Catching Butterflies at the Grocery Store

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1 Thessalonians 3:12-13 — And may the Lord make your love for one another and for all people grow and overflow, just as our love for you overflows. May he, as a result, make your hearts strong, blameless, and holy as you stand before God our Father when our Lord Jesus comes again with all his holy people. Amen.

I’m standing in the grocery store at 6:42 p.m., staring at a row of rotisserie chickens slowly turning under heat lamps.

My phone buzzes. It’s my husband, Chris.

“Will you grab one on your way home?”

I laugh at how much we think alike.

We’ve been together fourteen years. Back then, we stayed up until two or three in the morning talking on the phone. We whispered so no one else in the house would wake. We talked about everything. And nothing. And everything again. There were butterflies. So many butterflies.

Now, sometimes the only thing we text each other is, “Good morning,” and, “Did you remember the chicken?”

And that may not sound romantic—but it’s something better.

Because somewhere between those late-night conversations and this grocery store aisle, our love grew up. Life filled in with jobs, kids’ schedules, responsibilities. And yet, the slow burn of love proved stronger than the sparks we once chased.

We learned to pivot. To communicate differently. To love in ways that weren’t flashy—but were faithful.

It’s tempting, when relationships shift, to assume something’s wrong. But sometimes change doesn’t mean love is fading. Sometimes it means love is maturing.

Scripture actually prays for this kind of growth:

May the Lord make your love for one another and for all people grow and overflow… May He make your hearts strong.

Did you catch that? Love isn’t meant to stay small. It’s meant to increase. To overflow. To strengthen hearts over time.

Some days you won’t have the energy for fireworks or grand gestures. Love isn’t always butterflies. Sometimes it’s steady. Durable. Quietly committed. Sometimes it looks like grabbing a rotisserie chicken on the way home.

And this isn’t just about marriage. It never was.

This kind of growing love spills into friendships that don’t talk every day but still show up when it matters. It spills into faith that doesn’t always feel electric but stays rooted. It spills into families learning to forgive again and again.

In whatever relationships God has placed in your life, there’s an invitation today: keep loving right where you are. Trust that God is growing something faithful, durable, and good in you.

Because when He grows the love, it doesn’t just survive—it overflows.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have you seen love mature in your relationships over time?
  • Are you mistaking steadiness for stagnation in any area of your life?
  • How might God be growing your heart stronger through everyday faithfulness?
  • What is one small way you can let love “overflow” to someone this week?
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The TJ Maxx Testimony

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Psalm 10:17 — Lord, You know the hopes of the helpless. Surely You will hear their cries and comfort them.

The stroller wheels squeak just a little as I push them across TJ Maxx.

I’m not here looking for anything in particular—I just wanted to get out of the house. My son Lennox is content. He’s smiling at strangers, mean-mugging a few, and doing all the normal baby things.

But my mind is somewhere else.

As I wander the aisles, I think about all the years I waited and prayed to be a mom. My friend Felicia and I used to dream out loud about days like this, back when we worked at the daycare. We bounced babies on our hips, half-joking about how good we were at it, imagining marriage, children, and a future that felt far away.

Now, I’m living that life.

For a long time, I struggled to believe it would ever happen—a husband, a baby, answered prayers. God responded so completely that sometimes I forget this wasn’t always my normal.

I keep pushing my cart. Then I look up and see Felicia.

She’s here too.

We hug, amazed at how fast the last ten years have flown. Her husband stands beside her—it’s their anniversary. And she has kids too. Her stroller parked next to mine feels like a quiet reminder that God never forgets what He promises, even when we do.

He didn’t just answer my prayers. He remembered the people who prayed and believed alongside me.

Scripture tells us, “Lord, You know the hopes of the helpless. Surely You will hear their cries and comfort them.” — Psalm 10:17

God heard our heart’s cries all those years ago, back in that daycare infant room. And He hasn’t stopped listening.

Seeing my old friend reminded me just how faithful God is. Sometimes all it takes is a familiar face—or a simple moment—to remember that God cares deeply about what we care about.

So today, pause and think about the ways God has shown up in your story. Remember what once felt impossible? God was listening then, and He’s listening now. No prayer is wasted when God is at work.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What prayer or hope in your life once felt impossible but now reflects God’s faithfulness?
  • Are there desires you’ve stopped praying for because they’ve taken longer than expected?
  • How does Psalm 10:17 encourage you to trust God with quiet or unseen prayers?
  • Who has walked with you in prayer—and how might you thank God for them today?
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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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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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The Rescue That Took Its Time

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Psalm 9:10 – Those who know your name trust in you, for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you.

I didn’t know Lori. I still don’t, really, but for months, I watched her from my car as I drove through downtown Monroe.

She was always in the same spot, under the same shade tree near Warehouse No. 1. Beside her lay the same black dog, curled low to the ground, like the world had already taught her too much.

Later, I learned what had happened to that dog—and why Lori loved her the way she did. She’d been dumped by her owners. Left behind. And she ran after them. That detail stays with you.

The heartbreak lingered. The dog would approach people just long enough to sniff, then bolt the second a hand reached out. Too many broken promises. Too much fear. People tried to catch her. No one could.

Then there was Lori.

Day after day, she showed up under that tree. She brought water. Food. Blankets. Whatever might help the dog feel safe. At first, she sat far away. Over time, as trust grew, she moved closer. Eventually, she could touch her.

Every single day. For months.

I imagine that dog was learning how to love again.

One day, she finally climbed into Lori’s car. Off to the vet they went. Needs were met. Supporters stepped in. And the dog once known as “the black warehouse dog” was given a new name—Queenie.

She sleeps in a warm bed now. Surrounded by people who adore her. She will never again wonder if she’s good enough. The ones who left her behind have no idea what a treasure they abandoned.

And I can’t watch Queenie’s story without seeing my own.

I know what it’s like to keep God at arm’s length. Close enough to test Him. Not close enough to trust Him. I know what it’s like to hesitate, to pull back, to need time, and I know how patient my Heavenly Father has been. He stays near, unoffended by my fear, unwilling to walk away.

What stuck with me wasn’t the rescue. It was the waiting.

Lori never chased the dog. Never cornered her. Never demanded trust she wasn’t ready to give. She stayed close enough to be present, far enough to be safe. Love didn’t raise its voice. It proved itself by returning.

That kind of love changes things. Slowly. Steadily. Until fear loosens its grip and trust finds room to breathe.

I’ve seen that same patience in my own life—not in dramatic moments, but in ordinary ones. In the seasons I hesitated. In the days I didn’t have much faith to offer. And still, God stayed near. Not hurried. Not offended. Not gone.

Scripture names that kind of faithfulness plainly: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You” (Psalm 9:10).

That verse isn’t a challenge. It’s a reassurance. A reminder that God doesn’t confuse slowness with rejection. He doesn’t abandon the cautious or the wounded. He remains present long before trust ever feels easy.

And maybe that’s where this story is supposed to end—not with a command, but with permission. Permission to believe that God’s nearness isn’t fragile. That His love doesn’t depend on how quickly we respond. That even now, He is still right where He’s always been—close, steady, and willing to wait.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Are there places in your life where you’ve been keeping God at a safe distance rather than fully trusting Him?
  • What past experiences might be influencing how easily—or cautiously—you trust God now?
  • How have you seen God remain present and patient with you, even in seasons when your faith felt small or hesitant?
  • What does it mean to you that God does not confuse slowness with rejection or fear with disobedience?
  • How does knowing that God is willing to wait for your trust change the way you approach Him today?
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Detours, Delays, and a Faithful God

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Philippians 1:6 — And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. 

He hasn’t failed me yet, and He’s not about to start on a random Tuesday in Monroe.

I’m driving downtown on the way to work, just me and the steady hum of my tires, when I realize something feels different. I’m not slowing down for cones. I’m also not squinting at orange signs trying to figure out which surprise detour I’ve been assigned today.

I’m just… driving. Straight through downtown. No construction. No rerouting. No frustration rising in my chest. If you’ve lived here the last few years, you know that’s kind of a miracle.

For the longest time, downtown felt like a maze. Constant construction. Constant “nope, not this way.” Shortcut here. Detour there. Reroute, reroute, reroute. It got so familiar that it felt permanent. This was just how things were now.

I even remember, a little over a year ago, getting out of the car to move and replace cones just so I could get to work. And I was pregnant! But that’s how badly I wanted and needed this construction to move forward.

But today as I drove through the beautiful, finished streets, gratitude washed over me. No, not because the wait was easy, but because it finally made sense. The construction wasn’t punishment. It wasn’t neglect. It was preparation. It was necessary work beneath the surface so the road could actually be ready for what was coming next.

Haven’t we all had seasons like that? Where life feels permanently under construction. Where you’re asking God, “Am I ever going to get to use what You’ve put in me? Or am I just always going to be a work in progress?” Where it feels like everyone else is cruising and you’re still dodging caution cones.

Philippians 1:6 says it plainly: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” He will not abandon it. Not rush it. Complete it.

That verse isn’t just comforting—it’s a firm foundation. It means God doesn’t leave projects half-finished, and it means the season you’re in right now is not wasted, even if it’s inconvenient and slow.

So, here’s the invitation. I’m taking it, and I hope you will too. Let God do His work in you. Don’t rush the cones out of the way. Don’t despise the detours. Trust that the road will open when it’s ready—and when it does, it will be strong enough to carry everything God’s prepared for you.

The wait is part of the goodness. And the finished work will be worth it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life does it feel like you’re stuck in a season of “constant construction” right now?
  • How have you been tempted to rush God’s process or compare your progress to others’?
  • What would it look like to trust that the delays and detours are part of God’s preparation, not His absence?
  • How does believing that God always finishes what He starts change the way you view your current season?
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Prayers That Build a Legacy

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Psalm 69:16 — Answer my prayers, O Lord, for your unfailing love is wonderful. Take care of me, for your mercy is so plentiful.

I was thinking about my dad the other night, just sitting with my thoughts, and it hit me how different his life turned out from the rest of his family.

Most of them, well… they made choices that led to messy, hard roads. But my dad? Somehow, he just became this steady Godly person. If you’ve ever met him you know he’s just so good and kind. And I know where it started—his grandmother.

She prayed over him from the moment he was born. Not casual prayers, either. She would take him in her arms and declare things over his life like, “You’re not going to be like the rest of your family. You are going to be a great man. You are going to do what God’s called you to do.”

Can you imagine believing that kind of thing over someone you love? She did. And she prayed and believed with her whole heart. Now, she didn’t live to see him grow into that person unfortunately, but her prayers changed everything. Every time I look at my dad, I see her prayers answered.

I mean…wow! God is so good. I think about my own prayers sometimes about the people whose lives I am asking God to move in. They feel so far away from Him, and there are days where I’m praying and it feels like my words are just hitting the ceiling. Like nothing is changing and nothing is happening.

Then doubt sneaks in and whispers, “Does it even matter if I pray?”

And then I look at my dad. I see the life he’s built. The way he loves people, the way he carries himself with integrity, and the way faith just seems to flow through him. Its such an answered prayer.

There is this prayer in the Psalms that reminds me so much of my grandma praying for her son. It says, “Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your abundant mercy, turn to me” (Psalm 69:16).

It reminds me that God’s movement isn’t measured by what I see. But He is mighty and merciful and patient. He is breaking through like only He can. It’s hard to wrap my mind around it.

But prayer is generational. It travels. I may never see it in my lifetime, but that is okay. Maybe I’ll never even see the result, but they are just like those slow, invisible, chain breaking prayers that shaped my dad. They’re part of a legacy.

So, I am going to keep on praying. And I want you to keep praying too. Even when it feels difficult. Even when it feels like it doesn’t matter because every word carries weight. Every time we cry out to God it matters. God is moving, and your prayers are shaping a future far beyond what you can imagine.

He will answer you because God is good and His abundant mercy never fails.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Who has prayed over your life in ways you may not have fully recognized yet?
  • Is there someone you’ve been praying for where it feels like nothing is changing right now? How does this story encourage you to keep going?
  • What doubts creep in when prayers seem unanswered—and how can God’s unfailing love reshape those doubts?
  • What legacy of prayer are you currently building, even if you may never see the full outcome?
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Better Together Always

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Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 — Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.

It has just been hard.

Hard to feel confident. Hard to make good, healthy choices. That’s where I’ve been lately. Have you ever been in that place? Where in one season it felt easy—like, give me all the kale salads, I’ve got this—and in the next you’re standing there thinking, “Can I please just have some buffalo wings and Chick-fil-A and pasta?”

I’m just being honest.

What’s made it worse is everything that comes with it. The way I see myself. The frustration. The questions I think but don’t always say out loud. I keep asking, God, why is it so hard now when it used to be so easy? And I know the answer, even if I don’t love it.

This time, it’s going to take work. It’s going to take discipline.

And when you’ve done something for so long and then you stop, starting again feels like torture. Discipline feels evil. It does. But I’m so determined to get back to a healthier place.

Along the way I have realized I can’t do it alone. I need help. That part took me longer to admit than it should have.

I’ve been trying to do this by myself. I haven’t even really asked my husband to support me. He’s tried, but I never actually said, “I need you to walk with me in this.” I haven’t reached out to friends who would gladly hold me accountable. I just kept carrying it and hoping simple will-power would be enough.

It wasn’t.

And that’s when something simple but true settled in my mind. Discipline is good. It’s not the enemy. Isolation is. We were never meant to carry hard things alone. Scripture says it plainly: “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).

That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

So now I’m asking. I’m letting people in. I’m choosing accountability—not just with food or habits, but with every part my life. Because I don’t want to stay stuck where I am, and I don’t want to pretend I was ever meant to do this on my own.

I wonder if you have been trying to handle something alone, too. What might change if you let someone walk beside you?

Support is part of how we grow. Accountability is part of how we heal. And walking together is how we move forward.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What is something in your life right now that feels harder than it used to?
  • Where have you been relying on willpower alone instead of inviting others to walk with you?
  • Who is someone you trust that you could ask for support or accountability this week?
  • How does knowing that God designed us for community change the way you view asking for help?
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The Wisdom Behind Preparation

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Romans 15:5-7 — May God, who gives this patience and encouragement, help you live in complete harmony with each other, as is fitting for followers of Christ Jesus. Then all of you can join together with one voice, giving praise and glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, accept each other just as Christ has accepted you so that God will be given glory.

I am once again sprinting through my morning.

My keys are missing. The coffee is too hot. My shoes are nowhere to be found. I’m moving so fast, talking faster, and stressed about everything. I need help! And there he is—Chris, my husband—calmly tying his shoes like the world is not on fire.

He’s ready.

Of course he is.

His coffee is brewed. His lunch is packed. He has his Bible open. Calm. Unbothered.

I give a sideways glance at him while I’m rushing past. I tease him, of course, for moving at a snail’s pace and joke that he’s acting like he’s on vacation while I’m breaking a sweat.

But then I stop myself. Because the truth is, I’m really inspired by his mornings. I don’t think I have ever seen this man live with a drop of anxiety at all. And do you know why? I think that’s on purpose.

Day after day, he’s prepared.

His peace is practiced. It’s not accidental. Chris thought ahead and took care of some things the night before. He gave his future self a gift. And now he’s living in the peace that preparation creates.

Watching him, my mind drifts to something Jesus once taught about wisdom. He talked about two people building two houses. Same weather. Same storm. One stands. One falls. The difference wasn’t the storm. It was the foundation.

Jesus wasn’t giving a lesson on productivity or morning routines. He was talking about lives built on obedience to Him—lives anchored in truth rather than impulse. Still, standing there with my shoes in the wrong place and my heart in a hurry, I can’t help but notice how wisdom often shows up long before the wind starts howling.

Preparation doesn’t save us. Jesus does. But wisdom has a way of shaping how we walk through the day He gives us.

That realization changes everything.

So, I start small. Imperfectly. I lay out my clothes the night before. I do a little meal prep. I set my alarm a few minutes earlier. Not to earn peace, but to make space for it.

And something shifts.

I’m not magically calm. The mornings aren’t flawless. But I’m less reactive. I have time to open my Bible. I have time to sit on the floor and play with my toddler. I have time to breathe before the day starts asking things of me.

So maybe this is the simple invitation found in moments like these. When you notice someone living with steadiness, maybe it’s not meant to make you feel like a failure. Maybe it’s meant to remind you that wisdom is available.

Instead of just learning to prepare like Chris, you’re learning to accept differences with grace, not irritation.

Peace isn’t something you chase. It’s something you build your life around, one intentional choice at a time, on a foundation that actually holds when the storm comes.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How do you typically respond when someone’s pace or rhythm is different from yours?
  • Is there someone in your life whose calm or steadiness frustrates you more than it encourages you?
  • What would it look like to accept others as Christ has accepted you—without comparison or irritation?
  • Are there small, intentional choices you could make to create more peace in your daily rhythms?
  • How might patience and encouragement change the atmosphere of your home or relationships today?
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Safety in the Rock

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Psalm 61:2 — From the ends of the earth, I cry to you for help when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the towering rock of safety.

I remember sitting in the back seat as a little girl, the hum of the car engine filling the quiet between songs. My mom’s voice floated from the front, singing words I didn’t yet understand: “When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.”

Back then, I shrugged. What did that even mean? A rock higher than I? It sounded safe, sure, but abstract. I could sense that it was something good, but it just didn’t make sense yet. I just smiled and let the melody wash over me, not realizing how much it was being tucked into my heart.

Years later, I now find myself reaching for and singing those words myself. Life can be challenging and full of worries and responsibilities. My chest tightens from stress, but then I sing out that melody I learned from my mom.

“When my heart is overwhelmed…”

Psalm 61:2 comes to mind every time I sing that hymn. It says, “From the ends of the earth, I cry to you for help when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the towering rock of safety.”

And just like that, the overwhelm shifts. It’s a habit etched deep in my heart, and I’m so thankful for my mom’s example because it modeled how I could turn to God even in the stress and put my trust in Him.

When I do, “the Rock that is higher than I” isn’t abstract anymore. He’s tangible. He’s powerful, and He’s the safest place I can run to when I’m overwhelmed.

Now I am the one in the front seat setting the example for others. When they see my life, I hope they can learn that there is someone we can all turn to when we feel crushed or overwhelmed.

Faith is often passed down in small ways like that. Not sermons. Not perfect words. Just habits, patterns, and examples repeated until they become part of who we are.

That’s what makes me stop and think. Who first showed you where to run when life felt heavy? And who is watching how you respond now? Foundations matter. Not because life spares us from difficulty, but because when it comes, we already know where to go.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When you feel overwhelmed, where is your instinct to run first?
  • Is there a song, verse, or prayer from your past that God brings back to you in stressful moments?
  • Who modeled faith for you in small, everyday ways—and how did that shape you?
  • What habits are you forming now that others might one day lean on?
  • What would it look like today to intentionally run to God as your place of safety instead of trying to carry everything alone?

Lyrics:

When my heart is overwhelmed
When I barely trust myself
Lead me to the Rock
Higher than I

When the night is closing in
To remind me of my sin
Lead me to the Rock
Higher than I

Lead me to the Rock
Higher than I

Higher than I
Higher than I
Higher than I
Higher than I

So much stronger
So much greater
So much wiser
So much higher

Higher than I
Higher than I

When the doubt is rising up
When it comes in like a flood
Lead me to the Rock
Higher than I
Yeah lead me to the Rock
Higher than I

Where else would I go
Who else would I run to
Where else would I go
Who else would I run to

Written by Steven Furtick, Chris Brown, Brandon Lake, Mitch Wong
©2025 Music by Elevation Worship Publishing / Brandon Lake Music / Original Wong Publishing / Bell Music Publishing

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