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Dana Rongione 06/07/2026 Dana Rongione 06/07/2026

Faithful in the Shadows

There are days when I look at my life and wonder if any of it matters.

I'm not talking about a dramatic crisis of faith. I'm talking about the quiet, creeping question that slips in on an ordinary Wednesday when nobody's reading my blog, nobody's buying my books, and our Bible study only has four ladies in attendance.

Is this really making any difference? Am I doing anything that truly matters?

In my newest book, Hope Refined, my character Merlin wrestles with this very thing. He's lived for decades, faithfully following and serving, yet he looks back and sees what feels like a long corridor of nothing.

No great victories.

No world-shaking moments.

Just years of small, quiet, unseen faithfulness. And he wonders if he's wasted it all.

And then Jesus reminds him of the seven thousand.

Dana Rongione 03/07/2026 Dana Rongione 03/07/2026

Waist-Deep Worship

Sometimes, authors write a scene or a line that sticks with them long after they’ve written it. Such was the case in my newest book, Hope Refined. King David is fleeing his throne in the middle of the night. It was not a dignified, strategic retreat, mind you, but a desperate, stumbling flight through the dark. The river ahead of him is swollen and angry, but the fleeing king wades into it anyway, the cold water rising to his waist.

And then? He sings.

Not a quiet, trembling little hum. He lifts his voice in praise to God, right there in the middle of a raging river.

In the dead of night.

With everything he's ever known crumbling behind him.

When my character Merlin watches in disbelief and marvels at how David could possibly sing in a moment like that, Jesus leans over and quietly confides: He is singing to drive back the darkness.

I love that line, and I can’t get it out of my head. Singing to drive away the darkness. Wow!

Dana Rongione 01/07/2026 Dana Rongione 01/07/2026

Trusting God With Your Critics

Somewhere in the back of my mind, there's a list, a running tally of people who've said unkind things, dismissed my work, questioned my motives, or just plain been rude. And if I'm being really honest, there are moments when I replay those offenses like a favorite movie, except nobody's enjoying the show.

Maybe you have a list too.

In my newest book, Hope Refined, David is at one of the lowest points in his life. He's fleeing Jerusalem, exiled from his throne by his own son. He's exhausted, humiliated, and heartbroken. And right in the middle of that miserable journey, a man named Shimei comes out and starts cursing him. Loudly. Publicly. Enthusiastically. He throws stones at David and his servants, kicking a man while he is very much down.

David's mighty men are on their feet in an instant.

Dana Rongione 29/06/2026 Dana Rongione 29/06/2026

Are You Being Managed or Ministered To?

I have a confession to make. I'm a sucker for a good compliment. Tell me my hair looks nice, and I'll follow you to the grocery store. Compliment my writing or teaching, and I might just invite you to move in. Humans have a soft spot for people who make us feel seen, understood, and validated. It's wired into us. And unfortunately, the wrong people know how to exploit that wiring like a seasoned electrician.

Meet Absalom. He was David's son, and if there were an ancient award for "Most Charming Man in the Kingdom," he would have won it three years running. The Bible tells us he was devastatingly handsome, and he knew how to use every single inch of that gift. But looks were only half of his toolkit. The other half? Words.

Dana Rongione 26/06/2026 Dana Rongione 26/06/2026

The Myth of the Flawless Hero

I have a confession to make. I've been guilty of building pedestals.

Not literal ones, mind you. I'm not much of a carpenter (just ask my Holiday Bible Club kids).

But in my mind? Oh, I've constructed some beautiful monuments to the people I admire most. My favorite preachers. The missionaries whose newsletters I devoured. The women who taught me the Word with such fire and grace that I was sure they'd never had a bad day in their lives.

And then, inevitably, several of them fell off.

That crash is a special kind of heartbreak, isn't it? It's not just that a person disappointed you. It's that the idea you'd built around them came crumbling down, and sometimes, if you're not careful, your faith goes down with the rubble.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, actually.