“But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, are only a small village among all the people of Judah. Yet a ruler of Israel, whose origins are in the distant past, will come from you on my behalf. The people of Israel will be abandoned to their enemies until the woman in labor gives birth. Then at last his fellow countrymen will return from exile to their own land. And he will stand to lead his flock with the Lord’s strength, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. Then his people will live there undisturbed, for he will be highly honored around the world. And he will be the source of peace.” –  Micah 5:2-5.

Micah 5:2–5 speaks hope into a world that feels uncertain and fragile. God’s promise does not arrive through power, prestige, or predictable means. Instead, it comes from an improbable small town with an unremarkable reputation: Bethlehem. “Though only a small village among all the people of Judah,” the prophet declares, “Yet a ruler of Israel, whose origins are in the distant past, will come from you on my behalf.” From the very beginning, God reminds His people that size, status, and strength do not limit His purposes.

Bethlehem represents everything we are tempted to overlook. It is insignificant on the world’s stage, easily forgotten, and rarely chosen. Yet God chooses it as the birthplace of the ruler whose origins are “the distant past.” This contrast invites us to reflect on how God works. We often expect salvation to arrive loudly, decisively, and visibly powerful. God, however, delights in working through the humble and the hidden. What appears small to us is never small to Him.

Micah’s words are spoken to a people living in fear and instability. They are waiting—waiting for deliverance, for peace, for God to act. The promise that God will raise a shepherd-king assures them that their waiting is not empty. God has not abandoned His people. He is at work even when they cannot yet see the outcome. God’s promised deliverer is not distant or detached but present among the people. He knows them, protects them, and provides for them.

At the heart of this passage is a simple yet profound promise: “He will be the source of peace.” Peace is not described as an abstract idea or a temporary feeling, but as a person. God’s peace comes through presence. The promised ruler does not merely bring peace—He embodies it.

Micah’s prophecy ultimately points us toward Christ. Born in Bethlehem, Jesus fulfills this ancient promise in a way far greater than expected. He arrives quietly, humbly, and vulnerably, yet His reign extends to the ends of the earth. His peace does not depend on political stability or personal success, but on a restored relationship with God.

This passage invites us to examine where we are looking for hope. Are we waiting for God to act through impressive means, or are we willing to trust that He works through the small and unseen? Are we open to a peace that reshapes our hearts rather than instantly changing our circumstances?

As we reflect on Micah 5:2–5, we are reminded that God’s greatest work often begins in the most unlikely places. Bethlehem assures us that no situation is too small, no life too ordinary, and no moment too insignificant for God’s redemptive power. The shepherd has come, and He is our peace—even as we wait, even as we hope, and even now.

Discussion Questions:

1. Why do you think God chose an insignificant place like Bethlehem to bring forth the promised ruler? How does this shape the way we view God’s work in ordinary or overlooked areas of our own lives?
2. Micah describes the ruler as a shepherd who brings peace. How is this vision of leadership different from how power is usually understood in the world, and how does Jesus fulfill this promise?

“For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime! Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” – Psalm 30:5.

Advent arrives each year with familiar images of light, hope, and expectation. Candles glow in dark sanctuaries, carols promise peace on earth, and Scripture speaks of good news for all people. Yet Advent does not ignore the reality that many hearts enter this season carrying sorrow. Grief, uncertainty, illness, loneliness, and unanswered prayers often sit quietly beside the songs of joy. Advent teaches us something honest and holy: joy and sorrow can coexist.

The story of Advent itself is not sentimental. It begins in a world longing for rescue, a people weary from oppression, and individuals facing fear and loss. Mary rejoices in God’s favor, yet she also knows her calling will cost her comfort and reputation. Joseph obeys God with faith, yet not without confusion and risk.  From the very beginning, Advent joy is born in the presence of sorrow, not in the absence of it.

The coming of Jesus does not immediately erase suffering. The Son of God enters a fragile world, born in a borrowed space, greeted by shepherds who know hardship well. Even His birth is shadowed by danger, as Herod’s violence soon threatens innocent lives. Yet in the midst of fear and loss, heaven still proclaims good news of great joy. This is the paradox of Advent: light shines most clearly against the darkness.

For many believers, Advent becomes a season where joy feels complicated. Memories of loved ones who are no longer present, struggles that remain unresolved, and prayers that seem unanswered can make celebration feel heavy. Advent invites us not to choose between joy or sorrow, but to bring both honestly before God. God does not ask us to pretend. He meets us in truth.

The Psalms teach us that praise and lament often walk hand in hand. Tears and trust are not opposites; they are companions in faith. Advent echoes this rhythm. We rejoice not because everything is right, but because God has entered what is broken.

As we journey through Advent, we learn that joy can be quiet and resilient. It can exist alongside unanswered questions and aching hearts. It can be as simple as trusting that God is still at work, even when we cannot see the outcome. Advent joy is hope with patience, faith with honesty, and praise with tears.

In this season of Advent, may we permit ourselves to hold both joy and sorrow together. May we trust that God meets us in the tension, transforming our waiting into hope. And may we remember that the coming of Christ assures us that darkness does not have the final word. Joy has come—and it continues to come—even in the midst of sorrow.

 Discussion Questions:

1. Where do you see both joy and sorrow present in the Advent story (Mary, Joseph, Israel, or the birth of Jesus), and how does that shape your understanding of what biblical joy truly is?
2. Why do you think we often feel pressure to hide sorrow during Advent, and how might embracing honest sorrow actually deepen our experience of joy and hope in Christ?
3. What practices during Advent (prayer, worship, remembrance, generosity, waiting) help you hold joy and sorrow together rather than choosing one over the other?

At first glance, a candy cane looks like a simple Christmas treat—a peppermint stick shaped with a playful hook and wrapped in bright red and white stripes. Children love it, stockings overflow with it, and tree branches bend slightly under its sugary weight. However, with a little imagination, this familiar confection reveals a picture of the gospel.

The candy cane begins with its shape. Turned upright, it resembles the letter J, reminding us of the name above all names—Jesus, the One whose birth we celebrate and whose presence we welcome each Advent season anew. Flip it upside down, and it becomes a shepherd’s staff, recalling the tender leadership of Christ, our Good Shepherd who seeks the lost, guides the wandering, and lays down His life for His sheep.

The red stripes on the candy cane tell another part of the story. Some are bold, representing the blood Jesus shed for the forgiveness of our sins. Others are thinner, echoing the wounds He bore, the suffering He endured so that we might be made whole. Isaiah wrote, “By His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5 KJV). In a season filled with celebration, the candy cane reminds us that true joy was purchased at a great cost.

The white represents purity—the perfect, sinless life of Christ. It also symbolizes what His sacrifice makes possible for us: forgiveness, cleansing, renewal. “Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow” (Isaiah 1:18). At Christmas, we marvel that the Son of God stepped into a world of darkness not to condemn us, but to redeem us. The candy cane’s white peppermint sweetness becomes a reminder of grace—refreshing, undeserved, and freely given. Advent invites us to inhale deeply the hope He offers—to breathe out fear, disappointment, and discouragement, and breathe in the calming presence of Emmanuel, God with us.

Even the hardness of the candy cane carries a message. It is firm, unbending, solid—just like the promises of God. In a season when schedules are chaotic and emotions sometimes fray, we hold fast to the truth that God’s Word is reliable, His character unchanging, His love steadfast. The candy cane stands as a small but tangible reminder that Christ is our Rock in every season.

And finally, consider this: a candy cane is meant to be shared. Very few people unwrap one to admire it. They give it away, hang it for others to enjoy, or pass it to a child with a smile. Christmas calls us to do the same with the hope we carry. The gospel is not meant to be kept to ourselves—it is sweet news meant for the world. Jesus came to bring salvation, joy, and peace to all who would receive Him. Like a candy cane, the message is simple, beautiful, and freely offered.

As you encounter candy canes this season—whether in a child’s hand, on a neighbor’s wreath, or nestled among tree branches—let it whisper to your heart again: Jesus came for you. He loves you and invites you into a life washed clean and made new. Let the sweetness of His grace linger long after the peppermint has melted away.

 Discussion Questions:

1. How can you use a simple object like a candy cane to share the true Christmas story with others (e.g., family, friends, neighbors)?

“Now all glory to God, who is able to keep you from falling away and will bring you with great joy into his glorious presence without a single fault. – Jude 1:24..

Advent is often described as a season of joy, yet many people quietly confess that joy feels more elusive than ever this time of year. The calendar fills, expectations rise, responsibilities multiply, and beneath the twinkling lights sits a heart that longs for something deeper than temporary cheer. Advent invites us to pause, breathe, and remember that real joy isn’t something we manufacture—it’s Someone we receive. Joy arrived in a manger and made His home among us. And real, lasting joy has a name—Jesus.

Advent joy is different from the happiness the world tries to sell us. Happiness depends on what’s happening: smooth schedules, perfect gatherings, cooperative family members, and Hallmark-level moments. But joy—true, soul-anchoring joy—remains even when the pieces don’t line up and the days feel heavier than we hoped. Joy is not the absence of burdens; it’s the presence of Christ in the middle of them.

Mary understood this. Her circumstances were overwhelming, unexpected, and socially complicated. Yet she declared in Luke 1:46-47, “…Oh, how my soul praises the Lord. How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!” Her joy wasn’t rooted in what she could control. It was rooted in the character of the God who was faithful, present, and working all things for His glory. Advent joy begins when we shift our eyes from our limitations to God’s limitless grace.

The shepherds understood this, too. They were ordinary men, standing in the cold of an ordinary night, living an ordinary life. But when heaven touched earth, they ran to see the Child who changed everything. And after encountering Jesus, they returned to their fields “glorifying and praising God” (Luke 2:20).  Nothing around them had changed—the same fields, the same sheep, the same work—but they had changed. Joy has a way of transforming the familiar.

So how do we find that same joy today? First, we need to make room. Joy has trouble growing in a heart crowded with hurry, comparison, and striving. Advent is a sacred invitation to slow down and carve out spaces where Christ can speak—quiet mornings, intentional prayer, small acts of worship woven through the day. When we make room for Him, joy begins to breathe again. Secondly, we look for Christ in the ordinary. The first Christmas wasn’t polished or picturesque. It was humble, simple, and quiet. Yet God was fully present in the ordinary. And He still is. Joy grows when we look for Him in the mundane—in conversations with family, in small gifts of kindness, in moments of unexpected peace, and even in our own weakness where His strength meets us.

And joy multiplies in the sharing. Joy deepens when it is given away. A word of encouragement, a generous act, a grace-filled response—these are Advent offerings that spread the joy Christ has placed within us.

Discussion Questions:

1. How do you personally define “joy,” and how is it different from temporary happiness or pleasure?
2. What moments in your life have brought you profound, lasting joy, and what were the circumstances?

“Joy is the serious business of Heaven,” and “If you want joy, power, peace, eternal life, you must get close to, or even into, the thing that has them” – C.S. Lewis.

Advent is a season of waiting, but it is not a season of silence. As we wait for the coming of Christ, the church lifts its voice in praise—not because the waiting is easy, but because God is faithful. Joy during Advent grows not from hurried celebration, but from worship offered in hope.

Praise has a way of reorienting our hearts. When life feels unresolved and prayers feel unanswered, praise lifts our eyes from what we lack to who God is. Advent reminds us that God’s promises often unfold slowly. The people of Israel waited for generations for the Messiah, clinging to words spoken by prophets long before Jesus came. Yet even in the waiting, God’s people learned to praise—not because the promise was visible, but because God could be trusted.

Mary’s song offers a powerful picture of praise-filled joy during Advent. She praises God not after everything is complete, but while her future is uncertain. Her praise flows from faith, not comfort. In lifting her voice, Mary magnifies the Lord and discovers joy rooted deeper than circumstance. Advent praise works the same way for us. When we praise God before outcomes are known, joy begins to take shape within us.

As we praise, joy grows steadily and quietly. It is not the loud joy of instant gratification, but rather the recognition of God’s presence in the waiting. It reminds us that Emmanuel—God with us—has already come and will come again.

Practicing praise during Advent can be intentional and straightforward. We praise through Scripture, allowing God’s promises to shape our prayers. We praise through song. We praise through gratitude, naming the ways God has been faithful in the past as we wait for His faithfulness in the present.  Joy grows when praise becomes our posture rather than our reaction. Instead of waiting for circumstances to change before we rejoice, Advent invites us to rejoice because God does not change, and when emotions fluctuate and hope feels fragile. Over time, praise turns to trust. It deepens as we praise God for what He has promised, what He has accomplished in Christ, and what He will yet fulfill. When Christmas finally arrives, our joy is fuller—not because we rushed to it, but because praise has prepared us to receive it.

In Advent, joy grows through praise. As we lift our eyes and voices toward God in the waiting, joy takes root, strengthens, and quietly grows into confident hope.

Discussion Questions:

1. Why is praise critical during seasons of waiting like Advent, and how does it help us discover joy that is rooted in God rather than our circumstances?
2. How does praising God before prayers are fully answered shape our understanding of hope and deepen our experience of joy?
3. What specific practices of praise can help us cultivate joy during Advent, even when we are carrying uncertainty, sorrow, or unmet expectations?

“But the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!” ― Luke 2:10-11.

Joy is one of the most surprising gifts of Advent. It doesn’t always arrive loudly. It doesn’t insist on being noticed. Instead, it slips into ordinary days like a quiet melody that turns into a song you can’t get out of your heart. Advent joy is not the result of everything in life going right; it is the deep, steady assurance that God has drawn close—and that His presence changes everything.

When the angel appeared to the shepherds, the message was simple and stunning: “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people” (Luke 2:10). Joy wasn’t reserved for the powerful, the polished, or the spiritually accomplished. It was announced first to tired workers standing in a field at night. Advent joy meets you exactly where you are.

The shepherds didn’t go looking for joy; joy came looking for them. That is Advent. God breaks into human history—not waiting for us to climb our way to Him, but stepping down into our darkness with a light that cannot be extinguished.

And here is the miracle: the joy He brings is not the same as temporary happiness. Happiness depends on outcomes. Joy depends on Someone. Happiness rises and falls with circumstances. Joy rises from Christ Himself.

Advent joy is rooted in the truth that God keeps His promises. For centuries, the people of Israel waited under the weight of silence. Generation after generation asked the same aching question: When will the Messiah come? Their lives looked ordinary; their struggles were real; and yet the promise of God remained.

Then, at just the right time, God gave His answer. The waiting ended—not with fanfare, but with a heartbeat. A humble birth. A manger holding the joy of the world.

Advent teaches us this: joy grows wherever hope is planted. Even in seasons when you’re waiting for something to change, when prayers feel unanswered, or when the weight of life feels heavier than usual. Mary understood this kind of joy. Her circumstances were complicated, uncertain, and misunderstood. Yet she responded: “Oh, how my soul praises the Lord. How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Luke 1:46–47). Her joy came not from clarity, but from trust, not from comfort, but from God’s nearness.

Advent joy also grows in community. The shepherds heard the angel’s announcement together. The wise men rejoiced together when the star led them to Christ. Joy multiplies when shared, which is why Advent invites us to celebrate, encourage, lift, and speak hope to one another.

May this Advent season remind you that joy isn’t something you chase; it’s Someone who has already come for you.

Discussion Questions:

1. How does the joy of Advent differ from the “happiness” of the world?
2. Where do you find God’s presence bringing you deep joy in your daily life?
3. What does it mean to “choose joy” in difficult times, and how does Scripture support this?

“But Jesus replied, “My Father is always working, and so am I.” – John 5:17.   

Every year Christmas arrives with a familiar rhythm—lights hung, trees trimmed, gifts purchased, recipes repeated, traditions played on loop like a beloved carol. And while these customs carry comfort and joy, they can also create an unspoken expectation: that Christmas should feel the same as it always has. But the truth is, life changes. We change. Families shift, blessings and losses mingle, and our hearts carry both gratitude and grief into December. This is why, perhaps more than ever, we need to take a different look at Christmas this year.

When Jesus stepped into our world, He didn’t come as anyone expected. Israel longed for a king, but God sent a baby. They wanted political victory; He gave spiritual salvation. They sought a throne, but He chose a manger. From the very beginning, Christmas was God’s holy interruption of our assumptions. It was heaven’s way of saying, “For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:9).

So what does it mean for us to think differently this Christmas? First see people, not pressures. Christmas easily becomes a season of doing—shopping, wrapping, planning, hosting, performing. But Jesus consistently prioritized people over expectations. He saw Zacchaeus in a tree. He noticed the woman who touched His garment. He welcomed children others dismissed. If we think differently this Christmas, we need to pause long enough to see the faces across the table—not their flaws, not their politics, not their quirks—but the image of God stamped on each one. Your greatest Christmas gift may not be under the tree. It may be the grace you extend, the patience you choose, or the forgiveness you offer.

Secondly, treasure quiet over noise. The world turns Christmas into a season of noise—ads, events, crowds, scrolling, rushing. But the first Christmas was grounded in holy quiet: a night sky, a stable, a whisper of angelic song drifting over shepherds half-asleep. God often works in the stillness. To think differently this Christmas is to carve out silence. To sit with Scripture. To allow your soul to hear again the gentle truth: “Unto you a Savior is born.”

Third, notice God in the ordinary. The shepherds didn’t expect God to show up in their field. Mary didn’t expect a Savior to grow beneath her heart. Joseph didn’t expect the Messiah to be sleeping in his workshop. And yet God delights in making the ordinary miraculous. Look around this Christmas: in a child’s laughter, in a quiet dinner, in a long-held tradition, in an unexpected moment of kindness. God is nearer than we think.

This Christmas, may you think differently—not by rejecting the familiar joys, but by embracing the deeper truth beneath them. Christ has come. Christ is with us. Christ is for us.

Discussion Questions:

1. When you think about your past Christmas seasons, what patterns or expectations do you tend to fall into?
2. What pressures do you feel most strongly this time of year?
3. If this Christmas feels different—because of change, loss, distance, or new circumstances—how does the hope of Christ meet you there?

“For a child is born to us, a son is given to us. The government will rest on his shoulders.  And he will be called: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” – Isaiah 9:6.   

Every December speeds up as if the world has its own countdown clock. Homes sparkle with lights, calendars fill with gatherings, and our hearts carry both anticipation and the weight of the year behind us. Christmas is beautiful, but it also has a way of amplifying what we feel—joy feels brighter, but so can sorrow; togetherness feels warmer, but loneliness can feel colder. And into this swirl of emotion, Scripture offers a promise that almost sounds impossible: “…the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7 ESV).

Paul wrote those words from a prison cell, not a cozy living room decked with garland. His circumstances were uncertain, yet his heart was anchored. That should encourage us: the peace God offers is not dependent on ideal circumstances. It is not fragile, seasonal, or sentimental. It is a peace that defies logic—peace beyond understanding—because it comes from someone greater than anything we face.

Christmas reminds us that peace isn’t a theory. Peace has a name: Jesus. The angels didn’t announce, “Glory to God in the highest, and good luck with the chaos!” They proclaimed “peace on earth” because the Prince of Peace had entered the world. Not a distant God, but a God wrapped in human frailty; not a God pointing at our problems from afar, but a God stepping into them with us.

So how do we receive this peace in a season that often pulls us in a dozen directions?

First, we remember who holds our story. Much of our anxiety comes from trying to control outcomes we were never designed to manage. Christmas invites us to release the pen—to let God write what we cannot. The same God who orchestrated a census, a stable, a star, and shepherds at just the right moment is capable of guiding your life with the same intentional care. Peace grows when we trust His timing.

Second, we need to practice stillness. Peace often slips away not because God is silent, but because our lives are loud. Quiet moments don’t happen on their own; they must be chosen. Even five minutes of stillness—pausing with Scripture, breathing deeply, whispering a simple prayer—can re-center a heart spinning with activity.

Next, open our eyes to God’s nearness. The miracle of Christmas is not that the world became calm, but that Christ came into a world that wasn’t. He came into real noise, real pain, real uncertainty—and He still does. The peace that surpasses understanding is not the absence of trouble; it is the presence of Christ right in the middle of it.

This season, may you experience more than a holiday mood. May you encounter the deep, steady, unexpected peace of God—peace that slips past logic and settles into the heart; peace that holds you when circumstances waver; peace that reminds you that Immanuel, God with us, is not just a Christmas phrase but a daily reality.

Discussion Questions:

1. What does “peace that surpasses understanding” mean to you? How is it different from feeling calm or happy?
2. Why do you think this peace doesn’t come from circumstances being perfect, but from knowing God’s victory in Christ?
3. How does God’s peace guard your heart and mind (Philippians 4:7) from being overwhelmed by worries?

“Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. I am so pleased that you have continued on in this with us, believing and proclaiming God’s Message, from the day you heard it right up to the present. There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.” – Philippians 1:3-6 (MSG).

We all live inside a story still being written. Some chapters are full of joy and momentum; others feel slow, confusing, or painfully unresolved. There are pages we wish God would turn faster, and seasons when the plot seems to stall altogether. Yet Scripture gently reminds us that peace is not found in possessing all the answers—it is found in trusting the Author who holds the pen.

One of the mercies of God is that He is never in a hurry, yet He is never late. Our impatience leads us to believe that unfinished means uncertain, incomplete means unstable, and waiting means wasted. But heaven sees your life differently. God calls the unfinished places fertile ground—soil where faith grows, trust deepens, and His grace becomes unmistakably real.

In Philippians 1:6, Paul offers a promise that has carried generations through their most unsettled seasons: “And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” The God who begins good work never abandons it. He doesn’t misplace you, forget you, or set your story aside while tending to something more important.

Finding peace in your unfinished story begins by remembering that God sees the whole picture at once. We see chapters. He sees the arc. We see interruptions. He sees divine appointments. We see delays. He sees preparation. What feels like a detour might be the very doorway through which His purpose enters your life.

Think of Joseph sitting in an Egyptian prison with no clue that he would soon be placed second in command. Think of Moses tending sheep for forty years, unaware that God was shaping a deliverer. Think of the disciples on Saturday—the day between the cross and the resurrection—believing the story had ended when, in truth, the most significant chapter was still hidden from their sight.

Peace comes when we shift our grip—from controlling outcomes to trusting the One who already knows them. Sometimes the most sacred thing you can do is simply relax and say, “Lord, I don’t see how this resolves, but I know You’re here.” God is standing in the middle of chapters that don’t make sense yet.

Your unfinished story is not a liability. It is a living testimony that you are still a work in progress. Rest in the truth that while you don’t know how the story ends, you know who is writing it.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Where in your life right now do you feel like you’re living in an “unfinished chapter,” and what emotions surface when you think about that part of your story?
2. How have you seen God work in past seasons that felt unresolved or confusing, and what does that teach you about trusting Him in the present?
3. What practical step can you take this week to shift from seeking control to seeking God’s presence in the unfinished parts of your journey?