Tag: Witness

Today, Yes, This One

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Morning By The Window

I had planned to meet God on the balcony this morning. Instead, I met Him at the window.

That is how this Friday began for me here in Branson, Missouri. Most mornings on this trip, I have stepped out onto the condo balcony with a cup of Earl Grey tea, my Bible, and my journal, looking out over Table Rock Lake before turning to my writing. It has become a sweet little rhythm. It’s been quiet, steady, and good for the soul. The kind of beginning that helps a man gather his thoughts and offer them to the Lord before the day starts making its demands.

But this morning would not be that kind of morning.

A cold front had moved in overnight. Before daylight had fully broken, I could already tell the whole character of the day had changed. The wind was up. The trees were restless. The lake had lost its calm. What had felt welcoming on the past few mornings now felt raw and sharp. The wind chill had dropped into the mid 40s, and instead of stepping out into the dawn, I stayed inside and stood at the balcony window, warm cup in hand, looking out at a darker, colder, more unsettled world.

And maybe that is what caught my attention most. The day I thought I was getting was not the day that came.

The Weather Changed

The last several mornings had been mild and pleasant. Cool enough to feel fresh, but not so cold as to send a fellow scurrying back indoors. The air had that clean Ozarks touch to it. The lake had looked gentle. The hills had seemed half asleep. Those mornings invited lingering.

This one did not.

This morning was dark in a different way. Not soft-dark. Not still-dark. It was a restless dark. The wind worked over the surface of Table Rock Lake until the water looked troubled. The trees along the shore bent and shifted as if the whole landscape had been stirred from sleep too roughly.

It looked, I suppose, a little like life does sometimes.

There are days that arrive warm and welcoming, and there are days that come in with a hard edge to them. Days when the spirit feels stirred up before breakfast. Days when the heart is already carrying something heavy. Days when the weather outside seems to match the weather within.

I stood there looking through the glass and thought to myself: this was not the morning I had planned.

But of course, that is often the way life goes. We make our little arrangements. We set our expectations. We imagine what the day ought to feel like. And then the Lord allows a different sort of morning to arrive.

The Verse That Met Me

It was right there, with the wind moving over the water, that Psalm 118:24 came to me:

“This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

I have known that verse for a long, long time. It is familiar enough that a person can quote it without really stopping to hear it. But this morning it landed with fresh weight.

Because the verse does not say, “This is the easy day.”
It does not say, “This is the warm day.”
It does not say, “This is the bright and cheerful day when everything falls neatly into place.”

It says, “This is the day.”

This one.

The windy one.
The darker one.
The one that did not match my plans.
The one I might not have chosen for myself.

This day.

That is what makes the verse so strong and so tender at the same time. It reminds me that my peace is not to be anchored in the kind of day I wish I had received, but in the God who made the day I have been given.

Psalm 118 is a song of thanksgiving, but it is not shallow thanksgiving. It rises out of mercy, deliverance, and trouble overcome by the goodness of God. It has some backbone to it. It knows what it is to praise the Lord not only when the skies are clear, but when the heart has learned that God is faithful in every weather.

And that is what I needed this morning.

The Gift of This Day

Standing there at the window, I was reminded that before I had one thought about this Friday, God had already made it. Before I spoke my first prayer, He was already Lord over every hour of it. Before I wrote one line in my journal or one word for the page, the whole day was already resting in His hands.

That steadies a man.

The older I get, the more I think one of the great disciplines of the Christian life is learning to receive the day God sends instead of pining for a different one. That does not come naturally. We are forever looking backward with regret or forward with worry. We rehearse old sorrows. We borrow tomorrow’s burdens. All the while, the Lord keeps calling us back to the ground beneath our feet.

This is the day.

Not yesterday.
Not tomorrow.
This day.

The one in front of you.
The one in your hands.
The one under God’s rule and care.

And if that is true, then even a cold, windblown Friday morning can be received with gratitude.

Thank You, Lord, For One More Day

Let me say it plainly: rejoicing does not always look triumphant. Sometimes it is not a shout. Sometimes it is not a song. Sometimes it is simply opening your Bible when your heart feels tired. Sometimes it is taking hold of your coffee cup or tea mug, looking out at a day you did not expect, and whispering, “Thank You, Lord, for one more day.”

That too is rejoicing.

Maybe that is the mercy hidden in mornings like this. We do not have to find God only in the lovely moments. We do not have to wait for better weather, brighter light, or easier circumstances. He meets us in the day we have, not only in the day we would have chosen.

So this Friday morning, wherever you are and whatever sort of weather has found your soul, receive the day from His hand.

Not yesterday.
Not tomorrow.
Today.

And rejoice.

Love and Grace,
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.

The Beginning

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1.1 
The Beginning

Before the worlds, were spoken to be,
The Liberator stood, in eternity.
His voice, a melody, His love, to set all free,
And from nothingness, came land and sea.

The heavens stretched, with a vibrant glow,
The stars awakened, their light did flow.
Each planet spun, in a rhythmic show,
A symphony sung, where life would grow.

He called forth oceans, their depths profound,
Where waves would echo, their eternal sound.
The mountains rose, the valleys wound,
His hand in all, His love unbound.

The beasts emerged, the skies took flight,
The birds rejoiced, in their morning light.
The Liberator smiled, at the wondrous sight,
Each life a reflection, of His delight.

Then from the dust, His masterpiece came,
A human form, both wild and tame.
With breath divine, He sparked the flame,
Of a soul unbroken, pure in name.

A garden He planted, serene and wide,
With rivers that flowed, and paths to guide.
Where man and woman walked, side by side,
Their hearts unburdened, their trust implied.

Yet freedom bore, a sacred test,
A choice to follow, to trust what’s best.
One tree stood tall, its fruit possessed,
The knowledge of all, a gift suppressed.

The serpent came, with whispers sly,
A cunning voice, that questioned why.
Its lies enticed, their hearts did try,
And the bond of trust, began to die.

The fruit was taken, their eyes did see,
The weight of shame, the lost decree.
Yet mercy flowed, from eternity,
The Liberator’s love, their destiny.

He clothed their shame, though exile came,
His plan remained, forever the same.
Through sorrow and trials, through guilt and blame,
His covenant endured; His love proclaimed.

Through Adam and Eve, the journey would start,
A story of grace, a mending of hearts.
Through dust and stars, His promise imparts,
The Liberator’s plan, a sacred art.

From: The Liberator’s Song: An Allegorical Retelling
of The Torah and The Pentateuch”
Book 1
1.1 – The Beginning
Poetry and Prayer Press
Copyright 2025
A Poetic Narrative by Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Artwork: by Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Did you enjoy this article/poem?
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.

Boxy Lady

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Boxy Lady
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

(A Prime-time parody in the spirit of electric midnight and cardboard dreams)

You know you’re a fast-click heart-taker
You know you’re a late-night deal-maker
Hey…

You got that blue glow in your eyes
And that Amazon Prime logo by your side

You say, “It’s just one more thing, maybe three…”
But tomorrow there’s a cardboard mountain where the hallway used to be

Oh mercy, Boxy Lady
Stacked up to the ceiling, drivin’ me crazy

I see you there in the midnight light
Scrollin’ and swipin’ through the endless night

Your fingers fly like a runaway train
Every tap brings another cardboard rain

You whisper, “It’s on sale, I can’t say no…”
But the porch keeps groanin’ under every load

Oh lawdy, Boxy Lady
Brown paper towers, callin’ you baby

Closets full and the garage ain’t free
Still that homepage calls your soul to sea

Oh sweet Boxy Lady
Amazon Prime keeps callin’, and you answer daily

You got the drivers memorized by name
They just smile, say, “See you again…”

The doorbell rings like an electric six-string cry
Another box comes walkin’ inside

I said hey now… Boxy Lady
You got the whole house drownin’ in maybes
Yeah yeah… Boxy Lady
Cardboard kingdom, and you’re the queen, baby

Here comes another one now…

I hear that truck again.
You say not buying might be a is a sin

Your credit card earns 5% cash back on online purchases from Amazon
And Whole Foods too

Free delivery
Welcome to my cardboard zoo.

Oh my sweet Boxy Lady

Boxy Lady
The cardboard queen
Of the Amazon Prime Scene

What Does a Vine Tattoo Mean?

Posted in @jimmiekepler, Ancient Wisdom for Today, Bible, Blog, Christian Living, Christian Writers, Jim Kepler, Jimmie A. Kepler, Jimmie Aaron Kepler, Jimmie Kepler, jimmiekepler.com, Writer's Life, WritingLeave a comment

This morning found me right where most of my mornings begin — sitting in my usual chair at Starbucks, the one looking out the window where you can watch the world wake up one car at a time.

My tall blonde roast sat beside me, steam rising slow, like the day itself wasn’t in any hurry.

Leah was working the drive-thru. She always moves with that quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly who she is, even if the rest of the world is still figuring itself out. At twenty-two, she carries herself with more purpose than most people twice her age. She has that Scandinavian super model look — tall, posed, graceful and blonde — but it’s her work ethic that tells the real story. She shows up fully present, which is rarer than people realize. She has that rare combination of being both beautiful and brilliant … and I’m not sure she realizes she has either. She’s that humble.

After a bit, she stepped away from the window and walked over to the register where I stood waiting for a refill.

She glanced at my cup and smiled that familiar smile.

“You need a refill of your tall blonde?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, sliding it toward her like a man accepting a small mercy he didn’t earn.

That’s when I noticed it.

Her right arm, from wrist nearly to shoulder, was wrapped in a vine tattoo. Not loud. Not flashy. Just clean and intentional. The vine wound upward like it was growing in real time, like it had somewhere to be.

It hadn’t been there last week.

I nodded toward it.

“That’s new,” I said. “It looks great.”

Her whole face lit up.

“Thank you,” she said. “I got it because it reminds me of my favorite Bible verse. John 15:5.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I thought back to her sharing she was a recently Believer in Jesus Christ.

I didn’t have to look it up. Didn’t have to think about it.

“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.”

For a moment, the noise faded. The grinders. The espresso machines. The milk steaming. The low conversations. All of it drifted into the background.

Just two people.
Two believers.
One ordinary morning made meaningful.
A common faith in Christ Jesus.

At twenty-two, that tattoo isn’t just ink. It’s identity, her testimony. It’s a quiet statement in a loud world. Her generation expresses faith differently than mine did. We wore crosses around our necks in the 1970s as part of the infamous Jesus movement. They write it into their story — sometimes into their skin. But the message hasn’t changed.

Stay connected.

Branches don’t survive by trying harder. They survive by staying connected to the vine.

I’ve lived long enough to know what happens when I try to do life on my own strength. Things dry up. Peace gets thin. Purpose gets blurry. You can stay busy, but something inside feels disconnected.

But when you stay close to Him — really close — something changes.

You don’t have to force it.

Strength returns.
Clarity returns.
Life returns.

Not because you earned it.

Because you stayed connected.

This morning, that truth was written in ink on a twenty-two-year-old barista’s arm.

And written again, quietly, on my heart.

“I am the vine, ye are the branches.”

For any age — twenty-two or seventy-two — that’s enough. And this morning she was my muse for this article.

“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

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.