Hey team—yes, WE are a team of people who’ve decided we have a mission to serve and are part of a body working together for Christ!

As we roll out of Thanksgiving weekend and straight into the lights, parties, and pressure of December, I’ve been thinking about a guy who was having the exact opposite kind of year none of us would post on social media. The writer? His name is Asaph.

Psalm 77. Asaph is in full meltdown mode.

“My soul refuses to be comforted… I am so troubled I cannot speak… Has God forgotten to be gracious?”

You can almost hear the exhaustion in his voice. Ever been there? I have. Some seasons feel like the night just won’t end.

And then, right in the middle of his honest complaint, he makes a hard pivot that changes everything. Verse 11:

“I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your wonders of old.”

That’s it. No new miracle. No fresh revelation. Just remembering.

He starts replaying the Red Sea story—how God made a highway through the impossible, how the waters stood up like walls while His people walked through on dry ground, how Moses and Aaron were simply “lifted hands” in the middle of a miracle they didn’t manufacture. Asaph isn’t denying the pain, and God didn’t shame him for it. Asaph’s found the fuel to go on and hope with memory.

I love how in TMP we train ourselves to talk to our minds—recalling God’s past faithfulness so vividly that it becomes rocket fuel for present faith. That’s exactly what’s happening here. Asaph’s circumstances haven’t shifted yet, but his perspective has turned to hope. And hope is what carries us when the path is still dark.

Thanksgiving just gave most of us a forced pause to name some of those memories out loud—health that held, kids who came home, deals that closed, marriages that made it another lap, salvations in the family, cancer in remission, provision that showed up at just the right time. We sat around tables and actually said them. Did you know the food we ate wasn’t the best fuel we provided each other?

But, here’s the danger: if we treat gratitude like an ad-hoc event instead of daily oxygen, we run out of gas. December can feel like a sprint—travel, budgets, year-end numbers, family tension, shorter days, longer nights. It’s easy to let the fresh gratitude of Thanksgiving grow cold by New Year’s Eve.

So, let’s do something deliberate with what we just named. Let’s turn last week’s gratitude into this month’s ammunition.

Practical idea: grab your phone right now and open a new note titled, “Red Sea File.” Start dumping bullet points—every specific way you’ve seen God move in the last decade. The impossible contract, the restored relationship, the night you should have died, but didn’t. Keep adding to it all month. Every night, share one to three entries from the file with someone you love. Do what the psalmist did—preach your own history back to yourself and to each other.

Because the same God who parted the Red Sea hasn’t given up on us nor shamed us in our pain. He’s still in the business of making ways where there is no way. And sometimes the quickest way to see the next miracle is to remember the last one.

So, as we light Advent candles and countdown to Christmas, let’s celebrate the God who keeps showing up—at just the right time.

Waters will part. Keep your feet wet while you wait. Don’t run away. Keep remembering.

Call to action this week: Jump-start your own “Red Sea File” today. Five minutes. Ten entries minimum. Set a recurring alarm once a week that says, “Read the File.” Share one entry with someone every night. Watch what happens to your faith when gratitude stays fresh and hope stays alive.

Remembering isn’t just nostalgia. It’s warfare.

I’ll see you on the other side of the sea—feet wet, hearts full.

In your corner,
Jeff

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Contact Chris Skiff: chris.skiff@priorityliving.org or 805-440-1700