Faith that Serves
Faith was never meant to sit still. It moves. It serves. It bends low to lift others up. True faith always expresses itself through love — love that notices, listens, and acts.
In Galatians 5:6, Paul writes, “The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.” That one sentence captures the heart of what it means to live a life of service. It’s not about titles, recognition, or grand gestures — it’s about showing up for others in the ordinary spaces of life, allowing God to love through us.
Jesus modeled this perfectly. The King of Kings washed dusty feet. He fed the hungry, healed the sick, and wept with the grieving. His faith was always active — never distant or detached. Every miracle, every act of compassion, was rooted in a deep connection to the Father’s will.
We sometimes think serving requires a mission trip or a ministry platform, but most of the time, faith that serves happens quietly — in kitchens, classrooms, hospital rooms, and grocery store aisles. It’s in the phone call we make to check on someone, the meal we deliver, the forgiveness we extend, or the kindness we offer when no one else notices.
There have been times in my life when I’ve felt God nudge me to do something that seemed small — write a letter, lend a hand, listen to someone’s story — and later realized how deeply it mattered. Service rarely feels significant in the moment, but faith transforms the simple into the sacred.
The enemy loves to whisper, “It doesn’t matter.” But every time we serve in Jesus’ name, we push back darkness. We remind the world that light still wins. We remind ourselves that faith isn’t measured by what we say, but by how we love.
When faith serves, it stops asking, “What do I get?” and begins asking, “What can I give?” It looks beyond inconvenience and sees opportunity. It’s the neighbor who prays instead of gossips. The teacher who encourages instead of complains. The grandparent who shows up for the game or the play, or the hard conversation. These are the fingerprints of Jesus — pressed into our daily lives.
Faith that serves doesn’t wait until life slows down. It finds a way right now — in the middle of the schedule, the bills, and the ordinary. Because serving isn’t about perfection; it’s about participation. God doesn’t ask for our ability — just our availability.
So today, ask God to show you one person to serve. It doesn’t have to be big. Just be willing. Because when faith serves, God multiplies it in ways we could never imagine.
Prayer
Lord, thank You for showing me what it means to serve with love. Open my eyes to the needs around me and give me a willing heart. Let my hands be Yours, my words be kind, and my actions reflect Your grace. Teach me that every act of service, no matter how small, becomes holy when it’s done for You. Amen.
The Power of Obedience
Sometimes faith doesn’t look like a grand gesture — it looks like simple obedience. It’s not always the size of our calling that determines our faith, but our willingness to follow through even when it’s hard.
The story of Jonah reminds us just how human we are. God told Jonah to go to Nineveh and deliver a message of repentance. Instead, Jonah ran the other way — straight onto a ship headed in the opposite direction. Many of us are Jonahs. We may not board a literal ship, but we run in our own ways. We delay, make excuses, or abandon the assignment when it becomes uncomfortable.
We often don’t realize that our disobedience doesn’t just affect us. When Jonah fled, the storm that came upon the sea put every sailor’s life in danger. Sometimes we are on ships we need to be thrown off of — relationships, habits, attitudes, or choices that are taking others with us into our storms.
Faith and obedience are intertwined. Faith believes what God says; obedience acts on it. But obedience requires perseverance — a steady, trusting heart that stays the course even when the seas grow rough.
I’ve learned that obedience rarely feels convenient. When God asks us to forgive, it’s often the last thing we want to do. When He calls us to serve, it may interrupt our comfort. When He directs us toward something new, it may stretch us beyond what we think we can handle. But faith reminds us — He asked us. And the same God who asked will sustain us through it.
Jonah’s story doesn’t end in the storm. God sent a great fish to rescue him, not punish him – to give him time to realign his heart. When Jonah finally obeyed, the city of Nineveh turned to God. What a reminder that our obedience can bring redemption not just to us, but to others.
Maybe you’ve been running from something God asked of you — a step of faith, a conversation, a change of direction. Stop running. Step back into obedience. The storm may calm the moment you do.
Prayer
Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve run from Your will. Give me the courage to obey even when it’s hard, and the faith to trust You with every outcome. Remind me that obedience isn’t punishment — it’s the pathway to peace. Help me to stay the course You’ve called me to, no matter how strong the winds may blow. Amen.
When Faith Walks First
There are times in life when we can’t see what’s ahead — when every step feels uncertain and the road stretches into mystery. Faith doesn’t wait for perfect clarity; it moves forward, trusting that God’s light will appear along the way.
In 2 Corinthians 5:7, Paul writes, “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” It’s a gentle reminder that God often calls us to move before we understand, to trust before we see, and to step forward even when our hearts tremble.
I remember when I was adopting my daughter, Hart, from Russia in 1997, just after communism fell. We were entering a new region called Kashira, halfway between Ukraine and Moscow. She was the very first child ever adopted out of that region. No one could tell me what to expect — there were no maps for this journey, no clear path to follow. All I had was faith.
The process was long, filled with uncertainty and unfamiliar customs, but in every moment, I could feel God whispering, “Keep walking.” When the paperwork stalled, He said, “Trust Me.” When the waiting felt endless, He said, “I’m already ahead of you.”
And He was. Every form signed, every door opened, every mile traveled brought me closer to the child who would one day call me “Mom.” Hart is one of my most precious gifts — a reminder that faith isn’t passive. It’s a verb. It walks first, believing that God’s promises are already in motion even when we can’t yet see their shape.
When we let faith walk first, we discover that God is already on the road — preparing the way, aligning the details, softening hearts, and orchestrating miracles that only hindsight reveals.
Maybe today you’re facing something uncertain — a new direction, a risk, or a road you’ve never traveled. Don’t wait for all the answers. Take the first step. Trust that the same God who went before me to Kashira, Russia, goes before you now.
Prayer
Lord, help me to walk by faith and not by sight. When the path feels unclear, remind me that You are already there — paving the way, guiding my steps, and carrying me when I cannot see the outcome. Teach me to trust You first, follow You fully, and rest in the knowledge that Your plans are always good. Amen.
When Prayer Feels Silent
Even when God seems quiet, He is still working behind the scenes of our lives.
Scripture:
“I cry out to You, God, but You do not answer; I stand up, but You merely look at me.”
— Job 30:20
There are seasons in every believer’s life when prayer feels like it’s bouncing off the ceiling. We whisper, cry, plead—and all we seem to hear in return is silence. Those moments can be some of the hardest to walk through. We begin to wonder if God still hears us, if maybe we’ve done something wrong, or if He’s simply turned His face away.
But the truth is, silence is not absence. God’s quiet does not mean His inactivity. In the stillness, He is shaping, preparing, and aligning things we cannot yet see.
Job knew that feeling well. He poured out his heart to God and felt abandoned, unheard, forgotten. Yet even in that silence, God was present. He was writing a redemption story that would not only restore Job but strengthen countless others through his testimony. Sometimes God’s silence is His way of stretching our faith—teaching us to trust His heart even when we can’t hear His voice.
I remember walking through a long season when I prayed for something that mattered deeply to me. I prayed with all the faith I had, expecting God to move quickly. But weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. There were nights I sat alone, wondering why heaven felt so far away. But looking back now, I see that God was working all along—quietly, steadily, lovingly—arranging what needed to happen in His perfect time. His delay wasn’t denial. It was divine timing.
Sometimes God’s silence draws us closer, because it’s in the waiting that our dependence deepens. We stop praying for outcomes and start praying for presence. We stop asking “why” and begin saying “whatever Your will, Lord.” Silence invites surrender.
Elijah experienced this on the mountain in 1 Kings 19. He didn’t find God in the wind, or the earthquake, or the fire—but in a still, small voice. Sometimes God quiets everything else so we can finally hear Him whisper.
When prayer feels silent, keep praying anyway. Keep showing up. Keep believing. The silence won’t last forever. God may be testing your trust, growing your endurance, or simply preparing you for a greater answer than the one you imagined.
He is listening—always. And when the time is right, the silence will break, and His voice will come through with peace so profound you’ll know it was Him all along.
Prayer:
Father, thank You for hearing me even when I can’t hear You. When my prayers feel unanswered, remind me that You are still near. Help me to trust You in the quiet seasons and to rest in the truth that Your silence is not Your absence. Give me faith to keep praying, waiting, and believing until I see Your hand move. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The Power of a Gentle Word
Kindness doesn’t cost us much, but it can change everything for someone else.
Scripture:
“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”
— Proverbs 15:1
Words carry power. They can heal or wound, lift up or tear down, draw people close or push them away. We often underestimate just how much weight our words hold. Yet Scripture reminds us that the way we speak can change the entire atmosphere of a moment.
A gentle word doesn’t mean a weak word. Gentleness is strength under control—it’s the ability to speak truth with grace, to show compassion even when we’re frustrated, and to bring peace where conflict wants to grow. Jesus mastered this balance. He was firm when He needed to be, but His voice was always filled with love. He could calm a storm with a command and comfort a sinner with a whisper.
Our world rewards quick comebacks and loud opinions, but gentleness—real gentleness—has a quiet strength that endures long after the noise fades. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is pause, take a breath, and let God guide our response instead of our emotions.
I remember one evening after a long day, one of my foster children came home upset and frustrated. Homework wasn’t going well, tempers were short, and exhaustion was settling in for both of us. He snapped at me over something small, and for a moment, I felt my own frustration rising. But then I caught myself. I saw the weariness in his eyes, the same look I’ve seen in so many children who’ve carried too much for too long.
Instead of raising my voice, I softened it. I sat down beside him and said quietly, “I know you’re tired. Let’s take a break, and we’ll try again.” He looked at me—surprised—and his whole posture changed. The anger melted away. A few minutes later, he was back at the table, calmer, ready to try again. That night reminded me that gentle words can break through walls that anger only builds higher.
Gentleness doesn’t always win the argument, but it often wins the heart. It’s disarming. It confuses anger and diffuses pride. It leaves space for God to work.
Think about how many situations could change if we chose gentleness first—with our spouses, our children, our coworkers, or even strangers who cross our path. One kind word can stop a spiral of negativity before it starts. One patient response can keep a relationship from breaking.
Proverbs 16:24 says, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” What a picture that is—our words can actually heal. They can mend what’s broken in someone’s spirit, bring hope to the weary, or remind a discouraged soul that they still matter.
Being gentle with our words doesn’t mean avoiding truth—it means wrapping truth in love. Jesus never shied away from correction, but His words were always driven by compassion, never condemnation. When we let the Holy Spirit tame our tongues, we speak life instead of destruction.
Maybe today God is asking you to speak softly where you once would have shouted, to respond with grace where anger used to rise, or to offer encouragement where criticism comes easily. Our words can be weapons or instruments of healing—the choice is ours.
Prayer:
Father, help me to use my words wisely. Teach me the strength that comes from gentleness. Guard my tongue from harshness and fill my speech with grace and kindness. Let my words reflect Your heart and bring peace wherever they are spoken. May I speak healing into broken places and offer love instead of judgment. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The Art of Listening
Sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is your silence and your full attention.
Scripture:
“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.”
— James 1:19
In a world that moves fast and talks loud, listening has become something of a lost art. We’re often so eager to respond, to fix, to share our opinion, or to fill the silence, that we forget one of the simplest and most Christ-like acts we can offer: truly hearing someone.
Listening isn’t just waiting for our turn to talk. It’s leaning in with our heart, not just our ears. It’s showing someone that their words matter, that their feelings are seen, and that they are safe in our presence. When Jesus walked this earth, He was the master of listening. Before He healed, before He taught, before He spoke truth into someone’s life—He listened. He saw the person, not just their problem.
There’s a difference between listening to reply and listening to understand. One centers on ourselves; the other centers on love. When we listen with humility and patience, we’re offering more than empathy—we’re reflecting God’s heart. Sometimes, people don’t need advice. They just need someone who will sit beside them and say, “I’m here.”
I remember a time when a friend came to me, heartbroken over a decision that had gone terribly wrong. My instinct was to offer a verse, a prayer, a piece of wisdom. But as she spoke, tears spilling out between sentences, I felt the Lord whisper to my spirit, Just listen. So I did. I didn’t fix her problem, I didn’t try to make her feel better—I just stayed still and let her pour it all out. When she finished, she sighed and said quietly, “Thank you. You have no idea how much it helps just to be heard.”
That moment taught me something profound: sometimes, silence speaks the loudest. Sometimes, our presence preaches better than our words.
Good listening requires humility—it’s setting aside our urge to control the conversation or prove we have the answers. It’s resisting the temptation to rush someone’s pain with our solutions. When we listen well, we become instruments of God’s peace, allowing Him to work through our patience rather than our opinions.
Proverbs 18:13 warns, “To answer before listening—that is folly and shame.” Yet we often do it, don’t we? We interrupt, assume, or judge before we’ve really understood. But when we slow down and give someone the gift of our attention, healing begins to happen on both sides. Listening softens hearts, deepens relationships, and invites the Holy Spirit into the space between two people.
Maybe today God is calling you not to speak, but to listen—to your spouse, your child, your coworker, or your friend. Maybe someone just needs to know they’re not alone. When we listen, we mirror the way God listens to us. He never rushes our prayers or interrupts our cries. He simply waits, hears, and loves.
Prayer:
Father, teach me the grace of listening. Help me to slow down and give others the gift of my full attention. Guard my tongue from rushing to fix or advise when what someone really needs is understanding. Let my heart be a quiet place where Your peace can dwell, and may others feel heard, valued, and loved through me. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The Ministry of Comfort
Your story may be someone else’s survival guide
Scripture:
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
— 2 Corinthians 1:3–4
We all walk through seasons of struggle—times when the weight of the world feels unbearable and the road ahead seems too steep to climb. But even in those moments, God is doing something sacred. He’s not only carrying us through the pain; He’s shaping us so we can one day reach back and help someone else find their way out of it.
When we’re hurting, it’s hard to imagine that anything good can come from the ashes. Yet, God has a way of transforming our deepest wounds into vessels of compassion. The comfort He gives us isn’t meant to stop with us—it’s meant to flow through us. Every tear we’ve shed, every fear we’ve faced, every moment we thought we wouldn’t make it—God can use all of it to help another heart heal.
I remember when my sister was diagnosed with glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer that changes everything about how you see time, faith, and love. I suddenly found myself juggling doctors’ appointments, medical jargon, and endless trips to Atlanta for her chemo and radiation treatments. I was exhausted—physically and emotionally—and I prayed constantly for strength just to keep going.
Then one day, a woman reached out to me. She had cared for her husband, who’d battled the same disease. She didn’t try to fix things or offer clichés; she simply shared what she’d learned. She told me how to prepare for long hospital days, how to pack food and save money on parking, and even little things like where to find quiet corners to pray at the hospital. Her calls were invaluable. She offered practical help and emotional peace, the kind that comes only from someone who truly understands.
Through her, I saw 2 Corinthians 1:4 come alive. God had comforted her in her season of sorrow, and she, in turn, comforted me in mine. She reminded me that even in suffering, God weaves together stories of compassion and connection that stretch far beyond what we can see. Her kindness taught me that when God walks us through a valley, He does so not just to bring us out—but so we can lead others through when their turn comes.
There’s a beauty in sharing from a place of experience. People listen differently when they know you’ve been there. You speak not from theory, but from survival. You can say, “I’ve walked that road, and I know the One who brought me through.” That kind of testimony carries power—it becomes a bridge between despair and deliverance.
Sometimes we wish God would remove our struggles altogether. But He often chooses instead to redeem them. The pain you’ve endured might be the exact story someone else needs to hear today. Don’t hide it—use it. Let it testify to the God who comforted you so completely that you now have comfort to give away.
When you see someone walking a path you once stumbled down, don’t pass them by. Offer a word, a prayer, or simply your presence. The same God who lifted you will lift them—and He may use you to do it.
Prayer:
Father, thank You for being the God of all comfort. Thank You for never wasting my pain but using it to strengthen and shape me. Help me to see others through the eyes of compassion, to recognize when someone needs the same comfort You gave me. Give me the courage to share my story and remind others of Your faithfulness. May my scars point to Your healing, and my struggles become a testimony of Your grace. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Have You Considered My Servant?
There are seasons in life when everything we love seems to slip through our fingers — relationships, health, security, dreams. It’s in those moments we may feel like a modern-day Job. The story of Job isn’t just about loss; it’s about faith that holds when everything else falls apart.
When God asked Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job?” He wasn’t pointing out Job’s wealth or his perfect life. He was pointing to Job’s heart — his faithfulness. Job loved God, not for what He gave, but for who He was. That’s what made Job’s faith so remarkable. And that’s what makes me pause and wonder — could God say the same of us? Could He look at the storms we’ve walked through, the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the lonely nights, and still trust that we will remain faithful?
What if God said, “Have you considered my servant Nora?”
Would I stay steadfast when the losses pile high, when the answers don’t come, when the world misunderstands? Would I keep my eyes on Him when all I can see is dust and ashes?
The truth is — Job’s story reminds us that God’s trust in us is not based on perfection but on perseverance. He already knows what’s in our hearts. He knows when we will cry, question, stumble, and still choose Him. Job never stopped talking to God, even in his pain. That’s the secret — he stayed in relationship. He didn’t walk away.
Sometimes, God’s greatest compliment isn’t in blessing us, but in allowing us to be tested — because He trusts our faith. That’s a hard truth to swallow, especially when the losses feel unbearable. But if God trusted Job enough to let him walk through fire, maybe He trusts us, too.
When the weight of life presses hard, I remind myself — God still sees. He still believes in me. Maybe that’s why the trial came. Not because I failed, but because He knew my faith would stand.
And in the end, just as He did with Job, God restores. Maybe not the same way, or with the same people or dreams, but He restores our hearts, our peace, and our joy.
So the next time the enemy whispers doubt or despair, I want to be the kind of servant God can point to and say,
“Have you considered my servant Nora?”
Because even when life hurts, my heart still says — “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” (Job 13:15)
Prayer
Father, when life feels heavy and my heart is weary, remind me that You see me. When I face loss, confusion, and silence, help me to trust that You are still working for my good. Strengthen my faith the way You strengthened Job’s. Let me never stop talking to You, even when I don’t understand.
Teach me to be faithful in the fire, patient in the waiting, and grateful in the restoration. And if You ever whisper my name and say, “Have you considered my servant?” — may I bring You honor in how I live, love, and endure.
In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
The Holiness of Routine
The alarm rings and my feet quickly hit the floor. I know I have only a few minutes before it all begins. The house erupts into a grand central station of people with many needs.
There’s breakfast to make, work to do, errands to run, and dinner to plan. The list never seems to end — and sometimes, the rhythm of it all feels more exhausting than sacred. But I’ve come to believe that holiness often hides in the very routines we overlook.
When we read about Jesus’ life, we see not only the miracles and the crowds, but the quiet moments in between — walking dusty roads, breaking bread with friends, withdrawing to pray. His days held rhythm and repetition. And in that rhythm, holiness was born.
Routine, when offered to God, becomes worship.
Folding laundry becomes an act of service.
Cooking dinner becomes nourishment for both body and soul.
Sweeping the floor becomes a prayer of gratitude for the home beneath our feet.
Colossians 3:23 reminds us, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord.”
The holiness isn’t in what we do, but in the heart that does it.
Maybe your daily life feels small right now — unseen, repetitive, even weary. But to God, every small act done in love is sacred. Every moment spent caring, listening, creating, or simply showing up is a holy rhythm. You are living a liturgy of faithfulness, one ordinary moment at a time.
Prayer:
Father, help me to see the sacred in my daily routines. Teach me that holiness isn’t found in perfection or performance, but in presence — in showing up and offering each task, each word, and each moment to You. Make my ordinary days a reflection of Your extraordinary grace. Amen
Grace in the Waiting
Waiting is one of the hardest things we ever have to do.
We wait for answers. We wait for healing. We wait for reconciliation, for direction, for something to change. Sometimes the waiting feels endless — a season with no expiration date. We pray, we hope, we cry, and we wonder if God still hears us.
But what if grace is not only found in the answer — but in the waiting itself?
There’s a quiet kind of grace that meets us when life slows down and our control slips away. It’s the grace that steadies us when our hearts ache for resolution, yet the only answer we hear is “Not yet.” It’s the grace that teaches us to breathe again, to trust again, to find God not only at the finish line but along the winding, uncertain road that leads there.
In Psalm 27:14, David writes, “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.” Those words hold a rhythm of both instruction and invitation — not to wait passively, but to wait with courage. To wait believing that even when nothing seems to be moving, God is working behind the scenes in ways we cannot yet see.
I remember a time when I waited eight long years for an answer. In the beginning, I was certain God would show up quickly — like a knight in shining armor, ready to rescue. But days became months, and months became years. I prayed through tears and frustration. I had moments of unshakable faith and others when I wondered if He had forgotten me altogether. Yet, somewhere in that long stretch of uncertainty, I began to realize something: God had never left.
The waiting itself was His classroom of grace.
He was shaping my heart, building my endurance, softening my pride, and teaching me to depend on Him completely. When the answer finally came, it didn’t look at all like what I expected — but it was exactly what I needed. And through it all, He had been faithful.
Grace in the waiting is learning to rest in what we don’t understand. It’s trusting that delay doesn’t mean denial. It’s discovering that sometimes the most beautiful growth happens underground, in the hidden roots that prepare us to bloom when the time is right.
If you find yourself waiting today — for peace, for reconciliation, for hope to rise again — remember that God is not idle. He is working in the unseen, preparing the way before you. His timing is perfect, even when it feels painfully slow.
So breathe. Take courage. And know that grace is holding you, even here — in the waiting.
Prayer:
Lord, I don’t always understand why I must wait, but I choose to trust You in the silence. Teach me to see Your hand even when I can’t see Your plan. Give me the strength to rest in Your timing and the faith to believe that Your grace is enough for this moment. Amen.
notesbynora 