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Dana Rongione 07/09/2026 Dana Rongione 07/09/2026

What If Thirty Seconds Could Change the Way You Pray?

I am, by nature, a "get to the point" kind of person. If I need something, I say so. No preamble. No small talk. Just give me the solution, and let's move on. This is probably why, for years, my prayer life sounded a little like a drive-through order: "Hi, Lord, I'll take healing for this headache, provision for that bill, and can you supersize the patience, please? Thanks, bye."

I never once considered that I might be skipping a step.

Then I started noticing something as I read through my Bible. Over and over, in the same breath, Scripture pairs two words: prayer and supplication. Solomon uses the combo repeatedly in his temple dedication prayer in 1 Kings 8. Daniel uses it in his famous prayer of repentance. Paul uses it in Ephesians and again in Philippians. And nearly every single time, prayer comes first. Supplication follows.

That is not an accident. That is a pattern.

Dana Rongione 04/09/2026 Dana Rongione 04/09/2026

Planning Without the Panic

I sat down last week to plan the month ahead, calendar app open, herbal tea in hand, feeling almost productive. Then I actually looked at the upcoming schedule: two back-to-back travel weekends, a harvest service sandwiched between them, two large community events to plan, and of course, a handful of appointments that always seem to multiply the moment I schedule just one.

My first honest thought wasn't "Lord, what an opportunity." It was "Lord, I am going to be wrecked. This month is going to kill me!"

Here's the thing: That thought wasn't wrong. I know my body. I know that travel weekends cost me days of recovery that healthy people don't have to budget for. I know my pain will spike, my energy will crater, and I'll probably need a nap disguised as "quiet time" more than once. All of that is true. I know it from experience.

Dana Rongione 02/09/2026 Dana Rongione 02/09/2026

Stamping Out Bad Thoughts

Some mornings, my mind resembles the world's least efficient office. I sit at my desk, herbal tea nearby, Bible open, and a stack of unruly papers piles up in front of me. Except the papers are not bills, book ideas, or that mysterious note I wrote three weeks ago that now appears to say "Buy turnips for dragon." No, the papers are thoughts.

"You are failing."

"You will always be sick and will never get better."

"You have messed up too much."

"God has forgotten you."

"This situation is impossible."

"No one wants to read your pathetic attempts at writing."

And suddenly, my imaginary office has an urgent backlog.

As I considered Philippians 4:8 this morning, my mind brought up an amusing image (as it tends to do). I pictured a giant, old-fashioned librarian's red rubber stamp.

Dana Rongione 31/08/2026 Dana Rongione 31/08/2026

Who Knew Walking Would Require a Manual?

I once thought myself quite adept at walking. Two feet, alternating steps, arms swinging for balance. It seemed the perfect exercise, a system I had mastered. Then age crept in, my chronic illness worsened, and I quickly learned that walking is far more complicated than my toddler self ever imagined. Wah!

For instance, not long ago, I was strolling along, admiring the trees like a nature documentary narrator. Sadly, I failed to notice the road ahead was no longer flat. My ankle twisted one way, my body the other. Down I went, while my dog looked on with what I can only describe as mild disappointment and perhaps a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Another time, I got so distracted watching our dog, Tess, chase a squirrel that I walked straight into a low-hanging branch, nearly knocking myself senseless.

And sometimes, there's simply no excuse.

Dana Rongione 29/08/2026 Dana Rongione 29/08/2026

Why Does That Old Memory Make Me Feel So Guilty?

A memory hit me out of nowhere the other day, so vivid I could practically smell it. Fifteen, maybe twenty years ago, Jason and I were riding in his Bronco, headed out to cut firewood. Not exactly a glamorous errand, I know. But the weather was perfectly crisp, the conversation easy and light, and we stopped at a convenience store to grab energy drinks and candy bars like we were fueling up for a grand adventure instead of, well, chainsaws and sweat.

We laughed the whole way there. I remember feeling completely carefree, like nothing in the world could touch us. It was the image of a young, happy couple with nothing weighing them down.

That memory played on repeat in my mind for days, sweet and golden and warm.

Until it wasn't.

Suddenly, it started to feel less like a treasured keepsake and more like a prosecutor's exhibit.