Welcome
Most of you know this about me — I heal, dream, live, and breathe through writing. It’s how God and I talk. It’s how I work through the deep places of life.
If this is your first time joining me here, welcome to Sunday Morning Coffee, Covenant & Grace — a quiet corner 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. Whether you’ve been here from the beginning or just pulled up a chair today, imagine we’re sitting together — coffee in hand, blanket around our shoulders, hearts open to what God has for us.
This series was born out of mornings like this — moments where God whispers into the ordinary and turns it into something sacred. My prayer is that every time you read, you feel His nearness, His covenant faithfulness, and His invitation to dwell in His love — even when the road is hard, and life looks nothing like you thought it would.
From Last Week ☀️
In Hallelujah in the Morning, we talked about God’s power to restore what feels lost — how even in seasons of grief, His covenant love continues to pursue us. We reflected on the way praise can rise from broken places, how He redeems what we thought was gone, and how His mercy is new with every sunrise.
This week, we continue that journey — but from a different kind of stillness. Today’s devotional is about protection, presence, and the peace that comes from dwelling in the shelter of God’s covenant love.
Scripture Focus (NKJV):
“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust.’”
— Psalm 91:1–2
A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I were driving to Branson, Missouri. The night was long and the rain relentless — the kind of rain that blurs the line between road and sky. Maybe you’ve had nights like that too — where your hands grip the wheel of life a little tighter and your heart whispers, “Lord, just get us through this.”
The road was narrow, two lanes with no shoulders, and traffic streamed both ways. I remember how the world seemed smaller — just the hum of tires on wet pavement and the steady rhythm of rain on glass. I whispered a prayer for safety. Maybe you’ve prayed that same prayer — the one that rises not from fear, but from that quiet knowing that only God can protect what you love.
Then it happened. A semi drifted too close to the center line. His trailer clipped our driver’s mirror with a forceful crack that jolted us both. Inches closer, and it would have been a horrific accident. But somehow, peace — not panic — filled that space. A stillness that wrapped around us like the unseen hand of God whispering, “I’ve got you.”
Later, we learned that at that very moment, our aunt and cousin — back home at our house — were sitting down to dinner, praying for our safety and traveling mercies. It was as if heaven leaned close, bridging miles with prayer.
I have no doubt angels surrounded our van that night — not only shielding us, but every other driver who might have been caught in what could have been a multi-car tragedy.
“For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.” (Psalm 91:11)
Life is fragile, and it can change in a blink. That night, Psalm 91 became more than words on a page — it became a promise kept.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
Since that night, I haven’t been able to read Psalm 91 without seeing the rain, the headlights, and the unmistakable hand of God steadying us — a reminder of how near He truly is.
Reflection
There’s something deeply comforting about those words: “He who dwells.”
Not visits, not glances in and out, but dwells.
It’s an invitation to stay — to build our lives, our marriages, our dreams, even our struggles — right there beneath the covering of His love.
When I think about that word dwell, I picture a home — not made of wood and stone, but of grace and faith. The kind of home God builds within us when we allow His love to settle in the places we once thought were too broken or too blended to fit together. It’s the quiet kind of construction — the kind done in prayer, in forgiveness, and in the small, sacred choices to stay when leaving might seem easier.
In marriage, and especially in blended families, dwelling often means surrender — choosing love even when the lines are messy and the days don’t look like the picture you imagined. Maybe you know that kind of surrender — the kind that asks you to trust God with what doesn’t make sense, to love past disappointment, and to stay tender when life has made you feel guarded.
It’s learning to extend grace where you once protected your heart, to forgive where it hurts, and to invite peace into rooms that used to echo with silence. And somehow, through God, everything becomes possible. Family becomes not what is traditional, but what is ordained. He gives us hearts full of grace, mercy, and compassion — enough to love those He’s woven into our story, even when the story looks different from what we planned.
I’ve seen God take what once felt impossible — the balancing, the healing, the learning to love again — and turn it into something that feels as natural as breathing. Maybe you’ve felt that too — that slow transformation where what used to feel like work now feels like grace.
There was a time when I thought I’d never be able to love without fear again, or trust where pain had left a scar. But that’s the miracle of God’s dwelling place within us — He takes what’s fractured and makes it whole, and one day, you look back and realize His presence was the mortar holding it all together all along.
That’s what happens when you look through the lens of God’s love: the impossible becomes ordinary, the hard places soften, and every relationship becomes an opportunity for redemption.
You begin to see your family — no matter how it’s shaped, no matter how many layers or stories it holds — as a living reflection of God’s covenant heart. Maybe that’s where you are today: standing in a family that looks nothing like what you imagined, yet feeling God’s fingerprints all over it. He’s there in every second chance, every prayer whispered under your breath, every moment you choose to stay when you could have walked away.
Because covenant love isn’t fragile — it’s fortified. It’s the kind of love that endures storms and still chooses to stay. It’s promise-keeping love that holds you when life unravels, covering every flaw with grace and every failure with forgiveness.
The secret place of the Most High isn’t a hiding spot where we escape from life. It’s a holy space where we bring our hearts exactly as they are — tired, hopeful, messy, and searching — and find that His love is big enough to hold it all.
And when you dwell in His presence, even the messiest parts of your story rest safely beneath the shadow of His wings. That is the shelter of covenant love — steady, unbreakable, and everlasting.
“The eternal God is your refuge,
And underneath are the everlasting arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:27)
Prayer
Father, thank You for the shelter of Your covenant love — the kind that stays when everything else shifts. You are my refuge, my fortress, my constant place of safety.
Help me to dwell — not to drift, not to rush through — but to abide under Your shadow. Teach me to carry that same love into my home and heart: love that endures, forgives, and restores.
When fear whispers or weariness sets in, remind me of that rainy night — of angels on the road, of prayers whispered across miles, of Your faithfulness that never fails.
Let my life be a dwelling place for grace. Let my home be a reflection of Your covenant heart. And let every breath I take be a quiet hallelujah to the One who holds me close beneath the shadow of His wings.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
Journal Prompts
- When you read the words “He who dwells,” what does it mean for you personally? Are there areas in your life where God is inviting you to stay instead of striving?
- Have you ever experienced a moment — big or small — where you knew God protected or guided you in a way only He could? What did that reveal about His love?
- Where might God be calling you to show covenant love today — to endure, to forgive, to stay present even when it’s hard?
- Think of a space in your home or heart that feels unsettled. What would it look like to invite God to dwell there?
- When you picture the “shelter of His wings,” what does that look like for you right now?
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.)
