One of the most encouraging scenes in the entire Christmas story isn't about angels or shepherds; it’s about two women sharing a moment of pure, Holy Ghost-filled fellowship. This is the story of Mary visiting her cousin, Elizabeth, right after Mary received her impossible news.

Mary was likely confused, possibly scared, and certainly needed confirmation that she hadn't just imagined the angel Gabriel. Where did she go? To the only person also experiencing a miraculous pregnancy in her old age: Elizabeth.

Yesterday we talked about Mary's brave "yes," but the Christmas story would have quickly fallen apart without the quiet, profound faith of another hero: Joseph. Poor Joseph! He receives the shocking news from Mary and then has to figure out how to respond. His character is a template for how we should handle unexpected, life-altering situations.

The Bible tells us that when he found out Mary was pregnant, he was a "just man" (Matthew 1:19, KJV). Because he was just, he knew he couldn’t marry her, but because he was also compassionate, he didn’t want to subject her to public shame or punishment. He decided to put her away "privily"—quietly, with dignity.

Joseph’s first instinct was to do the right thing gently

When we talk about Mary, the mother of Jesus, we often focus on her purity or her central role in the Nativity. But what truly inspires me about her is her courage. She was just a young girl when the angel Gabriel appeared and presented a life-altering, reputation-shattering, impossible plan to her.

Imagine being told something that seems utterly insane, yet you know, deep in your soul, that it’s the truth of God. That’s where Mary was. Her response is one of the most powerful displays of trust in the entire Bible.

After hearing that she would conceive a child by the Holy Ghost—a virgin birth!—she didn’t argue, she didn’t run, and she didn’t even ask for a sign like Zechariah did. She simply said, in Luke 1:38 (KJV): "And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her."

When we look at the Christmas story, it’s easy to focus on the sudden, beautiful moments: the angel appearing, the star shining, the baby arriving. But what I find truly encouraging is not the suddenness, but the timing. It wasn't rushed. It was perfect.

Have you ever had a project or goal that you felt you missed the window on? You hesitated, things changed, and suddenly you feel like it’s too late? I know that feeling of discouragement when it seems the opportunity has passed you by. But let me tell you, when it comes to God’s plan for our lives, and certainly for the whole world, there is no such thing as being too late. There is only perfect timing.

The Apostle Paul wrote in Galatians 4:4 (KJV): "But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law."

It’s December 1st! Can you believe it? The air has a slight chill, and suddenly, everywhere I look, there are twinkle lights popping up. This time of year always fills me with a mix of energy and a sense of quiet longing that makes me want to snuggle up with a hot chocolate and reflect on what really matters.

And that’s exactly what I want to do this month. My focus is on ensuring the noise and rush don't drown out the most important part of the season: Christ.

Think about the world right now, and maybe even your own life, right where you are sitting. Even with all the beauty of the holidays, there's often a deep, persistent sense of darkness, isn't there? Maybe it's a fear you’re wrestling with, a goal you haven’t reached, or just the heaviness of the daily news cycle.

This is the darkness that the very first Christmas story broke through.

This morning I woke up with a terrible case of vertigo. After having a rough weekend battling pain from my fibromyalgia, I was hoping to start the week feeling better and ready to tackle my growing to-do list. But, alas, such was not the case.

Instead, I lay in bed trying to get my world to stop spinning. Every time I shifted my head even slightly, the room whirled around me like I was trapped on some cruel amusement park ride. Tess could sense something was wrong and snuggled up closely as if to reassure me with her steady presence.

"So, I guess it's just going to be one of those days!" I mumbled, closing my eyes against the dizziness.

Have you ever felt that way? Not necessarily dealing with vertigo, but with the sensation that your entire life is spinning out of control?

I recently delved into the fascinating world of Leonardo Da Vinci's mind. Did you know he had hundreds of notebooks bursting with ideas for inventions, studies, paintings, and sculptures? The remarkable thing about Da Vinci wasn't just his genius but his peculiar habit of rarely finishing one project before jumping to another. His brilliant mind constantly churned with new concepts, leaving a trail of half-completed masterpieces.

Oh, how I feel a kinship with Leonardo! My desk drawer contains a notebook that's practically bursting with ideas for devotions, children's picture books, stories, and other literary ventures. Some mornings I wake with such clarity about a new book or story concept that I can hardly wait to scribble it down before it evaporates like morning dew.

"I'll finish my current project first," I tell myself firmly. Yet two hours later, I'm sketching outlines for the new idea while my half-edited manuscript sits neglected on my computer.

Have you ever reached for your backup plan before seeking God's direction? I certainly have. It's a struggle as old as faith itself, and we see it vividly illustrated in the lives of the patriarchs.

When famine struck Canaan, Abraham, the father of faith, immediately packed for Egypt. No prayer. No seeking God's counsel. Just a practical solution to a pressing problem: "And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land" (Genesis 12:10).

Egypt, with its Nile-watered fields and abundant storehouses, represented a visible solution. But Abraham's self-directed detour led to compromise. Fearing for his life, he instructed Sarah: "Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake; and my soul shall live because of thee" (Genesis 12:13).

I've always been fascinated by Jesus' words in John 15:5: "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."

What does it truly mean to abide in Christ? It's far more than religious activity or spiritual box-ticking. Abiding is about maintaining a constant connection with Jesus, like a branch naturally draws life from the vine.

Think about it: branches don't strain to produce fruit. They simply stay connected to their life source. The branch doesn't wake up each morning with a to-do list: "Must make three grapes by noon!" No, fruit emerges organically when the branch remains attached to the vine.

Similarly, our spiritual fruit—love, joy, peace, patience, etc.—isn't manufactured through human effort.

One of my favorite parts of the story of David is the cave of Adullam. I don't know why, but I've always been drawn to a place that became a refuge for the broken and distraught. So, naturally, I found a way to work it into my newest novel, Hope Reset. Here's a short excerpt from that chapter:

The merchant's arrival was just the beginning. More came in the following days. A farmer, his calloused hands empty of the crops Saul's men had seized. Three brothers, their eyes hollow with shame, fleeing debts they couldn't pay. Each carried a story of desperation, of having nowhere else to turn. Some had heard rumors in taverns, others from travelers on the road. All spoke of David's reputation for justice and mercy.

"In distress," Jesus spoke softly to Merlin. "In debt. In bitterness of soul. Watch how they come to him."