faith, NOT By Sight (Even When You Look "Crazy")

👨‍👦 How God Feels When You Only Seek Him During Struggles

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Ryan

P.S. Keep an eye on your inbox early next week for a special gift I’ll be giving you that works in tandem with every Savior Story—making them a true devotional experience that’ll strengthen your joy and peace in Jesus Christ.

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

— Psalms 90:12

Julia drops her phone on the kitchen floor. Is this someone’s idea of a funny prank? Lord, I hope so.

She bends down, shaking, and rereads the text message she’s dreaded for years.

“Helen’s dying. Call me ASAP.”

She dials the sender, supposedly William, Helen's assistant.

“Hey, Julia.”

“It is you. What's going on?”

William sputters between sobs. “She fell down the stairs at home. Broke her hip and slammed her head.” He blows out a breath. “She's not going to make it.”

Julia collapses onto a barstool at the kitchen island. “Can’t they do something? Surgery?”

“Doctor says it’s no use at her age. Machines are keeping her alive now.”

“I can't believe this is happening. We just talked last week.”

“I'm sorry. But she wants to see you. Says she’s got one more message to share with the world before she meets Jesus. And you need to write it.”

Julia straightens. “Me? I’d be honored. Can I go there at noon?”

“No. You need to leave now. She won't last much longer. Maybe an hour or two.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m out the door.”

Julia hangs up, taps on Uber, and grabs her bag, running toward the stairs of her apartment building.

The significance of this trip strikes her as she charges down the steps.

Her hero, Helen Wilksbury, the mentor who inspired her to write, the iconic author who gave Julia a chance when no one else would, is about to die. And now she gets to craft her final story. What a blessing.

Julia scampers onto the downtown Raleigh sidewalk, pacing between fire hydrant and street sign. The tiny Uber car icon creeps along two blocks away. The clock flashes 8:05am. Come on.

“Excuse me, M'am.” A guy approaches bearing a gaunt face, wearing a tattered New York Giants t-shirt and baggy sweatpants with holes in the knees. “Do you have any change?”

Julia glances at him, then returns to her phone, holding up a hand. “Sorry, don’t carry cash.”

He nods, picking at his arm with black fingernails. “Seems most people don’t nowadays. Any chance you could get me some food?” He points at the 7-11 window behind them.

The Uber turns the corner on the map, now coming down her street.

“M'am? Did you hear me?”

“Huh? No, like I said, I don't have any money.”

“That's not what I asked.”

A lime-green Toyota Prius pulls up, Uber sticker on the windshield.

Julia points at the car. “That’s my ride.” She hops in the back seat, shutting the door quicker than usual.

The driver, Melissa, shifts into drive and eases into traffic. “Good morning.”

Julia stares at the buildings whizzing by. What’s Helen going to reveal? I hope she's saved her best for last.

Melissa tilts her head toward the back. “I love your red hair.”

Julia glances over just long enough to see Melissa’s hand propped on her protruding belly. “Thanks.”

“Who knows,” Melissa says, pointing at her tummy, ”maybe some red will sneak into his.”

Julia nods while peeking at her phone. 8:15am.

“I know I look like a kid myself,” she says, twisting a strand of hanging blonde hair between her fingers. “This wasn't on purpose.”

“It happens a lot.”

"Yeah. Decided to keep him though. Even after his dad disappeared.” Her chin trembles. “Too bad my parents ain’t supportive.”

Julia taps her fingers on the arm rest. 8:18am.

“Do you have kids?” Melissa says, taking a tissue from the center console.

“No. Don't have time for them.”

“I get it. My cousin has two under two already. She's always tired. I love ‘em though.”

Melissa stops behind a long line of cars.

Julia stretches over the passenger seat for a better look. “What’s going on?”

Melissa scrolls on her phone. “Looks like an accident. Must be a pretty bad one.” Her voice cracks. “I don't know how I’ll take care of this kid by myself.”

Julia rolls down her window and sticks her head out.

“I'm really scared. Maybe I made the wrong choice keeping him. I don't know.”

Julia drops back in the seat and grabs her bag. “I'm getting out here.”

“You sure?”

“The hospital’s only a mile. I’ll walk.”

She steps out as Melissa rolls down the passenger window. “Nice talking with you.”

Julia waves and keeps moving.

She marches up the sidewalk, inhaling the exhaust of idling cars as they bake in the ruthless summer sun. She checks her phone. 8:40am.

Wiping sweat from her brow, she reaches the last intersection before the hospital. Traffic halts at the aftermath of a four-car pile-up. Three sedans and a pick-up lay smashed, airbags deployed. A fire truck, two ambulances, and three police cruisers flash reds and blues.

Medics lift a little girl, looking about seven or eight, onto a stretcher. She screams as they roll her toward an ambulance.

Julia averts her eyes from the carnage.

She enters the main hospital entrance and darts for the reception desk. “I need to see Helen Wilksbury, please.”

A nurse leads Julia to Helen’s room, giving her condolences along the way. Julia cracks the door and peeks inside.

Helen lies in bed, head slightly propped, eyes closed. Julia shuffles in and pulls up a chair. The squeaking must have stirred Helen. She opens her eyes.

“You made it.”

Julia smiles. “Of course I did.”

“You're never late for a good story.”

“I'm sorry this happened to you.”

Helen shrugs, grimacing from obvious pain. “I'm not. Sounds like I'll be with The Lord soon.”

“Yeah,” Julia says with a nod. “William said you have a story to share before God takes you.”

“I do. Sort of.”

Julia cocks her head with a scrunched brow.

“Not really a story. But a final message. Just for you.”

“For me?”

“I knew the allure of a sensational story would get you here. You can’t help yourself. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have shown.”

“That's not true.”

“Oh, Honey, yes it is. You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you're just like me.”

“I am?”

“Sure are. Miss Productivity. Always trying to squeeze results outta every second of life.”

“Isn't that a good thing?”

“If God’s leading the way. But are you devoting your time to His agenda? Or yours?

Julia motions as if she’s going to talk, but Helen cuts her off.

“Our time is the most valuable resource He gives us here. Why? It's scarce. And we don’t know how much each of us has left.”

“In that case, I'm going to take advantage of every one.”

“That’s what I thought for the last seventy years. I wrote hundreds of best-selling books, many sharing The Good News. I checked off every box of success. Now look around this room.” Helen coughs. “Do you see anyone else?”

Julia glances around then looks down. “No.”

“Because I was selfish with my time, drunk on my dreams and aspirations. I missed many chances to serve others for the Lord. Now no one will give me a second of their day. Can’t say I blame them.

Julia fidgets with the strap of her bag, trying to contain the bubbling tears. “What do I do now?”

Helen slides her shaking hand across the sheets. “Sit with me.”

Julia accepts her gentle grasp. “Can we pray?”

“Sure,” Helen says, “only if you lead.”

“Good, because I have a long list, starting with a little girl in this hospital.”

For we live by faith, not by sight.

— 2 Corinthians 5:7

Aaron closed the biggest pharmaceutical sale of his career today—and all he sees is his dying dad.

The old man lies in his hospital bed, tubes and wires poking out from every crevice of thin skin. He curls his finger at Aaron, calling him closer…

“Congrats, Washburn!” The VP of Sales, Jim, struts into Aaron’s office and seizes his hand, pumping it like a pit crew member working a car jack.

Aaron nods with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you were flawless in there. Never seen anything like it.”

“All the glory goes to God.”

“Yeah, well, your fat commission check will pay for that bigger pool you’ve been chattering about.”

…Aaron drags his chair near the bed, leaning into his father’s labored breaths…

“Washburn? You there? See you at the tavern later? We owe you a celebratory drink, or maybe two.”

“Nah,” Aaron says, shaking his head. “I, uh, will be at Chloe's soccer game.”

“Alright, Super Dad. Enjoy the rain.”

Aaron drops into his chair, staring out his eighth floor window at the rising puddles pooled in the parking lot.

…His dad struggles in a hoarse whisper. “Never waste your life on an assignment God didn't give you.” He taps Aaron’s chest. “Listen to the Spirit God put in here, Son. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Aaron nods as he pats his dad’s hand. “Got it, Pops.”

He was gone that evening.

Now six months later, Aaron reigns supreme on the sales leaderboard at Phillips Pharmaceutical—a five-year goal crushed in two.

He should feel accomplished. Excited. Proud.

But empty?

Every cell in his body aches for a different path. God screams in his heart, mind, and soul: “You don’t belong here!”

Something’s gotta change.

Read more

Gripping her knuckles white on the steering wheel, Whitney leans forward, eyes squinted, allowing the Himalayan-sized snowbanks along the shoulder to guide her.

Almost there.

Her blue Honda Civic creeps over the top of infamous Breakneck Hill, still five miles from her one-bedroom apartment. She taps her brakes, using the popular technique heralded by every experienced winter driver.

Come to find out, they’re all wrong. At least this time.

She barrels downhill like a bobsled in Olympic qualifiers, until the car spins, smashing the passenger side into the—previously helpful—snowbank.

“Ahhhhh! Can't anything go right?” She pounds the steering wheel, jolting her body with every strike.

As the pain from her red hand vetoes her anger, she stops, shifting the rearview mirror and pushing the brown hair from her eyes.

I need Dad.

Grabbing her phone, she scrolls into the recently missed calls, tapping on one of the four from him in the past week.

He answers on the first ring. “Miss Higgins! You're alive, I see.”

“Dad! I just crashed my car. I was driving down Breakneck Hill, started sliding, and slammed into a snowbank.”

“You OK?” he says over the road noise on his end of the line.

Whitney lets out a deep breath. “Yes, I'm not hurt. But my car's stuck. Can you pull me out?”

“What were you doing out in this mess anyway?”

“I was stuck at the restaurant until Tony finally shut it down. Now can you come get me?”

A blinker dings on his end.

“Dad?”

“I've got a lotta jobs right now. You'll have to figure this out on your own, Kiddo.”

Whitney pulls the phone from her ear, shaking her head at it with a gaped jaw. She puts it back. “Bump me to the front. Isn't that a perk of having a dad who owns a tow truck?”

“Adult kids have to fix their own problems sometimes. Besides, you haven’t needed me for anything lately. Even a conversation.”

“I've been busy! Life doesn't revolve around you, you know.”

“Oh, I'm aware of that. Have you glimpsed in the mirror?”

“Whatever.” Whitney hangs up and throws her phone on the passenger floor.

What’s wrong with him? He's always helped me. I know I haven't talked to him in awhile, but geesh, I've got a lot going on. Work. School. Trying to figure out life.

How dare he not get me. I could freeze to death!

Snow stacks up on her windshield as the wind howls like a coyote on the prowl.

No. Seriously. I could die.

She unbuckles, reaches for her phone, and starts to text him:

Can't believe you’d leave me here. Snow’s getting deeper and I’m low on gas. Please help! Sorry I've been ignoring you—

A knock rattles the window.

The snowy samaritan pulls up their ski mask and smiles, revealing that soothing reassurance Whitney remembers from her childhood…

When she fell off her pink bike with streamers and skinned her knee…

When her first boyfriend dumped her right before prom…

When she lost the softball state championship her senior year…

This man—a gruff tow truck driver with Popeye’s forearms and David’s heart for God—Glenn Higgins—he was always there.

She opens the door, covering her face from the frosty gust.

He points at the snowbank. “Nice parking job.”

“I thought you were leaving me to die.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “Just to think.”

“About what?”

“What it’d feel like if I wasn't around. Whether you’re struggling—or not.”

Whitney raises her brows. “Wow. That's nice.”

“You're dang right it is. I’m not your personal life preserver. I'm your Dad. I want to spend time with you. This may sound odd, but I actually enjoy it. Do you?”

“Yeah. I just forget.”

Glenn holds up a hand. “I get it. You’re an adult now, trying to carve your own path. But I don't care if you're four or forty, can you please pick up my calls?”

Whitney nods. “Sure thing.”

“Good. Now get out here, gimme a hug, and jump into my truck. It's time to tow you home.”

I’m tossing out a survey here so I can write stories that help you the most with your Jesus journey…

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God bless!
Ryan

Daylight? He seizes his clock from the nightstand. 6:37am. Dangit.

He hops out of the shower before the water’s hot, swishes mouthwash, tries to jump with two feet into his gray suit, does the Eagle Scout with his sky-blue tie, and two-steps downstairs.

Robin looks up from her recliner and smiles, cradling her Bible. “Morning.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Larry says, dumping coffee into his mug.

“Seemed like you needed the sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when tax time’s over.” He grabs his bag off the counter and slips on his dress shoes. “I don’t want to be listed in the next round of layoffs.”

Robin shrugs. “We’ll be fine. Just make sure you don't forget what's most important.”

“I’m not. We need to keep a roof over our heads, don’t we?”

“God will provide, Honey.”

Larry rolls his eyes. “I know. I know. He does that when I show up to work on time. He holds up a hand. “Love you.”

She nods. “Me too.”

He marches for the front door. Before his shoe hits the porch, a whisper grazes his ear. “Good morning, Larry.” He spins around. Robin sits in her chair, eyes absorbed by her Bible. He shakes his head and closes the door.

After fighting traffic and listening to the radio talking heads, he drops into his office chair and flips on his monitor. Ninety-seven unread emails beckon him. He blows out a deep breath, lips sputtering. Let the fun begin.

Peck. Click. Peck. Click.

Now a tap.

On his shoulder.

He spins his chair, staring at the Purdue accounting degree hanging on the wall. She's right. I do need sleep.

At ten, he enters the glass-walled conference room, taking his usual seat near the end of the table. His co-workers debate powerpoint slides and shuffle around papers while cracking a few jokes.

In the middle of an enthralling presentation on 1031 Exchanges, a blast of frigid air flows from the tips of Larry's toes through the top of his head. He shivers, trying to see the thermostat on the opposite wall. Am I getting sick?

Finally. Lunch. He pulls out a chair next to Ben, an intern, who happens to be from his alma mater. “How you liking it here?” he says.

Ben finishes a bite and sets down his turkey sandwich. “It's going well. I appreciate all the help you've been giving me.”

Larry nods, pulling an apple from his paper bag. “There’s a lot to learn. It's no problem at all.”

They devour lunch before Ben seems impelled to break the silence. “Haven't seen you at church recently. Did you change congregations?”

“No.” Larry shakes his head and sighs. “I’ve been so busy between here and sports for my two girls. Hopefully I’ll make it back someday.”

Ben stands, throwing out his trash. “Well, I miss seeing you there. I think someone else does too. Good luck in the trenches.” He leaves.

Larry purses his lips. “What’s he mean by that?”

Long after sunset, Larry rolls into his driveway and trudges through the door. It’s dark, but for the light shining over the stove. He clicks it off, climbs upstairs, and tip-toes into his room. Robin lies on her back, eyes closed.

He tears off his suit, scrubs his teeth, and slides into bed. Robin turns and cracks open her eyes. “Welcome home, stranger.”

“Uggh, tell me about it.”

She grabs his hand, rubbing her fingers on top of his. “We should pray. Can you do it?”

“I wouldn't even know where to begin."

“Alright.” Robin closes her eyes and Larry follows. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the blessing of another day. You don't promise us one more second on this earth and you gave us thousands of them. We thank you for the food in our bellies and the roof over our heads. You take such great care of us, Father, even though we don't deserve it."

A gust of wind shakes the window.

“And most of all, Father, thank you for sacrificing Jesus on the cross for our sins.”

The window rattles again.

Larry peels open an eye. It was clear skies when I got home.

“Help us continue to turn from our sins and to turn toward you, Lord. Thank you, Father. Amen.”

Robin leans forward, kissing Larry on the cheek. “Night.”

Larry lies on his back, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirs. Robin's heavier breathing tells him she's out cold.

The worries of daily life flash before him. Office drama. Dying parents. College tuition.

“Larry!”

He sits up, expecting to see a burglar in the doorway. Nothing.

“Larry!”

The voice carries from downstairs. He grabs the Louisville Slugger leaning on the closet wall, gripping it with both hands as he sneaks into the kitchen. No one.

“Larry!”

The living room.

Walking by the granite counter, he peers around the corner. Robin's reading lamp beams onto the end table. Weird. That wasn’t on when he came home. He edges his way to where Robin's Bible sits, open.

A single verse gleams in highlighted yellow:

Seek the Lord and his strength;
    seek his presence continually!

— 1 Chronicles 16:11

Larry drops into the recliner and picks up God’s Holy Word. Thumbing through it, each page crinkles as a single tear drops into the middle of a Psalm.

He looks up and nods. “I've missed you too.”

She peeks over the stairs, ensuring she doesn't cast a shadow on the wall.

“Hailey says she stole it,” Cory says from the kitchen.

A dish clangs in the sink. “But why would she do that? We've treated her like family the past three months. Doesn’t make sense.”

“When has fostering ever made sense?” These kids are all the same. Been rejected, mistreated, bounced from one house to the next.”

“Do you think she took it?”

“Hailey’s always been honest with us. I have a call with the agency in the morning. And I'll talk to Abby right now.”

“She’s already in bed. Let it rest tonight. We're all going to need our strength tomorrow.”

Abby tip-toes into her room, pulling the door shut. What’d they think I stole? Sweet, little Hailey has them all fooled. No surprise. She’s hated me since I got here.

She sweeps off her desk, shoving books and drawings into her backpack. Ten foster homes in four years. No way she's living in another one. She throws an extra shirt and pair of jeans into her pack and zips it shut.

Read more

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

— 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

He asked her to do one little thing, and she couldn't even do that.

“Katie!” Adam says, pounding down the stairs. “Did you get my blue suit cleaned?”

She looks up from the kitchen table and yawns, flanked by mountains of papers and books. “No, sorry. It totally slipped my mind. Wear your gray one. That looks sharper anyway.”

“You gave me no choice now,” he says, looping a polkadot tie through a white dress shirt, still in his boxers. “That’s my lucky suit. I need every edge I can get today.”

“You don't need luck.” She shakes her head and smiles. “You'll do great.”

“Yeah, we'll see. This client’s a real pain. And they don't know—or would care, for that matter—about Mom's house.”

“Honey, you’re doing everything you can. Your dad would understand.”

“I made a promise. And I’m going to keep it.”

He two-steps back upstairs and pulls on his non-lucky gray suit. Returning to the kitchen, he marches for the coffeemaker.

“Dad!” Wyatt leaps from the table in his Super Mario pajamas, flashing a gappy grin. He runs toward Adam and buries his face into his father’s stomach.

Adam yanks him off. “Look what you did to my shirt. Your mouth’s covered in syrup. He grabs a wipe from the counter, dabbing the stain. “Sit and eat,” he says, pointing at the table.

Wyatt drops his head. “I was just giving you a hug.”

“You need to watch what you’re doing.”

Wyatt sulks in his chair as Adam's phone buzzes. “You getting here soon? Need to prep before the meeting.”

He tops off his coffee, grabs his laptop bag and bolts for the door, throwing up a wave. “See you tonight.”

Hopping into his green Ford Bronco, he hits the ignition and throws it into reverse before the engine has a second to settle.

He makes it past three driveways when a smiling neighbor looks up from the sidewalk. Ugghh. Doc Wilson. Adam averts his eyes. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

Doc steps into the road, motioning him to stop. Aye. Adam slows to a crawl and cracks his window. “Morning, Doc.”

“Howdy, neighbor. You heading to work?”

“Yep.” Adam taps his watch. “Got a busy day today.”

“Ah yes, I remember the daily grind. The rat race, as they call it. They still say that right? I miss it sometimes. Did you see what the Burgersons did to that big oak in their yard? I mean, I get why they tore it down, but—”

Adam holds up a hand. “I'm sorry, but I really need to go. Can we do this later?”

Doc nods. “Sure thing. You’re a busy guy. Society is so hectic these days, isn’t it? Did you see that news report last night—”

“Bye, Doc.” Adam rolls up the window and punches the gas. Retired folks have way too much free time.

He weaves through rush hour traffic, blowing through every yellow light until he stream rolls into the office parking lot.

Reaching for his bag, a green sticky note glimmers in the morning sun shining through the passenger window. He runs his hand along Katie’s handwriting. “Don’t forget to pray.”

He sighs. “Can't hurt, I guess.”

Lowering his head, he closes his eyes. “Lord, please help me be the best version of myself today.” An old-school tube TV and VCR appear. His finger reaches out, pressing rewind.

A picture of Adam praying in his car pops on-screen. The video screeches backward before his morning routine at the house.

His finger hits play with Katie, seated the kitchen table, surrounded—as usual—by her heaps of homeschool books. She bows her head as she talks.

She wipes her eyes, then stretches with a yawn, picking up a pen to finish tomorrow’s lesson.

Adam’s finger reaches for the VCR again. Fast forward. Now play. Wyatt appears.

He’s playing with Legos on his bedroom floor. It looks like a couple buildings with three Lego figures—a man, a woman, and a boy. The woman and boy stand inside one building. He placed the man in the bigger structure, sitting at a desk.

Wyatt grabs the Lego woman, wiggling her as he talks in a female voice. “Don't worry, Honey. Dad will be home to play sometime. He just has a lot of important work now.”

He picks up the Lego boy, switching to his own voice. “I miss playing basketball with him. Think he'll come home before bed tonight?”

“Probably not,” the Lego mom says. “But I know he misses you a ton.”

Wyatt drops the Lego boy onto the carpet and shrugs. “I doubt it.”

Adam's finger taps the VCR again. The tape lands on Doc Wilson. He's hunched over in Adam’s front yard, picking up leaves. He lugs the empty trash can from the road back to the garage.

Tipping his Orioles cap toward the house, he smiles at Katie as she waves and mouths “thank you” through the picture glass window.

Blaring white noise. The TV goes static.

Adam jerks back his head and opens his eyes.

For the first time in weeks—eh, more like months.

He texts Katie.

Grabbing his coffee and bag, he opens the door for the epic sales battle that awaits. His colleague, Jim, pats him on the shoulder as they walk in lockstep to the elevator. “Ready for today?”

Adam nods. “I am now.”