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Making It Through December

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Making It Through December
December 19, 2025

There’s an old country song by a late singer-songwriter I loved. He sang about December like it was a river you just had to cross. If we can make it through this month, he said, everything will be all right. He never explained how he knew. He just did. December, in his mind, was survival. Endurance. Hold on long enough, and the light comes back.

I’ve lived long enough now to believe those words penned by Merle Haggard. I’ve also lived long enough to see how God often does His deepest work in the months we are just trying to survive.

December has always kept its boots by my door. It comes knocking whether I’m ready or not, carrying memory like a sack of grain—some of it sweet, some of it heavy enough to bend your back. Looking back now, I can see that December has been a place of calling, pruning, loss, and grace in my life.

Fifty-one years ago this month, just after Christmas was in the rearview mirror, I married Benita Beatrice Breeding. December 28, 1974. We were young and sure, the way people are before they understand how much life—and marriage—can ask of them. She walked beside me for decades, through callings and careers, sermons and software, sickness and stubborn hope, bad choices, and God’s remarkable care for us and our family. She left this world on April 12, 2018. Since then, December has carried her memory differently. Each year her name returns to me like it’s written in frost on the window.

Fifty years ago this month, I sat in a room in the student union building at the University of Texas at Arlington, wearing a dress green U.S. Army officer’s uniform, listening for my name. When the university president read, “Jimmie Aaron Kepler has met the requirements for the degree Bachelor of Arts in History,” it felt like a door opening. There wasn’t a December graduation ceremony in those days, so this was mine. My wife and my parents were seated in the room, witnesses to a moment that felt small then, but mattered more than I knew.

That same December day, I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Army through ROTC. I had done well enough not only to earn a commission, but to be selected for active duty. Orders in hand, bags packed, I reported to Fort Benning, Georgia just after Christmas. December didn’t ask if I was ready; it simply sent me.

Less than a week after those gold bars were pinned on my shoulders, I was assigned twenty-four-hour duty as the staff duty officer for The Infantry School Brigade (now Airborne and Ranger Training Brigade). Over the holidays, I was responsible for soldiers in Infantry Basic and Advanced Officer Leadership Courses, Officer Candidate School, Ranger School, and Airborne School. I learned quickly what responsibility feels like when it outweighs experience. God was faithful. I did the job.

Forty-seven years ago this month, December released me from active duty and pointed me toward graduate school. I traded fatigues for books and found myself asking deeper questions about God, people, and purpose. Being released from career-status active duty so I could attend seminary was nothing short of a miracle. I stayed in the Army Reserves for a few more years, but my calling was becoming clearer.

Forty-five years ago this month, I completed my Master of Religious Education at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary—sixty-nine semester hours in just twenty-three months. Another December marker. Another quiet affirmation of calling. That same month, my first full-time church called me to Decatur, Georgia.

December moved me again forty-three years ago—from Decatur to Bogalusa, Louisiana—as God led me from one church field to another. Looking back, I see how often December marked transition: endings that hurt, beginnings that frightened, and God’s steady presence in both.

In three different Decembers—thirty-two, thirty-one, and thirty years ago—I wrote the cover story for Sunday School Leader magazine. Each assignment arrived during Advent, a season of waiting. I always wrote the article a full year before publication, letting it sit, mature, and change me before it reached anyone else.

Thirty years ago this month, December closed a painful chapter when I resigned my last full-time church position. That decision carried grief and uncertainty. Letting go always does. Yet I have never doubted it was God’s will. In time, God redeemed that season, leading me to turn a long-standing computer hobby into a vocation I never anticipated.

Twenty-six years ago this month, I began what would be my last “day job” at Interstate Batteries. I retired in August 2017 as a senior applications software engineer. Only God could weave ministry, technology, obedience, and provision together that way.

That same December in 1999, I was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa after completing the core curriculum for an associate’s degree in computer science. It was a small affirmation, but a reminder that God honors faithfulness, even when the path is unexpected.

Twelve years ago this month, December delivered news that landed like a stone: my wife was diagnosed with terminal neuroendocrine carcinoid. We learned to live on borrowed time, trusting God one appointment at a time. Cancer didn’t take her then. But cancer is patient. In June 2015, she was diagnosed with melanoma, and that was the illness God used to call her home.

Eleven years ago this month, my mother passed away. I had the honor of officiating her funeral, standing firm when my heart wanted to fold. December teaches you that kind of faith—how to stand in hope while holding grief.

Eight years ago this month, Benita’s melanoma spread to her brain. Surgeons cut. I prayed. God granted us four more months—four months I would give anything to relive.

And still—still—December holds the greatest truth of all. About two thousand years ago, in this same waiting season, God came down quiet and small. A baby born in Bethlehem. No fanfare. No explanations. Just Emmanuel—God with us—light breaking into darkness.

So yes, December is a key month in my life. It’s where joy and grief sit side by side. It’s where God has met me again and again—sometimes in celebration, sometimes in loss, always in faithfulness.

And as I look back over all those Decembers—some filled with celebration, others heavy with loss—I can see a thread running through them all. It isn’t my strength. It isn’t my planning. It certainly isn’t my wisdom. It is God’s faithfulness, steady and sure, even when I didn’t understand what He was doing.

There’s an old verse from Scripture I’ve come to lean on more with every passing year, one I’ve learned not just to quote, but to live:

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
Proverbs 3:5–6 (KJV)

That verse doesn’t promise an easy road. It doesn’t say we’ll understand the turns while we’re taking them. It simply calls us to trust—fully, humbly—and to stop pretending we can figure life out on our own. It asks us to acknowledge God in every season: in joy and grief, in calling and letting go, in beginnings and endings. And it promises that when we do, He will direct our paths.

I’ve learned that when you live that way—when you really trust Him with all your heart—you somehow make it not just through December, but through every month that follows. You make it through weddings and funerals, callings and goodbyes, hospital rooms and quiet mornings when the house feels too empty. You make it through the months that shape you and the ones that break you.

December still comes knocking, boots on, memories in hand. It still asks a lot of me. But it no longer feels like a river I have to cross alone.

And like that old song says, if I can make it through December, I believe—by God’s grace—I’ll be all right.

How to Get Forgiveness of Sin

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Old hands, rustic sink, sunset glow, old man in overalls.

I once watched my late grandfather wash his hands before supper. He didn’t rush it. He stood at the sink like it mattered—water running, fingers working the grit loose, dirt circling the drain. When he finished, he dried his hands slowly and said, almost to himself, “That’s better.”

That’s the picture that comes to mind when I hear John’s plainspoken promise: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” No thunder. No courtroom drama. Just water, honesty, and a God who keeps His word.

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 King James Version

Confession isn’t poetry

Confession isn’t poetry. It’s more like naming the weeds in your garden. You don’t stand there admiring them. You say, There you are. I see you. And the strange mercy of God is that He isn’t shocked when you point them out. He already knows what’s growing. What He’s been waiting for is your voice.

Most of us think forgiveness hinges on how sorry we sound, how broken our voice gets, how well we perform repentance. But John doesn’t say God is emotional about forgiving. He says God is faithful and just. That’s sturdier than feelings. That’s a promise backed by character. God forgives not because we feel bad enough, but because He has already decided who He is.

Forgiveness

Justice, oddly enough, is the reason forgiveness works. Sin doesn’t just vanish like smoke—it was carried somewhere. The cross stands there, quiet and unadorned, like an old road sign you almost miss. God doesn’t sweep sin under the rug; He places it where it belongs. That’s why forgiveness doesn’t wobble. It rests on settled ground.

Cleansing

And then there’s that second gift we often overlook: cleansing. Forgiveness deals with the record. Cleansing deals with the residue. Anyone who’s lived a while knows sin leaves a film—habits, reflexes, a taste in the mouth you didn’t ask for. God doesn’t just say, “You’re free to go.” He says, “Come here. Let me wash you.”

The late singer and poet Leonard Cohen once sang about a crack in everything, the place where the light gets in. Confession is that crack. It’s the moment you stop defending the dark and let grace touch the mess. Not all at once. Not magically. But truly.

You don’t have to dress confession up. God isn’t moved by eloquence. Just honesty. Say it plain. Say it tired. Say it with dirt still under your nails. He’s faithful. He’s just. And He still knows how to clean a soul the way water cleans a pair of working hands.

“That’s better,” He says. And He means it.

Grace and Peace
Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s non-fiction books at NONFICTION and his speculative fiction books written as Jim Kepler at FICTION.

Merry Christmas 2025

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Below is the text of what you can hear me reading on the video —

Hey, Jimmie Kepler here. I want to tell you a quick story. I grew up a military brat. Christmas mornings found me jumping out of bed, hoping the gifts I wanted were under that tree.

But looking back, there’s something from those days that shines brighter than any present.

Before we opened a single gift, my family always opened God’s Word. Sleepy as we were, we’d read the story of that first Christmas and thank God for the greatest gift of all—Jesus.

These days, Christmas can get real crowded, and it’s easy to forget the season isn’t about what’s under the tree… but the One who came to hang on a cross. Jesus stepped outta heaven and into a manger to bridge the gap between us and God. That’s why the Christmas story is still the greatest ever told.

So this Christmas, friend, don’t just open gifts—open the Word. Why not, let the story pull you back into the wonder of what God has done.

Merry Christmas. May His hope, His joy, and His peace fill your home this season.

Silence is Golden

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The Breakfast Where My Mouth Was Frying Bacon Faster Than My Brain Could Flip It

I remember one particular morning on a trip sitting at breakfast with a female traveling companion. I have a long-term friendship with this beautiful woman, but we are not and have never been in a romantic relation.

We’re just part of this ragtag little fellowship of friends who collect museums, concerts, fine dining experiences, and long stories the way other folks collect stamps.

She’s good people. She is smart, funny, well-read, the sort who could make a grocery list sound interesting. And bless her heart, she tolerated me.

Now, I have this habit. It’s really an unholy one. I can hijack a conversation. Not meaning to, of course. It’s like my mouth starts running and forgets it’s supposed to be hooked up to my ears. I know she’s cringed once or twice, maybe thought about grabbing her coffee and making a break for it.

But that morning, as we sat at breakfast, I finally had to stop talking long enough to breathe. And she slipped in the softest little truth-telling you ever heard. She said, all grace and no malice, “I don’t need your full life story again or one of your cross-country rambles. You know what your problem is? You don’t know when not to talk. Just stay with the conversation. Don’t chase every rabbit that hops across your mind.”

Well. Yikes. Guilt as charged.

Certified Southern Champion of Talking When I Should Be Listening

I’ve always had this tendency. Someone shares something meaningful like a story, a hurt, some family drama, and instead of listening, really listening, I launch into a completely different tale about somebody else who once had something sort of similar happen. It’s rude. It’s selfish. It’s lonely, too, if I’m being honest. Mostly, it shows I hadn’t yet learned the sacred art of shutting up.

My late grandmother tried to warn me. I was barely old enough to shave when she said, “Jimmie Aaron, girls don’t much care about what you know, where you’ve been, or how many stories you can tell, unless you’re saying something sweet about them. That’s why they like the strong, silent types.”

If only I’d listened.

I talked myself off the honor roll once or twice. Not academically, but because I got dinged for “citizenship.” In school, in work, all through life, folks have said kindly but firmly, “Jimmie’s a bit too social.” Or, “Jimmie needs to tighten up his speech. He needs to talk like he writes: short, sharp, and without all the scenic detours.”

Lord Knows Grandma Tried, but My Mouth Was Louder Than Her Wisdom

And then, just recently, I stumbled across that line in Isaiah: “But they were silent and answered him not a word…” Hezekiah had told his people to keep their lips zipped while the Assyrian envoy was boasting threats at them. It wasn’t the moment for comebacks or explanations. It was a time for silence.

“But they were silent and answered him not a word, for the king’s command was, ‘Do not answer him.’”

Isaiah 36:21 (ESV)

And there have been so many times I should’ve done the same.

You see, many words tend to drag you straight into trouble. The whole proverb goes on to say something that basically amounts to: “Keep talking and you’ll make a fool of yourself.” Talk long enough and you’ll spill a secret you shouldn’t, drop a sharp word you didn’t mean, or wander into territory that never needed visiting. Lots of things in life are better left unsaid.

And when you won’t stop talking, you can’t hear anything. Not your friends. Not the people you love. Not even God.

Learning the Holy Gospel of Shush: When God Says ‘Hush Your Mouth’

I keep reminding myself God gave me two ears and one tongue on purpose, but you’d never guess it from the way I operate. The people on the wall in Hezekiah’s day listened. I wish I could say I always do.

Talking and listening can’t happen at the same time. One always elbows the other out of the way.

But there are moments, holy ones, healing ones, when silence is gold enough to buy back peace you’ve wasted. These days, I’m learning to ask God to show me those moments. When to hold my tongue. When to speak gently, if at all. When to honor someone not with a story of my own, but with my quiet attention.

Because sometimes the most loving thing a person can do is simply hush.

During the sounds of silence is when you can hear God.

Here’s a few examples from God’s word:

Proverbs 10:19 directly connects a multitude of words with making a mistake.

“When words are many, sin is unavoidable, but he who restrains his lips is wise.”

Proverbs 10:19

Ecclesiastes 10:12–14 contrasts the speech of the wise and the foolish.

“The words of a wise person are gracious and win favor, but the lips of a fool lead to their own ruin…”

Ecclesiastes 10:12–14 

Proverbs 17:28 reminds us that silence often prevents foolishness.

“Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise…”

Proverbs 17:28

Grace and Peace
Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s non-fiction books at NONFICTION and his speculative fiction books written as Jim Kepler at FICTION.

Casting Cares

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You know, there’s a verse I’ve carried around in my back pocket for a long time.
It’s from First Peter, “Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you.”
Simple words. But they hit deep when the world starts feeling too heavy to hold.

Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7

Life’s Tough

I’ll be honest with you, sometimes life just flat-out wears me down.
There are days when it feels like everything’s coming apart at the seams.
I’ve had those moments where I just wanted to shout, or throw my hands up and walk away from it all. Maybe you’ve been there too.

Last year about this time, I hit one of those rough patches.
First, the hot water heater gave up the ghost.
Then the car decided it wanted in on the fun and needed major repairs.
My little pile of emergency savings started looking more like pocket change.
And to top it off, my hand locked up with trigger finger. It needed surgery. And wouldn’t you know it, there were complications after that too.

Why Me Lord

I remember sitting there one night thinking, “Why me, Lord?”
Yeah, I actually said it out loud. Just me and the ceiling fan, having it out.
Ever had one of those nights? Yeah… me too.

Somewhere in the middle of that mess, I remembered that verse. “Cast all your cares on Him.”
So I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote it all down. Every worry, every frustration, every bit of that “I can’t take it anymore” feeling.
Then I bowed my head and said, “God, here. These are Yours now. I’m done carrying ‘em.
You said You care for me, so I’m holding You to it. Help me feel that care. Help me stop thinking the world’s caving in. Help me trust You.”

A Quiet Peace

And I swear to you, something shifted. It wasn’t lightning bolts or angels singing. There was just this quiet peace, like somebody took the weight off my chest.
I realized how lucky I actually was . I had enough in savings to fix what needed fixing, had good doctors and insurance, and still had people around me who cared. That realization alone felt like a miracle.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Everything didn’t suddenly turn perfect.
But the panic disappeared. The peace of God filled that empty space where worry used to live.

After that night, I started thinking about how many times I’ve tried to play Superman. As if I could muscle through everything life threw at me just by gritting my teeth and “being tough.”
That’s a fool’s game, I’ve learned. Life’s got a way of humbling you real quick.

Funny thing, though, every time I hit that breaking point, it’s like God’s been sitting there, patient as can be, waiting for me to finally hand Him the wheel.
He doesn’t barge in, doesn’t holler, doesn’t demand. Just waits till I wear myself out, then whispers, “You done yet? Let Me take it from here.”

Peace Slips In

And when I finally do… when I finally let go of that white-knuckled grip on everything…
peace slips in quiet, like the dawn easing over a country field.
It’s not dramatic, not flashy. It’s just steady. Kind of like a hand on your shoulder saying, “You’re gonna be alright.”

Since then, I’ve tried to make a little habit of it. Not just when life falls apart, but in the small stuff too.
You’d be amazed how much time we spend worrying over things that don’t deserve a tenth of our energy.
The bills, the weather, what so-and-so said at work, what might happen next week.
I catch myself spinning on all that, then I hear that verse again, “Cast your cares.”
It’s not a suggestion; it’s an invitation.

God Cares for Us

See, God doesn’t just tolerate us when we’re a mess. He cares for us. Deeply.
The same way a good father cares for his kid when they come home busted up and teary-eyed.
He’s not rolling His eyes; He’s pulling us close, saying, “I’ve got you.”

I wish I could tell you I’ve got it all figured out, that I never worry anymore, that I’ve mastered this whole “faith” thing.
But I haven’t. Some days I still fall right back into the trap. I’m once more trying to fix everything myself, forgetting the One who actually can.
But when I finally come to my senses and let go, it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it for too long.

So yeah, maybe life’s still got its potholes and flat tires.
Maybe the water heater still leaks now and then.
But I’ve learned something in all of it. Peace doesn’t come from having everything fixed.
It comes from knowing Who’s walking beside you while it’s all getting fixed.

I Remember

These days, when life starts feeling like it’s piling on again, when the phone rings with bad news, I get a text that stirs my emotions, or the bills seem taller than my paycheck;
I remember that night at the kitchen table.
The one with the piece of paper covered in worries and a coffee cup ring in the corner.
That wasn’t just me unloading my troubles. That was me learning how to live lighter.

See, faith ain’t about pretending everything’s fine.
It’s about knowing where to put the stuff that isn’t.
It’s learning that when your shoulders are tired, you don’t have to carry it all.
You can hand it over to Someone who doesn’t get tired.

I’ve come to see God not as some far-off figure, but as a friend who’s walked a lot of dusty roads with me or been with me as I’ve crossed the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
He’s been there when I was singing high and when I was crawling low.
When I look back over the years at the heartbreaks, the passing of my spouse Miss Benita and my parents dying, the surgeries, the empty bank accounts, the quiet nights of wondering what now, I can see His fingerprints all over it. Not always changing the situation, but always changing me.

So when Peter says, “Cast all your cares on Him, for He cares for you,”
I hear it like an old country song lyric. It’s simple, true, and worth humming through the hard times.
It’s not fancy theology; it’s just good living.

And maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to say this whole time, that peace isn’t about a perfect life. It’s about trust.
It’s about believing that the One who made the stars actually cares about your busted water heater and your broken heart.

He’s Never Failed Me Yet

So yeah, I still get anxious. I still have days when I want to holler, “Why me, Lord?”
But I don’t stay there long anymore. I’ve learned to write it down, pray it out, and hand it over.
Because He’s never failed me yet, not once.

And if you’re out there today or tonight feeling that same weight, just remember:
you don’t have to carry it alone. Cast it off, friend. Let it go.
He’s got big enough hands to hold it all.

Grace and Peace
Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s non-fiction books at NONFICTION and his speculative fiction books written as Jim Kepler at FICTION.

Miss Benita and Psalm 31

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You ever stumble on a verse that just sticks to your soul?
For us, it was Psalm 31:24 – “Be strong, and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.”

Now, I didn’t learn that from a preacher.
I learned it sittin’ beside my wife,
my sweet Miss Benita,
when the doctor looked us dead in the eyes
and said the word melanoma. 

Stage three, cancer, he said.
They’d done all they could,
but if it came back —
well, he didn’t have to finish that sentence.
We already knew.

And sure enough,
a few months later,
it came knockin’ again.
The oncologist told us to make her comfortable.
Said to focus on the quality of the time we had left.
That’s the kind of talk that empties a room of air.

We were scared.
We were broken.
But we did the only thing two folks who love Jesus could do,
we held hands and started prayin’.
We opened that old Bible,
and that Psalm became our heartbeat:
“Be strong, and take heart.”

We weren’t strong,
but somehow, God was.

Then came the people,
our friends from work,
our Prestonwood Baptist Church family,
the Bible fellowship crowd.
They came with casseroles,
and prayers that filled the silence
when words just wouldn’t come.
They sat with us through the storm,
and somehow, we weren’t alone anymore.

Now, Miss Benita…
she was somethin’ else.
Even when the cancer spread,
even when her body gave way,
her spirit never did.
She’d sit there in that hospital bed,
typing emails and writing cards
to folks on the church prayer list.
She’d tell them God loves you,
even when she was the one
starin’ at the valley ahead.

When the cancer reached her brain,
it took her words,
her reading, her writing,
but it never touched her faith.
She told me, plain as day,
“My hope’s not here, it’s in the Lord.”

And near the end…
there was this peace about her,
not the quiet kind,
but the deep kind,
the kind that hums under your ribs
like a steady song.

When she passed,
she did it with grace,
like she was just walkin’ home barefoot
through a field she already knew.

And I’ll tell you what,
she left more behind than sorrow.
She left faith that still burns.
She left love that still moves.
She left a verse that won’t let me go:

“Be strong, and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.”

It’s not just ink on paper anymore.
It’s a promise.
It’s her voice.
It’s my compass.

And I reckon that’s the legacy of Miss Benita —
not how long she lived,
but how she loved,
how she believed,
and how she taught the rest of us
to keep hopin’ in the dark.

Bible Verse:

“Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.”

Psalm 31:24 (KJV)

Who Wrote Psalm 31:24 — and When?

Most folks agree that King David wrote Psalm 31:24. David penned a lot of the Psalms we still hold dear today. Songs and prayers straight from a heart that had seen both mountaintops and valleys.

We don’t know the exact date he wrote it. The Psalms came together over a long stretch of time. Probably across a few centuries. But David’s words were so honest and full of life that generations kept them alive, and by the time the Second Temple stood (somewhere between 500 BC and 70 AD) they were gathered and cherished much like we read them now.

When you think about it, that’s something. A man’s prayer from thousands of years ago still reaching out across time to strengthen hearts today.

The Setting of Psalm 31:24

Psalm 31 is David crying out to God for help when the world seemed to be closing in.
Enemies on every side, fear in the air. Yet his trust never broke.

This verse, “Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord,” is how David closes his prayer. It’s like he’s saying, “I’ve been down in the pit, and I’ve seen the light of God’s faithfulness. Hang on, He’s still with you.”

The psalm starts with David begging for rescue and ends with him reminding himself and anyone who’ll listen to stand firm in faith. It’s that moment when you’ve been through the storm, and you can finally tell others, “God carried me through.”

The Meaning of Psalm 31:24

This verse is a call to courage in the middle of chaos.
David had his share of trouble. He faced betrayal, fear, loneliness. But even while running for his life, he could still look up and say, “The Lord is my strength.”

When he says “Be strong and take heart,” he’s not talking about gritting your teeth and muscling through. He’s talking about leaning into the kind of strength only God can give — the strength that shows up when your own runs out.

It’s David saying, “Keep trusting. Keep hoping. God hasn’t forgotten you.”

“Be of Good Courage” — What Does That Mean?

When David says, “Be of good courage,” he’s talking to people just like you and me. He talking to us folk who get tired, scared, or flat-out worn down.

He’s saying, “Don’t give up.” Not because you’ve got all the answers, but because you know Who holds them.

Courage, in David’s world, wasn’t about standing tall — it was about standing still and trusting God to move.

“He Shall Strengthen Your Heart” — What Does That Mean?

That’s David’s way of saying, “God’s gonna meet you right in the middle of your fear.”

When your heart’s heavy and your knees are weak, He’s the One who gives you what you need to keep going.

This isn’t physical strength. It’s heart strength. It’s that quiet confidence that says, “I can face what’s coming because I know Who’s beside me.”

“All You Who Hope in the Lord” — What Does That Mean?

This part reminds us we’re not walking alone.

There’s a whole family of believers out there. They’re all hoping, all hanging on to the same promise.

When you put your hope in God, you’re stepping into that community of faith. You’re part of something bigger. You’re part of a people through every generation who’ve trusted God to carry them through.

Different Bible Translations

Each translation gives this verse its own flavor, but the heart stays the same:

  • KJV: “Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.”
  • NIV: “Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.”
  • ESV: “Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord.”

No matter how you say it, the message holds, keep your courage, because God strengthens those who hope in Him.

How Psalm 31:24 Brings Encouragement

This verse has carried a lot of weary souls through long nights.

It’s a reminder that we don’t walk this road alone. It tells us that God’s strength is real and near.

When life gets hard, Psalm 31:24 whispers, “You’re not finished yet. God’s still working. Take heart.”

It doesn’t promise an easy road. It promises a faithful God.

How to Live Out Psalm 31:24

Here’s how I see it:

  • Find your strength in God. When life knocks you down, lean into Him. He’s got the strength you don’t.
  • Take heart. Keep your faith alive, even when you can’t see daylight yet.
  • Trust in the Lord. Believe that His plans are good, even when the path doesn’t make sense.
  • Encourage others. Share what you’ve learned. Tell somebody else, “You’re not alone. God’s not done yet.”

That’s how this verse becomes more than just words — it becomes a way to live.

A Psalm 31:24 Prayer

Dear Lord,

When my courage fades and my heart grows tired, remind me You are still my strength.

Help me face this day with faith and hope, knowing You walk with me through every step.

Strengthen my heart, Lord. Give me the courage to keep trusting, even when I don’t see the way ahead.

Let Your peace fill me, and let Your love flow through me to others who need it too.

Thank You for being my rock and my refuge, today and always.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Closing Thoughts

Psalm 31:24 is more than a verse. It’s a lifeline. It tells us to hold steady, to take courage, and to keep our hope anchored in the Lord.

Because no matter what comes our way, we’re never walking it alone.

And when our strength runs out — His never will.

Grace and Peace
Jimmie

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s non-fiction books at NONFICTION and his speculative fiction books written as Jim Kepler at FICTION.

Thoughts on Traveling

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Thoughts on Traveling

After a haircut at the Lotus Spa, I wrote this brief thought this morning. I’d read my Bible and was contemplating the day. I’ve named it “Thoughts on Traveling” for the nonreligious types and “The Lord Will Keep You” for those who share the Christian faith with me. It’s based on Psalm 121:7–8 (ESV),

“The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.” Psalm 121:7–8 (ESV)

The View from the Balcony

I’m leaning on the rail of my stateroom balcony, watching the waves roll and fold into one another like pages turning in a story only God could write. It’s a gray, overcast day aboard the brand-new Star Princess cruise ship. The temperature lingers in the low 60s. It’s cool enough that the sea air nips at my cheeks. I’m in the North Atlantic 2,500 nautical miles east of Fort Lauderdaie and 350 nautical miles west of the Azores Islands.

There’s a certain hush that comes with a cloudy day at sea. The ship hums beneath my feet, steady and sure, while the mist softens the horizon until sky and water blur into one long stretch of gray-blue calm.

And right there, somewhere between the sound of the wind and the rhythm of the waves, I sense Him. The quiet presence of God. Not loud or showy, but constant. Keeping me.

Kept in the Going and the Coming

I’m reminded I’m kept in my going and the coming. Psalm 121 reminds me that the Lord “will keep your going out and your coming in.” That’s not just pretty poetry. It’s a promise. Whether I’m stepping onto a new cruise ship, driving my Mercedes down the Dallas North Tollway, or starting another season of life, God is in the motion.

He doesn’t just guard the journey. He guards the traveler. From the first step leaving North Texas, to traveling to London, to Copenhagen, the Baltic, and North Seas, Norway, Germany, the Netherlands, France, crossing the English Channel, getting back to London, Barcelona, Mediterranean Islands, Gibraltar, the Azores, Fort Lauderdale and back to the landing at DFW and returning home, His watch never wavers. And that truth settles in my heart like an anchor in deep water.

The Keeper of Every Moment

The keeper of every moment travels with me. Out here, far from shore (it’s eight days until I see my next land), I’m reminded how small I am in the grand sweep of creation. I’m also reminded of yet how seen I am by the One who made it all. The same God who commands the tides watches over my life with infinite care.

Even under gray skies, His light finds its way through. I feel it in the peace that drapes around me, in the stillness that whispers: You’re not alone out here. I’m keeping you.

Breathing in the cool, salty air, I whisper a soft thank you to God, and rest my hands on the rail longer. Because I know this truth to my core;

Closing Prayer

Wherever I go, the Lord goes with me. And I say this prayer. “Lord, thank You for being the Keeper of my journey. When the skies turn gray and the horizon fades, remind me that Your presence never does. Guard my steps, quell my fears, and let me rest in the promise that You are with me in the going out, the coming in, and every mile in between. Amen.”

 

Finding Purpose

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Reset

It’s Friday, the first day of November 2024. The morning feels fresh with newness, yet familiar, like stepping into a well-worn path. I was up by 6 AM, my mind already spinning with the day ahead. The last week of September plus October was a time of world travel and letting my beard grow wild. This morning I trimmed it down to a goatee. It feels like a small reset. I’m tidying up as I face the start of another month.

By 7:15, I had settled at my local Starbucks, holding a glass of water in one hand for my morning medications and a tall blonde roast coffee in the other. The aroma of coffee grounds and the gentle hum of morning chatter created a comforting backdrop as I settled in with my thoughts.

Nowhere Man

After opening my MacBook, I began listening to The Beatles’ “Nowhere Man,” as I do from time to time. You may be wondering why I decided on this song and why it holds such significance for me. During my recent travels I was in Liverpool England in September. I did The Beatles tour. The tour had me thinking on John Lennon’s life.

1n 1965 John Lennon wrote “Nowhere Man”. He was in a period of intense introspection. He was famous, admired, wealthy—by all standards — a man who had “made it.” Yet, amid this success, he questioned his identity and purpose. The song captures his struggle, expressing the unsettling feeling of being adrift despite outward achievements.

Fame Wasn’t Enough

For Lennon, fame wasn’t enough; something deeper was missing. In “Nowhere Man,” he reveals the ache of feeling detached, disconnected, and, perhaps, unanchored—a feeling that resonates worldwide. We’ve all had moments where we feel like we’re going through the motions, searching for something elusive that might give life meaning.

Listening to the song reminds me to be cautious, to resist letting life slip into routine without intentional purpose. Lennon’s story is a reminder: he had all the outward markers of success, yet something remained unfulfilled. I don’t want to end up like that. I appreciate his influence on music, culture, and activism, yet I perceive a longing for something more in him. For me, that “something” is purpose—a sense of direction that grounds me.

Purpose

This idea of purpose brings me back to a time in my life that shaped my outlook. When I was in the tenth grade, my church youth group performed a Christian musical called “Purpose,” written by Jimmy and Carol Owens. Aimed at young people, it explored themes of faith, self-identity, and finding meaning. The storyline followed a group of young people wrestling with their beliefs and discovering their purpose within their Christian faith.

The musical’s message was uncomplicated yet meaningful: our purpose transcends the surface, rooted in a significance. It struck a chord, especially during a period of cultural turmoil and societal transformation. The musical encouraged us, a young audience, to lean into our faith, to look beyond societal expectations, and to find our purpose in something lasting.

Faith in Jesus Christ

Reflecting on that experience now, decades later, I see how it helped to solidify my foundation. For me, faith in Jesus Christ gives life meaning beyond the ebb and flow of external achievements or challenges. I base my purpose not on fame or wealth, but on living in alignment with my faith and values. And so, on this November morning, as I sip my coffee and listen to Lennon’s haunting lyrics, I’m reminded of that grounding truth.

Do You Have a Purpose?

Purpose is something we all seek. It’s what keeps us going, even when the path ahead seems unclear. So, I’ll ask you: do you know your purpose?

Through faith in Christ, I believe I’ve found mine. And it’s a purpose I hold close, reminding me of what matters, even as the world around me changes.

You can find my story of finding purpose here. It is how I became a Christian. Click HERE for my story.

Four Stars of Valor: The Combat History of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment in World War II

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505th PIR

Phil Nordyke’s “Four Stars of Valor: The Combat History of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment (PIR) in World War II” is excellent. It is a must-read for any student of World War II.

Mr. Nordyke does a great job as he takes us with the 505th PIR from its beginnings and training in the United States, through its deployment to North Africa, and through its campaigns in Sicily, Italy, Normandy, Holland, the Bulge, and Germany before returning home.

Record Four Combat Jumps

The book takes its title from the 505 PIR’s record four combat jumps in Sicily, Salerno/Naples, Ste Mere Eglise/Normandy, and Nijmegen/Holland. Stars representing participation in combat jumps had been worn unofficially on parachute wings during and after World War II. FYI – this practice did not gain official sanction until after the 1983 invasion of Grenada, Operation Urgent Fury.

Sicily and The Secrets of Ultra

I found it a book that that demanded I read every word on every page. Be prepared for some very graphic descriptions of the training and combat. You’ll feel the heat of North Africa. I was disappointed as I read the Hermann Goring Fallschrim Panzer and 15th Panzer Grenadier Divisions were on Sicily, that General Bradley knew it, and because of secrecy of Ultra they did not pass this information on to the attacking forces! “This was a cruel deception of our own forces, but necessary in order to protect the secrets of Ultra.”

Excellent Job of Using Primary Sources

Mr. Nordyke does an excellent job of using primary sources. At first, I was a little confused when I encountered an incident that was described from multiple people’s points of view, but quickly saw the value in seeing the way more than one person viewed/remembered an incident. It helped paint a more complete picture. Pages 300 – 301 and the actions of Private Camille E. Gagne’s response to the killing of First Lieutenant John Dodd is one example. The coverage giving to the 505th’s role in Nijmegen Holland is very detailed and had me feeling I was there.

The Battle of the Bulge

The 505th PIR’s involvement didn’t stop after its fourth jump into Nijmegen/Holland. They played a key role being deployed by truck into Belgium’s Ardennes Forest as the 82 Airborne Divisions helped stop Hitler’s in The Battle of the Bulge in freezing December 1944 and January 1945.

The book has exception maps and an amazing index. This book should be required reading for active duty members wearing jump wings. It is a must addition to any military historian’s library and would be an excellent addition to all university and community libraries.

“The Battle of the Denmark Strait: A Critical Analysis of the Bismarck’s Singular Triumph” by Robert Winklareth

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“The Battle of the Denmark Strait: A Critical Analysis of the Bismarck’s Singular Triumph” by Robert Winklareth achieves its goal of being a narrative description of how the Battle of the Denmark Strait was fought. He does a masterful job of explaining the significance of key events leading up to both the battle and its aftermath. The book is incredibly technically detailed, yet very readable. It tells the story of one of the most famous naval battles of World War II.

The book and its massive appendices provide a wealth of information. The photographs and drawings by the author give a perspective not seen before. The book’s structure is three parts containing the twenty eight chapters and seven appendices. Part one covers the demise of the German Navy at the end of World War II and continues to the Bismark in the Rhine Exercise (Operation Rheinübung).

Part two of the book is the actual battle in the Denmark Strait. This is where the Hood is destroyed and the Prince of Wales retreats.

Part three is the search for and destruction of the Bismark.

The author is a technical analyst. His knowledge of and attention to detail may be too much for the casual reader, but for the hard-core student of military or naval history I gives an insight that will be appreciated. The use of photos taken from the Prinz Eugen and the analysis of the photos adds to the understanding of the battle, though the placement n the book had me turning back and forth sometimes searching to match picture and data. I think its important to point out this is a very balanced book making good use of both British and German sources.

This is a must book for any serious student of naval history. It would be a great addition to any World War II buff. The publisher is Casemate Publishing.