Good Friday

The day God died. This day, marked by suffering, pain and death, is called Good. How can it be good? Jesus, the sum of all the world’s hope, the perfect and spotless one, was tortured, betrayed, and crucified. Naked and humiliated, He cried out and bled. The most shameful death consumed the most blameless life.

Yet what would seem like the darkest defeat bears with it beauty and an ache that is undeniable. The cross is the most powerful display of love that the world has ever seen. Nothing and no one can surpass it. It fascinates me that the empty tomb is the symbol of victory, but the cross is still the symbol of love. Why does this story of sacrifice, pain, and suffering resonate with us so deeply? Why does the cross, and the story of the passion of Christ, lead people to tears all these thousands of years later? Why is it that in suffering we see love most clearly?

I was recently talking with a dear friend of mine about suffering. How we rail against it, we resist it, we pray to be spared of it - Jesus included.

He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” Matthew 26:39 (NLT)

Jesus longed to have another way. This was a face-to-the-ground prayer. It wasn’t a trivial request - He was desperate. Like us, He wanted to find a way to victory without suffering. But He trusted the Father, and this was the path the Father chose. God suffered.

What strikes me is not just what Jesus purchased on the cross - our forgiveness & reconciliation to God, the freedom from the powers of darkness, and life that is never overcome by death. That is more than enough to inspire me to lay my life down for Him, but there is even more. Jesus touched suffering. Just like everything else He touched, He changed it. Somehow, He turns this bitter water into wine.

The cross does not remove all pain from our life, but Jesus’ presence & participation in suffering ushers in purpose. So now, when we suffer, we enter into communion with the One who suffered all.

 Surely he has borne our griefs

and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

smitten by God, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53:4-5 (ESV)

This is why the darkest day in history was Good. The powers of evil thought they were winning, but as Paul says to the Corinthian church, if they’d only known God’s plan they never would have nailed the Lord of glory to the cross. Jesus took back ground. The enemy no longer owns pain, suffering, or death. God is restoring, redeeming, and repurposing even these. So whether you are experiencing suffering or victory, God is near. You are on Jesus’ territory. Love has won, and by faith in Christ’s work, it is Good.

Even If

I was recently asked to share about my story & my music. There are books in my heart that need to be written about that, but this post will be a start.

I was born a song-bird.

My first time leading a congregation in worship was when I was 4 years old. My sisters and I harmonized before we could ride bikes. Music is my mother tongue. My love for Jesus has always been intertwined with music, and worship has been my passion and my home for as long as I can remember.

My life had an idyllic start. Wonderful childhood, Godly family, healthy church. I was filled with God's Spirit and aware of His presence as far back as I can remember. Singing His praise was easy. I fell in love with my best friend in college and our marriage was another blessing piled up on my beautiful life. I had everything.

My first song of lament came when we lost our first child.

How? Why? What now? The Psalms came alive to me, and Job was balm to my heart. God drew near in my pain, and wept with me. We serve a God acquainted with our grief. What an honor to learn that side of Him, though it came at a price. My praise cost more, but it still felt natural to give Him.

We were blessed with two beautiful, healthy baby boys. My heart was so full! But postpartum depression haunted my early motherhood and marred those precious years. God heard my cries in the night when sleep and peace were far, and my mind was ravaged by imbalance & despair. My body and my brain suffered, but still I praised Him.

The next blow was as unwelcome and unexpected. My best friend, my love, my husband told me he didn't love me anymore. My world was shattered. My heart busted into a thousand pieces. How could this happen? How could I fix it? WHY? Over 3 excruciating months, God led me to answers, but they held more pain. Uncovering my husband's affair brought me clarity at the highest cost. My life with him was a lie, and it caused me to question everything. EVERYTHING.

Everything, that is, except my God. This solid core, this unshakable reality, this deep truth remained: God made me, and God loves me. I remember wailing and worshiping, one flowing into the other, as I reeled from the trauma. I was undone with grief, even as I was held together in love. Worship was so much more than pasting on a smile to some music. Worship was the depth of my soul, the fullness of my pain, touching the depth of His glory and the fullness of His grace.

It wasn't cheap, it wasn't easy. But my worship and my trust became even more solid as everything around me burned. I knew beyond doubt that God really was enough for me, even if I lost everything else.

"Though You Slay Me" was written years later, birthed in a moment of spontaneous worship with my bandmate Joel, at a conference after I had shared my story. So much healing had already happened by that point, but the place this song was written from was that darkest night, when everything else was stripped away. That choice that I had, that Job had, to offer God worship *before* the victory, *before* the comfort, *before* the rescue, is a choice that we only have in moments of brokenness. What a gift to give Jesus. We won't be able to give it to Him when new creation is restored, all is made right, and suffering is no more. Only here, only now, can I give Him the fragrant perfume of my suffering, poured out on His feet, mingled with my tears, a declaration of my trust.

The lyrics of this song have been somewhat controversial. I have no desire to defend myself, but I do want to make sure that misunderstanding doesn't impede ministry. So please hear me - I do NOT believe God slays His beloved ones. The cross answers any questions about God's intentions for us. The language we used is referencing Job 13:15, in which Job reaches the height of his emphatic assertion that *nothing* could cause him to question God's goodness & love. This kind of faith makes us dangerous against the powers of darkness. Our loyalty to God has no price tag. We do not make demands of the God of the universe in exchange for our faithfulness. We are abandoned and fully surrendered, holding nothing back.

Of course, as Job's story unfolds, God's restoration & generosity win the day, as they have in my life. I am happily remarried to a man who walked through the same fire as I did and came out refined. We have a beautiful blended family, with our miracle daughter as our cherry on top. Everything that was stolen from me has been restored - marriage, children, mental wholeness - with increase. This is what God does! When we give Him our pain and our trust, He makes a heavenly exchange, giving us healing and hope.

All of this is summed up in Jesus - slain, broken, and the world quaked. Yet *THIS* is what won the victory for us, and we are wrapped up in His resurrection and life!

I hope this song blesses you, and invites you into deeper surrender and trust.

Picking Up My Mat

Jesus healed my mind.

It's still hard for me to wrap my mind / heart / hope around. I've been contending with depression & anxiety for 13 years. It haunted and shamed me for my entire adult life. It cost me dearly, and was a formidable darkness. It wanted to destroy me and end my life. But with just one touch, one moment in worship, the Healer won my war.

Funny thing is, I wasn't even asking for healing. Oh, I have asked before, believe me. But in this moment, I just wanted Him. His sweet, overpowering, gentle, heavenly presence. I wanted to see His face, touch His heart. There's nothing and no one like Jesus. He's everything. Full stop.

Then He just healed me. Not because I did the correct 15 step process. Not because I earned it. Not because I finally learned the lesson. Just because He loves me. Just because it's what He wanted for me and I was positioned so closely to Him that I received it.

Now what?

Now I pick up my mat and go. Now I tell people about the power and beauty of Jesus. He still heals, still saves, still moves. My mat reminds me of where I was, and what He brought me out of. It also requires that I move out of my old habits and even the comforts of identifying with this disease.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit terrified. This public announcement of the most vulnerable parts of my being is a big step. For days I've been battling this fear that if I move wrong, think wrong, I might "lose" it. What if I got it wrong? What if this is just a break from the torture, not full healing? What if, what if, what if.....

Enough! My faith is in JESUS, not in my ability to "stay healed". HE is the author and perfecter of my faith, and I'm going to obey Him when He asks me to share my story. My life is His, and I trust Him to sustain me on every mountain and in every valley.

Our world is in the largest mental health crisis in history. God cares. God has answers. He has gifted us with medicine and treatment and I encourage anyone suffering to get *every* kind of help at their disposal. But I'm living proof that God's heart isn't just to alleviate symptoms. Jesus came to DESTROY the works of the devil. It was His delight to crush the depression that held my mind captive, and I haven't felt so much peace or joy since I was a girl. I'm here to proclaim hope to someone trapped in their head - keep praising. Your prison walls are shaking and they will come down. God is for you.

From start to finish, my life will be a testimony of God's goodness and faithfulness. Every dark and evil thing that has come against me has to bow at the mighty, holy name of Jesus. In every moment of suffering, He has been present. In every temptation, He has offered a way out. In every loss, He has redeemed and restored. Nothing is wasted. No tear, no prayer, no ounce of faith. Like the woman who poured out her perfume and tears, I want to be fully spent on Jesus. Every gift, every beautiful thing in me. And every ache, every disappointment, every broken thing in me. Jesus, you can have it all. All the glory, honor and praise is Yours, in heaven and on earth! You are so GOOD!

Grace Street

It's funny how a place - inanimate, silent, objective - can feel like a partner in my memory. The Grace Street house saw so much.

The week we moved in, I felt a peace there, a warmth. It didn't match the temperature of my marriage - I knew something was wrong with that. But I was certain that as we settled into a new season, all would be made right. This house felt like it could become home.

As I unpacked the boxes, the lies started to unpack as well. Those walls heard months of two voices, mostly mine. Unanswered questions, pleadings for connection, appeals for honesty, met with paltry deference at best, silence at worst.

“What's wrong? Why won't you look me in the eyes? What can I do? Who is texting you? Where are you going? Why were you gone all night?”

The truth came, and my foundation cracked. The Grace Street house stood steady.

The walls heard my wailing, now. Choked sobs of a young mother desperate for air. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. The Grace Street house hosted my own personal hell, as I stared for hours at her ceilings, sobbed into her floors. She held no answers, but she held firm. Women streamed in and out of her doors. Meals, gifts, listening ears, comforting arms. A flood of sisters stood between me and despair.

Those next months were a lifetime. As the trauma gave way to grief, I was both soft and strong. My veneer stripped away, the Grace Street house got to see me. The real me. Tear washed, clear eyed, grace filled me. I suffered honestly, deep diving into the pain that occupied the place love once held in my heart. The Grace Street house watched me repack boxes of his things, as I sorted through years of memory and family, trying to make sense of what was his, what was mine. I had thought it was all ours.

My babies, oh my babies! Their wonder and perfection and innocence filled those rooms just as much as my anguish. We started to find a rhythm. The Grace Street house witnessed daily miracles as I found the strength to tickle them every day to make them laugh, to feed and bathe and read and rock them to sleep when they were with me. She saw my tears when my arms ached to hold them on nights they were gone.

That house surrounded me in moments of breakthrough. I found deeper faith. A love that lets go and forgives. A confidence that no matter what is done *to* me, I choose what comes *through* me, and I chose Jesus. The Grace Street house probably got saved, hearing me pray to such a sweet savior. I devoured the Word, immersed myself in worship. My life was held up moment by moment, crying out to the One who never left me. As He walked with me through the fire, I never felt more at home. Every time I turned onto our road and saw that street sign, I was reminded about His grace that never lets me go. One of my best friends, named Grace, lived a few houses down the road. Our boys would play together and she would listen and listen. Grace upon Grace, hemmed me in on all sides.

The Grace Street house echoed the first songs I had written in a decade. Healing washed over me as I poured out my heart, playing that out of tune old piano. The songs started to change from goodbye to longing for the next.

As I healed and strengthened and steadied, that house heard me laugh again. She started buzzing with more activity. Friends and church family and band mates came and went. My sister & her family of 6 moved in with us for a few months after their time in Canada, and we started to look for a bigger house. Not everything was about the divorce anymore. I got a second job and began to think about what was next for me. The mirrors in the house witnessed as I got all dolled up for my first date as a single mom. I bet she saw the light in my eyes - I knew I was a catch.

In God's amazing timing, I met Severin. As I reflect on my time in that home, I am so grateful that we started building our love while I was still there. The same walls that saw my life fall apart, saw it come back together. I already felt whole when I met him, but it didn't take long to see that God would make us stronger together than we'd ever been apart. The place where I have some of my most bitter memories is also the place where I have some of the sweetest.

Echos of God's grace followed me through years and miles and memories. The birth of my daughter, whose middle name is Grace, was another signpost of God's goodness. Unmerited favor, woven in and out of every season. I used to live in a house on Grace, and now a little firecracker bearing that name runs through the halls of this new home.

It's been years since I've seen that house, but I pray that whoever lives in that cute little bungalow on Grace Street is wrapped up in the same Grace that has followed me my whole life long.

I Miss You

My sons....

Your ears & hearts & minds are too young to hear and receive this. But if your grown & fully matured selves were with me tonight, this is what I would say:

I miss you.

I don't use those words often. It might seem strange to some, but I don't want you to hear how your absence makes me feel. I want you to hear how your presence makes me feel. So when you return from your dad's, I say, "I am SO HAPPY to see you!" I want you to hear how much I *delight* in you. I don't want you to carry even an ounce of the heaviness that I feel while you are away. It's not your fault, and I don't want you to feel badly or responsible. You are free to enjoy your life with daddy, and I want to protect & encourage that.

But...I miss you.

It goes so deep, boys. My body created you. Every cell of you is precious to me. My heart is so connected to you both, and I feel like limbs are missing when you are not with me. I want to kiss your sweet faces every night before bed, but I can't. The fact that you have a whole life that I can't experience with you is such a loss for me. I want to be there when you have questions to answer, owies to kiss, new ninja skills to applaud. I will never know exactly what I'm missing.

Your sister recently started to cry every time you leave. I appreciate her so much - she validates what I'm feeling! I think I need to get honest with myself and cry more. As much as we try to create joy in our new normal, it hurts to say goodbye each week. I know it hurts you too, and that just kills me. You are SO brave, and you make my heart burst with pride.

My first born...you made me a mom. Everything about you is delicious to me - your face, your freckles, your lips, your brilliant mind. Watching you grow leaves me breathless in wonder. You are more than I ever imagined, and you're living proof that children are a blessing from the Lord. I LOVE talking with you. You carry a depth that is beautiful & powerful. You *get* it. You understand truth & God's character & how life works. I pray you never lose that. You asked the Lord for wisdom at age 7 and He delivered!

My second born...you stole my heart. Your sideways grins and bad-boy-cute ways melt me. You are so helpful and thoughtful and passionate. You live up to your name, "friend". You are loyal, social, funny and active. If you keep asking me to marry you, I'll probably have to say yes. You have BIG feelings, and I'm so glad that you carry emotional honesty & expressiveness. You ask big questions to make sense of your big feelings, and I pray that you look to your big God for the answers. He's the only one who will satisfy your wild heart.

Boys, I'm so, so, so sorry that your life has been wounded. Thank you for being honest with me. "It's hard having two homes because I always miss someone." YES. Divorce is brutal and ugly and wrong. I'll never sugarcoat it for you, because the curse ends here. I am deeply committed to walking you through full healing, which requires a full examination of the hurt. God has worked tremendous beauty out of our ashes, but any time you need to grieve the fire, I am with you, and so is He. This isn't His design, and I hope we all learn from this that living inside His beautiful boundaries is the best life possible.

Both of you have recently diagnosed physical ailments in response to the trauma years ago. Oh loves....I would give my whole body to take that from you. You were just babies. I tried to shield you, crumpled mess that I was. But I couldn't take the full force of the blow to our lives. For that, I will always ache.

But you are both thriving! Look at you. You love mommy & daddy with your whole hearts, plus all the extra people that have come into your lives. Your expansiveness & resilience inspire me. We are making this work. I love our lives together, and this wonky, gorgeous blended family that ebbs & flows each week. I wish I had more time with you, of course. But even if someone offered me a magic button that gave me full custody, I couldn't do it. You need your dad & his love is so necessary in your life. I miss you, but if missing you is the price I have to pay to get half of your childhood, I'll pay in full. And each time I grieve you, my tears will carry my prayers right to where you are.

I pray that as you grow into adulthood and understand more fully what happened when dad left that you will:

• Forgive your dad. His choices hurt you. Permanently. But he loves you, and there is so much freedom in forgiveness. I hope I have showed you the way. Ask God to show you His heart for dad - there's no space for bitterness.

• Give me grace for my fumbling. I did my best to function, but you had a pretty wounded mama during your formative years. I tried to find the balance between leaning on you or pulling away, but I know I didn't do it perfectly. Did I cry too much in front of you? Rely too much on Cars 2 & Turbo Fast to distract you? I pray my love guarded you even on my darkest days.

• Look to Severin. He will never replace your dad in your lives, and isn't meant to. His job is to love your old mom, and he's doing so well at that. He is the kind of husband I want you to be. As you build your lives, take the best from both homes.

• Remember God's faithfulness. My life's desire is that you experience God's love and love Him back. His love never left us, not for a second. And on nights like tonight when I miss the puppy-dog smell of your hair, and the warmth & weight of your sweet bodies snuggling mine, I know His love is with you. Wrapping you up tight and holding you when I can't.

My boys, my babies, my sons...I miss you. What a blessed woman I am to have such incredible children to miss. Sleep tight, loves.

Long Silence

I've been stuck for awhile. I'm fighting a battle, and my main objective is to shield my kids from even sensing there is a war. I'm worn & scarred & trying to put on a brave face. But the ache isn't leaving. It's here to stay.

Losing my first husband was traumatic. It rocked my whole reality, but it had a definitive ending. He was gone. By his own choice. For good. The shell of him remained, and I had to reacquaint myself with his new person - the one that had no love for me. I said goodbye, I grieved, I healed.

But my boys? This loss was not my choice, nor theirs. I lose pieces of them bit by bit. Week by week. There's no ending to this loss. It's not a full loss, so I strive to be grateful for the sawed-in-half life I have with them. It's better than nothing. It's also so much less than my heart longs for. It's so much less than they deserve.

The only rhythm in my sweet blended family is the transition. Constant detox mode. Ever come home from a vacation and notice that everyone is beat? That you need a day or two to readjust? That space is where we live. Someone is always coming and going. One child, then four, then three, then one....how about two? My brain is constantly reminding me how many of my babies are with me, and which ones are gone.

Of course, they are not *gone*. They are with their other parent. I'm grateful that they have both parents, I really am. But when that other parent has polar opposite values, beliefs, narratives of family? Building & shaping these precious children becomes an extremely technical dance. I'm trying to untangle lies while honoring the source of the untruth. I'm trying to win without making anyone else lose. I'm trying to stop the bleeding with a smile on my face.

Don't misunderstand me - our exes are not the enemy. They are lost. When someone gets lost in the mountains during a winter storm, you pray they get rescued. You don't focus on or punish them for being lost, even when it may have been foolish for them to wander off by themselves. We pray regularly for the love & blessing of God to chase them down and restore them as His children.

The enemy is the one who lied to them in the first place. The one who convinced them that marriage isn't worth fighting for. That the next relationship, job, car, whatever, will be the thing that finally makes them whole. That same enemy whispers lies into the ears of our children. He has no power in my home. But every time the boys return, I'm picking off his fiery arrows as they walk through the door. The smell of the smoke has made me ill.

How am I supposed to do this? How do I fight back the darkness and have energy left over to build a life? Some days I nail it, but there is a steep cost. Most days find me weary. It's time I stare it in the face and call it what it is. No need to church it up and put a bow on it. My heart is broken. Pieces of my broken heart walk around, in the form of my sons, in places I cannot see, cannot reach. I have had to release them unnaturally early, and my full being rails against it. But this is my reality. This is our life. I'm in awe that God has chosen me to carry such an unimaginable burden. I can't believe He trusts me so much. And even if my heart is broken for the rest of my life, it will be open to all the connection and grief and love it can bear.