Start With Us.

Back in April, I wrote Same Calling. New Expression.

I thought I was describing change.

I realize now I was describing something deeper: continuity beneath transformation.

Nothing was lost. It was being reshaped.

And now, as another birthday approaches, I can see it more clearly than I could then.

We are not who we were eight months ago.

Not externally.

Not internally.

Not even in the questions we’re willing to ask.

Something has shifted.

Not all at once—but steadily, almost imperceptibly—until one day you realize you’re standing somewhere new.

And you can’t quite trace the exact path that brought you here.

Only that it did.

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I don’t know where all of this is leading.

I don’t know exactly what comes next.

But I do know this:

We’ve stopped asking surface-level questions.

And started asking the ones that cost something.

What does it actually mean to live what we say we believe?

Not theoretically.

Not culturally.

Not performatively.

But in real life.

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Some of those questions have been uncomfortable.

What does it mean to believe in an all-powerful God who loves?

And if we believe that—

what should His love look like through us?

Because we are keenly aware that the love of God has not always been represented well.

Sometimes it has been wrapped in judgment.

Sometimes in politics.

Sometimes in exclusion.

Sometimes in certainty without compassion.

And sometimes people have been deeply wounded by those claiming to represent the very God who loves them.

We can’t undo all of that.

We don’t have all the answers for it either.

So we’ve found ourselves going back to where it all starts.

Jesus.

And love.

Letting love lead.

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One of the greatest gifts in our lives has been the people who don’t walk exactly the same path we do.

People who believe differently.

Think differently.

See the world differently.

You’ve taught us more than you probably realize.

And more importantly, you’ve trusted us enough to let us into your lives.

We’ve had some beautifully hard conversations over the years.

You’ve shared your questions.

Your struggles.

Your frustrations.

Your hurt.

Sometimes even your frustrations with Christianity itself.

We count that as a privilege.

And we pray for you often.

Not because we see you as a project.

Not because we’re keeping score.

And certainly not because we believe loving someone requires making them look like us.

We pray because we love you.

Because we genuinely want your lives to be blessed.

And because from our own lived experience, we know the One we believe is ultimately capable of doing that.

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My own journey with God has certainly not been a straight line.

I think about that first encounter with Him.

Then the moment a few years later when I made the decision to actually follow Him.

And then everything between there and here.

The worship.

The ministry.

The burnout.

The questions.

The uncertainty.

The hurt.

The disappointment.

The wandering around the edges trying to understand who was God and what was simply the culture we had built around Him.

There were things I had to unlearn.

Things I had to relearn.

Things I’m probably still learning.

But through all of it—

He was there.

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He has been there in my life.

He has been there in my husband’s life.

And He has been there in our marriage.

Through difficult seasons.

Through uncertainty.

Through loss.

Through redirection.

Through doors that opened and doors that didn’t.

Through moments worth celebrating and moments we weren’t sure how we would get through.

And somehow, again and again, we’ve experienced redemptive love.

The kind of love that doesn’t just rescue.

It restores.

Redirects.

Refines.

And gives purpose.

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Maybe that’s why this season has felt so interesting to me.

I’m remembering that I’m multifaceted.

I’ve spent years developing different parts of myself that, on the surface, don’t necessarily seem connected.

Business.

Data.

Healthcare.

Research.

Writing.

Music.

Ministry.

Artistry.

And lately, I’ve been watching those things collide in ways I never could have planned.

I’m preparing to begin a doctorate—something that feels very much connected to my life’s purpose.

At the same time, I’ve been writing more than I have in years.

Studying differently.

Creating music.

Publishing.

Asking questions.

Building things.

And somewhere in all of it, I’m discovering that these aren’t competing versions of me.

They’re connected.

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Even the way I study Scripture has changed over the last year.

I’ve always been a journaler.

I’ve always been fascinated by the connections between Scripture, life and learning.

But lately I’ve become even more fascinated by words.

Certain words will stop me.

I’ll write them down.

Follow them through Scripture.

Study where they appear.

Ask why they’re there.

Connect them to something I’ve experienced, something I’m learning, something I’ve been wrestling with—or something I feel God speaking to me.

And then I write.

Sometimes it becomes a journal entry.

Sometimes a blog.

Sometimes lyrics.

Sometimes an entire song.

And sometimes I don’t recognize all the connections until the final thing exists in front of me.

Then I can see it.

Oh.

That’s what this was about.

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My song catalog has now grown to well over 400 songs.

Some exist in multiple versions because apparently I can never leave a song alone.

And after years of writing, I’ve finally decided to start releasing more of them.

Three albums will come out this month.

They aren’t three perfectly packaged statements about who I am.

They’re pieces of a journey.

Some came from things I’m living right now.

Others came from experiences decades ago that finally found words.

Some are worship.

Some are questions.

Some are grief.

Some are joy.

Some are wrestling.

Some are declarations.

They’re life.

And increasingly, I’m realizing that for me, creating has always been one of the ways I worship.

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Back in April, I wrote:

The same calling. New expression.

I understood it then.

I understand it differently now.

Because maybe the calling wasn’t simply finding a new expression.

Maybe God was showing me that none of these things were ever as disconnected as I thought they were.

The studying.

The writing.

The music.

The research.

The relationships.

The questions.

The hard conversations.

The things that broke my heart.

The things that rebuilt it.

Even the seasons I would never choose to repeat.

All of it has shaped how I see people.

How I understand purpose.

How I understand grace.

And increasingly, how I understand what it means to follow Jesus.

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So here we are.

Another birthday.

Another year.

And strangely, I feel less pressure than ever to know exactly where all of this is going.

I don’t need a perfectly mapped-out next step.

I don’t need to know what every piece becomes.

I don’t need every question answered before I move.

Following has never really worked that way anyway.

You take the next step you can see.

And then the next.

And somewhere along the way, you look back and realize there was a path forming beneath your feet the entire time.

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So our prayer in this season has become remarkably simple.

Not:

God, fix them.

Not:

God, change those people.

Not:

God, show everyone else where they’re wrong.

But:

God, start with us.

Search us.

Correct us.

Teach us.

Change us.

Show us where we’ve confused culture with Christ.

Show us where we’ve talked about love without actually loving.

Show us where we’ve wanted to be right more than we’ve wanted to look like Jesus.

Show us where we’ve forgotten grace.

And then give us the courage to do something about what You show us.

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I don’t know where that prayer will lead.

Maybe that’s the point.

Eight months ago, I couldn’t have predicted where we’d be today either.

But I know this:

The God who met me all those years ago is still meeting me here.

The calling is still there.

The expression keeps changing.

The journey keeps unfolding.

And for whatever comes next—

Lord, start with us.