“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord.”

The lyrics lingered in the room, the first sounds of the day, as the cold settled into the Big House. Winter had slipped through the old walls and made itself known without apology. Our home, built in Victorian times, comes from an era when insulation was little more than a rumor and survival meant four walls holding their ground against the elements. The charm has remained faithful, even as the utilitarian needs of the house feel long outdated. Warmth is an occasional guest in winter, and cool air a luxury never known in summer. The song seemed to understand that arrangement, offering no comfort beyond recognition, and that was enough.

In Galveston the temperatures had finally agreed to meet winter face to face, and the thought of leaving the bed carried consequence. Bare feet would meet cold, honest wood, and the sharp contrast between the warmth just surrendered and the day waiting ahead made stillness tempting. The cocoon of the bed asked for one more moment, a brief delay before meeting the truth of the floor. Once touched, there would be no returning to sleep, only the quiet acceptance of what the day required.

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord.”

As I step into Day 6 of the 13 Sacred Nights, the song takes the lead. The timing feels deliberate, as though this is how these nights speak, not through logic or prediction, but through a kind of knowing that rises from somewhere beneath thought. The melody settles in without hurry, carrying the sense that it has already looked ahead.

This night seems to know something about May 2026, a quiet signal of what lies ahead. Nothing here asks for preparation or performance, only attention. The feeling is not certainty, but recognition, a calm assurance that whatever is coming will not require control. It asks only that I stay present long enough for the chord to find its voice, and open enough to let the music guide what comes next.

The 13 Sacred Nights are a quiet passage of time set aside around the Solstice, when the Earth itself slows and the light pauses before turning back. The nights ask us to move gently, to notice what arrives without force, and to trust that wisdom reveals itself most clearly when the world, and we along with it, are willing to rest.  

We have been led away from this intuition by forces that don’t want us to remember our own power. Instead, we are encouraged to buy, to drink, to celebrate, and to keep moving at the very moment we are meant to slow down and listen. This is the season when attention should turn inward, when the noise falls away, and the silent direction of the Divine becomes clear again for those willing to hear it.

Each night of the 13 Sacred Nights carries the tone of a month in the year ahead, an invitation to sense what is forming before it takes shape. The practice asks only for our attention. We need not plan; we need only to offer our awareness and trust the meaning that arrives through images, songs, dreams, and moments that feel charged without explanation. Taken together, the nights form a kind of inward calendar, one that does not tell us what to do, but helps us notice who we are becoming as the old year releases its hold and the new one begins to breathe.

And so, the message that moved through my mind at the start of the day returns here, unchanged and subtly resonant, asking only to be heard.

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord.”

I feel as if God is softly whispering to me, “This is what is expected of you.” Not as a burden, not as a test, but as a way of moving through the world with intention, in His Name. To meet each person as if the conversation itself were sacred, as if every exchange carried the weight of a direct encounter with the Divine. To remember, even in passing moments, that no one stands before me by accident.

The guidance is gentle but clear. To lift others not through argument or correction, but through presence. I fail often at this, yet the request is not perfection, only the willingness to keep becoming better. To let whatever light I carry be offered freely, without measuring its effect or demanding a response. To walk as a servant rather than an authority, a representative rather than a judge, extending comfort where it is needed and grace where it can take root. This is not a call to greatness, only to faithfulness, lived quietly in ordinary moments that, when seen rightly, are anything but ordinary.

If I remain faithful to that, attentive to the moment in front of me and gentle with those I meet along the way, the chord will reveal itself. In this, I hold an abiding faith in the timing of things. And if one day it does please the Lord, it will not be because it was impressive, but because it was played with care. It was played with devotion, knowing that the honest attempt is all that is ever asked, and that the demand for perfection is an illusion that keeps us bound rather than free.

I am almost midway through the 13 Sacred Days, and this is what has become clear to me so far. Our highest knowing understands far more than the conscious mind ever will. There is a deeper intelligence at work, one that does not argue or explain itself, only waits to be remembered.God is always moving on our behalf, quietly arranging, guiding, and encouraging us toward what we are here to fulfill. He pulls for us, patiently and without force, hoping we will recognize the signs placed along the way. Messages arrive daily, not to overwhelm or command, but to remind us. Our only real work is to slow down enough to notice them, to listen long enough for His inspiration to rise above the noise.