Ponder

 

This morning I woke up with a single word resting on my heart—ponder. Now that’s not exactly a word I use in everyday conversation. I don’t usually wake up thinking, “Well, I believe I shall ponder today.” But because it’s Christmas season, I knew that word didn’t just wander in on its own. God must have placed it there for a reason.

 

Psalm 64:9 says,“They will proclaim the works of God and ponder what He has done.”

That verse settled into my spirit like a warm quilt on a cold morning.

 

When I think of the word ponder, my mind immediately goes to Mary. The young girl chosen by God to carry the Savior of the world. Scripture tells us that Mary “pondered these things in her heart.” And that word, ponder, carries such tenderness with it. It’s not rushed thinking. It’s not shallow reflection. It’s the kind of remembering that holds something close, turning it over gently again and again because it matters too much to forget.

 

Mary had a lot to ponder.

 

She pondered the angel’s visit - can you imagine cooking supper one minute and then being told you’ll carry the Son of God the next? I’m certain she replayed those words in her mind again and again: “You are highly favored.” 

 

She likely pondered her visit with Elizabeth, the wonder of two miracle pregnancies meeting under one roof and the sound of laughter mixed with holy awe. And then there was the night of Jesus’ birth - shepherds bursting in with wild-eyed stories of angels, a manger standing in for a cradle, the Son of Heaven wrapped in simple cloth.

 

Luke tells us she treasured and pondered all of it.

 

The Greek word used in the scriptures for ponder is symballo, and it means to toss around or throw together. I find that comforting. Mary didn’t have neat, tidy answers. She had holy fragments - angel words, prophetic songs, midnight shepherds, baby cries, and she tossed them around in her heart, trying to make sense of the wonder.

 

And oh, what a lifetime of things she had to ponder.

 

From scraped knees and carpenter’s tools…To water turned into wine…To storms calmed with a word…To blind eyes opened and dead hearts awakened…All the way to a cross, a borrowed tomb, and finally, an empty grave.

 

No wonder she spent her life pondering.

 

There’s a beautiful Christmas song that asks the question - “Mary, did you know?” Did she know that her baby boy would walk on water? That He would save both the broken and the proud? That the child she held would one day hold the whole world together?

 

That song always reminds me that Mary wasn’t just a holy figure—she was a human mama with a wondering heart.

 

As Christmas draws closer, I feel that same gentle nudge to slow down and ponder. Not just skim past the story, not just rush through the season, but to hold tight to the wonder. To ponder what God has done in Scripture… and what He has done in my own life.

 

Because when we ponder, we don’t just remember, we proclaim His works without ever speaking a word.

And maybe that’s why “ponder” greeted me this morning. A holy reminder to pause. To reflect. To treasure. To let the miracle sink in all over again.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the gift of this sacred season and for the gentle reminder to ponder Your goodness. Help us slow down long enough to reflect on the wonder of the manger, the miracle of the cross, and the power of the empty tomb. Teach us to treasure what You have done—not just in Scripture, but in our own lives. Like Mary, may we carry Your promises close to our hearts and trust You with every unanswered question.

In Jesus’ precious name,

Amen

God Gently With Us

At Christmas, we are reminded that God chose to reveal Himself to humanity in the most unexpected way—not with thunder, fire, or overwhelming glory, but as a helpless baby.

I’ve often wondered why.

God could have appeared in all His majesty, clothed in light, speaking worlds into existence as He once did. Yet Scripture tells us we could not bear such a sight. When Moses longed to see God’s glory, the Lord placed him in the cleft of a rock and allowed him to see only what had passed by. It wasn’t rejection—it was protection.

“But,” He said, “you cannot see My face, for no man shall see Me and live.”
—Exodus 33:20

The Bible is clear: no one has ever seen God in His fullness.

“No one has ever seen God.”
—John 1:18

And yet, in His mercy, God still desired to be known.

So He came to us gently.

He came as a baby—small enough to be held, fragile enough to need care, familiar enough not to frighten us away. Everyone loves babies. Their innocence draws us in; their vulnerability softens our hearts. God, in His perfect wisdom, chose a form we could approach without fear.

And yet, this was no ordinary child.

The baby in the manger was fully human and fully divine. Wrapped in swaddling cloths was the One who created every delicate insect wing and flung the stars into the vastness of the heavens.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…
All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made.”
—John 1:1, 3

This Creator did not remain distant.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory.”
—John 1:14

In that tiny, developing brain dwelled the fullness of Deity—unchanged, undiminished.

“For in Him all the fullness of Deity dwells bodily.”
—Colossians 2:9

This is the miracle of the incarnation.

Some struggle to believe that God would enter the world this way. But an omnipotent, omnipresent God knew exactly how He would be received—even in the soft, dimpled body of a newborn.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.”
—John 3:16

Christmas is not just the story of a baby born long ago—it is the story of a God who loved us enough to meet us where we were. Not above us. Not beyond us. But with us.

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,” which means, “God with us.”
—Matthew 1:23

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Heavenly Father,
We stand in quiet wonder at the mystery of Christmas. Thank You for revealing Yourself not in ways that would overwhelm us, but in love that draws us near. Thank You for the humility of the manger and the grace wrapped in human flesh. Help us to receive You anew—not only as the baby we adore, but as the Savior who knows us completely. May our hearts remain soft, our faith deep, and our awe undiminished as we celebrate the miracle of God with us.
Amen.

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Cookie Christmas

Today I was remembering a special time during my growing up years. This memory is specifically from my time in Girl Scouts. (I have so many memories I could share from my scouting career - from Brownies, at age 7, all the way up to my time as part of a Co-Ed Explorer group, in my high school years, and every rank in between those two, but today, I'll stick to one tiny memory from my Junior year.)

Girls from my troop were so excited as Christmas approached and we were even more excited when we found out we had a chance to learn cookie making one afternoon after school. 

Mrs. Stodghill, one of my scouting friend's mothers, had agreed to teach a small group of us how to make gingerbread cookies. 

We stood around her kitchen counter as Mrs. Stodghill read the recipe to us. She allowed us to ask questions as she carefully explained terms we were unfamiliar with. After she'd read the complete recipe, she began pulling out the necessary ingredients and placing them on her counter. 

Through fascinated eyes, we looked at the bag of brown sugar, the jar of molasses, the blocks of butter, the spices, and flour. We couldn't wait to get started! 

Mrs. Stodghill was a kindhearted and very patient woman. Tenderly she allowed each of us to have a turn doing part of the preparation. As the dough came together, one by one, we'd get a turn to stir the big wooden spoon in her sturdy, Pyrex bowl. 

We each took turns smelling the dough when it was complete. Mrs. Stodghill asked if we could smell the ginger and we assured her we could. 

Then we watched as she ripped off a long sheet of wax paper. She smoothly laid it on the counter then turned the bowl of dough upside down smack dab in the middle of it. We had no idea what she was doing, so we watched in awe as she took one end of the paper and began rolling. Soon she had a long roll of dough covered in wax paper. Next, she twisted each end and told us the dough had to chill in the refrigerator for several hours. We were so disappointed thinking we wouldn't get to make cookies that day, but Mrs. Stodghill had thought ahead. 

Smiling, we watched as she wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward the refrigerator gently placing the cookie dough log inside while at the same time, pulling out another. 

Putting two and two together, we all began to giggle. We'd definitely be making cookies that day and we were happy about it. 

She turned on the oven to let it preheat, then pulled out a rolling pin and dusted the counter with flour. Before we could participate, she made us all wash and dry our hands as she explained the importance of being sanitary while cooking. 

She assigned each of us a small task and before you know it, we had dough flattened out on the counter, dusted with a light coating of flour, and various cookie cutters had been chosen by each girl. 

When it was time, Mrs. Stodghill showed us the proper way to cut and lift the cookies from the dough onto the cookie sheet. We worked slowly and carefully so as not to tear our cookies apart. 

After all the cookies had been cut and placed on the pan, Mrs. Stodghill placed them in the oven while we helped clean up the mess we'd made. 

Before we knew it, it was time to take the cookies out. The aroma that filled that kitchen was heavenly. 

The cookies cooled and then we had the fun of decorating them. Our artistic abilities brought peals of laughter and when we were done, we each got a couple of cookies to take home but also one to enjoy right away. 

Every year, since she was old enough to climb up in a chair, I've baked gingerbread cookies with my granddaughter, Heather. This year, since we live a good distance from one another, she'll make them at home with her Mama. She's 10 now and an excellent student so I'm sure my daughter, Laura, will allow Heather to do the majority of the mixing while she oversees. 

It's so fun to teach little ones to master a skill. Cookie baking helps them learn to follow directions but also teaches them that together time is special. 

I'm thankful Mrs. Stodghill gave of herself to that group of precocious little girls one afternoon. I wonder if she ever thought, after 50 some odd years, I'd still remember the time spent with her?

You may not realize how the things you do impact your children or grandchildren, but often, some of their fondest memories stem from the little things. 

Every time I smell ginger, I think of Mrs. Stodghill and her willingness to work with us. My hope now is that Heather will have the same type memories of our baking time together. 

It may be holding the big, wooden rolling pin, that reminds her of cookie baking with me, or it may be the sprinkles of flour we spill on the flour as we get messy together. It doesn't really matter to me. All I want is for her to know she's loved and that I made time for her, like Mrs. Stodghill did for me. 

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."

1 John 4:7-8

A special Christmas memory

Christmas memories are often either some of the very best or the very worst memories a person can have. I'm thankful I can say that most of my Christmas memories have been extremely pleasant and most of them have revolved around selfless love given to me by others. I'd like to share one of my childhood memories with you today in hopes that it might encourage or bless you during this emotionally charged time of year. 

I don't remember exactly how old I was the year I received my most prized possession but I must have been between the ages of 8 and 10. That Christmas, like most others in my childhood, centered around just being together instead of focusing on what was underneath the tree. 

I distinctly remember turning in a Christmas list to my mother earlier in the month. I'd talked with my next door neighbor (who was a little older than I) to find out what the most popular gifts were at the time. I'd asked her what she was going to ask "Santa" for and she showed me pictures from the Sears catalog of all the beautiful Barbie dolls and accessories she'd added to her list. I took home that empowering information and rewrote my list knowing all the while that my parents could never afford such luxuries. Although I would have loved to have found a Barbie dream house, Barbie, Midge, Ken, and Skipper under my tree, I knew I'd be lucky to receive one doll, if any. 

On Christmas morning, as my brother, sister, and I, sat patiently on our living room floor waiting for the signal to begin, I glanced at the packages beneath our tree. There were less than a dozen which meant there were probably only two or three a piece for each of us. This was nothing new. Each year, we were very thankful for whatever we received, but as a child, it was only natural to hope that year after year, things would get bigger and better. 

When Daddy came downstairs, Mama gave permission for us to begin opening our gifts. As we scrambled to find the gifts with our names on them, our parents sat back and watched with anticipation. Great thought and time had gone into the choosing and even though money was scarce, there was no shortage of love in our household. 

My brother, sister, and I were busy opening our gifts simultaneously. I have no idea what they received that year but I do remember my special gift. The box was bigger than a shoebox and I had no idea what might be inside. It was too small to be a Barbie Dream House and too big to be a Barbie doll. I hadn't asked for anything that was even remotely that size, but as I continued unwrapping the box, the mystery was revealed. 

Through a clear cellophane window on the front of the box, I saw a beautiful Italian doll. Her velveteen bonnet and dress were a deep burgundy in color. Her hair, perfectly coifed, was coiled into individual blonde ringlets framing her angelic face. 

I stared in awe as I beheld this wondrous gift. I felt so loved! Where on earth did my mother find it? I'd never seen anything so gorgeous in any of the stores we'd visited before Christmas. 

Carefully, I removed the wire ties that held the doll securely in the box. After she was free, I held her close and examined every inch of her loveliness. Glancing up from the doll, I looked into my mother's face. Tears of joy stained her cheeks. 

I didn't realize it at the time, but the purchase of that doll was a huge sacrifice. Surely she had cost more than any other gift under the tree and had been picked out just for me. 

For years, I cherished that doll only holding her once or twice a day for fear of soiling her loveliness. She was the most special material possession I owned. 

I don't know whatever happened to that doll. More than likely, as I grew older, she was given to a needy child in the neighborhood or donated to a charity but the memories of her will be with me forever. 

Last night, as I was perusing Ebay, I saw a photo of a doll very similar to the one I loved so dearly. It sparked all these memories and made me realize how very loved and cherished I was to my parents back then. It also made me realize how very much we take for granted in our lives. 

If I could have a "do-over," I'd make sure to let my parents know how very much I appreciate them not buying me a Barbie Dream House that year. Their gift was so much better because it was chosen with love. 

We don't always realize our blessings until they're gone. And while a Christmas doll seems so trivial, it's symbolic of a greater gift. Just as our parents want to give us their very best blessings and take joy in giving us our hearts' desires, so our Heavenly Father wants to shower us with His abundant blessings. 

This Christmas, don't focus on the "things" that make the day merry and bright. Instead, focus on the hearts and love around you. Most of all, remember the most beautiful, priceless gift of all...the sweet gift of God's one and only Son, Jesus, handpicked especially for you.

Heavy hearts at Christmas

My dear friend, Joy, texted me a few minutes ago. She shared a lovely photo and asked how I was doing. I didn't want to tell her, but I did. I told her I was missing family members today. I knew she understood, because as we continued our chat, she said she was feeling the same way. And that's when I knew I had to write another devotional-

There’s a quiet ache that settles in during the days leading up to Christmas, an ache we can feel even if we don’t speak it out loud. While the world is twinkling with lights and singing “Joy to the World,” our hearts sometimes hold a different song. When someone we love is no longer here to share the season, everything feels just a little dimmer.

It shows up in unexpected ways: an empty chair at the table, a Christmas ornament that brings back a flood of memories, or a familiar carol that suddenly makes our throat tighten. We long, not just for the person, but for the warmth, the laughter, the presence that once filled a place no one else can fill.

And that longing? It isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s love. It’s the echo of a bond that even time and distance and death cannot silence.

But it is also a reminder that our hearts were created for something more than this world can offer. There is an unfillable void within us, one that even the happiest Christmas morning can’t satisfy. Only Christ can meet us in that place of deep sorrow and gentle hope, offering comfort that reaches beyond the ache.

God sees the longing, the tears, the moments we try to be strong but feel anything but. He knows what it is to love deeply, and He promises to be near to the brokenhearted, even in December, when the world expects us to smile.

Scripture:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

Father, 

You know the heaviness we carry as we walk through this season without the ones we love. Thank You for seeing our tears and holding our hearts with tenderness. Help us feel Your nearness in the quiet moments when grief settles in. Fill the empty spaces with Your peace, and remind us that the hope of Christmas is not found in perfect moments, but in Your perfect presence. Give us strength, comfort, and a gentle reminder that love never ends. 

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen.

Everyday Devotionals ©️ Bonnie Annis

The Word Became Flesh

At Christmas, we celebrate more than a birth in a manger. We celebrate a miracle so profound that human language strains to contain it—God became flesh and dwelt among us. This holy mystery is called the Incarnation, and it is the heartbeat of the Christmas story.

John opens his Gospel with words that echo all the way back to creation itself:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1)

The Greek word used here for “Word” is logos. It is far richer than a simple spoken word. Logos means reason, expression, explanation, and divine revelation. Jesus was not merely someone who spoke God’s words—He was God’s Word made visible. God’s message to the world arrived not as ink on a page, but as a living, breathing Savior.

When the angel told Mary she would carry the Christ child, her faithful response was simple and profound:

“May your word to me be fulfilled.” (Luke 1:38)

In that verse, the verb form of logos is used—lego, meaning “to speak” or even “to count.” It’s almost like fitting one block upon another, piece by piece, trusting the design will stand. Mary didn’t have all the details, but she trusted the Builder. And with her humble yes, the eternal Word stepped into time.

From the very beginning, God has always worked through His Word. In Genesis, we see that creation itself came into being not through force, but through speech. “And God said…” and it was so. Light. Land. Life. All formed by the power of His Word. And at Christmas, that same powerful Word took on skin and bones and a heartbeat.

Christmas is not ultimately about trees or gatherings or wrapped gifts under twinkling lights. It is about the God of the universe lowering Himself to dwell inside a tiny human body. Born of a virgin. Wrapped in swaddling cloths. Laying in a manger. The Creator entered His own creation.

Jesus would grow as we grow. He would feel hunger, thirst, exhaustion, pain, sorrow, and rejection. He would live in a sin-filled world and yet remain completely sinless. Then, in the greatest act of love the world has ever known, He would freely give Himself on a cross—bearing our sin, our guilt, and our shame.

And all of it—His birth, His life, His suffering, His death—was for love.

There is an old Christmas carol that captures this holy mystery beautifully. Written by H. R. Bramley, it says:

“The Word in the bliss of the Godhead remains,
Yet in flesh comes to suffer the keenest of pains;
He is that He was, and forever shall be,
But becomes that He was not, for you and for me.”

Don’t you love that?
“He becomes what He was not, for you and for me.”

This is the wonder of Christmas. The Holy became human. The Eternal stepped into time. The Word became flesh—for us.

As Christmas approaches, I hope you’ll take a few quiet moments to ponder this truth. Treasure it deeply in your heart. Let it stir your worship and soften your soul. Jesus loved us enough to become one of us.

Heavenly Father,
We bow in awe of the miracle of the Incarnation. Thank You for sending Your Son, the living Word, to dwell among us. Thank You that He became what He was not, so that we might become what we could never be without Him—redeemed, forgiven, and made whole. As we move through this Christmas season, help us to look beyond the noise and the busyness and fix our hearts on Jesus. May we never lose our wonder at the truth that You loved us enough to come near. In the precious name of Emmanuel, God with us, we pray. Amen.

 

Still Waiting, Still Watching

When we think of the Christmas story, our hearts naturally go to Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and angels, and the wise men following a star. But tucked quietly into the story—just days after Jesus’ birth—are two faithful souls who hardly ever get the spotlight: Simeon and Anna.

They didn’t travel from faraway lands. They didn’t see angels in the sky. They didn’t bring precious gifts. What they brought instead was something just as powerful—a lifetime of faith, worship, and waiting.

The Bible tells us Simeon was a man who was “righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel” and that the Holy Spirit had promised him he would not die before he saw the Messiah (Luke 2:25–26). Can you imagine carrying a promise like that for years? Every wrinkle, every ache in his bones, every sunrise—still believing, “Maybe today.”

And then there was Anna. A widow. elderly. Living at the temple. The Bible says she worshiped night and day with fasting and prayer (Luke 2:37). In today’s world, we might say she basically lived at church. If there had been a sign-in book at the temple, her name would have filled half the pages. She didn’t grow bitter with loneliness or age—she grew faithful.

When Mary and Joseph brought baby Jesus into the temple, it wasn’t the religious leaders or celebrities of the day who recognized Him. It was two elderly believers who had learned how to wait well.

Simeon took the baby Jesus in his arms and praised God, saying he could now die in peace because his eyes had seen the Savior. Anna immediately began telling everyone who would listen that the Redeemer had finally come. All those years of praying, fasting, hoping, trusting—they were not wasted.

I often wonder what Simeon and Anna would look like if they lived in today’s world. Would they be the quiet saints sitting faithfully in the same pew every Sunday? The prayer warriors no one notices? The ones still believing when others have grown cynical?

We live in a world that wants everything fast—fast food, fast internet, fast delivery, fast answers. Waiting is not our specialty. Yet Simeon and Anna remind us that God often does His greatest work while we wait.

They waited by faith.
They worshiped without proof.
They believed without seeing.

And that sounds a lot like what we’re called to do today as we await not Christ’s first coming—but His second.

The truth is, it’s hard for people to believe what they can’t see. We want evidence. We want guarantees. We want God to show us the ending before we commit to the story. But the Bible gently reminds us, “Without faith it is impossible to please God.”

Simeon and Anna pleased God not because they were loud, famous, or flashy—but because they were faithful.

And here’s the gentle humor in all of this: if God trusted the greatest announcement in human history to two elderly temple regulars, then surely He can use ordinary people like us—wrinkles, doubts, and all.

This Christmas, their story invites us to ask:

• Are we still watching?
• Are we still worshiping while we wait?
• Are we still believing when God’s promises feel delayed?

May we be found faithful—eyes lifted, hearts full, still expecting Jesus to move.

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the example of Simeon and Anna—two faithful souls who waited patiently and believed wholeheartedly. Teach us how to worship while we wait, how to trust when we cannot see, and how to remain faithful in a fast and faithless world. Strengthen our belief in Your promises and renew our hope in the return of our Savior. As we celebrate Jesus’ first coming this Christmas, help us also live in expectation of His second. And when You fulfill Your promises in our lives, may our hearts recognize You immediately, just as theirs did.
In Jesus’ precious name,
Amen.