Mary

 

When I think about Mary, the mother of Jesus, I often picture her as a girl not much older than my youngest granddaughter—just twelve, standing right at the edge of womanhood but still tender, impressionable, and growing. 

 

Scripture doesn’t tell us what Mary was doing when the angel Gabriel appeared, but I imagine her in her parents’ home, helping with simple chores: sweeping a clay floor, dusting pottery jars, or preparing a meal alongside her mother. In those days, young girls were expected to participate in the daily rhythms of household life just as my own granddaughter does today. Perhaps Mary was doing something perfectly ordinary when heaven stepped into her day.

 

But the Bible leaves her activity a mystery. She may have been writing on a wax tablet or quietly resting after a morning’s work. What is certain is this: when Gabriel appeared, Mary was startled—but she didn’t flee, scream, or cower. She didn’t react the way many twelve-year-olds today might react—like my granddaughter surely would, who might let out a shriek, drop the broom, and race toward her mother’s arms. Instead, Mary paused. She listened. She absorbed the angel’s greeting:“Greetings, Mary. The Lord is with you. You are highly favored.”

 

And then came the message that would change history. Gabriel told her she would conceive and give birth to a Son—One who would be called the Son of the Most High. It is no wonder Mary asked, in innocent confusion, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Gabriel answered her with a holy mystery:

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.”

— Luke 1:35

 

That word overshadow comes from the Greek episkiazo, a word associated with the shekinah glory of God Himself—the same glory that hovered over the waters of creation and filled the tabernacle. Imagine being twelve and hearing that God’s own presence would cover you. Imagine trying to understand something no one in human history had ever experienced.

 

And yet—Mary believed.

 

She trusted.

 

Her heart bowed long before her knees did.

 

I imagine her later, sitting quietly in a corner of her room, replaying the angel’s words. Wondering what she would tell her parents… what Joseph would think… whether anyone would believe her. A virgin birth had never occurred before—and would never occur again. But Mary’s faith was stronger than her fear. She knew the God who spoke through His messenger could be trusted.

 

I look at my granddaughter and imagine her hearing such news. How would she respond? Would she tremble? Would she hide? Would she run to her mama? The comparison only deepens my respect for Mary. At such a young age, she displayed a spiritual maturity far beyond her years—an openness to the will of God, even when it came wrapped in mystery and sacrifice.

 

Two people—Zechariah and Mary—received miraculous announcements from Gabriel. Both were promised sons. But their circumstances could not have been more different. Zechariah and Elizabeth, in their old age, would come together and conceive John the Baptist. Mary, untouched by Joseph, would be overshadowed by the Holy Spirit and conceive the Savior of the world. Two miracles—one natural, one supernatural—both declaring the same truth:

 

Nothing is impossible with God.

 

Mary’s story invites us to trust the Lord even when we don’t understand His plans. She reminds us that God often steps into the everyday moments of our lives—into our sweeping, our cooking, our resting—and calls us to something bigger than we imagined. She reminds us that faith doesn’t depend on age, status, or understanding. It depends on willingness.

 

Like Mary, may we learn to say: “Be it unto me according to Your word.”

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the beautiful example of Mary—young, humble, willing, and full of faith. As we reflect on her courage and surrender, help us to cultivate that same trusting spirit in our own hearts. 

 

Teach us to listen for Your voice, even in ordinary moments, and to respond with obedience when You call.

 

Strengthen our faith to believe that nothing is impossible with You. 

 

Guard the hearts of the young ones in our lives, like my granddaughter, and guide them into a deeper understanding of Your love and purpose for them.

 

May we, like Mary, say with confidence, “Be it unto me according to Your word.”

 

In the precious name of Jesus, Amen.

Zechariah

 

There’s something wonderfully comforting about the story of Zechariah—this elderly, faithful priest who had spent a lifetime serving God, praying for a child, and probably long since assuming the answer was “No.” Yet God had a “Not yet” tucked away in His perfect timing.

 

One ordinary day in the temple, while Zechariah was burning incense, the angel Gabriel—God’s heavenly messenger specializing in dramatic entrances—appeared beside him. “Do not be afraid, Zechariah…” Gabriel said (Luke 1:13). That’s angel-speak for: You’re about to hear something unbelievable.

 

Zechariah was told that he and his wife Elizabeth—both well past the age of baby showers—would have a son, and not just any son. This child was handpicked by God to be the forerunner to the Messiah. His name was to be John, and he would “make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (Luke 1:17).

 

Zechariah, bless his heart, responded the way many of us would: “How can I be sure of this?” (Luke 1:18). In other words—Lord, I believe… sort of… maybe… could You show me something in writing?

Because of his unbelief, Gabriel struck him mute—possibly even deaf (Luke 1:62 hints strongly at this, since the crowd had to “make signs” to him). And so began nine months of holy silence.

 

Now imagine it: Zechariah at home, unable to speak, possibly unable to hear… and suddenly the house is filled with the joyful voices of not just one pregnant woman, but two—Elizabeth and her cousin Mary. (Scripture doesn’t say if he could listen in, but if he could? Oh, those conversations must have lasted hours. Cravings. Baby kicks. Miraculous conceptions. Divine destinies.)

 

I can almost see Zechariah sitting there, nodding politely, wishing he could add a comment… or escape to the quiet of the temple. And if he couldn’t hear? Then all he could do was watch—two glowing women exchanging wonder-filled, animated conversations while he sat silently in awe.

 

Either way, God had placed him in a season where the only thing he could do was observe, reflect, and wait.

 

And isn’t that exactly how the Lord works with us sometimes?

 

When our doubts speak too loudly, God lovingly invites us into silence—not as punishment, but preparation. Not to shame us, but to shape us.

 

On the eighth day, when it came time to circumcise the child, the relatives were ready to name him after his father. But Elizabeth insisted, “No, he is to be called John.” The crowd turned to Zechariah, waving their hands to get his attention: Surely YOU want the child named after you?!

 

Zechariah asked for a writing tablet and wrote with confidence:

“His name is John.” (Luke 1:63)

And with that act of obedience—faith finally stronger than doubt—his tongue was loosed.

He didn’t complain.

He didn’t clear his throat to say, “Finally!”

He didn’t ask what he’d missed.

He praised God.

Because when God fulfills a promise—especially one you thought was impossible—you don’t waste a moment on anything else.

 

The birth of John reminds us:

• God writes the last chapter, not our age or our circumstances.

• God answers prayers long after we think the window has closed.

• God can use our seasons of silence to strengthen our obedience.

• And God keeps His word—even when our faith wavers.

 

John grew into a bold, wilderness prophet who prepared the way for Jesus. And Zechariah, once doubtful, became a man whose first spoken words were a prophecy praising the God who turns impossibility into reality (Luke 1:67–79).

 

If God can bring a prophet from the barren womb of an elderly woman…

If He can transform a doubting priest into a praising one…

Then He can surely work miracles in our lives too—right in the places we’ve quietly given up hope.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the story of Zechariah—a reminder that Your timing is perfect and Your promises stand firm, even when our faith feels fragile. Teach us to trust You in our seasons of silence. Help us to wait with expectant hearts, believing that You are working behind the scenes in ways we cannot yet see. Strengthen our obedience so that when You speak, we respond with faith, not fear. Just as You brought John into the world to prepare the way for Jesus, prepare our hearts to recognize, welcome, and praise the Savior who changes everything.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Reflection

Here I am, in the last few days of my 67th year. As I reflect on my life, I can’t help but be thankful for all God has done. His hand of protection has been continually upon me. 

• In my teens: I was searching to discover who I was and what I wanted out of life. I made a whole lot of mistakes and although I didn’t always make the right choices, God kept me safely in the palm of His hand.
• In my twenties: I began my family and learned how to be a wife and mother. Life was crazy busy but there was always laughter.
• In my thirties: As my children grew up, I learned to be a better person. I also learned patience, resilience, and forgiveness. My strong faith in

God sustained me.
• In my forties: I became a grandmother! For the first time in my life, my heart was stolen. I attended the birth of my first grandson and learned life is even more precious than I ever could have imagined. Another epiphany I had during my forties was learning I had the right to say NO and not feel guilty about it.
• In my fifties: I discovered the freedom to begin doing things for myself instead of always doing for others. It was hard to move out of the mother role but I managed! I started to like myself and hoped, by God’s grace, to learn how to love myself. I learned it doesn’t matter what others think of me and I don’t have to be a people pleaser. At the age of 56, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and thought I’d been given a death sentence. It was one of the hardest years of my life but God saw fit to allow me to continue to live and for that, I’m extremely grateful. Having cancer gives you a whole new outlook on life.
•In my sixties, I watched many friends and loved ones pass away and realized I’m not immortal. I also became a Great Grandmother! Gosh! 

With the majority of my years behind me, I know the highest quality years lie ahead of me. I say this because I am in the best spiritual and emotional health ever. It isn’t really about the number of years ahead of me versus those behind me because, although I hate to admit it, I’ve wasted so many of them in the past. But now, I get to take all the experience, strength, hope, and love that the last decades have provided and I get to put them to good use every single day for the rest of my life.

For the past week, I’ve thought about my past – the good, the bad, and the ugly. I think it’s high time that I stop thinking and start doing. Life is short and I don’t want to waste one more minute. Erma Bombeck had it right when she said, with regards to her life, “There would have been more I love yous ... more I'm sorrys ... more I'm listenings ... but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it ... look at it and really see it ... try it on ... live it ... exhaust it ... and never give that minute back until there was nothing left of it. Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!”

I’ve been so blessed over my previous years and can’t wait to see what God does in the future. My one and only goal is to enter into His presence and hear Him say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” And that’s what I’m going to be working in the days ahead…that and sharing His love with every single person I meet. I am grateful to say I am blessed and highly favored. I’ve lived a good life!

What will 68 have in store for me? I have no idea, but I kinda like being a sexagenarian! Maybe Medicare will finally stop bombarding me with booklets and emails.

As we continue to watch the moral decay of our society, I’m truly ready to hear that trumpet sound so I can finally go home to be with the Lord forever. Until then, I’ll keep on doing my best to please Him. 

Advent begins

A Devotional for Advent: Week One —

 Hope

You know, friend, every year when Advent rolls around, my heart slows down just a little. There’s something about this season that whispers, “Look up…hope is coming.” And isn’t that exactly what Isaiah 9:6 reminds us?“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given… and He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Those aren’t just poetic words. They’re promises—God’s promises—and hope is always rooted in what He has said He will do.

When Isaiah first spoke those words, God’s people were longing for rescue. They expected a warrior king on a warhorse, ready to overthrow corrupt governments and restore their nation’s power. But God had something entirely different in mind. He promised Someone who would make all things right—just not in the way they expected. Instead of sending an army, He sent His Son.

And oh, what a Son.

Our Wonderful Counselor.- You ever have one of those days when your heart feels too heavy or your mind too full? I do. And in those moments, I remind myself—our Jesus isn’t just wise; He is wisdom. He sees what’s ahead when we don’t. He speaks through His Word with a righteousness untouched by even a shadow of error. And unlike earthly counselors, He never charges a fee, never closes His door, and never, ever says, “I’m too busy right now.” All it takes is a whispered prayer, and He’s right there. Isn’t that a comfort?

Our Mighty God.- This one always gives me chills. The tiny baby in the manger was—and is—all-powerful. He came not to win earthly battles but to defeat the greatest enemy we all face: death itself. And He didn’t need swords, shields, or soldiers. He used a wooden cross and an empty tomb. Because of Him, death has lost its sting, and we get to live forever (1 Corinthians 15:54). What kind of God does that? Only One who loves fiercely.

Our Everlasting Father- This isn’t about age or hierarchy—it’s about relationship. In Jesus, we find life that never ends, and not the kind where we simply “exist.” No, this is life in the uninterrupted presence of God. A life filled with His everlasting love, righteousness, joy, salvation, kindness, light, and a name that will never fade. Can you imagine? An everlasting paradise, prepared for us. Sometimes I can hardly wrap my mind around it, but my heart knows it’s true.

Our Prince of Peace.- And here’s the part that always humbles me…this Prince didn’t arrive in a palace. He came to a stable—messy, humble, quiet. The peace He brings isn’t fragile. It’s not dependent on circumstances or feelings. Sure, He gives peace in the storm and peace in our minds, but even deeper than that, He came to give us peace with God. That’s the kind of peace that settles into your soul and changes everything.

This week, as we light the candle of hope, I’m holding onto this truth: Every promise God made in Isaiah 9:6 was fulfilled in Jesus—and every hope we have rests safely in Him.

And friend, whatever you’re carrying today, whatever your heart is whispering or worrying over, remember this: Hope came wrapped in swaddling clothes, and He came for you.

Father, thank You for the gift of hope that You wrapped in the form of Your Son. As we enter this Advent season, quiet our hearts and help us remember who Jesus truly is—our Wonderful Counselor, our Mighty God, our Everlasting Father, and our Prince of Peace. Teach us to lean into His wisdom, trust His strength, rest in His everlasting love, and walk daily in the peace He came to give. Let hope rise within us, not because of what we see, but because of who You are and what You have promised. Draw us closer to You this week, and let our souls find their rest in the One who came for us.

In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.

Everyday Devotionals ©️ Bonnie Annis

Thanksgiving

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration with the majority of our family here. Everyone contributed to the food prep which was a huge blessing to me! 

It's hard to get used to having grown children who serve and cleanup without even being asked to do so. It took me a few minutes to realize there wasn't really anything left for me to do but sit back and enjoy time visiting. That was a real first and one I liked!

It was so good to hear the banter and laughter as we sat around a table full of love and goodness. 

We had turkey, ham, dressing, sweet potato casseroles, green bean casserole, hashbrown casserole, rolls, plaza bars, heavenly hash, pecan pie, chocolate pie, and key lime pie! It's a wonder we didn't all gain twenty pounds just looking at the food! 

With everyone spread across the state, it's often hard to get everyone together, but we did pretty good this year. 

Of course, we missed our parents who're no longer with us and we missed our Texas family members, but maybe next year we can manage a bigger gathering. 

Hopefully your day was filled with blessings and lots of gratitude. Ours sure was!
 

Teen Patrol on the Rails

I was in seventh grade the year I earned the privilege of going on the Safety Patrol trip. We were headed to the big leagues—Washington, D.C. and New York City. For a bunch of wide-eyed students from the South, it felt like we were about to take on the whole world. We’d spent months talking about it, imagining the tall monuments, the endless museums, and, of course, the Empire Star Building. None of us even realized it was called the Empire State Building until we were already there—proud as could be, staring up at something way bigger than we were.

Our chaperones worked harder than the Secret Service to keep the boys and girls separated. They tried their best to keep us focused on history, but we had other things on our minds. We weren’t thinking about presidents or soldiers or national heroes. We were thinking about each other. At that age, we didn’t just like people—we fell hopelessly in love twelve times a week. Every smiled glance felt like fate. Every giggle meant something. Our hearts were battlefields of crushes and daydreams.

We weren’t allowed to sit together on the train, so we got creative. When the train cars split, our communication operation began. We passed secret notes over our heads, like tiny paper missiles being launched across enemy lines. Boys stretched their arms into the aisle from one car, girls reached from the other, and somewhere between us was a forbidden love zone. Every time a note landed safely, a wave of suspense rippled through both cars—like someone had just cracked a safe.

One note I’ll never forget arrived folded into a little triangle, edges worn from being handled so many times before it reached me. Inside, in the slanted scrawl only a seventh-grade boy could write, were the words:
“Do you like me? Check yes or no.”

There was no name. But I knew. I recognized the handwriting. Of course I liked him, but I wasn’t about to let the entire train find out. I checked “yes” with the faintest, tiniest mark imaginable—so small it was practically invisible—and folded it back into a mystery. Whether he ever knew for sure, I couldn’t tell you. But the thrill of it was better than any postcard or souvenir I brought home.

The trip lasted four long days. By the third, after hours touring Arlington National Cemetery (and getting lost in it with my old pal, Valerie Arnold), and walking through monuments older than our grandparents, we were worn out but exhilarated. We’d been sitting on that train so long our feet swelled inside our shoes. Every time we stepped off at a stop, it felt like we were still swaying—our bodies convinced we were still on the rails. It was like the whole world was shifting beneath us, rocking and rolling to some rhythm we couldn’t escape.

When I think back on that trip now, I remember the history, yes. I remember the grandeur of places I never dreamed I’d see at that age. But more than anything, I remember the flutter in my stomach each time a note landed in my hand. I remember that feeling of being thirteen—caught somewhere between childhood and the rest of my life—where everything seemed new, exciting, and full of possibility.

And where circling “yes” on a tiny piece of paper felt like the biggest adventure of all.

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the simple joys You tucked into the corners of our youth—moments so small we didn’t recognize their value until years later.

Thank You for childhood bravery, for nervous giggles, for friendships just beginning to blossom, and for hearts learning how to feel.

Help us treasure the innocence of those days and see how You were with us, even when all we cared about was passing notes on a train.

Remind us that every memory, whether big or small, is part of the beautiful story You’ve written for our lives. Amen.

A Spoonful of Memories

This morning, as I stood in the kitchen mixing up a bowl of Heavenly Hash for our upcoming family Thanksgiving, something unexpected happened. One minute I was slicing maraschino cherries, minding my own business, and the next I was remembering how I used to tie cherry stems into knots—with my tongue. It’s a ridiculous talent to keep in the family record, but there it is. And as much as I’d like to say someone glamorous taught me that trick, the truth is, it was my Daddy. Who needs Hollywood when you’ve got a Georgia man in a button-down shirt, showing his kids circus tricks with a cherry stem?

I practiced those knots like I was training for the Olympics. Daddy would cheer me on with the seriousness of a coach preparing his athlete for the big leagues. The day I finally succeeded, he laughed so hard his eyes watered. Somehow that memory floated right back to me today, sticky fingers and all.

Food does that, doesn’t it? We take one bite, catch one smell, or handle one ingredient, and suddenly we’re nowhere near our kitchens—we’re back in another time, standing next to someone we love. While I stirred my bowl of whipped cream and fruit, I remembered something else: Daddy’s obsession with sweets. The man never met a sugar product he didn’t befriend. Ambrosia was his holiday love language.

Now, Daddy’s ambrosia wasn’t exactly the same as my Heavenly Hash—his was the old-school blend, the kind that looked like a snowstorm hit a fruit cocktail. But he loved it with a devotion only Southerners reserve for college football, cornbread, and Jesus. After we grew up, Mama even started keeping a huge apothecary jar filled with Little Debbie snacks on her counter. Not because it looked pretty, not because it was convenient—no, that jar existed solely for Daddy’s sugar rations. If a grandchild dared reach in without permission, Mama would say, “Ask first. Those are Papa's.” As if he were paying rent on the treats.

I don’t know when jars of sweets and bowls of fruit mixed with whipped cream became the guardians of my memories, but today I’m grateful for it. As I sliced cherries and stirred fluff, I felt Daddy close by… like a quiet reminder that love lingers in the silliest things—recipes, traditions, and even cherry-stem party tricks.

Maybe that’s the beauty of holiday preparation. You think you’re cooking. You think you’re marking items off a list. But really, you’re opening the door to old stories, letting your heart pull up a chair at the table long before anyone else arrives.

So I’ll keep stirring, chopping, and tasting. I’ll make my Heavenly Hash, set the table, and welcome whoever walks through the door. And if someone asks why I’m smiling to myself while slicing cherries, maybe I’ll just tell them: “I’m visiting with Daddy. He showed up early in my memories this year."

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Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the gift of memories that warm us like sunlight on a cold morning. Thank You for the people we’ve loved, the traditions that shape our families, and the ordinary moments—like stirring a bowl of dessert—that remind us we are never alone. Comfort our hearts as we remember those who shared our tables in years past, and help us honor them by loving well the ones who gather with us today. Bless our homes, our hands, and the food we prepare with joy. May gratitude season every dish, and may Your presence fill every seat at our table.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.