Praise Him Psalms & Parables, Praises & Promises

Here is a cozy, heartwarming devotional story inspired by the gentle, reflective style of Sarah O’Hara’s   Your Year (Your Version) , centered on the theme of boundaries: 🕯️ Devotional Story: “The Garden Gate” It was early spring when Clara decided to tend to the garden behind her cottage. The frost had finally lifted, and the earth was soft enough to welcome new life. She’d always loved the quiet rhythm of planting — the way it asked for patience, care, and a bit of faith. But this year, something felt different. As she knelt in the soil, she noticed how wild the edges had become. Vines tangled with weeds, and the neighbor’s ivy had crept in, curling around her rose bushes. The garden she once cherished had blurred into everything around it. She sighed, brushing dirt from her hands. “I never meant for it to get this way,” she whispered. Later that evening, Clara sat with a cup of chamomile tea and her journal. The garden weighed on her heart more than she expected. It wasn’t just...

  🍁 Lost on the Way to My Plane – A Cozy Fall Devotional "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." – Psalm 119:105 Last night, I dreamed I was riding a bus toward the airport. It jolted to a stop, and at my feet a pile of clear-framed glasses tumbled together. I picked them up, gathered my things, and stepped into the airport—a place of transition, a threshold to somewhere new. I needed a plane to take me higher, to carry me into the next chapter. But in the dream, the route was confusing. My siblings tried to drive me closer, but we got lost. I never knew if I made the flight. Isn’t life sometimes like that? We long for the straight path, the quick connection, the easy answer. But often God allows us to take the slower road—the one that feels roundabout and uncertain. We gather clarity along the way (like those glasses at my feet), yet the final destination still feels far off. The truth is, God doesn’t lose us in the journey. Even if the map looks messy...

 🍂 Sit With Me: What Remains Is Not Yours to Carry 🍂 The other night, I dreamed of someone breaking into my home. It was a high school girl, climbing through my second-story window. At first, I couldn’t breathe enough to cry out. But then I caught her, held on, and called for help. The strange thing was, when the officer finally arrived, she seemed more interested in chit-chat than in my fear. And before I knew it, the girl had slipped right out of her jeans and escaped. I was left holding nothing but the empty fabric. When I turned back to my room, I saw a voodoo doll hanging there—stitched together from my old clothes, the ones I’d given away after my dad died. Later, I passed John, the old publisher I once worked for, and I thanked him for my home. But he just walked past me, busy on a worn, grassy path. I woke unsettled. Shaken. But as I sat with the dream, I began to see it differently. The intruder was a picture of the past trying to sneak back into places it doesn’t b...

 🍂 Sit With Me: “Who, Me?” 🍂 The other night, I was taking entrance money at our girls’ volleyball league when I saw a young girl from church, Harlow. Not long ago, she had sung Desperate by Jamie McDonald, and the way she poured herself into that song—it moved me deeply. It was the kind of knowing, heartfelt singing that makes you pause, because you can tell she wasn’t just performing. She was praying with melody . I couldn’t keep quiet. I leaned over and told her how much her song had touched me, how she had sung it with such feeling that I knew she understood what it meant. Her mom smiled and then asked, almost casually, “Do you ever give voice lessons?” And without thinking, I laughed and said, “Who, me?” But later, those words lingered in my mind. Who, me? The truth is, my grandpa showed me long ago how important singing for God is. It wasn’t about being perfect or polished—it was about giving Him your heart. My dad carried that gift forward, and I tried to do the sam...

  🌙 Maple Lane Moment at the Rec Center Last night felt like something straight out of my Maple Lane mystery world—except this time, the mystery wasn’t about clues or culprits. It was about kindness, memory, and quiet redemption. During volleyball practice at the Rec Center, I found myself surrounded by faces from my old church—Crossroads. The same church that quietly pushed me out in 2022. Familiar names, familiar dynamics. Harlow, a young girl who recently sang “Desperate” in a reel with such rawness it stopped me in my tracks, was there. Her mom Hannah coached the team. Lee, a former co-worker, was coaching too. And Romie—the deacon who once pulled a prank on me with the associate minister Jake—was there with his wife Brittany and their kids. Back then, they had me searching the entire church campus for a trash bag, only to laugh when Jake revealed one was already hidden under the secretary’s monitor. I didn’t find it funny. I felt invisible. Flash forward to last night: R...

 My journal entry: Laughter is a gift from God. He says it is good medicine. Sometimes it's hard in the moment to see it that way.  I am pretty sure when he asked me to laugh I had this dumbfounded look on my face that was a combination of "Huh?" and "How?" I felt like I had this expression on my face for five years straight as this ball in my solar plexus area felt like it was only growing. I was doing everything I could think of to heal on my own but nothing seemed to work. At every turn there seemed a new failure. It's hard to trust that God can handle it. But in the moment you are struggling with not only your next breath but hoping the boss won't call you in early again and silently regretting helps as your spiritual gift. During this season I also learned encouraging was another gift I was developing. I learned if I helped others in this way, that aching mass in my chest felt a bit lighter. God was showing me through failures that, yes, I can make ...