Life After Letting Go

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Proverbs 3:5–6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

If you had asked me a few years ago what surrender looked like, I probably would have given you a lyric or a sermon point. I might have even sung about it on stage. But life has a way of taking your songs and asking if you actually believe them.

We were in the middle of another packed tour—city after city, set list after set list. People were singing along. Ministry was happening. On the outside, everything looked like it was working. But on the inside, I was struggling to catch my breath.

I was missing dinners. Bedtime stories. The small in-between moments at home that no one claps for, but that matter more than anything. One night, sitting alone in a venue parking lot, I remember thinking—not in a dramatic way, but in a soul-deep way—What am I even doing?

I had given so much of myself to ministry, but somewhere along the way, I stopped asking if it was still what God wanted—or if I had just forgotten how to stop.

That night marked the beginning of surrender.

I sat with the guys in the band and said, “I think we need to step back from touring.”

It hurt to say. But it opened the door to healing. We took time off. We made space for our families. And in that space, the lyrics to our song “Control” came to me:

“Oh how You love me
Somehow that frees me
To open my hands up
And give You control
I give You control”

When we released it, we started receiving letters—people telling us about the things they were finally letting go of. Control of their children’s futures. Control of broken marriages. Control of their image. The #ControlCampaign became more than a hashtag. It became a shared sigh of relief.

And that is what I never saw coming: the rest. The clarity. The peace that comes when you stop reaching for everything and hand back to God what was His in the first place.

So if your heart feels overwhelmed and stretched thin, maybe the way forward is not to try harder. Maybe it is to trust deeper. Surrender is not failure. It is where freedom starts.

— Mike Donehey

 

Control (Somehow You Want Me)

Here I am, all my intentions
All my obsessions, I wanna lay them all down
In Your hands
Only Your love is vital
Though I’m not entitled
Still You call me Your child

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control
I give You control

I’ve had plans shattered and broken
Things I have hoped in, fall through my hands
You have plans to redeem and restore me
You’re behind and before me
Oh, help me believe

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control

You want me, somehow You want me
The King of Heaven wants me
So this world has lost its grip on me(Repeat)

God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life and the way it should go
Oh, God, You don’t need me, but somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me, somehow that frees me
To open my hands up and give You control
I give You control
You want me, somehow You want me
The King of Heaven wants me
So this world has lost its grip on me

(Written by: Mike Donehey, Jason Ingram, Matt Bronleewe)

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A Brotherhood of the Broken

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2 Corinthians 1:4 – “Who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

You do not forget the day everything changes. For Daniel, it was the day he left the hospital without Lyndsie.

She had been his person—for ten years of cancer and ten years of marriage. She was the steady, gentle presence that held their home together. Now, it was just Daniel, two young children, and the kind of silence that clings to the walls.

At first, people came. They brought meals, sent gift cards, wrote notes, offered help. His community was generous and kind. But grief does not follow the timeline of casseroles and sympathy cards. And before long, the world moved on.

Daniel did not.

He tried to manage what he could. But what he really needed could not be delivered in a meal tray. He needed someone who understood. A young man who had walked this same stretch of road—who had buried the love of his life and somehow kept showing up for school pickups and bedtime prayers. Someone to say, “You are not alone. You are not crazy. You will make it.”

He searched for that man. He prayed for him. But no one came.

Eventually, Daniel made a quiet vow.

“God, if you ever bring another widower into my life, I will not let that man walk alone. I will be, for him, what I needed most.”

And then it started—slowly, quietly. First, one widower crossed his path. Then another. Then more. Each man carrying a version of the same story and battles.

That is when Daniel realized God had not ignored his prayer. He had been preparing him to answer it.

“Refuge Widowers” was born from that vow. It became a brotherhood of grieving fathers and broken husbands walking side by side, pointing one another to the only hope strong enough to carry their weight. Not answers. Not quick fixes. Just presence, courage, and faith that holds steady when life falls apart.

Today, you may not have walked the same road Daniel has. But chances are, you have survived something. Chances are, you know what it feels like to wait for someone to show up. And if you do, then hear this: your pain does not disqualify you. It may be the very thing God uses to reach someone else.

So, look around. Pay attention. There is likely someone within reach who needs what you once prayed for.

Be who you needed. Say yes to the hard road. Don’t wait for someone else to lead the way because your story might just be someone else’s lifeline.

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This Is Not God’s First Rodeo

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2 Corinthians 10:5 – “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

I was ten years old the first time I saw a trick rider up close, and I could hardly breathe for how bad I wanted to be her.

It was rodeo night in Winnsboro, Louisiana. The spotlight swept across the dirt as the music kicked up and the trick riders took the field. They twirled lassos, stood on galloping horses, flipped and flew like they were born in the saddle. Their hair trailed behind them like ribbons. The crowd roared, and I sat still, wide-eyed and smitten.

The minute we got home, I found a rope and made it my mission. I swung it over my head until my arms ached. I practiced spinning it on the ground and tried, again and again, to jump in and out like the woman in the spotlight.

I gave it hours. Days. I got rope burns, blisters, and more than one scolding for flinging it too close to the furniture.

My daddy loved rodeos too. If he was not on the tractor or the combine, we were on the road—to Monroe, Crossett, Jackson—anywhere a rodeo could be found. We never missed a chance, and every time the trick riders came out, I felt that spark light up again. I would go home, dust off my rope, and try one more time.

But I never did master that thing. Somewhere along the way, the dream started to dim. It got too hard, and it was not the rope that wore me out—it was the thoughts that crept in. You are not made for this. You will never get it right. I listened. And eventually, I let go.

So no, I never became a Trick Rider.

But years later, I found myself back in those same small towns. Only this time, I was pursuing a different kind of calling. God opened doors I never saw coming in southern media. I got to work with farmers and cowboys and stand in the very heart of the culture I once dreamed of performing in.

No, it was not what I pictured at ten years old, but it was good. More than good. It was full of purpose. Still, I wonder what might have happened if I had not let discouragement write the ending to that first dream. Could God have done even more if I had held on just a little longer?

So here is what I want to tell you: if there is a dream in your heart, do not hand it over to negativity. When your mind starts to wander—when those discouraging thoughts circle in close—fix your focus. Lasso the thought. Take it captive before it takes root and give it back to God

No, you do not need to be perfect. You just need to trust God.

He is not afraid of the size of your dream. And remember—He is not new to this. This is not His first rodeo.

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Where Broken Meets Beautiful

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Titus 3:5 — He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to His own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit.

If I could go back and sit across from the younger me, I do not think I would try to fix her. I do not think she would have believed me, anyway. She was stubborn. Wounded. Tired. She was doing the best she could with what she had, and at the time, it was not much.

I was twenty-five when I lost my mom. I remember the hospital room, the chill of it, and the way time slowed in the hours before she passed. When she was gone, I walked out carrying this hollow kind of silence inside me. That grief stayed. It followed me everywhere I went.

And I wish I could say I handled that pain well. I did not. I ran from people who loved me. I tried to outrun the ache. And when I could not, I tried to bury it by numbing it.

A series of choices—and a thousand little escapes—turned into chains of drug and alcohol addiction. I was not proud of who I was becoming, but for a long time, I did not see a way out.

But if I could say just one thing to her—the girl who buried her mom and then buried herself not long after—it would be this: He is real.

God. He is not just a word people toss around when they do not know what else to say. He is not just a name in a book.

He is real. He is real in hospital rooms. He is real in addiction. And He is real enough to save you when you have gone over the edge.

I wish I could have wrapped that girl up and told her again and again until she believed it. But the truth is, I would not go back and undo anything. Not even the hardest parts because God did not waste a single moment. He used every scar, every mistake, every loss. All of it became part of a story I never expected—a story of grace.

And if that is where you are right now—if you are grieving, if you are stuck in something you don’t want to admit, if you think God is only for people who have it together—I want you to hear me clearly: You are not too far gone.

God is real. And He is not scared of your story. He steps right into the middle of it, and when He is through, what is left will not be shame.

It will be grace.

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He’s a Good Father

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Psalms 103:13 — As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him.

Pat Barrett had sung about God his whole life. But when his daughter was born, something in him shifted. As Harper Gray lay asleep, soft and small in his arms, Pat paused mid-prayer.

How am I going to explain God to her?

He had heard it all. God as judge. God as distant. God as angry. He had led worship at dozens of conferences where the message shifted depending on the speaker or the crowd. One week, God was gentle. The next, furious. Disappointed. Hard to please.

But now he was a father. When you’re raising a child, you do not have the luxury of vague beliefs anymore. You need to know who God is not just for your sake, but for theirs too.

In that season of wrestling, Pat sat with his guitar, heart heavy, and out came a lyric more like a sigh than a song.

“I’ve heard a thousand stories of what they think You’re like…”

Meanwhile, his friend Tony Brown had been leading worship in their Atlanta house church, singing a chorus that had been sitting with him for years:

“You’re a good, good Father…”

For Tony, who had grown up without a dad, those words carried deep personal meaning. God was not just a comfort. He was the only Father Tony had ever known.

The two met up, shared what they were wrestling with, and together they finished the song “Good Good Father” with no spotlight in mind.

The song caught on fast—first in their home church, then beyond. Word spread, and one day Chris Tomlin heard it. He called, asked to record it, and the song took on a life of its own. Churches around the world began singing the same simple truth.

But for Pat, the most important moment was still at home. It was hearing Harper Gray sing along. Because that is what he had wanted all along. He wanted his child to grow up with the right story. God is a good father.

Maybe that is what you need, too. Maybe the stories you were told about Him left you unsure, guarded, or aching. But the truth is still true.

God i s not just a good Father in theory. He is a good Father in practice. He is present, attentive, and steady, and He wants to be that to you and for you.

Would you let Him?

 

LYRICS

VERSE 1
I’ve heard a thousand stories of what they think You’re like
But I’ve heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night
You tell me that You’re pleased and that I’m never alone

CHORUS
You’re a good, good father
It’s who You are, it’s who You are, it’s who You are
And I’m loved by you
It’s who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am

VERSE 2
I’ve seen many searching for answers far and wide
But I know we’re all searching for answers only you provide
‘Cause You know just what we need before we say a word

BRIDGE
You are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways to us

VERSE 3
Love so undeniable I can hardly speak
Peace so unexplainable I can hardly think
As You call me deeper still
As You call me deeper still
As You call me deeper still
Into love love love

Written By Pat Barrett and Tony Brown

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Friendship That Brews Hope

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Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 – “Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow.”

I was already halfway to the coffee shop before I realized how heavy my chest felt. It was the kind of heaviness that builds slowly and steadily over time.

But today I had a lifeline. I had a standing coffee date with a friend who knew me—the real me. We always meet in the same spot, bring our kids, and talk for hours.

I parked, lifted Reese from the back seat, and turned to see my friend walking up with her baby in a carrier and a warm smile instantly softening something in me.

We ordered our lattes—mine, honey vanilla over ice—and by some small miracle, our couch was free. The babies wriggled across our laps and played on the rug below.

Between sips of coffee and the comfort of low music playing louder than our voices, I let it all pour out. I told her about the discouragement, the pressure, and my insecurities. And she just listened, really listened.

She didn’t try to fix it, but instead she opened up about her own battles and hard-won victories. She reminded me who God is and what His word said about my circumstances.

Then she asked if she could pray for me.

Tears came quicker than I expected, but I nodded. Of course. Yes. Please. And as she prayed, something loosened inside me. Peace settled in like cool water sinking deep into dry ground.

I stayed quiet for a moment after she prayed, just letting it settle.

Nothing outside had changed, but something inside had. My shoulders softened. The ache in my chest gave way to peace I had not felt in weeks. God was near, and I knew it.

That day, I remembered what I had forgotten: God never intended for us to walk through life alone. He gives us people who carry us to Him when we are too weary to crawl.

So, find those people. When you do, hold onto them because sometimes, the most powerful thing God gives us is not an answer. It’s a friend who prays.

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Stop Running, Start Resting

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Psalms 46:10 — “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”

Ann was elbow-deep in tomatoes at the grocery store when a voice from the past stepped into aisle four.

It was Mrs. Martin, her second-grade music teacher. She had the same no-nonsense expression and same silver hair pulled tight. The only difference were the wrinkles and the orthopedic slippers replacing her old patent pumps.

Just like that, the memories returned. Music class. The rhythm drills. The clapping.

Ann never could get it right. Her classmates moved together in sync, but she always lagged a step behind. Mrs. Martin would pace the front of the room, heels tapping the tile, calling out.

“Beat, beat—rest,” she said. “You have to feel the rest! You cannot feel the rhythm if you do not know when to stop.”

Ann tried, but her timing always felt off. After a while, she stopped trying altogether.

Now in her fifties, she stood in that grocery aisle watching her former teacher, and a quiet thought rose.

I think I finally understand what she meant.

She had not clapped in years, but the pressure to stay in rhythm never left. Life just swapped playgrounds for deadlines. Instead of rhythm drills, it was school pickups, doctor’s appointments, late-night emails, and holidays to plan. Ann kept the pace. She showed up, but underneath it all, she felt like she was always a little behind—missing something she could not name.

Maybe that something had been rest.

Not a nap. Not a vacation. But the kind of stillness that leaves space for breathing, listening, and being.

Lately, she had begun making time for it—ten quiet minutes in the morning, a walk without her phone, a chair by the window in the late afternoon sun. At first, it felt useless, but over time, those moments became something sacred. She felt a different kind of peace began to rise, not from finishing the to-do list, but from laying it down.

And now she could hear it clearly: the rhythm that had always been missing. The rests were not interruptions. They were the invitation.

Ann glanced at Mrs. Martin once more and smiled. Some lessons just take longer to land.

So, friend, if your heart feels out of rhythm, just know that you were you were not created to run without stopping. You were made for a rhythm that includes real rest, and that is not selfish. It is where your soul remembers who God is.

What if you made space for it today? Not someday. Not after everything is done. Just one breath. One quiet prayer and moment of stillness. You might be surprised at the peace you finally feel.

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Guided by God’s Word

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2 Corinthians 12:8-9 — “Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

I had already made the list in my head: I was not smart enough, not qualified enough, not the kind of person who should even consider Bible school.

Study music ministry? I could not read sheet music, much less memorize long passages or pass a theology class. Still, the thought would not leave me alone. Every time I prayed, I felt that tug—a strong, steady pull I could not ignore.

So, I started asking around. That was a mistake. Everyone I talked to told me no in one way or another. And I get it. They knew my story. I had spent most of my school years just trying to hide a learning disability, praying no one would call on me to read aloud.

Eventually, I made a deal with God.

“If You take away my learning disability,” I told Him, “I will go.”

I had been reading that part in the Bible where Paul begs God to take something painful away, and I thought, “That’s it. That’s how I will know. If God fixes me—that will be my answer.”

But He did not fix it.

What He did instead was slower, harder—and far more beautiful. He kept leading me back to that same passage, and each time I read it, I started seeing it differently.

God was not waiting to heal me so I could go. He was waiting for me to trust Him enough to go anyway.

So, I went.

The struggle did not disappear. Learning remained slow. Some days, reading Scripture felt like running uphill in the dark, but I kept showing up.

Now, years later, I can say with full confidence: His Word is my compass. It is what I use to make decisions when I am scared or uncertain or hurting. It corrects my thoughts when my feelings run wild. It reminds me that I am not the one holding everything together. He is.

These days, people carry a lot of convictions. We talk with passion. We post with intensity. But unless our convictions come from Scripture, they will not hold. They will only confuse us more.

Truth lives in the Word. And through it, God will do things you cannot explain—not always by removing your weakness, but by walking with you through it.

So, just know this: you do not need to be the best or the brightest to follow where God leads. You just need to know where to look for direction.

And His Word will never lead you off course.

— Mark Hall

Lyrics

Oh what I would do to have
The kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I’m in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown where Jesus is
And He’s holding out His hand
But the waves are calling out my name
And they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I’ve tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
Time and time again, “Boy, you’ll never win!”
(Never win)
“You’ll never win!”
(Never win)

But the Voice of Truth tells me a different story
The Voice of Truth says, “Do not be afraid!”
And the Voice of Truth says, “This is for My glory”
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of Truth

The stone was just the right size
To put the giant on the ground
And the waves they don’t seem so high
On top of them lookin’ down
And I soar with the wings of eagles
If I’d stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
Singing over me

And the Voice of Truth tells me a different story
The Voice of Truth says, “Do not be afraid!”
And the Voice of Truth says, “This is for My glory”
Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)
I will choose to listen and believe (I will stand and believe)
I will choose to listen and believe
The Voice of Truth

Writers: Mark Hall and Steven Curtis Chapman

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Take Back Your Thoughts

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Philippians 4:8 — “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

Everyone said the newborn stage was hard—but this was something else. Clara felt distant from everything, even herself. When her daughter cried, she just felt numb and frustrated.

She hated admitting that, even to herself.

She feared that if she spoke the truth—how lost and detached she felt—someone might think she was unfit to be a mother. So she said what people wanted to hear. “We’re adjusting.” “Just tired.” “Everything’s fine.”

But nothing felt fine.

The fog made every day feel slow and heavy. Her body ached from doing the simplest things. Medication helped her function, but it did not bring her back to life. She missed joy. She missed herself. Mostly, she missed peace.

Then she found the right therapist. It was an answered prayer in disguise.

Clara showed up scared and ashamed, convinced she was failing, but the woman across from her never flinched. She just listened. No judgment. No pity.

One day, Clara said, “I cannot stop thinking these awful things.”

Her therapist replied, “What if your thoughts are not telling you the truth?”

Clara had never considered that. The woman continued, “Your feelings are real, but they are not in charge here. You are not stuck. You can choose where your thoughts land.”

It sounded impossible. But Clara gave it a try.

At first, it felt awkward. But little by little, she noticed the patterns—the quiet lies pulling her under. She began replacing them with something better. Sometimes it was her daughter’s breath against her chest. Other times it was the smell of breakfast or a sunbeam piercing through the curtains. Small things. But they were enough to turn her thoughts toward something better.

Since then, she has found hope, steadiness, and joy in this postpartum. It is all thanks to her new thoughts.

Clara still has hard days. But now she knows where to take her thoughts. She says “I can choose what I focus on. I am not my depression. I can find light, even here.”

And that has made all the difference.

So, friend, if your mind has been loud lately, maybe this is your moment too. You do not have to believe every thought that crosses your mind. Choose what is true, what is kind, and what is lovely.

Because the voice of God speaks louder than shame, and His truth gets the final word.

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The Rust Bucket Good News

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Romans 8:16 – “The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”

The cars were not pretty. Most looked like someone had bolted them together in their driveway with leftover parts and a lot of hope.

But I was eight years old, and it might as well have been Daytona.

Dad and I sat in the metal bleachers with concession stand hotdogs and sticky Coca-Colas. The sun dipped low over the track, and the first cars roared to life. He grinned, handed me my drink, and nudged me to pick my favorite. I chose the clunkiest one out there, paint chipped, muffler barely holding on. It had heart.

Then came the trash talk.

“My rust bucket’s gonna beat your rust bucket!”

I chanted, over and over, louder every time. The crowd was big, the engines louder, but I made sure my voice was the loudest. Even when the race paused and silence settled in, I kept going.

“My rust bucket’s gonna beat your rust bucket!”

People started to stare. Dad glanced around, and I thought for a second he might tell me to hush. Instead, he smiled. Then he leaned over and shouted it too—just as loud as me. We kept going until the cars fired back up and drowned us out again.

I think about that night more than you would expect. Because when I close my eyes, I can still feel what it gave me. It was this deep sense of being chosen, delighted in, completely at ease.

And if I am honest, that is what my adult heart still needs.

Somewhere along the way, most of us trade childlike joy for striving. We start to believe that we have to earn our place. That God’s love is measured by how well we hold it together, but it never was.

The heart of faith is not found in performance. It is found in trust. It is knowing that even if all you have is a busted-up rust bucket and an off-key chant, your Father still draws near. He sees you. He loves you.

You do not have to be impressive today. Just be His.

Come back to the bleachers, and let Him love you loud.

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