Tag: Psalm413

Stay the Path, Finish with Joy

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🎖️ Stay the Path, Finish with Joy
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

This verse hit me like an old friend knocking on the screen door, early in the morning with coffee on and the world still quiet.

“But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy…” – 📖 Acts 20:24 (KJV)

Paul’s words don’t whisper—they stand tall. There’s a kind of grit in his voice, the kind that looks trouble in the eye and says, “You won’t move me.” He knows what he’s here for. He knows the road he’s walking. And no storm, no setback, no critic, no fear is gonna shake that.

Reading it brought me back to a chapter of my life that still shapes who I am.

I was a U.S. Army officer then—young, sharp, full of responsibility. I led troops, some of them barely old enough to shave, yet already carrying more weight on their shoulders than most folks ever see. There were times it got rough. When the unknowns pressed in. When fear didn’t come kicking the door down, but crept in slow, like fog curling through the trees. We the soldiers looked at me, praying I knew what I was doing, would lead them, bring them back.

I remember those moments from over half a century ago—standing in the dark, boots on the ground, heart thumping like a drum—and holding tight to the few things I knew for sure: my orders, my calling, and my God.

That kind of focus—that calm in the chaos—that’s what Paul’s talking about.

He wasn’t interested in preserving comfort or status. He wasn’t living to protect his life—he was living to pour it out. For the gospel. For grace. For the joy that comes from finishing what he was given to do.

And that, friend, is what I want too. Not a life wrapped in bubble wrap. Not a legacy padded with accolades. I want to walk my road, do my work, write my stories, love my people, and stand before my Savior someday, not with regret—but with joy.

Joy in the doing.
Joy in the giving.
Joy in the finishing.

I don’t know what kind of season you’re in today. Maybe you’re leading others. Maybe you’re trying to hold it together in a job that feels thankless. Maybe you’re quietly fighting battles no one sees.

Wherever you are—stay the path.

Don’t let the hard stuff move you. Don’t forget who gave you your marching orders. And don’t count your life too dear to be spent in the service of something bigger.

Finish your course. Finish it strong.
And by God’s grace—finish with joy.

Grace and peace,
Jimmie

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Hope That Holds When the Bottom Drops Out

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Hope That Holds When the Bottom Drops Out
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

“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)

It was just after six when I stepped outside. The sky was still deciding what kind of day it wanted to be—somewhere between navy blue and gold, quiet as a prayer. Steam rose from my coffee mug as I sat down on the old wooden bench I keep near the back fence, the one that leans just enough to remind you it’s been there longer than some friendships.

I watched the light stretch across the yard, painting the tops of the trees first, then spilling over the grass, and I thought about this verse:

“Now the God of hope fill you…”

Fill you.
Not just top you off. Not give you a sip.
Fill you.

That hit me. Because some days, I’m running on empty and trying to fake full.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my share of days when the joy ran dry and peace seemed like a postcard from a place I’d never been. Times when believing felt more like hanging on by a thread than standing tall in faith. But then the Holy Spirit whispers—reminds me He hasn’t gone anywhere.

Romans 15:13 isn’t just a blessing—it’s a lifeline. It’s a holy refueling station on the side of a worn-out road.

We’re all hungry, aren’t we?

Hungry for a joy that doesn’t come with conditions.
For peace that sticks around when the doctor shakes his head, when the checkbook won’t balance, or when the people you counted on… don’t.
For hope that shows up with its boots on and says, “I’m not leaving, no matter what.”

This world’ll take the breath out of you if you’re not anchored in something stronger. The headlines alone can steal your sleep. But here’s the good news: Our hope doesn’t depend on what we see. It depends on the One we trust.

Believing isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about knowing where to turn when you don’t.

When you’re sitting in the quiet, maybe with tears you haven’t let fall yet—He meets you there.

When you’re staring at your phone, waiting on news you can’t control—He meets you there.

When you’re just trying to make it to Friday, holding your breath and holding your family together—He meets you right there.

And He fills.

Not because you’ve earned it.
Not because you’ve got it all figured out.
But because that’s who He is.
The God of hope. The Giver of joy. The Bringer of peace.

So wherever this finds you today—
Whether you’re on a front porch or stuck in traffic…
Whether your heart feels heavy or light as air…
I pray the God of hope fills you up—deep down, all the way.
And that by the power of the Holy Ghost, you abound in hope.

Not scrape by in hope.
Not ration it like there’s a shortage.
But abound.

Because there’s no limit to what He can do.
And there’s no bottom to His well.

With grace, grit, and a strong cup of coffee,
Jimmie

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Stayin’ Connected to the Vine

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🍇 Stayin’ Connected to the Vine
by Jimmie Aaron Kepler

“I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.” — John 15:5 (KJV)

This verse found me again today—like a well-worn song that still knows how to stir something deep inside.

I had just come back from a walk down by the park, coffee in hand. The sun was rising slow over the little lake. No wind, no birds chirping just yet. Just that stillness you don’t get much anymore unless you go looking for it. I sat on the bench under that same old oak tree that’s been leaning over the water longer than I’ve been walking this earth. The lake was still as glass, not a ripple, and I thought to myself, now that’s what peace looks like.

And right there, the verse popped into my head—

“I am the vine, ye are the branches…”

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had seasons where I’ve tried to live like I was the vine and the branch and the whole blessed vineyard. Working hard, pushing through, convincing myself I could carry the load if I just gritted my teeth and bore down harder.

But all that ever got me was worn out and wondering why the joy had up and left.

Jesus wasn’t just making a poetic point when He said this. He was telling us a truth that ain’t changed since the Upper Room. He’s the source. He’s the strength. He’s the reason anything good grows in us or through us.

See, when I abide—really stay close, like a branch wrapped tight around the vine—I’m not running on empty. I’m not hustling for fruit. It just shows up. Not because I earned it. But because I stayed connected.

I’ve noticed it in the small things. A little more patience when someone cuts me off in traffic. A kinder tone when talking to a loved one who’s had a hard day. A deeper peace in the middle of medical appointments or long nights when sleep won’t come easy. And yeah, sometimes even a bit more creative spark when I sit down to write.

It ain’t about striving. It’s about staying.

Without Him, I dry up. But with Him? Things bloom. In His time. In His way.

So this morning, with the sun rising over that still lake, I whispered a simple prayer—not for strength, not for direction—but just, “Lord, help me stay close today.”

That’s enough. That’s where the fruit grows.

Reflection:
Have you been feeling dry or disconnected lately? Maybe it’s not that you need to do more. Maybe you just need to stay close. Let Him be the vine. You just hold on.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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Peace In The Storm

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🕊️ Peace in the Storm
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

📖 “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” — John 16:33 KJV

Some mornings whisper their way in.

That’s how it was today. I woke up a little before sunrise, just as the world was starting to stretch and stir. I poured my coffee, fed the feral cats who were already pacing like little sentinels by the back fence, and decided to do something I hadn’t done in a while—I walked down to Cottonwood Park.

The air was cool, like the tail end of a prayer. The breeze was soft, just enough to rustle the leaves overhead. I made my way to the edge of that little lake—the one tucked behind the row of pecan trees—and stood still.

And there it was.

The sun, just beginning to peek up over the far side of the water, casting gold across everything it touched. The lake looked like glass. Not a ripple. Just stillness. Still and soft and sacred. Even the birds seemed to hush in that moment, like creation itself was pausing to watch.

I stood there a long while. No noise, no rush. Just peace.

And that’s when the verse rose up in my heart, like it had been waiting for the right time to speak: 

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace…”

I felt it right then—not some vague idea of peace, but real peace. The kind that settles deep. The kind you don’t have to explain. The kind that shows up not because the world is easy, but because Christ is near.

You and I both know the rest of that verse. 

“In the world ye shall have tribulation…” 

And Lord knows, I’ve had my share. You probably have too. Trouble doesn’t take a holiday. It knocks when it wants and doesn’t care if it’s a good time.

But that little lake—still as faith and bright as hope—reminded me of the rest of what Jesus said: 

“But be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

That’s the promise we hold to. Not that trouble won’t come, but that it won’t win.

I think about the storms I’ve faced—some recent, some from a lifetime ago. The ones that knocked the wind out of me. The ones that left scars I still carry. But somehow, every time, Jesus was already waiting on the other side, steady as sunrise.

The peace He gives isn’t about escaping the hard stuff. It’s about standing firm in the middle of it. Like that lake, unmoved by the wind. Like a song my grandma used to hum while hanging laundry—“It is well with my soul.” That’s what faith looks like. That’s what overcoming feels like.

So I say this to you, as much as I say it to myself: Take heart. Breathe deep. Walk down to your own lake—whatever that looks like—and let the peace of Christ speak louder than the storm.

He’s already overcome.

Grace and peace to you,
Jimmie

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Write It Plain

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Write It Plain: A Morning Reflection on Habakkuk 2:2
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Well now…

This morning, as the sunlight spilled soft across my writing desk and the feral cats lounged lazy on the other side of the backyard fence, I found myself staring at a familiar verse. Not just reading it, but hearing it in my bones.

“And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.”— Habakkuk 2:2 KJV

I reckon most of us have a vision tucked away somewhere. Maybe it’s scribbled on the back of a church bulletin. Maybe it’s just whispered in prayer after midnight. Maybe, like an old photograph in a shoebox, it’s something you haven’t looked at in years.

But friend, God didn’t give you that dream just to leave it gathering dust.

Put Pen to Paper

There’s something holy about a blank page. It’s honest. It doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. But it sure will hold the questions, the hopes, the prayers you’ve been carrying around in your chest like a thundercloud.

Writing the vision down doesn’t make it easier. It makes it real.
It makes it something you can hand to someone else and say, “Here. This is what I believe. This is where I’m headed.”

The Lord told Habakkuk not just to write the vision—but to make it plain. Not fancy. Not dressed up in churchy words or business-speak. Plain. Simple. Understandable.

Why?

“That he may run that readeth it.”

Because somebody out there is waiting for that clarity. Waiting to run. Waiting to follow something true.

Don’t Keep It in the Shadows

We live in a world where dreams often die of hesitation. We wait until the timing feels right. Until we feel “qualified.” Until we’ve got it all figured out.

But faith doesn’t always walk hand-in-hand with certainty.

Sometimes the boldest act of belief is to write the first sentence. To sketch the idea. To speak the vision out loud in a room that isn’t clapping yet.

If the Lord gave you the dream, He’ll give you the strength to see it through. And if you’re still squinting for clarity? That’s alright. Keep writing. Keep praying. Keep stepping.

Clarity often comes in motion.

A Little Story

Years ago, I had a story stirring in my soul. A tale set in a small Texas town with coal-miner-helmet-wearing prairie dogs, no less. Every time I thought about it, I’d grin. But I kept telling myself it was too silly, too strange, too “out there.” Finally, I wrote it as a short story. I shopped it. I sold it to science fiction magazine – “Bewildering Stories” That issue of the magazine won a major award.

Then one day, I read Habakkuk 2:2 again, and it hit me different. I was thinking about what to write next. I thought about turning the short story into a speculative fiction novel. I grabbed a pen, opened a fresh notebook, and started writing the first draft of my book in progress: The Shamrock Incident: The Night the Ground Started Glowing. Within four weeks I had completed a 105,000 word first draft.

Was it perfect? Not even close.
But it was mine. It was clear.
And once it was on paper, it had a heartbeat.

And now I’m doing the rewrites and edits — getting it ready to go to the editor in a few weeks.

Friend, Start Today

Maybe it’s a book.
Maybe it’s a ministry.
Maybe it’s a new chapter of life entirely.

Whatever the Lord has planted in your spirit—write it down.
Write it plain.
Speak it bold.
Live it true.

There’s a runner out there who’s been waiting to see what you’ve been holding back.

So go ahead.
Uncap the pen.
Pull out the journal.
And start.

Right now’s a mighty fine time.

Grace and Peace,
Jimmie

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Strength in the Bed of Languishing

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Strength in the Bed of Languishing
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

📖 Psalm 41:3 (KJV): “The Lord will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.”

Ever been laid low—physically, emotionally, spiritually?

Yeah, me too.

Psalm 41:3 reminds us that we’re not alone in those moments when our body is too tired to move, our mind too foggy to think, and our spirit too weary to fight. It’s one of those verses that doesn’t just preach—it sits with you. It doesn’t try to fix everything in a hurry. It simply says, “I see you. And so does God.”

“The Lord will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.” — Psalm 41:3

Now that’s a kind of holy comfort that doesn’t wear out when the doctor walks out the door or when another pill bottle runs dry.

I Know That Bed All Too Well

Over the last few years, I’ve become well-acquainted with the “bed of languishing.” Not just the kind you lie in at night, but the one you carry around with you during the day—the invisible one that settles in your bones and makes you feel like you’re dragging an anchor through life.

Let me paint the picture plainly. I’ve been dealing with:

  •  Irritable bowel disease
  •  Pancreatitis
  •  COVID (twice)
  •  Atrial fibrillation
  •  Ventricular fibrillation (that one nearly took me out)
  •  Trigger finger surgery with complications and still a mess
  •  Non-alcoholic fatty liver disease
  •  Lichen planus
  •  High blood pressure
  •  High cholesterol
  •  High triglycerides
  • Glaucoma
  • Macular degeneration
  • Prostate the size of a baseball
  • Arthritis that never leaves me alone 

 

Throw in a dash of self-pity for flavor—since my wife passed a few years ago—right after both of my parents passed away , and there’ve been days I felt like my body was going to cash in before my spirit ever had a say. 

Yet, I’m still here as God still has a purpose and I figure my writing these devotionals everyday is part of it, as is my book and article writing that seem to get to the one person who needs to here just what God share through me.

But Then This Verse Shows Up

In the midst of all that, this verse from Psalms landed soft on my soul like a warm quilt on a cold night. It reminded me that even if my body is rebelling and my heart feels like it’s splintering into pieces, God is still making the bed. He’s still tucking in the sheets, plumping the pillow, and whispering, “Rest, child. I’m here.”

  • Even in sickness, God is present.
  • Even in weakness, He’s working.
  • Even in silence, He’s near.

That’s the truth I hold onto when my knees buckle, when the monitor beeps a little too long, or when the pharmacist knows me by name.

He Tends the Bed We Lie In

This verse isn’t about magical healing or quick fixes. It’s about presence. God doesn’t promise to yank us off the sickbed the moment we call His name, but He does promise to sit by us. To strengthen us right there in the middle of it all. To tend to us like the Great Physician He is. And sometimes, He sends flesh-and-blood ones too—nurses, doctors, friends who bring soup, sons who carry burdens, daughters who call and say, “Just checking on you, Dad.”

So if you’re feeling like you’re on that bed—whether from a broken body, a broken heart, or a soul that’s just plain tired—this one’s for you.

  • Take comfort.
  • Take your time.
  • Take His hand.

The Lord will strengthen you. Yes, even there.

📖 Psalm 41:3 — “The Lord will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.”

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

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