There is a holy stillness between your emotion and God’s answer—a pause where heaven is already at work. To wait is not to lose time but to find alignment. In that quiet, Jesus teaches us the rhythm of trust: pause before you move, pray before you decide, praise before you understand.

We hurt over things God has healed. Why? Because healing doesn’t always silence memory. And memory doesn’t always honor redemption. This is the tension we must bring to the Lord—not just praise, but pieces.

There’s something quietly terrifying about running out of gas. Not because it happens all at once. But because it doesn’t. You thought you had enough. The needle was above empty.

Imagine a father building a fire pit behind his house—not just for warmth, but for memory-making. An altar of laughter, storytelling, and late-night lessons. He warns his children gently about the nature of flame: beautiful, yes, but unforgiving when mishandled. His cautions carry love, but to young ears, they feel abstract.