Wednesday - January 31, 2024

SCRIPTURE 1 Peter 1:3–9 (Inclusive Bible) Blessed be the God and Parent of our Savior Jesus Christ! By divine mercy, we have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for us. We are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this we rejoice, even if now for a little while we have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of our faith—more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although we have not seen Jesus, we love them; and even though we do not see them now, we believe and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for we are receiving the outcome of our faith, the salvation of our souls. WORDS OF HOPE Today is World Television Day, and I find myself daydreaming about moments I never actually lived through. I’m too young to have seen The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show, but I can picture it like it happened yesterday: living rooms packed with teenagers, jaws dropped, hearts racing, everyone leaning into that flickering black-and-white screen as if the entire world depended on it. I can almost hear the screams, the squeals, the wild excitement—especially when that first chord of “I Want to Hold Your Hand!” or “Twist and Shout!” hit. And then there’s the other side—the parents, muttering over their dinner, half exasperated, half secretly curious: “Turn that off! That noise is giving me a headache!” Television has always been this magical, slightly ridiculous bridge between generations—a place where wonder, rebellion, and music collide, and grown-ups just don’t get it. Television is a paradox, much like life itself. On the one hand, it connects us in ways nothing else can. It can make distant victories feel like our own—a last-minute touchdown, a jaw-dropping performance, a story that makes us leap from our chairs, fists pumping, hearts soaring. It can bring history into our living rooms, letting us witness suffering, joy, and beautywe might never see otherwise. It can make us feel part of something bigger than ourselves—whether we’re watching alone in pajamas with a mug of something warm (and maybe spilling it, because clumsiness is real), or with family and friends, sharing laughter, commentary, and playful arguments about who’s right. And sometimes it’s as simple as curling up with someone you love and binge-watching a show late at night, finding comfort in stories that make us laugh, cry, and feel just a little less alone. But television can also be heavy. The news—especially lately—can be relentless, a constant drum of fear, outrage, and heartbreak. I’ve felt that weight. I haven’t watched the news since the recent election. I needed a break—not to ignore the world, but to protect my heart and my spirit, to reclaim my ability to love, notice, and be present. I needed to breathe, to reconnect with life in its raw, immediate form. I needed to sit with friends and actually hear their laughter without my mind chasing the next breaking story. I needed to listen to music, write, feel a cat purring in my lap (who sometimes thinks my keyboard is a pillow), and just let my thoughts stretch and breathe. And in doing so, the ordinary became extraordinary. Television, like life, is messy. It can inspire, teach, and unite—but it can also exhaust, distract, and wound. On this World Television Day, I honor both sides. I honor the sparks of wonder that make our hearts race, and I honor the courage it takes to step away, to turn it off, and fully step into life—into conversation, into laughter, into presence, into the little moments that remind us why we’re here. The quiet spaces between broadcasts, headlines, and scrolling feeds—that’s where life happens. That’s where music drifts from a neighbor’s window, where someone smiles at a stranger, where love—messy, patient, radical love—takes root. That’s where hope feels tangible, even in a world that’s loud, chaotic, and sometimes impossible to navigate. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of television we all need more of: the kind that teaches us to live fully, love deeply, and breathe freely, even when the world outside is screaming for our attention. Because life, at its best, doesn’t happen on a screen. It happens in the pauses, in the laughter, in the moments we choose to look up and see the world—really see it—for ourselves. PRAYER Holy One, thank You for the ordinary moments that turn out to be extraordinary—sunlight, laughter, warm drinks, music, and yes, even the glow of the TV. Help me know when to step back, when to rest my mind, and when to open my heart. Teach me to notice You in the stillness, in stories, in faces, and in quiet joy. May I live with love, awareness, and a little humor along the way. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR  Reed Kirkman