Finding Happiness in the Smallest Things: Even a Pickle Can Make You Smile

Life can feel heavy, especially when the big stuff weighs you down. But sometimes, happiness isn’t in the big, shiny moments—it’s in the small, simple ones.

Susan, a good friend of mine recently told me about a moment when she found joy in something as ordinary as a pickle on her hamburger. There it was—a pickle curved just like a smile. “I saw smiles in my pickle,” she said.

It may sound silly, but it was a reminder that happiness can sneak into our lives in the most unexpected ways. Whether it’s a warm breeze on a hard day, a stranger’s kind word, or the curve of a pickle on your burger that makes you laugh—it’s all about noticing the small things.

Life isn’t always going to hand us perfect moments. But if we open our eyes, we can find reasons to smile, even when things aren’t going our way. God gives us these little reminders, like the smile in the pickle, to help us see His goodness in the ordinary.

So today, let’s slow down. Look for the tiny joys—the simple blessings that whisper, “You’re loved. You’re cared for. There’s beauty here.”

Because sometimes, it’s not about the big victories or the loud applause. It’s about seeing the smile in the pickle—and letting it remind you that happiness can always be found, if we’re willing to look

THE JOURNEY REVEALS YOU

 It’s easy to shine when life is smooth.

It’s easy to love when people agree with you, support you, and treat you well.
But what about when everything changes?

Who are you when the answers don’t come?

Who are you when your finances fall apart, when prayers seem unanswered, or when the people you counted on disappear?

Do you bail out when you don’t see the end in sight?
Do you blow up when life doesn't follow your script?
Do you break when the pressure comes from just a few?

Do you shut out voices that don't mirror your own?
Or do you love unconditionally, even when it costs you?

And what about the deepest pain of all—
What about the child who’s left this world - well, we think too soon?
How strong are you when your heart is shattered into a thousand pieces?

Who are you when your child is battling cancer—when the treatments seem endless, and the doctor visits never stop? When hope feels fragile, and strength is something you have to dig for every single day?

These are more than questions. They’re mirrors.
They show us what we carry inside.
Not to shame us—but to wake us up.

Because storms don’t just shake our world.
They reveal the cracks—and the courage.
They pull off the masks—and show the faith underneath.

So who are you—really?

When it’s hard.
When it’s lonely.
When the answers don’t come and the grief is unbearable.

Let your answer be this:
I’m someone still standing. Still praying. Still choosing love.
Even when I don’t understand.
Even when it hurts.

Because the journey is revealing who I am—
And who God is making me to be

Every Heart’s Journey: More Than You See

 We often see the surface—the calm voice, the steady hands, the welcoming smile.

But what we don’t always see is the heart beneath it all.

There’s a heart carrying more than meets the eye.
A heart full of grace, even when the world feels heavy.
A heart full of faith, even when doubt whispers quietly in the background.
A heart full of deep love for people, even when it feels like love is a burden.

This heart belongs to the person who listens without judgment.
The one who prays for those who never ask.
The one who sacrifices their own comfort to bring comfort to others.
The one who holds on to hope when hope seems impossible.

It’s the heart of a mother comforting her struggling child.
It’s the heart of a father working long hours, trying to provide and still show up for his family.
It’s the heart of a deacon quietly supporting the church behind the scenes.
It’s the heart of a Sunday school teacher staying late to help a child who feels left out.
It’s the heart of a parent losing a child, trying to hold on to faith in the darkest moments.
It’s the heart of a child losing a parent, learning how to carry a world that suddenly feels too big.
It’s the heart of a pastor who carries the pain of a whole congregation, praying in silence through the night.
It’s the heart of a friend who quietly bears your burdens without a word.

You may not see the tears shed alone, the sleepless nights, or the battles fought quietly inside.
You may only glimpse the smile they wear for the world.

But remember—there’s always more to the story.
More love. More grace. More faith.
More heart.

So when you meet someone, especially those who serve others with kindness and strength,
pause and remember the heart beneath the surface.
Because sometimes, what they need most isn’t applause or advice—
it’s your understanding, your patience, and your love.

We all carry unseen stories beneath the surface.

A Wounded Heart’s Journey

 We hurt each other.

Not always on purpose.
Sometimes with words we didn’t mean, silences that lasted too long, or love we didn’t know how to show.

We all carry scars—some from others, some we gave.
But if we’re honest… we’ve all fallen short.
We’ve said things we regret.
We’ve let people down.
We’ve prayed for second chances.

So how can we ask for grace and not give it too?

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t mean the pain didn’t matter.
It just means we’re choosing to let love speak louder than hurt.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is whisper, “I forgive you,”
even if your voice trembles.
Even if they never say sorry.

Because forgiving isn’t weakness.
It’s freedom.
It’s healing.
It’s letting go so your heart can finally breathe again.

We’re all just human—learning, growing, breaking, healing.

So please… forgive.
Like you’ve been forgiven.
Like your soul depends on it.
Because maybe, in the end, the greatest kind of strength…
is choosing love anyway.

The Journey Worth Taking

 

We live in a world that tells us to hide our mess. Smile for the camera. Fix your flaws. Be stronger, cleaner, better. But here’s the truth: God isn’t asking for perfect. He’s asking for you.

Not the polished version. Not the one with the mask.
Just you—tired, broken, doubting, hurting. Yes, even angry. Even ashamed.

Think about it—Jesus didn’t walk with the religious elite. He walked with the outcasts, the sinners, the ones who had messed up again and again. He didn’t ask them to clean up first. He just said, “Come.”

Your pain? Bring it.
Your failures? He already knows.
Your guilt? He wants to free you from it.
Your questions? He’s big enough to handle them.

You don’t have to get it all together. You just have to come. Let God hold the mess. Let Him love the ugliest parts of you. Because He already does.

There’s beauty in being real.
There’s healing in being honest.
And there’s freedom in knowing you are loved, exactly as you are.

So today, stop trying to be perfect.
Start being real.
And let God do what only He can—turn your broken into something beautiful.

Your journey with Him doesn’t start when you're “good enough.” It starts the moment you say yes, just as you are.

The Journey Through Fear

 

Fear and anxiety are two of the enemy’s favorite weapons—and for a good reason. They work. Even believers—those who know the truth—can find themselves crushed under the weight of “what ifs” and worst-case scenarios. The enemy doesn’t have to destroy your life to win—he just has to convince you that it’s already falling apart.

I’ll never forget the night I sat on the bathroom floor, knees pulled to my chest, trying to breathe through what felt like a panic attack. My faith was strong—or so I thought. But fear had crept in slowly, whispering things like, “You’re not enough,” “God has forgotten you,” and the loudest lie of all: “You’re all alone.”

That night, I didn’t pray a fancy prayer. I just whispered, “Jesus, help me.” And He did. Not by snapping His fingers and fixing everything, but by sitting with me in the pain. Little by little, His Word started fighting back the lies. “I will never leave you.” “I have plans to give you hope.” “You are mine.”

The enemy wanted me stuck in that bathroom, stuck in my fear, stuck in my head. But God met me there—and walked me out.

If fear and anxiety have been pressing in on you, know this: they are not your identity. They are not your future. And they are not from God. The Bible says, “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7).

The enemy wants you frozen. God wants you free.

So even if all you can whisper today is, “Jesus, help me,” that’s enough.

He hears you. And He’s not going anywhere.

"The Journey to Nowhere: And Why We Can’t Ignore It Anymore"

 It’s a hard truth to face: the church of tomorrow is starting to look… empty. Many young people are walking away. Some never come. Others are watching from a distance, unsure if the church has anything real to offer them.

We see the signs—empty seats, fewer volunteers, silence where there used to be singing. It’s easy to blame culture, technology, or “this generation,” but the real question is: What will we do about it?

Because the future of the church isn’t just about Sunday services—it’s about souls. It’s about our kids, our neighbors, our communities. If we stay quiet now, the faith we love may not be handed down at all.

So what needs to change?

We need to be real. This generation doesn’t want perfect—they want honest. They want a church that talks about real struggles, real healing, and a real Jesus. Not just routines, but relationships. Not just religion, but love.

We need to make room. Room for questions. Room for mistakes. Room for young leaders to rise and bring fresh fire. If we don’t hand them the keys, we can’t expect them to stick around.

And above all, we need to show them why the church matters. Not just with sermons, but with our lives. Do we live like Jesus matters? Do we love like His church is worth fighting for?

The church of tomorrow is being shaped today—by what we do, what we teach, and how we love. Let’s not wait for the future to disappear before we start caring.

Let’s build now. Let’s reach now. Let’s live the kind of faith that makes the next generation say, I want to be part of that.

Because the church of tomorrow still has a chance—but only if we rise up today.

We don’t need more people in pews—we need people with passion. People who aren’t just watching the decline but are doing something about it. People who will invite, disciple, lead, and love. People who will speak life instead of criticism. People who believe the church still matters, because Jesus still calls it His bride.

This “journey to nowhere” can change.
But not if we stay silent.
Not if we sit back and wait.
Not if we forget what we were called to fight for.

The church of tomorrow depends on what we do today.
So what will you do? Watch it drift away—or rise and help it live again?