May 27th

“The beginning of strife is like letting out water; so stop before the quarrel breaks out.” Proverbs 17:14

it is just an annoying drip
at first, not falling that often
or so loud that we can’t sleep—
but then
the off-the-cuff thought a friend
tossed in our direction,
that rudeness of a stranger
while we were waiting in line
(rather patiently, i thought),
a cold stare the lover gave
when we had hoped for passion
and suddenly
the drips start falling faster,
the noise slowly slides like
a trombone into a din,
our hearts begin to beat faster,
our blood pressure rises,
our anger is fueled by hurt
and
a friendship
a community
a love
is swept away simply
because we refused
to turn off the drip
when it first plopped
into our hearts.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ Thom-Shuman

My 26th

“Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it.” Proverbs 15:17

me?
i would rather share
a bowl of soup around
a scarred kitchen table
where stories and laughter
are louder than the kettle’s whistle
than sit at the head table
of a gold-trimmed ballroom
where cruelty is sharper than any knife.
because love isn’t plated on plenty
but in torn bread shared,
in the quiet ‘how are you, really?'
in the hand resting on the grief
of the silent person next to them.
which is why Wisdom advises us
to find the table where grace still is served,
to enjoy that simple meal crafted from need,
to gather with those whose kindness
outshines their imperfections,
and where mercy, inclusion, love
is more than enough
to make even the smallest portion
a banquet for those starving
for community.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ Thom-Shuman

May 25th

“The LORD does not let the righteous go hungry, but he thwarts the craving of the wicked.” Proverbs 10:3

in this time of empty shelves
and overfull portfolios,
of news which feeds on hunger
and tables reserved by fear,
may it be enough
that you move among us
like food passed hand to hand.
you will not forget all who rise
tucking hope into weary souls,
who weave together meals and prayers
and wrap others with this faith.
you know that hunger
which lies below physical hunger—
for hope, for grace, for someone
to notice or listen or just be.
as you discomfort all
who consume without seeing,
gather without sharing,
confuse possessions for peace,
may we learn your economy of grace—
opening our hands to outsiders,
trusting that enough is holy,
believing that your abundance
was never meant only for our tables.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ Thom-Shuman

Day of Pentecost

“you make the winds your messengers,
fire and flame your ministers.” Psalm 104:4

Spirit of the Living One—
you slip through the cracks
of our locked rooms,
not with thunder first,
but with the soft sigh
of God breathing dust into dancing.
you make your messengers winds,
the psalmist whispers;
and we know now
those winds carry names,
carry stories,
carry fragile hearts into streets
they never imagined walking.
today, fire does not consume—
it illumines.
tongues become bridges.
silence learns to sing.
and somewhere,
amid the chaos of newsfeeds, sirens,
and weary prayers folded at midnight,
your Spirit still moves over creation
like a mother smoothing
blankets over restless children.
so breathe on us again,
until our fear becomes welcome,
our bitterness becomes bread,
and our lives become small Pentecosts
set loose into the world.

Eve of Pentecost

the Spirit is my comforter;
i shall not be afraid.
she sings lullabies
as i try to go to sleep;
she puts a glass of water
on the table in case i get thirsty;
her warm breath soothes me.
she looks under the bed
and in the closet corners
so i know i am safe each night.
as i journey towards the
end of time, she is my advocate
reminding death whose i am.
she refuses to leave me alone,
her flames dancing on my heart
to melt the fears chilling my soul.
she spends all day getting
my favorite dish ready for me,
while those who never liked me,
watch in envy.
she teaches me how to braid my hair,
as we sit drinking hot chocolate
watching the sun go down.
she races ahead of me
and all my friends,
throwing open all the
windows and doors
of our new home, so we
know how welcome we are.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 23rd

"for she said to herself, 'If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.'" Matthew 9:21

if we only touch
your heart, we might
become more loving.
if we only touch
your spirit, we might
become more inclusive.
if we only touch
your grace, we might
become more forgiving.
if we only touch
your justice, we might
be more passionate for
all the forgotten.
if we only touch
your hope, we might
heal the brokenness
consuming our world.
if we only touch
your life, ours might be different.

if only . . .

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 22nd

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God." Ephesians 5:1-2

remember—
Jesus didn’t stand off
to the side, watching our
failures fall like snowflakes.
he stepped into our misery,
our word sharpened by fear,
our weary nights of pulling
the covers over our heads.
and with scarred hands,
he gathered us like branches
scattered after winter gusts.
so perhaps that holiness we seek
is not found by grasping, but
leaving behind that vocabulary,
walking barefoot in mercy’s fields,
becoming bouquets of grace for all
whose hands are so empty.
and as we do, God smiles,
for we are learning love
birds learn to the sky,
by following the One
who first showed the way.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 21st

"Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice," Ephesians 4:31

bitterness?
it is that rough pebble
we idly pick up on a walk
putting it into our pocket
where it keeps turning over,
like an old grudge we keep polishing
until it shines brighter than forgiveness.
anger?
it is the vocabulary book
published daily by the world
so we can become wordsmiths
in snark on glowing screens,
judgments hurled to protect
our hearts from listening to hope
and still, Christ tiptoes in—
not trying to drown out noise
but kneeling in the dust of grief
to cradle us in scarred hands.
‘put these away,’ he cautions,
as we might gather shards
of a broken glass, so a child
would step in them in the dark
stick wrath out with the bins,
let malice drift away like dandelion puffs,
let go of what calluses your soul.
for every cruel word we abandon
opens up space for mercy to breathe
and every act of grace
becomes an act of resistance
in this wrangled world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 20th

“Suddenly they shouted, ‘What have you to do with us, Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?’" Matthew 8:29

it is comfortable here
in the shadows where
we chain our assumptions
and name them as wisdom,
until you come along,
not to toss us into those tombs
carved from bitterness and noise,
but to ask why we are
so eager to settle for
being haunted, not healed.
and when we lash out,
‘what do you want us to do?’
you edge a bit closer—
through the worries and tears,
through these exhausting times
simply to touch what
we want no one else to see,
to unname the horde of demons
who consider us part of their clan,
to walk with us from
the rubble of our lives
into the enchantment
of being human once again.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 19th

"And they went and woke him up, saying, 'Lord, save us! We are perishing!'" Matthew 8:25

they know our names
all too well in these times—
those winds which whisper
despair down hospital corridors,
those storms which blow
hate across borders of nations,
those chill breezes which sit
by empty beds and emptier tables.
and still, we grasp the sides
of our frail coracles,
woven from strips of fear,
patched with words of outrage,
laden with cargos of grief.
and those frightening words
screamed by disciples ages ago,
are now echoed by weary teachers,
parents standing by gravesides,
the forgotten, the refugees, the lonely
and somewhere, from out of the chaos—
not with anger at our fear
but with hands callused by mercy,
you are there,
touching first the storm within us,
then speaking the unexpected grace
we forget too easily,
‘peace,’
and we dare rest in
the stillness of your presence.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 18th

"If it had not been the LORD who was on our side" Psalm 124:1

when the waters of chaos
come swirling around us,
we could have just become
names carried away like debris,
but you climbed into your boat,
rowing out to gather us up.
for it is not always in the lightning
nor in the easy answers we devise,
but it is your steady hand
holding our trembling hearts
as we seek to live
in these rollercoaster moments—
your breath cradling our tears,
your heart refusing to learn
the vocabulary of giving up.
into the din of the world,
you gently tip toe—
in that silence after anger,
in the welcome of strangers,
in that courage which shows up
when we thought fear
was our only companion
which is why we whisper praise
to our Shelter in every storm,
our Pilot of our fragile lives,
the Teacher of our souls.

 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 17th

"Happy are those
who do not follow the advice of the wicked
or take the path that sinners tread
or sit in the seat of scoffers,
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law they meditate day and night." Psalm 1:1-2

how blessed we are
when we refuse
social media invitations
to sit at the table of outrage or
invest in cryptocontempt.
for when we step away from
the oligarchs of mockery or
when we will not learn the new
language of bitterness,
we lean towards compassion
as sunflowers to morning light.
we pull the duvet of wisdom
over us before dawn, while grace
rewrites the algorithms of hate
we let our minds drift down
the quiet rivers of God peace,
and offer shade for the fatigued,
pass out fruit for the hungry,
water the deep roots of hope
for a world desperate
to survive the storms
raging around them.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 16th

"They will still bear fruit in old age,
   they will stay fresh and green," Psalm 92:14 (NIV)

they are there in the shadows,
silent as a beam of sun
on a kitchen table in winter
their hands paper thin from
decades of laundry, making menus,
pulling on boots for children
who now do the same for theirs.
no one comes over for a selfie,
no paparazzi stalk them,
they just are there, near
the edges of our days—
and yet, like late roses
refusing the touch of frost,
love still fills their souls.
they remember birthdays,
they tuck prayers into
the hearts of visiting family,
they are the ones who knit
mercy into booties for strangers,
they are remember to water
the thirsty seeds of grace.
and God smiles at these
forgotten-by-the-world saint,
still fresh and green in holy ways,
still bearing the Spirit’s fruits,
long after the world thinks
they have withered on the vine.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 15th

"For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God – “Ephesians 2:8

we tug on your sleeve—
prayers written on napkins,
worryscrolling on our screens,
hearts determining our value
by chore jars emptied, applause,
and exhaustion’s spread sheets.
and like a cat gently making biscuits,
and God—
like rain gently curling
down the kitchen window,
whispers:
i never charge for sunsets,
when it comes to grace i
don’t look at your resume,
i take hesitant questions over
polished answers every time,
and bumping over life’s potholes
or stepping in misery’s mud
is what faith looks like, a gift
placed in hands sometimes
too weary to carry it.
so may we remember that
when the world expects us
to prove that we belong,
let us simply breathe,
for mercy found us first.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 14th (Ascension)

"As I watched," Daniel 7:9a

i wondered where God was
and then i noticed the folks
who were mowing the lawn,
cleaning the gutters, and
painting the house of the
struggling retired couple, and
i knew.
i went down the street
hoping i might bump into Jesus
and walked past the homeless
vet feeding his dog before he ate,
slipped past the kids making a game
out of picking up the litter on the grass,
and stopped dead in my tracks.
i watched the mist moving slowly
across the lake in the morning,
heard the whispers of the couple
at the next table planning a surprise
party for their mail carrier, and felt
the gentle breeze on my face
and realized the Spirit was tagging along.
so, think how much
i would have missed if
i spent all my time sky gazing,
wondering why you haven’t
returned.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 13th

"Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ." Ephesians 1:2

Grace isn’t interrupting
our favorite shows these days
or catching our devices’ attention.
instead
it is the weary checkout person
helping the widow count out coins,
it is the nurse putting another blanket
on the patient before they ask,
it is the child who chooses
the classmate who is always forgotten
to be their partner at recess
it is not just a word from
another century or place—
it still breathes in our chaos,
the gentle presence of that
Someone who walks beside us
through fear stacked like bricks
across the days of our lives,
the One leaning close to our weariness
whispering mercy not judgment,
swaddling us with tenderness
when we can barely survive,
finding those cracks where
the seeds of peace may be planted
in the rubble
of an ever-breaking world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 12th

"I kept my faith, even when I said,
   'I am greatly afflicted';" Psalm 116:10

it was faith who
opened their arms
to let me sob my heart out
when my soulmate died.
it is faith who sits

next to me, singing

soft lullabies until i drift

off to sleep each night.

it was faith which 

held my hand when the

echoes of angry voices 

with angrier words turned

my deep sleep into nightmares.

it is faith who whispers
in my soul of how valued
i am when everyone else
mocks and rejects me.

it was faith who came

storming into my room

yelling 'no more fears

jumping on the bed!'

it is faith who has been
my most trusted counselor,
my best friend,
my cherished companion,
even when i thought
i was walking alone.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 11th

"Their idols are silver and gold,
   the work of human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak;
   eyes, but do not see.
They have ears, but do not hear;
   noses, but do not smell.
They have hands, but do not feel;
   feet, but do not walk;
they make no sound in their throats.
   Those who make them are like them;
so are all who trust in them." Psalm 115:4-8

we have created our idols
in the images lodged in our hearts:
the angry whose words
nourish the bitterness
flowing from our lips,
the ones who claim
to see all our suffering
but are looking only
at themselves in a mirror.
those seekers of our adulation
who act as if they listen
to the brokenness within us,
but only hear the songs
of the sycophants around them.
the politicians who clap
as if applauding us but
would push us away
given every chance,
the singers whose lyrics
claim they walk in our shoes,
but drive off in limos
and climb into private jets
when the concert ended.

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 10th

"It is he who remembered us in our low estate,
    for his steadfast love endures forever;" Psalm 136:23

when everyone walks right
past us because they have
forgotten not just our names
but who we are, you stop
open your arms and shout,
'i know you!"
when we have fallen
about as far as possible
without hitting bedrock,
others stand at the edge
shaking their heads and
muttering to one another,
and you hand them a rope
and ask them to hold tight
as you rappel down to bring us up.
when we are not at work
or in school or sick at home
and gossip begins
to sharpen tongues
to flay our character open,
you stick up for us
every time.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

May 9th

'"Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it.'" Matthew 7:13

polished promises crowd walkways
seductions smooth bumpy roads,
the easy way is marketed
as the redemption millions need,
and flickering screens immerse
us in pools of distraction.
but
there is that quieter path—
as narrow as forgiveness,
as steep as truth telling,
the one too often ignored
under the din of fear,
outrage, narcissism, lust.
Jesus stands at that gate
rusted by so little use,
because the sign invites
us to leave so much behind—
that pride which wears us down,
the certainty which aches our shoulders,
that self which excludes others.
for just past the brambles
of the world, a narrow path
opens into the wide grace of God,
where outsiders become friends,
where enemies have our backs
and where weary souls
find that the hardest roads
are the surest way to find
our way home.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman