“Hallelujah in the Morning”
Scripture Focus
“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord!” — Psalm 150:6 (NKJV)
Welcome
Most of you know this about me — I heal, dream, live, and breathe through writing. It’s how God and I talk, how I work through the deep places of life. A few days ago, after wrestling and reflecting, He led me to open a book, read a single verse, and write the first devotional for what I didn’t even know was beginning — Coffee, Covenant & Grace.
From the start, the purpose has been simple: to create a space where your spirit can breathe, your heart can rest, and your eyes can refocus on the God who meets us in both the stillness and the chaos. My prayer is that as you read, you feel welcome here — as if you’ve pulled up a chair in my living room with a cup of coffee in hand — reminded that the Lord knows your name, carries your burdens, and has never once let you go.
Hallelujah
Last week, we sat with the weight of truth — the reality of hardened hearts and blinded eyes, and the reminder that the legacy we leave is written in how we stand for Christ today. We asked ourselves hard questions: Am I choosing comfort over conviction? Am I willing to speak truth in love, even when it costs me? Am I living a legacy my children and grandchildren will remember as faithful?
But legacy doesn’t stop there. Some may not have children or grandchildren, yet every life leaves a ripple. Every conversation, every act of kindness, every decision to stand for truth or to compromise with the world — it all writes a story others will remember. Your co-workers, neighbors, church family, and even strangers you encounter are watching the testimony your life tells.
Legacy is not just about bloodline; it is about influence. It is about the seeds we sow daily into the lives of those around us. Paul said, “You are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read by all men” (2 Corinthians 3:2, NKJV). And the writer of Hebrews reminds us, “Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight… and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us”(Hebrews 12:1, NKJV). Whether you are a parent, grandparent, mentor, friend, or simply a follower of Christ walking faithfully, you are leaving behind a witness. The question is: will it point people closer to Jesus or leave them wandering in the dark?
And this matters deeply, because we live in a world where evil no longer whispers in shadows but shouts from rooftops. We’ve seen a young man killed for his faith — a husband, a father of two, who dared to stand boldly on biblical principles. We’ve seen children’s lives cut short without reason, and Christians persecuted simply for believing in Jesus. Our society twists the story, calling the victim the enemy and painting the guilty as the hero.
This is exactly the enemy’s strategy. He takes a sliver of truth and bends it into a lie. Just as the serpent deceived Eve with the question, “Has God indeed said…?” (Genesis 3:1, NKJV), today’s culture questions God’s Word and manipulates it to suit its own desires. Scripture warns us plainly: “Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness” (Isaiah 5:20, NKJV).
Even the word spirituality has been redefined in our times. It sounds safe, open, and inviting — a word the world is comfortable with — but within it often hides the lie that we can find peace, meaning, or even salvation apart from Christ. Many will say they are “spiritual but not religious,” seeking light without the Source, hope without the cross, or inner peace without surrender to Jesus. But spirituality without the truth of God’s Word is not harmless — it is the very deception the enemy uses to dull discernment and draw hearts away from the gospel.
True spirituality is not about vague beliefs or self-made paths. It is about following Jesus — the only Way, the only Truth, the only Life. Anything less may feel comfortable for the moment, but it cannot save.
That is why legacy matters. Because when we choose to live by the true Word of God — not the false word of society — our lives become a light that exposes the darkness.
This week, we turn our gaze upward. Because even when the questions press heavy, there is a song that lifts the soul: Hallelujah. It is the anthem of heaven and the whisper of earthbound hearts who know that our hope is not in what we see, but in the One who reigns forever. Scripture reminds us, “Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name!” (Psalm 103:1, NKJV).
When life feels like a battlefield — when your family faces struggles, when the weight of choices and the ache of the world try to drown out your faith — Hallelujah becomes more than a word. It is a weapon. A declaration. A surrender. Paul and Silas understood this when they prayed and sang hymns in the midnight hour of a prison cell (Acts 16:25). Their hallelujah shook the foundations and opened the doors. And what about your midnight hour? The place where you feel bound, weary, or uncertain? Your hallelujah in that moment can shake foundations too — not because of your strength, but because of the God who inhabits the praises of His people.
Beloved, the same is true for us. Your Hallelujah, sung through tears, whispered in the stillness, or shouted in the car on the way to work, carries the power of heaven into your present moment. It is not about ignoring the weight of truth but about standing firm in it — and declaring that our God is greater still.
And here’s the beautiful part: your Hallelujah doesn’t have to sound like mine. It may rise in a song, a whispered prayer, a scripture spoken aloud, or even a silent surrender of your heart. However it takes shape, let it be your Hallelujah — your offering of praise to the One who sees you, knows you, and calls you His own.
Let me tell you how He met me with my own hallelujah this week.
This morning, though the air was already heavy with heat, I followed through with a new rhythm I’ve been learning. The class I’m taking encourages us to rise early and carve out thirty minutes for what matters most — prayer, Scripture, journaling, moving our bodies, or simply sitting with coffee or tea in quiet reflection. It’s a way of preparing not just for the day ahead but for a life lived in balance.
I need this rhythm because real estate, as much as I love it, is not a nine-to-five job. It’s long hours, unpredictable days, and heavy investment before there’s ever a return. There are seasons where the weight presses in, when the closings feel far away but the bills and deadlines do not. For many of us in this profession, it is more than a career — it is a calling. And with that calling comes a cost.
Most agents I know are givers by nature. We show up with smiles, invest personally in our clients, and celebrate milestones as if they were our own. Clients become like family, friends for life. And because we pour out so much, we must also pause to be poured into.
That is why mornings like this matter. That is why a quiet cup of coffee and thirty minutes of prayer are not luxuries but lifelines. Because balance is not found in our schedules — it is found in the presence of God.
So instead of curling up in my quiet corner, I decided to step outside and take a walk with God. The air was thick with the last heat of summer — hot and heavy, even though fall is just around the corner. With each step, I prayed. I used to run with God in the mornings, but it has been a long while. For now, He is teaching me to walk again — to find my rhythm in His presence, one step at a time, until the day comes when I can run with Him once more.
As I walked, I prayed — flowing from one prayer to the next, from one thought to another, pouring out the burdens of my heart and the stirrings of my spirit. We all have those deep struggles — the ones that weigh so heavily on our hearts and spirits that we can only bring them to God. The things we can’t fully put into words with anyone else, but somehow He already knows.
As I continued my walk, nostalgia caught up with me. The park was filling with life — families arriving with kids in tow, parents cheering from the sidelines, little ones running back and forth. The grounds were being set up for the annual tractor and truck pull, and something about the scene stirred a longing deep in my heart.
It reminded me of the days when my entire world was filled with children and their activities — riding horses, baseball, soccer, basketball, school programs, games, recitals, laughter spilling into car rides home. I have always loved being a mom; I still love being a mom. But with adult children, the days of wiping tears, holding small hands, hugging tight until they melted into me, or rocking them to sleep in my arms are long past.
On that walk, the memories came like a gentle breeze — not with sorrow, but with wonder. A sweet awareness of God’s hand, weaving together a tapestry of moments that at the time felt ordinary, but in hindsight shimmer with glory.
I am beyond proud of my children and grandchildren. And while I sometimes wonder if I did everything right, there is one truth I hold close: God, in His mercy, trusted me to be their mom. That is His gift, His calling, and His grace in my life.
Just as I watched families in the park, I realized they, too, are weaving memories into their own tapestry. One day, they will look back with the same wonder — to see how God painted their story with strokes of laughter, tears, hugs, and milestones too precious to put into words.
And so my hallelujah rose again. For my past. For my present. For the God who is still writing the story of my family with colors more brilliant than the wings of a hummingbird.
Where would your hallelujah rise today? For your past? For your present? For the God who is still writing your story with colors unseen but already known to Him?
Later, while making breakfast and tidying the kitchen, I glanced out the window — and there they were, our hummingbirds. Every time I catch sight of them, I become a little child again, filled with wonder and awe. Their tiny frames, so fierce and tireless, bring me such joy. I hear the soft whir of their wings before I even see them at the feeder, and it always makes me pause.
Today was no different. They lingered in pairs, darting and circling, dancing with one another in that majestic way they do. Their wings blurred with speed, emerald green flashing in the sunlight, ruby red throats glowing like jewels, iridescent feathers shifting from violet to gold as they turned.
No artist could paint such brilliance. No craftsman could weave such detail. They are living brushstrokes of God’s own design.
And I heard the Spirit whisper: “If I clothe even our hummingbirds in beauty and care for their every need, how much more will I care for you?”
Jesus said it this way: “Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”(Matthew 6:26, NKJV).
And with such tenderness, He said: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these” (Matthew 6:28–29, NKJV).
The seasons may shift — wildflowers bowing their heads, trees trading green for splashes of gold — but God’s care does not. The same God who clothes our hummingbirds in jeweled wings and paints the trees with autumn fire is the God who tends to every detail of your life. And when you lift your hallelujah, you join all creation in declaring His goodness.
“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord!” (Psalm 150:6, NKJV).
Scripture & Application
“And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.” — Deuteronomy 6:6–7 (NKJV)
This is the heartbeat of legacy: weaving God’s truth into the everyday moments of family life. Whether it was bedtime prayers whispered over sleepy heads, grace spoken at the dinner table, or conversations in the car on the way to school, every moment was a thread in the tapestry God was writing.
Now, as our children are grown and raising little ones of their own, we see another promise fulfilled:
“For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations.”— Psalm 100:5 (NKJV)
It comforts me to know that our hallelujah doesn’t end with us — it flows into the lives of our family, carried forward by God’s unending mercy and truth. The hugs of yesterday may be memories, but the faith we pass on is a living inheritance, one that will continue long after us. As the psalmist declared, “One generation shall praise Your works to another, and shall declare Your mighty acts” (Psalm 145:4, NKJV).
And so, with nostalgia and joy mingling in my spirit, I lift my hallelujah — for the season’s past, for the beauty of today, and for the faithfulness of God that will stretch into every tomorrow. And what about you? What would your hallelujah sound like today — a song of joy, a prayer through tears, or a whisper of trust in the waiting? However it rises, it is precious to Him.
Closing Thought
In the heat of summer’s last days, on a walk with God, in the jeweled colors of our hummingbirds’ wings, in the memories of seasons past and the hope of generations yet to come — our hallelujah rises. It rises from weary places and joyful places, from prayers whispered in the dark and songs shouted in the light.
Because hallelujah is not about circumstances; it is about the God who never changes. He deserves it when life is overflowing, and He deserves it when the night feels long. He always has. He always will.
And today, wherever you find yourself — in the quiet or the chaos, the waiting or the breakthrough — may your hallelujah rise too. Let it rise not because you have all the answers, but because He is worthy.
Prayer
Lord, today I lift a hallelujah simply because You are worthy. Thank You for meeting me on this morning walk — in the jeweled wings of our hummingbirds, in the memories of motherhood, and in the truth of Your Word. Thank You for caring not just for creation but for every detail of our lives.
Forgive us when we rush past Your presence or let the noise of this world drown out our song. Teach us to walk with You daily, to see Your hand in the smallest details, and to trust You with both the past and the future.
We lift our family to You. May Your mercy and truth continue to cover them, and may our legacy be one of faith that endures to the next generation. Strengthen us by Your Spirit so that we can continue to give, to serve, and to love well — not in our strength, but in Yours.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
With devotion from my quiet corner,
Marie
(When you pray this for yourself, feel free to make it your own — and sign your own name at the end as a reminder that God’s promises are personal to you.)
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