Tag: Fear

The Brother I Never Had to Ask For

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From left to right Julia Hall, Jimmie Kepler, Les Hall, Benita Kepler. Photo taken by Shahrzad Bacon at JGs Old Fashioned Hamburgers, Dallas, Texas, USA in 2012.

The Brother I Never Had to Ask For

There’s a kind of friend the Bible calls a brother, not by blood, but by the miles he’s willing to walk beside you. I had one like that. Still do.

Where It Began

I met Les Hall back in the late 1990s, two middle-aged men fixing other people’s computer trouble on the same IT support desk, the kind of job that teaches you patience whether you want it or not. We started eating lunch together most every day, nothing fancy, just two men trading stories over a plate lunch. That’s usually how the real friendships start. Not with some grand gesture. Just showing up, day after day, until one day you look up and realize this fellow has become family.

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” Proverbs 17:17 KJV

Proverbs wrote that a long time before Les and I ever sat down at a lunch counter, but it might as well have been written about him.

When It Mattered Most

When my father passed, Les was there. When my wife got sick with the cancer that would eventually take her, through the surgeries, through the long slow grief of caregiving, he stood beside me. He was at both funerals. He didn’t send a card and disappear. He stayed.

He was there through my own share of hospital hallways too. A stroke landed me in coronary care back in 2000, and a bad heart brought me right back in 2003 and 2004. When I went in for a heart catheterization, Les stayed with my wife while she waited on word. He was there when they took out my gall bladder, there for both hernia repairs, there again for the rotator cuff surgery. A man doesn’t sign up for that kind of loyalty. He just gives it, quietly, because that’s who he is.

When my daughter and her family needed to move into my house for what turned into five years, Les didn’t just wish me luck getting the place ready. He showed up in his work clothes and got to work.

When his own wife passed, I got to return the favor, just being there, the way he’d been there for me. That’s what real friendship is. It isn’t a one-way debt. It’s two men taking turns carrying what’s too heavy to carry alone.

What Endures

These days Les still helps me around the house, almost every Wednesday. Every fall when I head out on a month long or longer vacation, he watches the place like it’s his own, house sitting for me. 

We’ve traveled together, laughed together, and sat with each other through more hospital waiting rooms and funeral homes than either of us would have chosen. 

Started on an IT help desk. Turned into one of the finest gifts God ever handed me.

If you’ve got a friend like that, a Les Hall in your life, don’t wait for a funeral to tell him what he means to you. Tell him today, over lunch, the way it started.

Three Take Aways

  1. Show up, don’t just say sorry. Words of comfort matter, but presence is what people remember. Sit in the waiting room. Stand at the graveside. Let your body say what your words can’t.
  2. Keep no ledger. A friendship built on keeping score won’t last through the hard seasons. Give what you can when you can, and trust that the giving and the receiving will even out over a lifetime.
  3. Say the thank you now. Don’t wait for a eulogy to tell a faithful friend what he means to you. Tell him over a plate lunch, while he can still hear it and you can still say it.

A Prayer

Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of a faithful friend. Thank You for the ones who show up in the hospital hallway, who sit with a grieving spouse, who show up in work clothes ready to carry a load without being asked.

Thank You for Les, for every surgery and every funeral and every ordinary Wednesday lunch that built a friendship strong enough to hold both our sorrows. Teach me to be that kind of friend to someone else. Remind me to say thank you while there’s still time to say it.

In Jesus’ name, 
Amen.

The photo is of Les and his later wife Julia, me when my hair was still workplace short and my late wife Miss Benita. The wives are seated across from us to help you recognize who’s whose.

The Truck on Blocks

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The Truck on Blocks

There’s a truck I know that sat up on blocks for the better part of a year. Engine out, primer gray, hood propped open like a mouth caught mid sentence. It looked less like a vehicle and more like a promise somebody forgot to keep.

The fella who owned it would walk out to the shop some evenings after supper, hands in his pockets, and just stand there. Not working. Not fixing anything. Just looking at all that unfinished business like it was looking back at him, waiting on an answer he didn’t have yet.

I think about that truck more than I probably should. Because most of us have got one. A dream, a marriage, a calling, a season of life, something we started with all the shine still on it, and now we’re standing in the shop at dusk wondering if we bit off more than the good Lord meant for us to chew.

The Trouble With Beginnings

Beginnings are easy to love. There’s a shine on them. A new job smells like fresh paint. A new relationship feels like the whole world just got its colors turned up. A new dream is Christmas morning before anybody’s torn the wrapping paper.

But every one of us who’s lived long enough knows what comes after the wrapping paper gets swept up and thrown in the trash. The middle comes. That long, gray stretch where the excitement wears thin as an old work shirt and the thing you started just becomes work. Slow work. Quiet work. The kind that doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere at all.

Progress stalls. Prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling and land back in your lap unanswered. What felt like adventure starts to feel like exhaustion, and somewhere in there you start asking yourself if you ought to just let the whole thing sit up on blocks and rust.

What Solomon Knew

There’s an old preacher named Solomon who wrote something I keep coming back to, from a book called Ecclesiastes, chapter seven, verse eight, out of the King James:

“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof:

and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”

Solomon had built kingdoms and buried them, chased after every kind of pleasure and found the bottom of every cup, and what he came back to, after all that living, was patience. Not excitement. Not big beginnings. Patience.

Pride wants the engine running today. Pride says, “I need this finished, I need this answered, I need to see the whole plan laid out on the table before I’ll trust another step of it.” Pride can’t stand the sight of a truck up on blocks.

Patience is a different animal altogether. Patience says, “God knows what He’s doing, even when I can’t see the shape of it yet.” Patience doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means you keep showing up to the work without demanding the Lord follow your timetable.

Where the Real Work Happens

Here’s what I’ve come to believe, and it took me longer to learn than I’d like to admit. The finest carpentry God ever does, He does in that unglamorous middle that nobody takes pictures of. Not at the launch. Not at the ribbon cutting. Not at the wedding or the grand opening or the day you finally get the diagnosis you were praying for.

He does His deepest work in the waiting. That’s where He teaches you to trust Him blind. That’s where character gets built, the kind that can’t be built any other way, the kind that only comes from sitting in the not knowing and choosing to stay faithful anyhow.

If you are in that stretch today, if the shine has worn clean off whatever you started and you are just plain tired of waiting on it to come together, I want you to hear this. Your frustration is a chapter. It is not the whole book. The One who started this work in you has not wandered off and forgotten where He left it. He is still out in the shop somewhere, hands dirty, working on something you will be grateful for later, even if you cannot see it from where you are standing tonight.

The Truck Runs Now

That old truck runs today. Runs beautiful, actually. Smooth as anything, like it never spent a day of its life up on blocks.

But you should have seen it back then. You should have seen how long it sat there looking like nothing was ever going to come of it.

Breathe. Pray. Keep walking. The God who was with you when this all began is not going anywhere before the end. And one day, further down the road than you can see from here, you are going to look back over the whole stretch of it and recognize just how faithfully He carried you through every uncertain step.

Keep going. He’s not finished with you yet.

If this stirred something in you today, I would love to hear about it. Leave a comment below, and if you know somebody sitting in their own middle season right now, wondering if the truck’s ever coming off those blocks, go ahead and send this their way.

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

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The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16 (KJV)

I’ve heard that verse so many times it could slide right past a man without leaving a mark. That’s the danger of familiar things. You stop looking at them close. But sit with it a while, out on the porch where the crickets are loud enough to drown out your own noise, and it starts to work on you different. That’s not a Bible verse. That’s a love story. The realest one there ever was.

A Love That Came Near

God looked down at a world that was broken in about every way a thing can break, and He didn’t turn His face from it. He didn’t stay up in the clean and distant places where trouble can’t reach. He came down into the mud with the rest of us.

He gave the one thing that cost Him everything. His Son.

Jesus didn’t get sent like a telegram from somewhere safe. He walked into the middle of our suffering on purpose, and He gave His life so the rest of us could be forgiven and set loose from what was holding us down. The cross isn’t a symbol. It’s proof. Love that only talks is cheap. Love that bleeds is the kind that means something.
A Gift for Whoever

There’s a word in that verse that’ll stop you if you let it. Whosoever.

No fine print behind that word. No list of who qualifies. Doesn’t matter if you’re rich or ruined, churched or never been inside one, smart as a whip or barely scraping by. The invitation doesn’t check your record first.

You don’t have to clean yourself up before you knock on that door. You don’t earn your way in. Grace was never a wage. It’s a gift, and gifts don’t ask what you did to deserve them.

Anybody can walk up. Anybody can believe. Anybody can be given a life that doesn’t run out.

A Promise With No Expiration

Everything else wears down eventually. Trucks rust. Friendships fade. The body gets tired quicker than it used to, and the years go by faster than a man wants to admit. Nothing you can hold onto stays the same forever.

But what Jesus hands you doesn’t come with a shelf life.

Eternal life isn’t just some far-off promise about what happens when the dirt closes over you. It starts right now, in whatever kitchen or truck cab or hospital room you’re sitting in tonight. Forgiveness. Peace. A reason to keep going. The quiet certainty that death doesn’t get the last word, no matter how loud it talks.

You Are Not as Alone as You Feel

There are stretches of road that get heavy. Sickness, losing somebody, disappointment that won’t let go, nights so lonesome you can hear your own heartbeat. In those stretches, this old verse says something your circumstances can’t take back.

You are loved. Not loved in some general way that gets handed out to the whole crowd. Loved by name.

God knows what you’re carrying even when you can’t find the words for it. He saw the gift cost Him His Son, and He paid it anyway, so you could trust He’s not going anywhere now.

His love stays when everybody else has packed up and gone. It finds you in the dark places. It holds on through every hard season you walk through.

Something to Carry With You Today

Just take a minute today and let that verse sit with you a while.

You haven’t been forgotten. You’re not too far gone for grace to reach. You don’t have to earn what’s already been given.

The gift’s already on the table. Jesus came so you could be forgiven, brought back, and given a life that never runs dry. Believe it. Rest in it. Walk through today knowing you’re seen, known, and held.

A Prayer

Heavenly Father, thank You for a love big enough to give up Your only Son for me. Thank You that the door’s open to anybody who’ll believe. Help me take hold of that love, trust the promise, and remember I’m never walking this alone. When the road gets heavy, remind me I’m seen, known, forgiven, and held close in Your hands. In Jesus’ name, amen.

#John316 #GreatestLoveStory #KJV #FaithJourney #Grace #EverlastingLife #GodsLove #DailyDevotional #ChristianFaith #WhosoeverBelieveth #HopeInChrist #FaithOverFear

When Your Soul Needs a Reason to Praise

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When Your Soul Needs a Reason to Praise

Some mornings the praise just comes on its own, easy as breathing. The coffee is hot, the light is coming in low and gold through the window, and a man doesn’t have to reach for gratitude, it just finds him.

Other mornings are not like that. You wake up and the weight is already sitting on your chest before your feet hit the floor, and praise is not a feeling waiting to happen. It is a decision you make on purpose, jaw set, before the day talks you out of it.

David knew both kinds of mornings. He was a man who had danced before the ark and also a man who had hidden in caves wondering if the next sunrise would be his last. In the middle of all that living, he sat down and had a talk with his own soul. He didn’t wait for someone else to preach him into praise. He preached to himself.

“Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.” Psalm 103:1 (KJV)

That is not a man offering God a tired little nod on his way out the door. That is a man calling every last piece of himself to the table, his heart, his memory, his aching muscles and his worried mind, and telling every piece of it to get in line and bless the Lord together.

There is something in that for anyone carrying a full plate right now, a hard season at work, a decision that won’t resolve, a future that will not hold still long enough to get a good look at it. Stop where you are and breathe. Set that worry down like a sack you have been hauling too long, and start remembering instead.

Remember the prayer that got answered when you had nearly quit praying it.

Remember the door that opened after you had already made peace with it staying shut.

Remember the strength that showed up right when yours ran out, strength that was not yours to begin with.

Praise is not a man pretending the trouble is not real. Praise is a man standing in the middle of real trouble and declaring, out loud if he has to, that the Lord is bigger than all of it.

So today, have that same talk David had. Tell your soul the truth. God is still good, His mercy has not run dry, and His love has not shifted an inch. And when you are done telling it, do not stop at a whisper of thanks. Give Him everything you’ve got.

Bless the Lord with all that is within you.

Today’s Reflection:

What is one thing God has done that you can praise Him for today?

When Hope Overflows

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My Story

There’s a particular kind of quiet that settles over a man in a waiting room, the kind where the magazines don’t matter and the clock on the wall seems to have forgotten how to move. I sat in that quiet not long ago. My geriatric doctor sent me to my urologist. He put me through a CT scan of the abdomen and pelvis, then a cystoscopy, hunting for bladder cancer. I won’t pretend the word cancer doesn’t carry its own weight, even before anybody’s said it about you out loud. It brings its own gravity into the room.

The tests came back clean. No cancer, just a few worn parts that come standard with a body that’s logged some miles. But here’s the part worth telling. In those days of not knowing, especially the hours before that cystoscopy when my mind had every reason to run wild, something in me stayed still. Not numb. Not brave in the way the movies show it. Just still. Peace had moved in and set up camp, and fear never did find the door. I had more clam than I thought possible.

“Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.” Romans 15:13 (KJV)

We spend a lot of our lives waiting on peace to show up after the trouble leaves. We tell ourselves we’ll breathe easy once the diagnosis changes, once the pain lets go, once the fog clears and we can see the road again. It’s a reasonable enough way to think. It’s also backward.

Romans 15:13 tells a different story. That peace isn’t rented out by our circumstances. It’s not something we earn by getting good news. It comes from a source, not a situation. Scripture doesn’t just say God gives hope like a man handing out spare change. It says He is the God of hope, the well itself, not just the bucket.

Long stretches of sickness or grief or waiting have a way of hollowing a man out. You reach for your own strength and one day you find the well’s gone dry. That’s not failure. That’s just where the road tends to lead. And it’s exactly where the Holy Spirit meets you, not with a lecture, but with water. As you hand Him your trust, He starts filling up those tired, empty rooms inside you with a joy the world never manufactured and can’t manufacture now.

Understand this too. God isn’t in the business of doling out just enough hope to get you through till Tuesday. He promises overflow. Your circumstances might not shift an inch. Your body might still ache, your questions might still hang in the air unanswered. But His presence has a way of steadying a man’s heart anyway, reminding him that grace runs deeper than whatever trouble he’s staring down.

You don’t have to manufacture hope today. Bring Him your empty heart, worn thin as it is, and let Him fill it.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, You are the God of hope, and I praise You because Your love and mercy never run dry, not even on the hardest days.

Forgive me for looking to my own circumstances, my own grit, for the peace only You can give. Today I lay my trust down at Your feet. I hand You my worries, my health, my unanswered questions, my fear of what’s still coming.

Holy Spirit, fill every worn and weary place in me. Trade my anxiety for Your peace. Trade my discouragement for Your joy. Trade my fear for a hope I didn’t build myself.

Let Your presence show up so plain in my life that hope spills over from me onto somebody else who’s struggling today. I rest easy knowing I belong to You, and that You’re the one holding on, not me.

In Jesus’ name, 
Amen.

Action Steps

When the worry starts creeping in, stop where you’re standing and take one slow breath.

As you breathe out, name whatever you’re hauling around and say, “Lord, I give You this burden.” In 1 Peter 5:7 it tells me to cast all my cares on You. Lord, I cast all my cares on You for You care for me.

As you breathe in, say, “Holy Spirit, fill me with Your joy and peace.” In Philippians 4:7 you say “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Do that a few times over. It’s not a magic trick. It’s just a way of remembering you were never meant to carry the whole load by yourself.

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

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s books at Jimmie’s books available in paperback, ebook, audio, and large print

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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