Tag: creativity

Write It Down: Lessons for Writers from Exodus 17:14

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Write It Down: Lessons for Writers from Exodus 17:14
By: Jimmie Aaron Kepler

I don’t know about you, but there are days I sit staring at the page and wonder, Does any of this matter? Will these words ever mean anything to anybody but me?

Then I come across Exodus 17:14, and it’s like God gives me a gentle nudge:

“Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Write this on a scroll as something to be remembered and make sure that Joshua hears it, because I will completely blot out the name of Amalek from under heaven.’”

Now, God could have just whispered to Moses, “Relax, I’ll take care of Amalek.” But He didn’t. Instead, He told Moses to write it down. To make sure Joshua knew. To leave a record.

Writing Is More Than Ink on a Page

This wasn’t about Moses doodling a few notes to himself. God wanted a testimony—something that would stand the test of time. That scroll became more than parchment and ink; it became a witness to God’s faithfulness.

That’s what we do when we write. We’re not just filling journals or typing drafts on a laptop. We’re capturing moments, truths, and reminders that somebody else may need long after we’re gone.

Every Writer Has a “Joshua”

Moses had Joshua. You and I might have children, grandkids, church friends, or even complete strangers who will stumble across our words one day.

Your “Joshua” could be a weary soul who finds your poem, story, or devotion just when they need it most. They may never meet you, but they’ll carry your words forward like a lantern in the dark.

The Weight of Words

Writers, poets, bloggers—we carry a holy burden. Not everything we write will be polished or published, but when the Lord whispers, write it down, that’s not busywork. That’s obedience.

Our words can be seeds. We may never see the fruit, but someone else might harvest it.

What It Means for Us Today

Exodus 17:14 shows us that writing isn’t just an optional hobby. It’s sacred. It matters. God told Moses to write, and I think He still tells His people today: Write it down so they’ll remember.

So, friend, don’t wait until your draft is perfect. Don’t worry if the words come out crooked. Just write. Tomorrow’s Joshua may be depending on today’s scribbles.

Takeaways for Writers and Poets

  • Writing Preserves Memory – We write to remember, to remind, to testify.
  • Writing Shapes the Future – What we write today may be the guidepost for someone else tomorrow.
  • Writing Is Sacred Work – Each word written in obedience joins the long line of witnesses before us.

Closing Thought

Next time you’re tempted to push your notebook aside or shut down the laptop, remember Exodus 17:14. God told Moses to write it down so Joshua would remember.

Your Joshua may be out there waiting on your words.

Grace and peace,
Jimmie

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Walking With the Shepherd: Living the 23rd Psalm

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Walking With the Shepherd: Living the 23rd Psalm
By: Jimmie Aaron Kepler

The 23rd Psalm is one of the most beloved passages in all of Scripture. It isn’t just poetry—it’s a picture of life with God. Each verse carries a promise, paints an image, and invites us to live differently because of who the Shepherd is. Let’s take a walk through it together.

“The Lord is my Shepherd – That’s relationship.”

God isn’t far off—He’s close, like a shepherd tending his sheep. He knows us personally, by name, and cares for us with relentless love.

I remember walking hand in hand with my dad as a boy. Even in unfamiliar or scary places, I felt safe because he was beside me. That’s what the Shepherd is like—always present, always personal.

We can lean into that relationship today. Speak to Him honestly. Trust Him as more than a distant God—trust Him as your Shepherd.

“I shall not want – That’s supply.”

When the Shepherd leads, we lack nothing essential. He may not give us everything on our wish list, but He always provides what we truly need.

I think back to lean years when the money stretched thin. Still, food made it to the table, bills got paid, and somehow we made it through. Looking back, I see God’s fingerprints in those small mercies.

Take a moment to list today’s provisions—big or small. Gratitude reveals just how richly He supplies.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures – That’s rest.”

Sheep only rest when they feel safe. In the same way, God brings us to places of rest where we can breathe, slow down, and feel secure.

For me, those “green pastures” have been an afternoon nap in a recliner, a quiet walk in the park, or even sitting at Starbucks with a blonde roast, just letting the noise fade.

This week, make space for rest. Don’t push until you break—trust the Shepherd enough to pause.

“He leadeth me beside the still waters – That’s refreshment.”

Still waters aren’t turbulent or threatening—they’re calm and renewing. God doesn’t lead us into chaos, but toward peace that restores.

I think of a Texas creek in summer, cool and steady, refreshing me just by being near it. That’s how His presence works—quietly renewing a weary soul.

Find your “still waters” this week—maybe prayer, maybe silence, maybe a favorite hymn. Let Him refresh you.

“He restores my soul – That’s healing.”

Restoration is more than rest—it’s repair. God puts broken pieces back together in ways only He can.

After grief, I’ve felt like I had nothing left. But slowly, day by day, the Shepherd mended me. Healing didn’t erase the pain, but it gave me strength to keep going.

Whatever’s hurting today, bring it to Him. Let the Shepherd begin His restoring work.

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness – That’s guidance.”

Life is full of decisions, big and small. God promises to guide us toward what is right—even if the road isn’t always easy.

I’ve seen it in closed doors I didn’t understand at the time. What looked like setbacks were actually God steering me toward better paths.

If you’re facing choices today, seek His wisdom. Trust that He sees the road ahead more clearly than you do.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death – That’s testing.”

Valleys are inevitable. But they’re not permanent—we walk through them. And the Shepherd is with us the whole way.

I’ve stood in hospital hallways waiting for test results, shadows looming large. Yet even there, I knew I wasn’t alone.

When shadows fall, cling to His presence. The valley doesn’t define you—the Shepherd’s faithfulness does.

“I will fear no evil – That’s protection.”

Fear is real, but it doesn’t have the final say. The Shepherd guards His sheep, and His protection gives us courage.

It’s like a child sleeping peacefully because Dad is standing watch at the door. That’s the kind of peace we have in Him.

When fear creeps in, say it out loud: “I am not alone. The Shepherd protects me.”

“For Thou art with me – That’s faithfulness.”

Here’s the heart of the Psalm: God is with us. His presence isn’t conditional—it’s constant.

I’ve felt Him in hospital rooms, at gravesides, and even in the quiet of a coffee shop. His faithfulness never falters.

Carry this truth into your day: no matter where you go, the Shepherd goes with you.

“Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me – That’s discipline.”

The rod and staff aren’t harsh—they’re tools of protection and correction. They keep sheep safe and on the right path.

In my own life, God’s “no” has sometimes been the greatest mercy. A closed door that frustrated me later became clear as His loving redirection.

When God disciplines you, receive it as care, not punishment. It’s His way of keeping you safe.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies – That’s hope.”

Even when surrounded by trouble, God blesses us. He sets a table right in the middle of difficulty.

I’ve had seasons when others doubted me. Yet, in those times, God poured blessings into my life—almost as if to remind me, “I’ve got this.”

Look for God’s table today. His blessings are often right in the middle of hard seasons.

“Thou anointest my head with oil – That’s consecration.”

Anointing is about being chosen and set apart. It’s a reminder that we belong to Him.

In moments of self-doubt, I’ve felt God whisper, “You’re mine.” That truth changes everything.

Today, remember who you belong to. You are chosen, loved, and set apart.

“My cup runneth over – That’s abundance.”

The Shepherd doesn’t give just enough—He overflows our lives with goodness.

I see it in the laughter of family, in friendships that endure, in music, and in simple sunrises. Blessings I don’t deserve, but receive anyway.

Count three overflow blessings today. You’ll be surprised how full your cup really is.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life – That’s blessing.”

God’s goodness and mercy aren’t occasional—they are constant companions.

Looking back, I see mercy catching me when I fell and goodness following me even when I didn’t notice.

Reflect today: where do you see His mercy trailing behind you? Give thanks for it.

“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord – That’s security. Forever – That’s eternity.”

The Psalm closes with home—not a house on earth, but eternity with God. That’s the truest security we have.

I’ve lived in many houses, but none compare to the thought of dwelling with Him forever. That’s the Shepherd’s final promise.

Live today with eternity in mind. Forever changes how we walk through now.

Application

The 23rd Psalm isn’t just for funerals—it’s for everyday living. The Shepherd doesn’t only show up in crisis. He’s there in the green pastures, in the still waters, in the valleys, and at the table. The call is simple: trust Him. Trust His supply when you feel lacking. Trust His rest when you’re weary. Trust His protection when fear presses in. And trust His presence every single day, knowing that goodness and mercy are never far behind.

Three Takeaways

  1. The Shepherd provides: You don’t walk through life empty-handed when you walk with Him.
  2. The Shepherd protects: Even in valleys, you are never alone. Fear doesn’t get the last word—He does.
  3. The Shepherd promises forever: He not only leads us through this life but welcomes us into eternity with Him.

The Shepherd is with you. Today, tomorrow, forever. And because of that, you can say with confidence: I lack nothing.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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A Clean Slate at the Coffeehouse

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This morning, I found myself back at my usual table at Starbucks. The hum of espresso machines and the soft chatter of folks waiting in line made a kind of music of its own. Some customers were smiling ear to ear, maybe catching up with a friend or just glad for that first cup of the day. Others wore faces heavy with worry, their shoulders sagging like they’d been carrying the weight of the whole wide world before the sun even rose.

I sat there, sipping my blonde roast, and watching life walk by one latte at a time. That’s when a verse bubbled up in my heart.

“If we confess our sins,
He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
1 John 1:9

Now, I’ll be honest, that verse hit me right between the eyes. Maybe it’s because I know what it feels like to tote guilt around. It’s like lugging a backpack that’s so stuffed full you can’t even zip it shut. Every mistake, every wrong word, every missed chance—just piled in there until you’re bent over from the load. And the thing about guilt is, it doesn’t just weigh down your shoulders; it wears out your soul.

But then, right there in line with folks ordering their macchiatos and iced coffees, I was reminded of the promise tucked into that verse. God isn’t in the business of halfway cleaning us up. He doesn’t spray a little Febreze over our sins and call it good. No, He wipes the slate clean—spotless, shining, fresh as a new morning sunrise.

That’s forgiveness soaked in grace.

Think about it: we confess, He forgives. No bargaining. No installment plans. No “I’ll forgive you halfway today, and the rest if you behave tomorrow.” It’s complete, whole, absolute. And that cleansing? It’s not just a quick rinse. It’s a deep, soul-level scrubbing. The kind where you don’t just feel a little better—you feel brand new.

I reckon that’s what a lot of us need to hear. Because maybe yesterday was rough. Maybe you snapped at someone you love. Maybe you let fear keep you quiet when you should’ve spoken up. Maybe you just plain messed up. But friend, the beauty of God’s grace is that yesterday doesn’t have to decide today.

At that Starbucks table, with steam curling up from my cup, I felt it again—that relief that only comes from knowing I don’t have to keep dragging my overstuffed backpack of guilt around. I can lay it down. You can too.

So here’s the good news: no matter what yesterday looked like, today can be brand new. That’s the kind of promise you can hang your hat on.

Forgiveness. Grace. A clean slate.

And it’s all yours if you just ask.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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The God of Endless Comfort in the Middle of Scorching Heat

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This morning found me on the back porch with a mug of blonde roast warming my hands, the steam rising like a little morning offering to the sky. The sun was already climbing fast. It almost like it was in a race with the temperature and humidity to see who could reach the top first. And here in Texas in August, I can tell you, the heat usually wins.

The live oak trees out back stood like old sentinels, their wide branches draped in green, casting shadows that moved slow as a Sunday morning. Down in the grass, a row of feral cats had lined up waiting for Sunday breakfast, each one still and watchful, tails curled .

Some mornings just have a way of turning your mind toward the deeper things, and without much warning, my heart wandered to 2 Corinthians 1:3:

“All praises belong to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. For He is the Father of tender mercy and the God of endless comfort.”                   2 Corinthians 1:3

I just sat there a moment, letting those words settle in. 

“The Father of tender mercy.” 

“The God of endless comfort.” 

Ain’t that the truth?

See, life’s full of scrapes and storms. We trip over our own mistakes, we get caught in the crosswinds of circumstances we never asked for, and sometimes, like right now in the Texas summer, we get smacked with a scorching-life-sucking heat that makes even the shade feel like an oven. Struggles can wear you down.

But here’s the thing I keep finding over and over: God never leaves us in the heat without a little relief. 

He never fails to pull up a chair beside us. 

He wraps us in mercy the way a mama wraps a blanket around a child after a bad dream.

He pours His comfort into the cracks of our lives, the ones we try to patch ourselves but never quite get sealed.

I’ve known that comfort in hospital waiting rooms when the clock seemed frozen. I’ve known it on long, empty stretches of highway when I wasn’t sure I had the strength for one more mile. I’ve know it during the emptiness of the time of my late wife’s passing, as the funeral home was rolling her body out of the house and I kissed her good-bye – that heartbreaking last kiss. I’ve known it sitting in the stillness of sleepless nights when my mind wanted to run a thousand different directions.

The beauty of God’s comfort is that it’s not a “sometimes” thing. It’s not doled out sparingly like it might run out. No, His comfort is endless. Like a spring that never runs dry, it just keeps flowing. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to have all your problems sorted first. You only have to turn toward Him and let it in.

So if today feels heavy, or if the heat, literal or otherwise, is pressing in close, remember 2 Corinthians 1:3. 

The Father of tender mercy sees you. 

The God of endless comfort is right there with you, ready to pull up a chair and sit beside you until the shadows grow long and the air cools.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie 

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When the Coffee Just Doesn’t Taste Right

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When the Coffee Just Doesn’t Taste Right
By: Jimmie Aaron Kepler

This morning started like most others. I shambled into the kitchen, still half-asleep. My nightshirt wrinkled. Yes, I sleep in one of those old-fashioned nightshirt. My hair was also looking like I’d wrestled a porcupine in my sleep and lost.

I poured myself a cup of that good, strong, blonde-roast coffee and stepped out onto the porch. That porch has seen a lot over the years. It’s witnessed my quiet prayers, loud laughs, and more than a few tears. It’s my little sanctuary. My holy ground with a rocking chair.

The birds squabbled at the feeder as though it were Black Friday and they were battling over the last bag of seed. The younger feral cats, brimming with energy and ideas, scrambled across the pool deck in an endless game of tag.

And there I sat, coffee in hand, knees aching like they do when the weather’s about to change, just trying to wake up in peace. Joints and bones aching, I wondered if I could stand the pain.

Then, like a thundercloud rolling in out of nowhere, a wave of emotion hit me. A creeping weight that surrounds you before you are aware. It lacked specificity. Maybe my aches and pains are just life piling up. Perhaps I realized that Social Security isn’t keeping up with my bills. Or I missed my deceased wife to the point I ached and missed the wisdom of my dead parents. Perhaps I missed my only grandchild, grown and living with my daughter in another state. Perhaps something personal, like the ache of a body that lacks resilience or feels foreign. Or my worry about the shadow of cancer hanging over a loved one who, like me, is praying it doesn’t come back. And then there’s the angst of living in a country that seems more and more divided each time I turn on the news.

And right there, in the middle of it all, I did what I’ve learned to do: I cried out.

Out loud.

Not with a fancy, polished prayer. Just these words, raw and honest:

“O God, be not far from me; O my God, make haste to help me.”—Psalm 71:12

That verse has been following me around like a stray dog looking for a home. And maybe that’s what my soul needed this morning. It needed a reminder that I don’t have to carry it all alone.

You see, I’ve lived long enough to know that strength doesn’t come from gritting your teeth and muscling through. It comes from knowing where your help lies. And friend, it evades stock market trends and long to-do lists. It’s in God who listens when we whisper or shout those desperate prayers.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is just admit we need help. No shame in it. No weakness in saying, “Lord, I can’t do this without You.” In fact, that might just be the bravest thing we do all day.

After that prayer, I sat there a while longer. The coffee still tasted a little off, my body continued aching, but my spirit? It was lighter. Not fixed, not perfect but lifted. Like God pulled up a chair beside me and said, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

So if today feels heavy, friend, don’t be scared to cry out to God. Whether you’re on a back porch like me or stuck in traffic, whether your heart is breaking or your knees just ache. He hears you.

He always has.

And He’s never far.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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Pray for Us – Living Honorably in All Things

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Pray for Us – Living Honorably in All Things
By: Jimmie Aaron Kepler

“Pray for us, for we are confident that we have a clear conscience, desiring to live honorably in all things.”

Hebrews 13:18

Some days, the most powerful gift you can give someone doesn’t cost a penny and doesn’t take much time. It’s as simple as whispering their name in prayer.

Hebrews 13:18 isn’t just a line tucked away in Scripture. It’s a heartfelt request that stretches across centuries. It’s the cry of someone who understands that living with a clear conscience, making the right choices, and walking in integrity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It takes God’s grace, and it takes the faithful prayers of others.

The writer of Hebrews wasn’t just speaking to pastors, missionaries, or leaders though it certainly applies to them. This plea is for all of us. We all need someone lifting us up. We all need to be reminded that we’re not walking this path alone. Whether you’re leading a church, running a business, raising children, serving in your community, or simply trying to do the next right thing, you need people praying for you.

I’ve found that prayer has a way of knitting our hearts to the people we pray for. When I pray for a friend who’s struggling, I feel more patient with their rough edges. When I pray for a leader, I find myself offering more grace than criticism. Prayer softens us. It changes our perspective, often before it changes our circumstances.

In leadership—whether that’s in the boardroom, the break room, academia, the statehouse, Washington, D.C. or the living room—integrity isn’t optional. Living honorably means keeping your word, treating people with dignity, and making choices you can stand by when the lights are off and no one’s looking. But here’s the thing: none of us are perfect. We all stumble. That’s why the call to “pray for us” is so powerful. It’s an acknowledgment of our shared humanity and our dependence on God.

Today, I’m especially thankful for the people who pray for me—those who ask God to guide my steps, keep my heart soft, and give me wisdom when I’m tempted to rush ahead in my own strength. Their prayers are an anchor. They keep me steady.

So, let me turn the question back to you: Who’s on your prayer list today? Maybe it’s a friend going through a rough season. Maybe it’s a leader making hard decisions. Maybe it’s someone who’s hurt you but still needs God’s grace.

And here’s another question. Do you have people praying for you? If not, ask. Don’t be afraid to say, “I could use a little prayer today.” We’re all in this together, and none of us are meant to carry the weight of life on our own shoulders.

So today, let’s take Hebrews 13:18 to heart. Let’s pray for each other—confident that God hears us, trusting that He can help us live honorably in all things, and remembering that we walk better when we walk together.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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Joy, Prayer, and Thankfulness—Even When the Coffee Spills

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Joy, Prayer, and Thankfulness—Even When the Coffee Spills
by Jimmie Aaron Kepler

This morning started like most do around here. I shuffled out back with a mug of hot coffee. It was light roast, of course. You guessed it, I watched the sun slowly stretch its arms over the fence line, reflect off the swimming pool’s water. The air had that early hush, just before the birds fully commit to their morning song. When the feral cats are looking at, placing their order for morning kibble in their food bowls and cool water in their bowls. That’s when this verse rolled across my heart like a warm breeze:

“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

Now that’s a verse that’ll stop you mid-sip. It’s simple on the surface, but living it out? Well, that’s a tall order some days.

Truth is, it’s easy to rejoice when the sun’s shining, the car starts, and nothing’s aching too bad. But it takes grit—and a whole lot of grace—to rejoice when the coffee spills, the pool pump or heater starts leaking, the plans fall through, or the doctor’s news isn’t what you hoped for.

But that’s the beauty of it. This verse isn’t asking us to be happy all the time. It’s asking us to rejoice. And there’s a difference. Joy runs deeper than happy. It’s not about having a perfect day. It’s about anchoring your heart to the One who never changes, even when everything else feels wobbly.

Now praying continually might sound like you need to be on your knees all day, but I’ve learned it’s more like keeping a radio tuned in. I pray when I’m putting up laundry, sorting socks, or heading to the store. I talk to God while I’m walking the treadmill or waiting my turn for my allergy shot appointment. It’s less about formality and more about connection. More about just keeping that line open between me and the Lord.

And giving thanks in all circumstances? Whew. That one stretches me. I can thank Him for blue skies and fried catfish with hush puppies, no problem. But when things don’t go my way—well, that takes practice. Still, gratitude has this sneaky way of softening life’s rough edges. It helps you spot the good even when the bad tries to steal the spotlight.

So today, I’m choosing joy over grumbling. I’m whispering prayers while folding towels and pouring another cup of coffee. I’m giving thanks for what’s right, and trusting God with what ain’t.

If your day’s going smooth, rejoice in it. If it’s already gone sideways, give thanks anyway. And keep praying—He’s listening, even in the quiet.

Let’s be joy-bringers today, friends. This world’s got enough gloom. Let’s scatter a little light and live like we believe God’s still at work, even when the pieces don’t seem to fit.

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Cracking Open the Gate: A Reflection on Forgivenes

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Cracking Open the Gate: A Reflection on Forgiveness
By: Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Forgiveness ain’t easy.

Some wounds settle in deep. They fester in the quiet places—wounds from words spoken in anger, trust broken, friendships faded into silence. And yet, holding on to that pain? That’s like drinking poison and hoping the other person gets sick.

Lately, I’ve found myself doing some soul work. Maybe it’s the season I’m in. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s God. Or maybe it’s just time. I’ve felt a nudge, soft but steady, to try and fix what I can.

Truth is, some of the breaks in relationships over the years were my fault. I made poor choices. Let pride talk when I should’ve listened. Broke trust with folks I cared about. And I’ve been on the receiving end too—ghosted, betrayed, left out in the cold with no explanation. Sometimes folks walk away and never look back.

But here’s the thing: I’ve started reaching out. Owning my part. Saying the hard “I’m sorry” when needed. Offering olive branches even when I’m not sure they’ll be accepted. I’ve tried to patch up things that are years old—because peace matters more to me now than being right ever did.

More than once, I’ve leaned on the promise in 1 John 1:9:

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

So I start there—with God. I confess. I ask forgiveness. Then I work on forgiving myself. That’s sometimes the hardest part. And once that’s in motion, I circle back to the words that have been echoing in my heart:
Matthew 6:14-15

“If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Those verses don’t say wait for perfect apologies. They don’t say keep score. They say forgive. Not just for their sake—but for your freedom. For your heart.

So maybe today’s the day to crack that old gate open just a little. Let some light in. Send a text. Write a note. Make a call. They might not respond. But your heart will breathe a little easier knowing you tried.

And that, my friend, is a kind of freedom no one can take from you.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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A Word for the Faithful Caregivers: God Sees and Remembers

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A Word for the Faithful Caregivers: God Sees and Remembers
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

This Scripture hit home today—Hebrews 6:10–12 (NLT):

“For God is not unjust. He will not forget how hard you have worked for him and how you have shown your love to him by caring for other believers, as you still do. Our great desire is that you will keep on loving others as long as life lasts, in order to make certain that what you hope for will come true. Then you will not become spiritually dull and indifferent. Instead, you will follow the example of those who are going to inherit God’s promises because of their faith and endurance.”

I can’t read those words without thinking about the people I know—dear friends and family—who have walked the long, quiet road of caregiving. Some of you have cared for or are currently caring for spouses through long illnesses. Some have been the steady hand for aging parents, managing everything from medications to memories. And others have stepped in for siblings—those who couldn’t or wouldn’t care for themselves. You didn’t turn away. You leaned in with love.

I’ve seen it in your faces. I’ve seen the weariness in your eyes, the lines drawn from too many sleepless nights and hard decisions. But I’ve also seen something deeper—a well of love that keeps refilling, a quiet strength that keeps showing up, day after day.

God sees it too. He hasn’t forgotten a single act of love. Not one late-night vigil. Not one tender word or meal prepared. Not one moment you whispered a prayer over a loved one who was too tired or too confused to pray for themselves.

Your love reflects His love.

Today, I’m remembering my late wife Benita and her sisters. Their mother would have turned 102 years old today. What a life she lived, and what a legacy of love she left behind. 

In my mother-in-law’s final years, Miss Benita and her sisters took such tender care of their mama. They honored her with time, compassion, and dignity. 

And when cancer came for Benita, her sisters stood beside her just as faithfully. They loved her through every stage of that cruel journey, going far beyond what was expected. They gave everything they had, and then gave a little more.

This is the kind of caregiving the world often overlooks—but heaven does not. God calls it holy. And He promises that your labor in love is never wasted.

So if you’re tired today, wondering if anyone notices what you do behind closed doors, let me remind you: 

God notices. 

Your faith and endurance are part of a much bigger story. You’re walking in the footsteps of saints.

Don’t give up. Keep loving, keep serving, and keep believing. Because you’re not just caring for others—you’re showing the heart of God.

May He bless you for sharing and caring. Your reward is coming.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie
Written 7/27

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When the Storm Rolls In

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When the Storm Rolls In
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Years ago, back when my legs were still short enough to dangle off the edge of the porch swing and the world still held so many mysteries, I remember one night that’s stayed with me all these years. I was five, maybe six, and we were living out in Glendale, Arizona. It was monsoon season, but I didn’t know what that meant yet.

You see, rain was rare in the desert. Most days were all sun and dust, blue skies and cactus shadows. So when the sky turned dark that afternoon and the wind picked up, I didn’t know what was happening. Then came the storm. It was fast, wild, and loud. Rain hammered the rooftop like it had something to prove. Lightning cracked across the sky like a whip, and thunder followed so close it shook the walls. I thought the world might be ending.

Terrified, I ran to the front porch where Daddy sat in his chair, watching the weather. Without a word, I crawled into his lap, trembling like a wet pup. He set his paper aside, wrapped his big arms around me, and whispered, “I’m right here, Jim. You’re safe. I’m protecting you.” I remember my little brother quickly joining me in dad’s lap.

And just like that, I believed him. The storm still roared outside, but the fear inside me settled. My daddy was near. That made all the difference.

That memory comes rushing back every time I read Psalm 27:1:

“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” 

What comfort, what strength in those words.

Life throws its share of storms at us, some loud and obvious, others quiet and slow-burning. A troubling diagnosis, a tough goodbye, a long season of waiting. Whatever your storm looks like today, remember this: God hasn’t gone anywhere.

Just like my father in that Arizona monsoon, our Heavenly Father wraps us up and whispers, “I’ve got you.” He’s the light when things get dark. The shelter when the winds howl. The stronghold that doesn’t budge.

So take heart. Whether your sky is clear or stormy, you’re not alone. Crawl into His arms and rest easy. He’s right there.

Peace and Grace,
Jimmie