Third Saturday in Lent

“Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ He replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’" Mark 5:9

today,
the answer would rise
from the depths of despair,
the graves of the grieving,
the empty hallways of life.
the ones fractured by cruel faith,
the forgotten spread across
a thousand gaunt faces,
children’s cries that rise from rubble,
voices longing for attention and
only encountering silence,
which carries the faint whisper,
”I am Legion,”
not just one but so many
not just one name but all
which are carried on the dust
from storms in the soul.
it is the nameless
and the vulnerable
poster children of a world
so broken but so afraid of healing
and it is us, lost in crowds,
struggling to be heard in noise,
doubting if we will ever
be made whole again.
but Jesus never flinches
but continues to call us
by name, no, not Legion,
but Beloved.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Friday in Lent

“Now the famine was severe in the land.” Genesis 43:1

it is not just an old story
pulled from a dusty book,
it is about our days as well.
in the stale air of our moments,
silos of compassion stand half-empty.
buckets clang against the dry bottom
of the wells of patience.
even justice is parceled out—
a cup for those who agree with us,
a bucket for those who idolize us,
a drib, a drab for those who do not.
peace sleeps in shadowed doorways
after knocking on fears who have set alarms.
hope is at the back of the line,
joining the weary who wonder
if anyone remembers that there
is enough mercy for all.
yet, like wheat sheltering under dust,
the promise of God quietly stirs—
if we begin to turn toward others again,
if we carry share from just
a small bag of compassion,
our famines will not have
the final word in our times.
grace is waiting to produce
a bumper crop for the world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Thursday in Lent

“’All things are lawful for me,’ but not all things are beneficial. ‘All things are lawful for me, but I will not be dominated by anything.” 1 Corinthians 6:12

‘i won’t go to jail’
we tell ourselves believing
freedom is license to do
whatever we want,
but you turn from that
lonely desert road of Lent,
asking are we serious.
yes, we can choose the
snark, anger, memes,
those tiny idolatries that
soon become a pantheon
of gods that demand my all.
but they are not food
nor are they mercy,
or even tiny seeds of hope
in this season we call
less is more, our freedoms
are sifted through your fingers
like sand, until all that is left
is what nourishes our parched souls.
so may we not be captive
to all which does not love us,
or kneel to all who would not
bless us if we paid them.
show us the true liberty
found in laying things down,
until we hunger and thirst
only for you.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Second Wednesday in Lent

“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD
   in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:13

too often
we are fixated on
(no, addicted to)
the chaos around us.
we close our eyes
to the suffering of others
afraid it might be a
vision of our future.
we push close
to the mirror, crowding out
the vulnerable.
so
open our eyes to goodness—
not just occasional acts
in the land of the privileged
who live as we cannot imagine,
but being intentional about justice
for the mentally ill filed away
in group homes, far from view,
for our aging populations forgotten
in those warehouses called nursing homes.
persistent in pursuing peace
for the children whose playgrounds
are filled with rubble and whose toys
are bits and pieces of shattered dreams
and whose parents are being buried
simply because they worked
in buildings the powerful deemed
to be threats to someone or something.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Second Tuesday in Lent

“And looking at those who sat around him, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.’” Mark 3:34-35

they are all around us—
the kids with dust in their hair,
families holding grief in their hands,
the lonely growing lonelier.
and in the middle of this circle
of the overlooked and despised,
Jesus wants us to notice—
not the shaking fists of power
or the most strident voices,
but those who always seem to have
more than enough for others.
in moments when fear draws borders
and profit rains fire from the sky,
Jesus puts another leaf in the table—
pushing it beyond checkpoints
and past those lines drawn in the sand
by all who see only enemies.
‘whoever does the will of God’—
that will which offers mercy
to a child sitting atop rubble,
that will which offers justice
to workers who have no voice,
that will which draws the stranger
into an embrace as if a prodigal.
communities aren’t birthed in
this widening gyre of the world,
families aren’t just bonded by blood,
but nurtured in fields of compassion,
watered by the tears of the forgotten,
harvested by kind acts of grace.
so let us draw close enough
to hear the other breathe,
take the time to learn the names
of everyone we are told to fear,
as we discover in the widening
circle of grace, we belong to one another.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Monday in Lent

“Let the arrogant be put to shame,
   because they have subverted me with guile;
   as for me, I will meditate on your precepts.” Psalm 119:78

in the bruised dawns,
as sirens moan fear
and the ground reels
from every pain imaginable,
we bring you, Tender God,
those names we dare not speak
especially those we do not know.
may the weapons of the proud
rust from the tears of parents,
may the lies crafted by the cruel
from the truth the world knows
not become seductive whispers.
may we—
the weary and the wary,
the hopeless and the hurting
lean into your whispers of grace,
cradling your words like seeds,
waiting for the courage to plant them
so they might bring a harvest of hope.
as we mark our lives
with the ashes of headlines,
may we keep walking
your path of patience,
becoming small lights of love
no shadows can swallow,
remembering that even now,
especially now,
your peace grows quietly
in all hearts which refuse
to hate.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Sunday in Lent

“Why are you cast down, O my soul,
     and why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
     my help and my God.” Psalm 43:5

as we wake to numbing news
with images of rubble and death,
and worries of more destruction . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away our lust for war.
when we drive down streets
we usually avoid, where houses
are dilapidated, the residents
seem despondent, the folks
on the corner wave signs . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away the injustice
forced on other people.
while we shake our heads
at the cruelty which comes
off the tongue so easily
for those in power, as
our stomachs churn when
we hear the demeaning way
the privileged speak
of the forgotten . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away the hate of others.
and when we look into
the mirror of our souls . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
when we expect you
to do all the heavy lifting--
have mercy on us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Saturday in Lent

“You hate those who pay regard to worthless idols,
     but I trust in the LORD.” Psalm 31:6

i could gather up
all those trumped up
promises and re-sell them
online, knowing the fortune
i would make.
i could keep reading
the latest books or
attend the newest seminar
or follow the influencer
everyone else does, convinced
my church will triple in numbers.
i could market bumper
stickers from all those
platitudes preachers let fall
on peoples’ ears each week.
or
i could simply keep trudging
that long obedience
in the same direction
even if everyone else
thinks i am the only fool
to give it a try.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Friday in Lent

“Seek the LORD and his strength;
     seek his presence continually.” Psalm 105:4

it’s a mystery, God.
we can be drawn into
an online argument about
something we know little about
started by someone we don’t know,
but we’re going to jump in
feet first, all in—
but take the time for a breath,
to listen carefully to another,
practice that more needed now
than ever before peacemaking?
it’s a mystery, God.
even though
you’ve warned us time and again,
we keep turning down
Grudge Alley, hoping the bullies
will jump out and pummel us,
so we have an excuse to keep returning—
but stand there trying
to understand Jesus’ words,
though failing to realize that
forgiveness is not a math equation?
it’s a mystery, Lord,
how, where, why to seek you
but you have given us the clues
of grace, love, peace, justice
and so much more to solve it.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Thursday in Lent

“Do not cast me off, do not forsake me,
     O God of my salvation!” Psalm 27:9c

when our cruelty bruises your mornings,
when creation sighs under our abuse,
when fear turns neighbors into strangers,
do not toss us aside,
God, whom we weary.
when we become more skilled
at building detention centers
faster than warming shelters,
as we so casually mistake
noise for today’s truth,
don’t give up on us—
but keep walking beside
the weary in hospital corridors,
listening to mothers in shelters,
sitting Shiva for dreams of justice
which die at the hands of indifference.
teach us to listen once again
not just with our ears, but hearts—
for the cry of the forgotten,
the persistence of peacemakers,
the songs of hope you plant
deep in the souls of little children.
as even our wilderness seems
to have become more barren,
gather us up—
our ashes as well as our anger,
our faults as well as our faith,
to show us the way into
the bright light of your love.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Wednesday in Lent

“A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." Mark 1:40

it is a hope as old as dirt—
‘if you choose, you can make me clean.’
so, what will it be—
that careful distance allowing us
that safe place from the
those folks who make us uncomfortable
or a risky touch bringing healing
to a person standing in the dust
of brokenness?
will we keep silence which gives
injustice just the breath it needs
or dare we step bravely into
the challenges of our days?
should we keep those habits
who do nothing more than
numb us into insensitivity
or we kneel down, listen closely,
offering mercy to the forgotten?
as we walk the edges of ordinary days,
our hands cupping fear,
cramming worries into our pockets,
may we realize that love
can still reach out in these
confusing, terrifying, overwhelming
moments and perhaps
our small choice will become
that simple holy touch
that changes everything.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Tuesday in Lent

“Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” 1 Corinthians 1:20

when ash is drifting down on us,
and the bitter wind carries away
all our well-memorized answers,
do we need the smartest person
in the room,
or the one whose pain
is etched on their face?
when our hearts have crumpled,
every argument tossed aside,
with only a deep ache remaining,
do we need a summa cum laude
or the person who has had
a hope transplant done by the Spirit?
when we are made speechless
as we stand at the edge of the Skull,
truth splintering into pick-up sticks,
do we need a by-God spellbinder
or a little child with simple words?
like bread torn apart by unseen hands,
like light pouring into those
cracks we never notice,
gather up our knowing, God,
and unmake it by your grace—
peeling away that brilliance
blinding us to justice,
unraveling those Gordian knots
made of anger and arrogance,
turning our self-righteous piety
into fools gold with no value—
so that in our Lenten wilderness,
we might realize you are not
as dumb as we think you are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Monday in Lent

“The LORD will keep
     your going out and your coming in
     from this time on and for evermore.” Psalm 121:8

whether on the open road
or negotiating a narrow path,
you trace our footsteps,
Compassionate God,
from sunrise to sunset,
cradling our comings and goings
in hands covered in dust and dawn.
we can’t help but wander
chasing after noise, jogging with fear,
hoping to find illusions of power,
while you watch from the edges of life,
that quiet observer when we forget
how you hold us in your arms.
sometimes our doubts are like
pebbles in our shoes as we walk
through this Lenten wilderness,
yet you stay by our side, slowly,
faithfully, as if each step was a prayer
when we dare to leave the familiar
you are waiting in what scares us.
and when we limp back home,
you are sitting by the window with a lamp
to keep us honest when we go out,
have mercy on us when we come in,
guard all those small journeys—
turning toward forgiveness,
walking away from cruelty,
taking the long journey to grace.
from the very first breath you gifted us
to the final one we will give back to you,
be that gentle rhythm under our feet,
that home we never leave.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Sunday in Lent

“Happy are those whose strength is in you,
   in whose heart are the highways to Zion.” Psalm 84:5

society rushes by,
distractions bring paths to a standstill,
whispers of hope are drowned
by the noise of every moment,
so blessed are the weary feet
of pilgrims walking through Lent.
for in the companionship of others
we find strength for this journey,
hope echoes in our hearts
with every step we take.
for we are not just marching
to an empty tomb in a garden,
but through that slow realization
of the presence of God’s grace
in every pothole of our lives.
we might miss the quiet joys
of this silent season of wandering
as we focus on frenzied posts,
but in the simple act of pausing
in the spiritual discipline of discovering
the gifts in the unnoticed corners,
but if we walk with faithful caution
in the light of the promise
that in our mortality, even
as we trail Jesus down those
dusty roads leading to death—
we are blessed.
for this is not a sprint to win
some sort of medal,
but that slow, tender pilgrimage
to the heart of God.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Saturday in Lent

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

soul-weary,
hearts battered by news,
shoes covered with debris of cruelty,
hope so thin we have trouble breathing—
no wonder we whisper,
we are not enough
and we are not . . . by ourselves.
but then, slipping into our fatigue
like light through the closed
slats of window shutters,
comes a quiet resolve—
not loud, nor boastful,
just persistent as grace.
it is Jesus
that troublemaker telling stories
of people standing together,
that friend who does not leave us
crumpled in the rubble of doubts—
but never stops nudging us
to keep crafting justice, just
one small act of fairness at a time
to always choose compassion
no matter how attractive snark becomes,
to wrap others in the bands of grace,
just as we are swaddled in it,
to dare never give up hope
because
resurrection
is planted in the garden of weakness.
perhaps we are not enough
as the cosmic powers tell us—
but we are not alone
and companion by companion,
pilgrim by pilgrim
witness by witness,
we become that doorway
through which the strength
of love steps into the world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Friday in Lent

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.” Philippians 4:4

in moments when we tremble
with worry and our nights hum
with the uncertainty of tomorrow—
we rejoice in that quiet courage
you plant deep in ordinary hearts
when we walk down crumbling sidewalks
to sit beside the forgotten
in the shadows of dimming justice—
we rejoice for that grace-shaped song
you teach to weary lungs, reminding us
that hope still has a heartbeat.
when the influencers walk red carpets
woven from bitcoins and idolatry,
when the wealthy want bigger developments
and an end to discussion of affordable housing—
we rejoice that you do not step away
but choose them impenetrable days
to be where love is made incarnate
once again.
where brokenness is mended
by the gentle touch of a stranger,
where sorrow is given respite
through the laughter of children,
in that promise you made
from the beginning that we
will always be held in your heart,
we rejoice that you are as close
to us as the breath we take,
that we are becoming evidence
that your Beloved Community
is still unfolding in our midst—
and our rejoicing
becomes our resistance.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

First Thursday in Lent

Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold
and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will exult in the God of my salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18

though hope withers in our streets
and the leaves of grace
curl in on themselves,
though our mornings are numbed
with wars, and storms, and children
struggling to cross hunger’s border—
still, you are here
Planter of quiet seeds.
when our pensions fall like temperatures,
when despair stitches our nights,
when grief refuses to take the hint
and get up and leave from our rooms,
and justice is rationed like famine’s bread—
still, we turn to you,
leaning like sunflowers to light.
for you do not walk away
from drought-scarred fields
nor hold your words as
you walk in the dust of dreams
you are the faint heartbeat
which stirs the ashes of life,
that whisper with a stronger life
than angry shouts.
so, until life returns,
we will sing with hoarse voices,
we will dance on uneven ground,
we will dig furrows in fields of fear
planting small seeds of mercy,
Joy which is present even
when the world says you have left,
remembering that you
are that harvest we are always
waiting for.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Ash Wednesday

it is as if it is too shy
to want more attention—
smaller than you thought,
a smudge someone might mistake
as dirt from working in the garden,
or a playful mark from a child.
as you go through the day,
you might forget it is there
until you see someone’s eyes
turn soft as they notice,
the fast-food clerk pauses,
compassion touches you in
the simple silence of a stranger.
you see, ash remembers what
we think we can dismiss—
that in our ending is our beginning,
that even all the good we tried
to do will dissolve into dust.
ash also remembers the fire
of love, burning bright enough
so this trace can help us
to remember.as those ancient
words confront us once again:
we will return.
it is not a threat, but the promise
that nothing given in love
ever goes to waste
this day is not about shame,
but honesty marking our souls,
standing still just long enough
to admit that while fragile
we are beloved above all else.
it will disappear,
a quick mix of soap and water,
a soft cloth, and . . .
but the softer soul,
the silent heart
that whisper of love
reminds us of how dust
is always cradled
in the hands of grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 17th

“Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” Philippians 3:7-8

they are like heirlooms
i collected over the years—
achievements and honors,
titles before and letters after my name,
the applause from others (but
hoping for a standing ovation).
they were my portfolio
my security blanket
they gave me my credibility.
then
you picked up my ledger
where I had recorded each one,
tearing each page out and
putting them into the shredder.
for you measure me
by the simple standard of mercy
your calculator is based more
on grace than any so-called gains.
so—
put the trophies into recycling,
erase the old names like chalk,
for in losing,
i find your heart much closer,
in letting go,
i hold what i will never lose.
everything we call treasure
is valueless compared to you,
as i discover the joy
of losing all i once held dear
as cradle me in your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 16th

“God has taken his place in the divine council;
     in the midst of the gods he holds judgment:
‘How long will you judge unjustly
     and show partiality to the wicked?’” Psalm 82:1-2

they long to be our idols,
those tiny gods who want
to capitalize their names—
the hot breath of angry mouths
would seek to move over
the living waters of hope
until they become boiling springs
of bitterness,
the false messiah calls
the uber rich and those
who gorge on power and
want another helping to follow
down the roads where potholes
never appear and trash is always
picked up before it hits the curb,
the dragon sheds its scales
of lies and boasts, in hopes
they will cover the dust from which
life focused on empathy and
seeking justice for others was shaped.
and we look around wondering
where we might find
an emergency room
for our souls.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Transfiguration

“Then he said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’” Luke 9:23

unfortunately (for us),
it is not on that comfortable
shine-Jesus-shine mountaintop,
where we are challenged
to live out that faith which costs
us more than we think we have—
but in the valleys where grief runs
not burbling streams of joy,
in the hospital rooms where
we bathe the faces of loved ones,
in the streets where the forgotten
live in the shadows of loneliness.
unfortunately (for us),
it is not the chocolate, fast-food,
lack of exercise, or other such
trivial excesses we are asked to deny,
but our privilege which masks
complete indifference to injustice,
our self-righteousness which
covers-up our hoarding of grace,
our refusal to see God in the face
of those we look at through fear—
those are the crosses we are offered.
fortunately, for us, Jesus shows us
how it is done, if we dare but
follow.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 14th

“Now when Jacob saw Rachel, the daughter of his mother's brother Laban, and the sheep of his mother's brother Laban, Jacob went up and rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of his mother's brother Laban.” Genesis 29:1-10

somewhere, a little child
longs for someone to roll
away the stone of past due
envelopes on dusty tables
so joy might run free.
somewhere,
an immigrant needs the stone
shadows of fear and angry words
to be pushed aside so justice
can glimpse their face and welcome them.
somewhere, a weary widow
leans against the stone carved
from the hollowness of not needed clothes,
wondering if anyone will sculpt it
into hope which will call their name.
and so, God of where grace meets
the parched throats of pilgrims,
send us as stone removers—
compassion strengthening our backs,
grace callousing our hands—
until every well is opened
and every thirsty soul drinks
from the well spring of your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 13th

“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, "Surely the LORD is in this place — and I did not know it!" Genesis 28:16

from the slipping out of bed,
grabbing the coffee,
checking notifications,
stepping into the day of sirens,
lights flashing their commands,
emails demanding answers,
we whisper, ‘just another day
in just another place.’
but grace waits
in that doorway we rush past,
in the immigrant we dismiss,
in the silence we try to put at ease.
and
in the slow moving lane going home,
on sidewalks covered with ice
or beaches too hot to walk on,
in cities overwhelmed by fear’s grief
and in those houses where ache
quietly closes the drapes—
we find the Holy right beside us.
for like great-great-great grandpa Jacob,
we blink rapidly at the light
hidden in plain people
in even plainer places—
in her breath, his heartbeat,
the world’s brokenness—
and we whisper in shock,
‘wow! God is here,’
and we never notice as we
sleepwalk through life.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 12th

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” Romans 12:12

scrolling through years of war,
wildfire, sirens down midnight streets,
and the empty chair grief pulls up
at far too many tables, joy
has lost its childlike innocence.
and yet—
it dares to look for the dawn,
not that the world is growing
kind, but because God always is.
anxiety hums like power lines
beneath our souls, and patience
walks barefoot on the shards
of shattered prayers, yet we
will continue to root ourselves
in the slow language of trust,
learning the grammar of waiting
which heaven whispers hope.
we will keep struggling to be
faithful in prayers, showing up,
hands wrapped around warm mugs,
cheeks carved with tears,
entrusting our brittle alleluias
into the callused hands of Jesus.
for hope is not a hashtag
but the heartbeat of
quiet resistance, allowing
our hearts to sync with God’s.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 11th

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God — what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Romans 12:2

ah, dear friends,
let us not fill our hearts
with trending fears,
with that outrage crafted
so it fits our thumbs.
our lives, these God-lives,
are not to be measured
in likes or shares or emojis.
those filters offered to us:
smoothing the edges of injustice,
seeing cruel rhetoric as the
natural heirs to Shakespeare,
Neruda or Angelou,
the lies seducing us that
we are what we display—
only drag us deeper into
that pit of unknowingness.
so, let us step out of doom scrolling,
let God rewrite those codes
of rivalry and covetousness,
as God reboots our souls
with tender compassion.
may we shut down all those
glowing screens and sit
in the still silence of that
Light which shows us the way
to that life where we do not
become more inhuman,
but are renewed by grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 10th

“When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground.” John 8:7-8

they draw in closer, ready
to cast their verdict with
those stones harder than
their hearts clutched tight
in their hands—
but you stand there,
not to argue the case
nor to defend her, but simply
offering that challenge that
none of us want to take on,
and suddenly, the hand-sized rocks
become Sisyphean boulders we keep
trying to push to the top of Mount Judgment.
and as the silent wind
carries away all the accusations,
you remain kneeling on the ground,
shaping new life for her,
and all who release
their grip on self-righteousness,
from the dust of grace
which is always ready
to rewrite our stories.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 9th

“How long will you judge unjustly
   and show partiality to the wicked?” Psalm 82:2

gripping the gavel with white knuckles,
you lean forward from the bench
to ask us the question we hope
you will never ask—
‘how long?’
how long will we dress power
in fancy suits and black robes
and claim it is justice, while
the forgotten hear the sound
of the doors clanging shut behind them,
while truth is removed from
the courtrooms by masked agents?
how long will we keep tilting the scales
until the weight is sufficient for our needs
simply because evil flatters us
with names a lover would use?
how long, God asks,
not with thundering judgement
but in that heartbroken voice
of parents who see their kids
choosing shadows over
the unrewarding work of being light
how long—
before judgment remembers mercy
and the arrogant learn to kneel?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 8th

““You are the salt of the earth; . . . You are the light of the world,” Matthew 5:13-14

listen, it is not a bumper sticker—
salt doesn’t shout in our ear,
it simply sticks around,
protecting what is precious from going bad
when we sweat fear through the day
and when truth is left out
on the kitchen counter.
salt has that quiet faithfulness
like folks gathering to bear witness
in places of worship and in streets,
like those hearts which refuse
to lose the tang of gritty grace.
listen, it’s not a slogan—
light refuses to debate the shadows,
it simply walks as far into it as needed;
a candle in a cellar as the missiles
land all over their neighborhood;
a porch light turned on
for the wayward to find home.
listen, they are not meant
to be commercials for sporting events—
Jesus didn’t say, ‘try to be’
he challenged us, “you are!”
already glowing like hope
in the shadows of despair,
already to be poured out
into the lives of God’s precious ones
so season today with grace
turn on a lamp for the weary.
the world is exhausted
the shadows seem to expand
and God has trusted us
to never let the light go out,
God has poured the cost of justice
into us so it might not decay.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 7th

“O God, you are my God, I seek you,
   my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
   as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” Psalm 63:1

like a dog
with a tail wagging
fast enough to light a house,
waiting for a snowball
to be tossed, convinced
that this time it will not
explode into nothingness
when it is caught in its mouth.
like a cat who slowly
stalks the string being trailed
behind it’s servants back
as they play the game
they have done so many times.
like a kid
with money clutched
in its hands, shimmering
as the line moves
as a snail’s pace to the cashier,
so she can pay for the final book
in the series she has been reading
for years, and can’t wait
to see how the loose ends are tied,
that is how much
you long for us, dear God,
to want to find you.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 6th

“I have not hidden your saving help within my heart,
   I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation;
I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness
   from the great congregation.” Psalm 40:10


in a time when people
keeps saying we should close
our hearts to empathy just like
we close borders, may i
keep opening mine wider and wider
so your grace can embrace
the vulnerable around us.
in a world where many wonder
how many family, friends, neighbors
might turn their backs if they dare
to speak out for justice, may
i have the courage to never stop
reminding folks of your partiality
towards those who are forgotten.
in a place where folks distort
your words, even claiming Jesus
didn’t really mean most of what
he said and did and lived,
may i keep trying to follow him,
even if others think i am just
another reed bending
in the wind.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 5th

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,” Hebrews 12:1

grandparents praying through the night,
friends who refused to step aside,
young people who left school
to ride buses to sign up voters,
saints who would burst out laughing
if anyone called them that—
they ran their race in kitchens
as well as in courtrooms,
while crossing bridges knowing
what awaited them on the other side,
who saw that justice which endures
while so many others were blind.
weary folks in scrubs,
kids in school uniforms,
check out folks in grocery stores,
bus driver watching kids get home,
all who put on their weary shoes
so they can keep running
when faith feels so thin,
who give up pride to forgive,
whose trembling hands cup fragile love,
whose whistles are held tight
in their hands, ready to be used.
they all lean toward us,
surrounding us with courage
and whispering hope—
‘toss aside those heavy fears,
keep going, don’t stop,
you are never alone.’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 4th

“Come, bless the LORD, all you servants of the LORD,
     who stand by night in the house of the LORD!” Psalm 134:1

tonight, we find them,
blessing the Lord—
not in cathedrals nor halls of power,
but where late-night nurses rinse
their hands under dim lights,
where families count the slow
breaths in hospice beds,
where immigrants sleep
with one eye open for cruelty
trying to creep in during the night,
and the other gazing at hope
sitting in the corner, watching
over them when they can’t sleep.
bless the Lord, servants of night hours—
standing guard over the vulnerable,
holding the line when fear
links arms to approach them,
singing songs of hope when faith
grows as thin as the sun in winter.
for God, who never sleeps,
especially as the world exhales
and shadows stretch toward us,
listens closely as our quiet devotion
grows like nightlight in the hallway,
and turns to the darkness and
simply says,
you do not get the last word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 3rd

"By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau in regard to their future.” Hebrews 11:20

it is so hard to see tomorrow,
much less that dim future,
when our streets are iced over
in so many different ways,
when our times are marked
by rivalry and regret, like siblings
that jostle for blessings and inheritances,
when nothing seems to be as sure
as the fact that uncertain days
fill every date on our calendar.
yet our ancestors in this mystery
called faith, left us with some hints—
dare to hold our hands open not clenched tight,
trust that God keeps bending us toward justice,
believe that mercy is never far from us.
so, when we fear that tomorrow will be so heavy,
we might drop it and shatter our fragile world,
may we, by faith,
offer blessings and not curses,
speak life rather than fear,
plant seeds we may never sit under,
choose love over cynicism,
trust that God weaves hope
into the messes of our lives,
and leave the future up to God,
knowing it is not ours to control.
may we be blessings of hope,
grace, love, peace, justice,
inclusion, and wonder,
by faith.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 2nd

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

Faith
has nothing to do with
answers clutched in our hands,
it is that gentle weight of hope
cupped in our palms.
it is there, just at the edge
of the future, with nothing
but a promise and believing
that is more than enough
to keep our knees from knocking.
it is learning to feel
the invisible breath of God
in all our ordinary moments—
cleaning bathrooms and
making grocery lists,
in knocked-to-our-knees
grief that keeps showing up,
as well as the joy which
takes our hands and holds tight.
it does not demand proof,
but simply sits with us
waiting
listening,
leaning its whole life
toward those whispers of love
lingering all around us.
Faith is gentle persistence
to live as if the light is real
even as shadows surround us,
trusting that what we hope for
is already wrapping its arms
around us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 1st

“Abraham answered, "Let me take it upon myself to speak to the Lord, I who am but dust and ashes.” Genesis 18:27

ankle deep in the dust
of Abraham’s words, the ash
of that audacious hope in our throats,
we dare to speak our shattered hearts.
yes, we are insignificant, as others remind us,
but grace is burning at the edges,
justice is bent like a bruised reed,
mercy is shouted down by violence,
cruelty keeps jotting down names,
and fear creeps into our souls
like winter’s chill into arthritic bones.
yet, we dare not keep silent,
not so much out of dogmatism
but because silence is simply giving up.
so in those faint echoes of that ancient voice
may we have the humility to know who we are,
the courage to confront who we refuse to be,
and the persistent hope to ask
who we might yet become.
if only a remnant dares to speak,
if only a fragment of the faithful
can begin to make a difference,
then start with us.
our lives becoming questions
to challenge the powerful,
answers which will not turn to futility,
songs which keep walking
the streets of mercy,
and prayers taking one shaky step
at a time, but never backwards.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 31st

 “But he said to them, "It is I; do not be afraid." John 6:20

they live in fear:
that person standing
in the road, not to annoy us,
but because the spot where
they stand to catch a bus
is covered with ice.
they live in fear:
the folks who walk
in the street, not because
they have had a few drinks,
but the plows clearing the roads
so we privileged can travel
in warmth and safety covered
up the sidewalks they need
in order to get to their jobs,
their homes, their lives safely.
they live in fear:
the folks who stand on corners
in sub-zero temps hoping someone
might slip them the cash
they need to get a warm room
for the night.
they live in fear:
because rarely do they see
Jesus coming toward them
saying there’s nothing to fear,

because we are too busy

to notice them.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo : @Thom-Shuman

January 30th

“My soul also is struck with terror,
     while you, O LORD — how long?” Psalm 6:3

how long indeed!
before those nightmares
which accompany our days
slip back under the covers
of our beds where they belong?
how long indeed!
before fear takes off its masks,
packs up its weapons,
loads up its vehicles built
strictly for intimidation, and
returns our streets, our neighborhoods
back into the communities
of kindness and welcome
they once were known for?
how long indeed!
before the chillblained hours of our grief,
where grace is thin as winter daylight,
are thawed by the warm rays
of hope, justice, compassion, and peace?
O Lord,
how long indeed!

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 29th

“’You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf. Yet you refuse to come to me to have life.’” John 5:39-40

we trace our fingers
down the verses
as if they were maps
pointing the way to our
preconceived destinations.
we take the words, turning
them over like stones, hoping
to find all our prejudices, our
anger, our fears living underneath.
but the pages rustle softly—
not about life but nudging us
toward it, like sunflowers
turning to that source of light
which stands before us.
oh, we can memorize all
the names of the bodies of water,
yet we miss the water lapping
gently at our toes.
we dip our nets into verses,
trying to pull forth a great haul
of judgement upon others, of
affirmation of our self-righteousness,
but love simply keeps whispering—
not in the margins or in the past tenses,
no, i am breath, i am now, i am
that door you keep reading about
but refuse, out of spite, to open.
and the Old Book
softly closes its pages
so that we might look up
and see life holding open its arms.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 28th

“but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,
     in those who hope in his steadfast love.” Psalm 147:11

the politicians?
they would take it
in a heartbeat and
offer it to the person
who donated the most money
to their campaign.
the superstars?
they would leave it
on the pitch, covered in
the muck and mire of
just another game.
the religious scammers?
they would add it
to all the rest accumulated
from so many suckers as
they build more and more
campuses generating
more and more adulation.
but you?
you wrap it gently in your love,
tying a ribbon of grace around it
and place hope back into my heart.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 27th

“When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be made well?" John 5:6

it is not just our bodies
etched in the dust of life,
it is our years of waiting as justice
is pressed flat into the ground—
but Jesus doesn’t begin mansplaining,
he doesn’t offer a sermon on suffering,
or even tell us to just try harder.
he looks—
that look which recognizes how long
pain has been rolling our names
around in its mouth and on its tongue.
and he offers a word—
not a paragraph, not a scolding,
but an invitation,
to leave the age-long ache behind,
to return our self-help books,
to set aside our survival gear,
to let go that identity others imposed.
and in hospital rooms and churches,
in shelters and on our devices,
in the streets where cruelty
tries to beat down compassion,
in those lives where hope and fear
compete for breath,
the question lingers in the air.
and we wonder, as we often do,
dare we meet the question honestly
or just stick where life has put us,
while Jesus waits,
not tapping his foot
or glancing at his watch,
but simply looking to see
if we will choose fullness of life
rather than the futility of fear.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 26th

“Restore us again, O God of our salvation,
    and put away your indignation toward us.” Psalm 85:4

bring back that quiet courage
which will help us begin
again that longing for justice.
turn us away
from the angry choruses,
the fear news networks,
the well-rehearsed outrage
which refuses to speak
the names of the dead.
replace our priorities
when truth is set aside
for pithy sound bites
when the compassionate
are accused of naivete
and cruelty is valued for its efficiency.
God of second chances
(at the very least)
turn us away from
unfollowing another’s suffering,
mistaking shouts for success,
forgetting the faces of neighbors.
in hands open to welcome,
at tables where chairs are added,
in all-too-valuable moments
being devoted to listening,
may we discover your saving grace.
take us back, O God—
not to those yesterdays filled
with hate, violence, and pain
but to those days when we live
as we are meant to live
before fear seduced us
away from your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 25th

“Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, "Ephphatha," that is, "Be opened." Mark 7:34

you look up—
past the tear-stained sky
pressing down on Minnesota,
past the winter storm which silences
highways and seals houses shut.
you sigh—
your breath heavy as the snow,
at shelters overflowing,
at empty shelves in groceries,
at feet frozen by witnessing.
you speak—
‘open up’
to ears plugged by narcissism,
to mouths frozen by rhetoric,
to hearts slammed shut against
the cold of the suffering of others.
‘open up’
to those covered by ice,
to all counted as the least,
or not even in the running.
‘open up’
those policies hardened by fear,
compassion rationed out by the teaspoon,
mercy which has been packed away.
and the Spirit leans into
the bitter winter winds of hate,
refusing to give up carrying the word
into sanctuaries and onto sidewalks,
into narrow alleyways and corridors of power,
until all that is closed—
slowly, too slowly perhaps—
to thaw
let us hear
let us speak
let us persist
always opening our lives
to the most vulnerable
especially while the storm rages.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 24th

“You have kept count of my tossings;
     put my tears in your bottle.
     Are they not in your record?” Psalm 56:8

even now—
in ice-covered communities,
down hallways where fatigue whispers,
at airports where goodbyes
wound the air, you count our
twisting and turning.
even now—
as the world breaks so loudly,
as breaking news is stitched from grief,
as pain learns new vocabularies,
you keep track of our moans.
and yet, you notice
that mother steadying her breath
to lullaby frightened children,
that stranger who clears winter’s
debris off sidewalks of neighbors,
hope needing crutches
but refusing to stop marching.
you gather up the tears
of cities confronting bullies,
of children unafraid to ask
adult-sized questions,
of white-haired veterans
watching the history of hate
being repeated without question
and not one drop evaporates
without you noticing.
it is as if heaven’s streets
were lined with little glass bottles,
a name written on each one,
proof of pain which was seen
and never dismissed as imagination.
so, let our tears fall where they may
for they are already on their way home.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 23rd

“The woman said to him, "I know that Messiah is coming" (who is called Christ). "When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us." Jesus said to her, "I am he, the one who is speaking to you." John 4:25-26

at that modern well
called a coffee shop, she sits
scrolling headlines with one hand
and using the other to shield her eyes
wondering if today, truth might speak
without having to shout.
when the wars fall into silence,
when the powerful learn to listen,
when we dare to learn the names
of those we meet, then maybe
someday has finally arrived.
we expect transparency
to come into our lives
at the moment we have
marked on our calendars,
then you show up
not on primetime or streaming
not racking up numbers on social media,
but finding us in the weary places,
where we thirst for honesty.
and it is not
‘i will be’
not ‘i was’
but I AM
in every broken relationship
in every long line of the parched,
in every argument where truth
is kept out of the vocabulary—
simply
knowing our names
and offering us a drink
despite all the skeletons in our closets.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 22nd

“I come to the end—
   I am still with you.” Psalm 139:18b

at the end of the nightmare,
you comfort me.
at the end of the day,
you are setting a place
for me at your table.
at the end of a relationship,
you call me your beloved.
at the end of my rope,
your arms are wide open
to catch me.
at the end of my to-do list,
you have written
‘be still and know . . .’
at the end of my faith,
you send others
to strengthen my hope.
at the dead-end of the road,
you stand pointing
the way i should go.
at the end,
i feel you holding tight

to my hand, just as you

always have, even when

i believed i was on my own.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 21st

“And we want each one of you to show the same diligence so as to realize the full assurance of hope to the very end,” Hebrews 6:11

some days, hope is just a
thin vapor, like smoke drifting
from a candle just put out.
some days, hope is loud enough
to shout down our worries
so we can refuse to blink
before icy stares and continue to
blow whistles as loud as we can.
some days, hope is tired fingers
wrapped around a fraying rope
of civility, and we worry that
if we let go, everything will
come tumbling down.
some days, hope seems as
old as our creaking bones
and as fragile as our frightened fears,
yet is as daring as any toddler
to lean forward even at the risk
of falling flat on their face.
and every day,
hope kneels gently beside us,
whispering, ‘stay,’
stay when justice is unfinished
stay when love costs more
than we think we have,
stay when it seems God
has wandered away, but
has just gone ahead, trusting
hope to be our companion.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 20th

“When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” Genesis 9:16

how like God, once again
turning expectations on their head—
that bow is hung in the sky
not as a threat or weapon
but a multi-hued reminder
to us to keep remembering.
to take a breath in the rain
and pay attention to what still is,
colors drenching fear ‘til it is gone,
clouds taking a step back
as promise stretches grace
across the sky before our eyes.
this is not a contract carved
in stone or codified in books,
but light,
so fragile it might disappear,
so faithful it always returns
and so, whenever it seems
this weary world is about to drown
in its own anger, noise, power
God stands next to us, looking up
and, touching the sky with hope,
reminds us in the silence
that we are not forgotten.
for the miracle is not
that the flood waters receded,
but that grace always remembers
where we are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 19th

“The Lord upholds all who are falling,
     and raises up all who are bowed down.” Psalm 145:14

the Old Book reminds us
of the hand beneath the falling,
of a shoulder for those
weighed down by injustice—
a promise heard by Martin,
who believed God’s strength
can be seen in a wearied people
linking arms for justice,
could be heard in the feet
never too sore to march.
for God picks up the fallen,
not by gaslighting the weight
but by sharing it,
not with boasting or bravado
but with bread,
not with taunts of hate
but with songs carried
from the jails of the powerful,
not with false promises
but with shared hopes
and a dream whispered
until it learned how to walk.
bruised bodies and weary souls
are upheld when justice is practiced daily,
when love refuses
to give up a seat to hate,
when grace bends down
to proclaim, ‘you are not alone.’
rise,
we will stand together.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 18th

“But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ's gift.” Ephesians 4:7

it doesn’t come in, banging
the door open like a little kid.
no, grace is like that soft breeze
stirring the curtains in the morning.
we don’t all receive the same portion,
but each of us has that amount
we need, weighed out by Love.
a thimble here, a cup there,
a river for him, a waterfall for her,
whatever we need to fill
that emptiness inside of us.
it is a gift that is not scattered
carelessly like easy promises
but offered for those whose
hearts are shattered,
for all who know the ache of waiting,
everyone who knows what
each day costs them.
it’s not a competition but an invitation
to serve where you find yourself
to share what is given
to stop standing next to others
to see who is better, wiser, whatever
that’s grace
never more than we need,
nor less than what we can share,
just enough to become
the love which is needed
wherever we are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 17th

“Noah did this; he did all that God commanded him.” Genesis 6:22

look,
we don’t need to be skilled
enough to build an ark,
but we can create hope
with the building blocks of kindness.
look,
we can’t be expected
to save all humanity,
but we can be a better friend
to those tossed aside
by the privileged of our world.
look,
alone, we don’t have
to try to save all of creation,
but if we recycle more and not
leave such big footprints,
who knows what might happen?
look,
we aren’t all called to be Noah,
but to be grace,
hope
justice
compassion
inclusion
wherever we are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 16th

"I pour out my complaint before him;
     I tell my trouble before him.” Psalm 142:2

maybe,
when we step
to the other side of grace,
God will explain everything.
those nagging questions which
tickle us awake at night,
the irreparable divisions
we cannot seem to bridge,
the suffering we cannot dismiss
as easily as the privileged seem to do.
someday,
when we step
to the other side of grace,
God will explain everything.
so, until then,
let us love as expansively
as Jesus did,
let us harvest the hope
planted deep within us,
let us be that grace-companion
someone is desperately needing
for these are all we have
to offer until we step
to the other side of
grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

January 15th

“Nathanael asked him, "Where did you come to know me?" John 1:48a

that’s the question, isn’t it?
the one folded up
in the back pocket of doubt.
‘have we met before?’
it is as if someone recognizes us
by accident, thinking
we’re someone else, as if
we need to be introduced to love.
but Jesus doesn’t pull up a selfie
or a bunch of text messages,
it’s simply the fact that
he saw us when we were lost,
with no memorized answers,
no hiding place no one else knows,
no practiced explanations.
you see, we are not discovered
because we know the right questions,
or come from the right family,
or went to the best schools,
but grace keeping an eye out for us,
recognizing us long before
we catch a glimpse of love—
a holy surprise.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 14th

 “If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it." Genesis 4:7

like kids coming to our doors
on Halloween
you show up—
the speaker garbed in
sparkling robes of charisma.
that new friend who, out of
the goodness of their hearts,
invites us to get in on a great deal.
a co-worker whose flirting
behavior slowly draws us
into a web of betrayal.
some clown wearing silly hair
and enough make-up
to cover the cruelty which
is at the heart of their act.
but when the robe is off,
and the dream of riches turns to dust,
when our hearts are shattered
and the make-up removed,
we recognize you—
that master of disguises
who has fooled more people
than will ever admit it.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 13th

“I lie awake;
     I am like a lonely bird on the housetop.” Psalm 102:7

night stretches its cloak
over the neighborhood,
as, like a little bird
nestling alone on a rooftop,
i lie awake, tiny enough
so no one notices me,
light enough to be blown away
like the stardust drifting down.
watching the shadows behind
the glowing windows below,
i listen to the pauses
in the heartbeats of life,
and watch over worries
that tiptoe down the streets.
but even in these thin hours,
knowing the ache (as do
so many) of being unseen—
you find me, you find us!
sitting beside our sleeplessness,
offering grace to nourish us,
teaching us that loneliness
is where love waits patiently
to gather us like a parent.
and so, we will rest,
no longer afraid, for you
never forget even the
loneliest of us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 12th

“For you are not a God who delights in wickedness; 

    evil will not sojourn with you.” Psalm 5:4

you have no truck
with those who rely
on their personal morality.
just as you have always done,
you roundly condemn (and
hold accountable) those who
claim some sort of divine anointing
yet like to roll around in muck.
you refuse to be a landlord
for all who traffic in shadows
and never put a place setting
at the table for cruelty.
you will not let evil and anger
become members of your entourage
nor do you pretend hate is holy
or offer lodging to lies.
simply put, you take no pleasure
in words spiked with razor-like barbs,
with our excuses for soft violence,
those sins disguised as good choices.
not because you are prim and proper
but because you love too deeply
to let us drink cups of poison
or eat bread kneaded
with the yeast of bitterness.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 11th

"Then God said, 'Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness;'" Genesis 1:26a

vision to search out
the furthest galaxies
and to catch a glimpse
of a widow weeping
on her front porch,
hearing to listen to
the cries of the forgotten
and to hearken to that
still small voice in our soul,
hands to reach down
and lift the fallen, as well
as to be grabbed by a
teetering toddler,
feet to run towards those
who are losing their
tenuous grip on hope
and to walk quietly in
the corridors of hospice,
hearts to open wide
to welcome the strangers
and to break in grief
with our closest friends,
souls to know the gentle
touch of wisdom from a
person slipping into dementia
and to be healed by
the butterfly kisses of little kids,
these are the pieces of you
planted deep within each of us,
by your grace, Imaginative God.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 10th

“I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask, to be found by those who did not seek me. I said, "Here I am, here I am," to a nation that did not call on my name.” Isaiah 65:1

when we were waiting for certainty
you kept taking chances on us,
before we knew your name
you had memorized ours.
when we wandered aimlessly
you turned your heart toward the road,
before we knocked
you stood in the doorway.
when we didn’t know where to look
you were keeping an eye on us,
before we knew the words we needed,
you bent down to learn our language.
for that is the way you show up—
love unannounced
grace unearned
hope calling us home,
justice creating new communities.
it wasn’t thunder we heard,
but a soft breath
offering an unyielding promise--
here i am
here i am
and the silence which seemed
to push us apart echoed
with that voice which had walked
toward us the whole time.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 9th

“I did not speak in secret,
    in a land of darkness;
I did not say to the offspring of Jacob,
    "Seek me in chaos."
I the LORD speak the truth,
    I declare what is right.” Isaiah 45:19

justice does not come
masked, armed, camouflaged
to strike fear and terror,
but comes to lift the forgotten,
to offer welcome to the stranger.
love does not disparage others,
speak falsehoods as if true,
does not covet another’s belongings,
but is content with what it has—
so much that it is willing to share.
grace is not reserved for the privileged,
not sold to the highest bidder,
or seeks to disrupt people’s lives,
but is set out in yards and neighborhoods
with a sign that simply says
‘this is for anyone who needs it.’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 8th

“He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the LORD, saying, ‘Is the LORD among us or not?’” Exodus 17:7

those ancestors were good role models.
our throats are a wilderness
named ‘Is God here?’
where we continue to toss
questions – rhetorical as well as trick –
at you every chance we get.
our tongues are dust, but
we will rail against the sky
with every breath.
our lives are like cracked jars,
which cannot hold the clear
waters of faith poured into us—
yet, you do not walk away.
wounded by our thirst for answers,
listening as doubt hones questions
against the whetstone of tomorrow,
you step into our arguments,
striking mercy, not sparks, from rock
and transforming gripes into cups.
may we learn to trust
the spring beneath our questions,
to hear grace flowing, even
as we ask,
‘are you with us, or not?’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

+Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 7th

“The LORD is my light and my salvation;
    whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
    of whom shall I be afraid?” Psalm 27:1

those wise ones—
did they only see their shadows
beginning that journey home
by a different road, or
was there no need for a star
since love had opened their eyes?
that family—
still hard scrabbling with life,
trying to find someone who could
create new identities and papers,
did they wonder if they should stay
in the shadows of poverty, or
follow the breadcrumbs of grace
back to Egypt?
and we—
with sovereignty being tossed aside
with ice-cold fear stalking neighborhoods
with temptations nudging us to shred
those resolutions to be kinder and gentler,

dare we live and act and trust
that there is absolutely nothing
fear can do to destroy your
hope, justice, grace, love, peace?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman


Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 6th

“Its gates will never be shut by day — and there will be no night there.” Revelation 21:25

as we follow the star
towards journey’s end,
we come, not to a castle keep
but to a welcome,
not to power only for the privileged
but to a child whose breath
swings open the hinge of heaven.
no password is needed, nor passports,
doors are not padlocked with fear,
hope has no curfew,
light streams from the doorways
to welcome strangers from everywhere—
politicians and the poor in spirit,
peacemakers and those who traffic in trouble,
knuckleheads and kids with skinned knees
all walk through wide open doors,
empty-handed, as surprised as anyone
to experience God’s imaginative grace.
for this is the final revelation
the last epiphany
the light at the end of the tunnel—
love’s light always on,
God refusing to lock any door,
throwing away the keys,
knowing what would happen
if we ever chanced upon them.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 5th

“As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” Ephesians 6:15

God kneels down,
lacing up our shoes,
not with knots of dogmatism
but with threads of mercy,
not so we can run away
but for that long journey to faithfulness.
no matter what we think
peace is not the stilling of anger
but daring to walk barefoot
on shards of angry discourse,
to stroll grief’s sidewalks,
to risk stumbling over that
potholed ground of grace.
may every step we take
become prayers—
into hospices where death
lurks in every shadow,
into living rooms where
the silence of grief lives,
down those neighborhoods
where people are forgotten
the vulnerable are evicted.
and when we come home,
God smiles,
slipping off our shoes
to soak our aching feet
in the warm waters of love.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 4th

“And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:17

now,
before the world bangs the gavel
and wants your testimony,
take just a moment,
and place your ordinary hands,
callused or smoothed,
chapped by worry, nails chewed short,
into those hands of grace held out
in these moments.
your voice may be worn out,
you may feel the need to offer
stumbling apologies,
but borrow every word from God
so they can become blessings.
every little chore,
those unnoticed gifts of compassion,
bearing patience on your shoulders,
making the choice not to hurt—
is part of the economy of Jesus
where no act, so word, no life is wasted.
you don’t need to be holy,
just hopeful.
you don’t need to be privileged,
just be thankful, shown in
the way you walk,
the way you speak,
the way you serve,
the way love knows your name.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 3rd

“He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” 1 Kings 19:11-12

surrounded by thousands
we will crane our necks to the sky
to watch fabulous fireworks, but
cannot look up from our devices
to catch the delight on Nana’s face
as she blows out the candles
on her 90th birthday cake.
we don the helmets and vests
and climb into the raft to hang on
for dear life in the whitewater river,
but sit on the porch with a book
while the kids beg us to run
through the sprinklers with them.
we turn up the volume
so we can hear every angry word,
every bitter syllable uttered
by our favorite podcaster,
politician, influencer, whoever—
but our legs start to bounce
and we begin to drum our fingers
on the nearest surface whenever
you invite us to listen to the
sheer silence of grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 2nd

“We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people's trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming.” Ephesians 4:14

once, we were so empty
we could be carried by anything—
every shouting voice of anger
every fear behind wisdom’s mask
every glittering promise,
but love is the solidity we need
and grace grounds our souls.
slowly
gently
cautiously
Jesus teaches us to stand,
our feet in mercy’s soil,
our hands open to justice,
ears attuned to the word of life,
and we no longer resemble
driftwood beached on the shore,
but are rooted like oaks
in the fields of hope,
anchored in that love
which does not turn
with every wind which comes along.
this is growth, full growth
into that adulthood of faith
as we realize where to shelter
even as the waters may rise.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

New Years Day prayer

Whisperer of light on that first morning,
as the old year slips behind us
and the new one opens like a book
filled with empty pages,
we offer our hands and hearts to you.
Gather up the broken pieces of our dreams,
our lives, our longings which we still carry
and craft them into a mosaic of hope
we can hang on our walls to see each morning.
As this new day, as this new year begins,
continue to shape us from the dust
of your grace and love.

You stepped out of eternity
into particular moments in time,
Word made flesh for us,
walking our lonely streets,
tasting our bitter tears,
calling us to follow when
we would rather stay stuck.
As this new day, as this new year begins,
give us the grace to love more deeply,
the freedom to forgive more hopefully,
the courage to seek justice more fiercely,
and the tenacity to follow you
into the open-ended days awaiting us.

Breath filled with peace and
Fire blazing for those forgotten,
move over us as we prepare
for the challenges, the questions,
the disappointments, the wonders
which lie before us in God’s future.
As this new day, as this new year begins,
dispel our fears with winds of courage,
kindle hope in our apathetic lives,
challenge us to be more just,
and soften our cruel nature.

As you hold our past in your mercy.
as you are faithful at this moment,
as you fill our tomorrows with promise,
God in Community, Holy in One,
may our lives be a prayer
which is heard by all
in our words of kindness,
written on the world in justice,
and sung in love to you. Amen.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman