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