Faithfulness is neither flimsy nor sentimental. It’s not something you embroider on a pillow or stick on a card. It’s forged. Relentless.
God stitches promises into the sky, etches them in the words of prophets, and wraps them in the cries of newborns. The story of Christ’s coming wasn’t a last-minute rescue plan—it was carved into the bones of time before the first star burned.
Sin is no light thing. It clings like a shadow you can’t outrun, pressing down harder than stone, heavier than mountains. It slithers in with whispers, wraps itself around your heart, and chains you to its lies.
Stop. Just for a moment. Stop the madness of schedules, the scramble for perfection, the spinning plates. This world loves to pile weight on your shoulders—your job, your family, your failures, your fears.
Lift your eyes. Higher. No, higher still. Beyond the rooftops, the towers, the clouds. Lift them past the highest peaks until your neck strains and the weight of your world begins to fall away. There, on the mountain that does not crumble, stands the King.
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