Living for an Audience of One

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Proverbs 29:25 — Fearing people is a dangerous trap, but trusting the Lord means safety.

Terrian Woods stands on the stage at her church. Her legs are shaking and her throat is dry before she ever sings a note.

The room feels bigger than it should. Her heart is pounding so hard it’s distracting. All she can think is, Don’t mess this up. Everyone’s watching.

It’s ironic—she grew up in a church pew in North Memphis. Her grandfather preached. Her aunt led worship. People said she was called to sing. One guest preacher even told her her worship would be her weapon.

She believed it. Mostly.

But standing there, all of it fades beneath the weight of fear. She wants to worship Jesus, but anxiety keeps pulling her attention toward the crowd. The pressure to be seen, approved, and evaluated feels overwhelming.

That’s when something shifts.

Like a whisper cutting through the noise, she remembers the truth: worship isn’t about her performance—it’s about God’s presence. She realizes she’s been focused on many faces instead of the Audience of One.

Her legs still shake. Her heart still races. But she redirects her focus—away from the people, away from herself, and upward toward Jesus. She takes a deep breath and sings.

That moment changes her.

Years later, Terrian is leading worship on bigger platforms and writing songs like “Honestly, We Just Need Jesus.” And when she looks back, she sees a pattern: every time she trusted God more than the opinions around her, His presence met her in ways she couldn’t manufacture.

Scripture names that tension clearly:

“Fearing people is a dangerous trap, but trusting the Lord means safety.” — Proverbs 29:25

We all feel that pull. We might not be standing on a stage, but we face moments where fear of opinion, rejection, or failure tempts us to shrink back. The trap is real—but so is the safety that comes from trusting God.

When we lift our eyes from the crowd to Christ, trembling can turn into trust. Nerves can become worship. Ordinary moments can become encounters with God’s strength.

So don’t let fear hold you back—in your work, your relationships, or your faith. Even if you show up scared, God invites you to find His face in the crowd and discover a presence that comforts, steadies, and carries you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life are you most aware of the fear of others’ opinions?
  • How does Proverbs 29:25 reframe the difference between fear and trust for you personally?
  • What would it look like to shift your focus from the crowd to the “Audience of One” this week?
  • How might trusting God—rather than yourself—create space for His presence to meet you?

LYRICS:

This is the moment
Where everything turns
Didn’t think I would see it
Was hard to believe
Heaven crashes to earth
I’ve read the stories
Of all that you’ve done
Parted the sea, (and) set captives free
Never thought I’d be one

I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
I am the living proof of what the Lord has done
May call it crazy, but they can’t take away my story
Cause I am a living, breathing, walking testimony

They said I wouldn’t make it
That I should give up
But they didn’t know that
The God that I serve
Is more than enough
He can move mountains
He can make broken beautiful
I never run out of hope
When I run to the God of miracles

I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
I am the living proof of what the Lord has done
May call it crazy, but they can’t take away my story
Cause I am a living, breathing, walking testimony
Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
Oh, the enemy did what he could
But the Lord he has used it for good
Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
When the thief tried to steal and destroy
The Lord gave me an anthem of joy

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Little Letters and Lasting Love

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2 Corinthians 1:4 – He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.

It’s a normal morning at church. Kids squirm on the floor. Adults smile politely and sing as the offering bucket passes by.

Love is everywhere—sung about, projected in big letters on the screen. But most days, love still feels a little abstract. Hard to touch. You know?

In the middle of all that, someone suggests a simple idea. A few people in the church are sick, so why not ask the kids to draw pictures for them? Nothing flashy. Just construction paper, stick figures, and whatever words a child can spell.

Across town, Mr. Jacobs stares at a hospital ceiling that hasn’t changed in days. The room smells like antiseptic and plastic tubing. The clock ticks, but time feels stuck. Chemo drips slowly, and his body is exhausted.

Later, his nurse tapes something above his bed.

It’s small. A child’s drawing. Crooked hearts in bright colors that don’t stay inside the lines. But the words are clear:

“Don’t give up. Jesus loves you.”

Mr. Jacobs keeps it there. When the pain spikes. When the room feels lonely. He looks at it and remembers he is not forgotten. Love found him—scribbled in crayon by kids who cared.

At church later, a video shows him in his hospital bed, that picture still taped above him. He tells how it arrived on his hardest day, and how those simple words gave him strength.

The room goes still.

The kids sit up straighter. There isn’t a dry eye in the building. God’s comfort had traveled on paper, from one heart to another.

That’s exactly what Scripture describes:

“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.” (2 Corinthians 1:4)

Comfort was never meant to be stored up. It’s meant to move—to circulate from God, through us, to someone else. Sometimes it comes through deep conversations. Other times, through shaky handwriting and paper hearts.

Love doesn’t need to be complicated, expensive, or impressive. It simply asks us to notice who’s hurting and dare to show up. A note. A drawing. A text.

That kind of love still travels. And when it does, God’s comfort goes farther than we ever imagined.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has God comforted you during a difficult season?
  • Who in your life might need that same comfort right now?
  • What simple, practical step could you take this week to show care to someone who’s hurting?
  • How does knowing God’s comfort is meant to be shared change the way you see your own struggles?
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Love Looks Like a Cookie

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Proverbs 3:3 — Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.

Eight minutes down the road is when the panic hits.

Kathy had done all the usual prep: shoes on, snacks packed, car loaded. And please—did everyone go to the bathroom? Her daughter Ava nodded. They were ready for their weekend adventure.

Except… guess what?

Unmistakable and urgent, Ava’s voice calls from the back seat. She can’t wait. She can’t hold it.

Parents—if you know, you know.

They pull off at the next exit, and the closest option is a Subway. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. Kathy hustles Ava inside, heart racing as they rush through the door.

Then the clerk looks up.

“The bathroom’s for paying customers only.”

Kathy’s stomach drops. Her wallet is still in the car. There isn’t time to explain or apologize. Panic presses in—and then, before she can scramble or fall apart, kindness interrupts.

Two young men standing nearby step forward without hesitation. Their voices are calm and certain. They say they’ll take care of it. They buy Ava a cookie, and just like that, she’s a paying customer.

Ava rushes to the bathroom, and suddenly everything is right in the world again.

While they wait, Kathy learns the young men’s names—Latavious and Jalen. She learns they’re football players from the University of Georgia.

To them, it was probably nothing. A few dollars. A cookie. But to her, it was everything. It was being seen in a moment of stress. It was someone stepping in when she couldn’t fix it fast enough.

Scripture gives language to moments like this:

“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.”

That’s what real love looks like when it’s written deep in someone’s heart. It shows up instinctively. Practically. Without needing applause.

Sometimes love doesn’t look like roses or grand gestures. Sometimes it looks like a cookie in a Subway—offered at exactly the right moment.

As this season fills with Valentine’s cards and big displays, this story reminds us that real love is still alive and well. God’s love is often revealed through ordinary people who choose to notice and act.

So carry kindness close. Keep it ready. Spend it freely.

You never know how much a simple gesture might change everything.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has a small act of kindness made a big difference in your life?
  • What does it look like for you to “tie” loyalty and kindness into your everyday routine?
  • Who around you might need a simple reminder that they are seen and loved?
  • How can you practice a visible, tangible kind of love this week?
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From Bully to Brave

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Nehemiah 9:17 — You are a God of forgiveness, gracious and merciful, slow to become angry, and rich in unfailing love. You did not abandon them.

I’ve never been to a high school reunion. Not once. Not even close.

My high school is in Washington State, outside Seattle, but I moved away after college. Every reunion somehow landed just out of reach. I’d be home visiting my parents weeks before or after—but never on time.

So I don’t have reunion stories of my own. But I’ve always liked the idea of revisiting where we’ve come from.

I came across a story online from a man who did attend his twentieth reunion. He didn’t romanticize it.

“In high school, I was a bully,” he admitted. “I was cruel. Mean. Hard to like.” Then he added the hardest truth—he didn’t like himself either. His home life was painful, so he hurt others so he wouldn’t feel hurt alone.

When the invitation came, he was nervous. He decided to go with one purpose: to apologize. “You’ll never address what you don’t confess,” he told himself. He knew forgiveness wasn’t guaranteed. Some people might not want to see him, and some wounds couldn’t be undone. He barely slept the night before he went.

When he arrived at the school auditorium, he sought out the people he knew he had unfinished business with. One by one, he owned what he had done—no excuses, no explanations. Just apologies.

To his surprise, most of them forgave him. Some barely remembered the details. Others remembered clearly—and still chose grace.

They told him how much his apology meant. How glad they were that he came. By the end of the night, the regret and shame that had followed him for years began to lift—not because the past had changed, but because mercy met him there.

That story reminded me of how God deals with us.

In Nehemiah, the prophet looks back over Israel’s long history of rebellion and failure and declares this truth about God:

“You are a God of forgiveness, gracious and merciful, slow to become angry, and rich in unfailing love. You did not abandon them.” (Nehemiah 9:17)

A forgiving God. Patient. Compassionate. Overflowing with love. A God who does not walk away—even when we give Him every reason to.

What those classmates offered in a crowded auditorium—God has offered us all along. Not denial. Grace. Not pretending the damage never happened, but forgiveness that restores. Mercy doesn’t erase the past, but it does free the one who receives it.

We carry our mistakes and regrets quietly, assuming it’s too late or that we’re stuck. But God doesn’t wait decades to respond. He meets honesty and repentance with mercy—every time.

So maybe today isn’t about revisiting the past. Maybe it’s about releasing it. Letting grace meet the parts of your story you’ve been running from. Freedom begins there, shaping how you live, how you love, and how you extend that same mercy to others.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Is there a part of your past you’ve been carrying with shame instead of surrendering to God’s mercy?
  • What does Nehemiah 9:17 reveal about God’s posture toward you when you fall short?
  • Is there an apology God may be inviting you to offer—or a forgiveness He’s inviting you to receive?
  • How might releasing the past change the way you live and love today?
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Holy Ground in Unexpected Places

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Luke 15:7 — In the same way, there is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who are righteous and haven’t strayed away.

The bass is thumping down the Nashville sidewalk, laughter spilling into the street, and a line of people wraps around the corner.

I know this scene. We all do. Late night. Music. A club promising escape but usually delivering regret. I almost brace myself for what I expect to find.

But step inside, and something feels… different.

It looks like a nightclub. The lights. The movement. The joy. But the air doesn’t feel heavy. No one’s performing. No one’s trying to outrun their pain or drown out their thoughts.

People are dancing because they want to. Laughing because it’s real. There’s no pressure to impress. Folks look comfortable in their own skin—and for a moment, my brain doesn’t know what to do with that.

Now stay with me. This isn’t a typical nightclub. It’s faith-based. And standing here, I realize how easily I’ve absorbed the idea that following Jesus means trading joy for discipline. That holiness and happiness can’t coexist. That somehow delight got left out of the deal.

But that idea didn’t come from Jesus.

Across the room, I hear someone praying. Hands lift—not for attention, but in worship. And suddenly it clicks why this place feels so alive.

This isn’t just a nightclub. It’s called The Cove. It was started by seven young men from Tennessee who believed joy doesn’t compete with God—it comes from Him. They believed celebration doesn’t belong to the world alone, and that a space centered on Christ could still be full of movement, laughter, and life. A place where people leave lighter than they arrived. Where fun doesn’t cost you your peace.

It reminds me of something Jesus once said—that heaven erupts with joy when one lost person turns back to God.

“There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God…” (Luke 15:7)

Not quiet approval. Not polite applause. Joy. Celebration. Rejoicing.

You can almost picture it—heaven isn’t stiff or silent. It’s alive every time grace wins. Every time someone chooses restoration over running. That’s what I see here.

When people leave this Nashville space, they don’t stagger out hollow or ashamed. They walk out hopeful. Because when Christ is present, even dance floors can become holy ground.

And maybe that’s the reminder for this week. The world told you one thing, but love—real love—doesn’t leave you empty. There is a better joy. One that restores instead of depletes. One that lifts instead of weighs you down.

So wherever you find yourself—a coffee shop, a sidewalk, or even a dance floor—know this: when grace takes center stage, heaven still rejoices… and earth starts to look a little more like heaven too.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have you unconsciously believed that following Jesus means giving up joy?
  • What does Luke 15:7 reveal about how God responds when people turn toward Him?
  • Are there places or people you’ve written off as “unlikely” spaces for God to work?
  • How might your life look different if you believed joy and holiness were meant to walk together?
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The Tension and The Choice

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1 Corinthians 13:4-5 — Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.

The Valentine’s aisle is a terrible place to reread a text that hurt your feelings.

I’m standing there with my cart half full, surrounded by pink balloons and candy hearts, staring at my phone. My husband David’s message wasn’t mean. It was just… short. Short enough to feel dismissive. And suddenly, in the middle of glittery cards, a knot tightens in my chest.

We love each other deeply. That’s not in question. But love doesn’t cancel friction. And in this moment, I feel like protecting myself, going quiet, and holding onto the irritation. Holding onto it feels justified, like self defense. Forgiving feels premature, like handing out a free pass before it’s earned.

As I walk past the displays, the cards start preaching at me.

  • “Love is patient.”
  • “Love is kind.”
  • “Love keeps no record of wrongs.”

I know those words, and I believe them. They’re straight out of 1 Corinthians. But instead of comforting me, the words irritate me. Because choosing love doesn’t feel poetic right now. It feels inconvenient. Letting this go feels like losing ground.

But I know, deep down, that love doesn’t collapse in one dramatic moment; it erodes in the simple ones we refuse to forgive. Forgiveness isn’t about being right—it’s about keeping the heart open, clearing the air, trusting God with justice, and choosing one another.

So, right there, between stuffed bears and heart-shaped boxes, I forgive him. Before apology, before explanation, before the weight can settle in. I hand the moment to God.

And the release is immediate.

The knot loosens. I let out a breath, and peace comes back faster than I expect. Later, when David does apologize—because he does—the conversation is lighter. Easier. The moment passes without leaving a scar. Love feels protected, not by my defenses, but by choosing to give grace.

That’s when it clicks for me. Forgiveness is not forgetting or pretending things don’t hurt. It’s not blindly walking back into old patterns, and sometimes it doesn’t even mean reconnection.

Forgiveness is laying down bitterness, releasing judgment, and trusting God with what we cannot control.

This Valentine’s week, love may not look poetic or like it does in your favorite Rom-com. It may look more like practicing 1 Corinthians 13 in real time: patience, kindness, and releasing small offenses before they grow. God notices every hurt, even the small ones, and He invites us to let Him carry them so love can breathe.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What small hurt or irritation are you holding onto right now that God may be inviting you to release?
  • Which phrase from 1 Corinthians 13:4–5 feels hardest to live out in your current relationships—and why?
  • How might choosing forgiveness before an apology change the atmosphere of your heart or your home?
  • What would it look like to trust God with justice instead of keeping a mental record of wrongs?
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Fearfully, Wonderfully, Personally

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Psalm 139:14 — I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.

I did not want to look in the mirror.

It’s youth group, folding chairs scraping the floor. There’s that low buzz of teenage awkwardness humming in the room. Someone smells like body spray. Someone else is laughing too loud.

We’re all sitting there when my youth pastor starts talking about a verse I already know by heart.

Psalm 139:14. “I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

I learned it years earlier—junior high or high school. It’s a good verse. A comforting one. It always shows up when the topic is on confidence or self worth. It was usually shared in “girl talks” when people struggled with how they looked and needed a confidence boost.

So, I assumed that meant it didn’t really apply to me. Or at least, I didn’t have to wrestle with it.

Then my youth pastor rolled a full-length mirror into the middle of the room.

Not metaphorical. Not symbolic. A real mirror, leaned against a chair, catching the fluorescent lights and every face in the room. He didn’t preach a long sermon. He said something like, “If you don’t believe this verse—go look yourself in the eyes and say it out loud.”

One by one, people stood up. Everyone lined up to say that scripture to their reflection.

My discomfort grew with every person who went before me. Watching friends stare at themselves. Watching tears fall.

When it was my turn, the room went quiet. I stood in front of the mirror. Braces and all. I opened my mouth and said, “I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

My voice cracked. Not because the verse was new—but because it was finally aimed in the right direction.

And that’s when something unexpected happened in me.

The verse stopped being about how I looked.

God wasn’t correcting my body image. He was confronting my unbelief. The moment wasn’t about the mirror at all—it was about realizing that God’s voice doesn’t skip over me to care for someone else. His words were not for the room; they were for me.

The truth went deeper than I expected that night, and That moment stayed with me. Scripture crossed the distance and became true in my heart.

And do you know what? I believe God is still doing that in hearts today.

We often hear God’s words as if they’re meant for someone else—but God is speaking to you. Don’t let the truth bounce off your walls; let it land where it belongs.

That kind of believing changes how you see yourself when you stand in front of mirrors, because you truly are fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When you hear Psalm 139:14, do you tend to think of it as a verse for yourself—or for someone else who “needs it more”? Why do you think that is?
  • What emotions surface when you imagine looking yourself in the eyes and saying, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made” out loud?
  • In what ways might unbelief—rather than insecurity—be shaping how you see yourself?
  • Are there truths from Scripture that you know intellectually but struggle to let land personally? What keeps them at a distance?
  • How might your thoughts, choices, or confidence change if you truly believed that God’s words apply fully to you?
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He’s a Wonder Working God

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Jeremiah 33:3 — Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

I was driving home late one evening when a voice on the radio caught my attention. It was one of those stories where God captures your full focus—whether you planned on giving it or not.

A mother was sharing how God had met her in the middle of unimaginable news about her son. Doctors told her early on that her little boy would never hear. Years later, they added another diagnosis—eventual blindness. When she heard those words, disbelief washed over her.

The fear was real, but her confidence didn’t rest in her own strength. It rested in God.

In her desperation, she dropped to her knees and cried out, “I’m not leaving here until You heal my son.” More than anything, she wanted her child to experience God—to hear His voice. And now, that felt impossible.

Then she paused.

And in that stillness, God spoke: “Your son doesn’t need ears to hear Me. I speak to the heart.”

My jaw dropped. My heart swelled. Because that wasn’t just an answer—it was revelation. One of those “hidden things” God promises when we dare to call on Him.

The healing didn’t come the way she hoped, but peace did. The kind that quiets fear and settles the soul. God didn’t remove the diagnosis in that moment, but He removed the dread. And suddenly, that felt like a miracle too.

About a week later, I was working a local event for my boutique when I overheard someone mention a vendor around the corner who was deaf—and who also ran a Christian shop. I knew I had to meet her.

As we talked, she shared her story. Born deaf, she had never heard a voice—until the day God called her by name. Audibly. Clearly. For the first time in her life, she heard someone say her name.

Chills ran from head to toe.

I shared the radio story with her, and in that moment, I was reminded how alive and attentive God still is. Abundant joy comes from staying sensitive to His wonder. I never want to grow used to having a miracle-working God.

And just in case you’re wondering—the doctor’s prediction from that radio story never came true. That little boy has had no issues with his eyesight to this day.

What amazes me most isn’t just that God can do miracles—it’s that He invites us to speak to Him at all. He hears whispered prayers in moving cars. He listens to mothers on their knees. He responds in ways we never would have imagined.

God isn’t distant or distracted. And whether we think we’re equipped to hear Him or not, He knows exactly how to reach our hearts.

That’s the promise of Jeremiah 33:3: “Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

He doesn’t need perfect conditions to speak—He just needs open hearts willing to listen.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you truly called out to God—not with polished words, but with honesty and need?
  • Are there places in your life where you’ve assumed God won’t speak because the situation feels impossible?
  • How might God be answering you in a way you didn’t expect—but still deeply need?
  • What would it look like to listen for God’s voice with your heart, not just your circumstances?
  • Is there a story of God’s faithfulness—your own or someone else’s—that reminds you He still reveals “hidden things?”
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