Hey friends I am reposting from @ThinMint channel a collaboration the Lord nudged us both about. Here is Kris's introduction post. I'm very excited and looking forward to having you join us as we pray for the heart of our nation in the coming weeks!🇺🇸🙏❤️

Blessings from the @CallToBattle Team

The ThinMint channel and the CallToBattle channel are pairing up to present our friends with an idea the LORD placed on our hearts at the same time.

We are designating Mondays as, “Vigilant Monday;” a time to pray and fast for our country.

This will kick-off on Monday, October 6th.

Each Monday Paula and I will take turns sharing what the week’s focus will be. We encourage you to share your prayers, songs, graphics, and encouraging words under the post.

We hope you join us, connecting with others who grieve for, but are hopeful for our country.


“Truly, I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by My Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I among them.”

Matthew 18:18-20

I love his enthusiasm!

https://youtu.be/1GDph15KeII?

Lyrics to the above song:

Only a Holy God
CityAlight

Who else commands all the hosts of heaven?
Who else could make every king bow down?
Who else can whisper and darkness trembles?
Only a Holy God

What other beauty demands such praises?
What other splendor outshines the sun?
What other majesty rules with justice?
Only a Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

What other glory consumes like fire?
What other power can raise the dead?
What other name remains undefeated?
Only a Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

Who else could rescue me from my failing?
Who else would offer His only Son?
Who else invites me to call Him Father?
Only a Holy God
Only my Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

Come and behold Him
The One and the Only
Cry out, sing holy
Forever a Holy God
Come and worship the Holy God

In collaboration with @ThinMint channel, today we kick off Vigilant Monday. Kris had mentioned the book by John Bevere. I've read this book and let me tell you, it will change you. Here is a short trailer about it.
https://youtu.be/-fzUVdV545A?

When I was little, I always thought Grandma was the best cook in the world. Her soups warmed the coldest days, her pies tasted like comfort itself, and her bread made the whole house smell like love.

One afternoon, I asked her why her food always tasted so much better than anyone else’s. She chuckled, wiped her hands on her apron, and said, “Because I put the secret ingredient in every recipe.”

I leaned in, wide-eyed. “What is it, Grandma?”

She tapped her chest with her wrinkled hand and whispered, “Love. That’s the only ingredient you can’t measure, but everyone can taste.”

At the time, I thought it was just one of her silly sayings. But as I grew older, I realized it wasn’t about cooking at all. It was about life.

Grandma’s love showed up in every little thing she did — the way she listened without rushing, the way she always had time for a story, the way she believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

Now, whenever I cook for my own family, I find myself whispering her words: “Don’t forget the secret ingredient.” And I hope they can taste it too.

✨ Moral: Grandma’s wisdom reminds us that love is the true ingredient in everything that matters — in meals, in memories, and in the way we touch each other’s lives.☕️
~Restful~

My name’s David. I’m 81. My knees ache and my handwriting shakes, but every Wednesday, I still write letters. Not emails. Not texts. Just ink on paper, the way my father taught me.

For years, I wrote one letter a week to my neighbor, Mrs. Langley. She was 90. Her eyesight was poor, but she loved the sound of words read aloud. I’d slip the envelope under her door. Later, she’d sit by the window, wave her hand, and call out, ‘You make the day less lonely.’

Then, one Wednesday, her curtains stayed closed.

I knocked. No answer. The building manager told me she’d been taken to the hospital after a fall. No one knew when she’d come back.

I went home. Stared at my stack of empty envelopes. And then I kept writing.

But this time, I left the letters downstairs in the lobby. No name on them. Just a simple note: ‘If today feels heavy, take one.’

The next morning, half were gone.

By Friday, someone had slipped a postcard into my mailbox. A drawing of a cat. On the back it said: ‘Your letter made me smile. Thank you. — Apartment 3C.’

I didn’t know who lived in 3C.

The week after, someone else taped a little poem to the elevator door: ‘Your words feel like sunshine in the rain.’ Then, a child’s crayon drawing appeared in the lobby box: a stick figure holding an envelope, with the words ‘Letter Man.’

Soon, people began leaving their own notes. Recipes. Jokes. Encouragements. Some in neat noscript, some in messy handwriting, some just a single line: ‘I’m still here. You are too.’

It became a quiet circle of giving. No signatures. No expectations. Just kindness tucked into paper folds.

One month later, Mrs. Langley came home, walking carefully with a cane. She saw the little “letter box” in the lobby overflowing. She touched one note gently and whispered, ‘You kept writing.’

I handed her my newest letter. She laughed, eyes wet. ‘You always knew how to make the world less lonely, David.’

Now, every Wednesday, it’s not just me. Half the building writes. Some leave envelopes. Some leave drawings. Some leave nothing but take comfort in reading.

The postman even added a card once. He wrote, ‘I deliver mail all day, but this… this is the best route I’ve ever had.’

Last week, I saw a young neighbor tuck a note into the box. She told me quietly, ‘I don’t have family nearby. This feels like one.’

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Kindness doesn’t always need a voice. Sometimes, it’s just a piece of paper. A few words. A reminder: You matter.

It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be given.

Because even the smallest note can carry the heaviest hope. And hope, when shared, has a way of finding its way back home.
~Restful~

Also an awesome way to spread the gospel.☕️

I will not quit
I will not give up
I’m tired, but still here
And God, I trust you, even when it hurts

@dailybibledevotionals