The Song After the Silence

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John 16:33 — In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

Jeremy Camp sat on the edge of the couch with his guitar across his lap. The weight of grief pressed heavily on his chest, a pain so deep that it left him breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to play anything, much less feel anything.

Growing up, Jeremy saw the power of prayer when his family was in need. Bags of groceries would appear on their doorstep when they had nothing. Those moments were teaching him to trust God, preparing him for a far greater trial.

Back then he didn’t think much of it. Now he could see how those little rescues had shaped him, teaching him that God didn’t always explain Himself, but He always showed up.

Moving to California had been a leap of faith he couldn’t quite justify, except that he felt pulled there. That’s where he met Melissa. She didn’t talk about faith like she was trying to impress anyone. But she spoke about it like it was just part of her. She was so steady and rooted in the Lord.

Even when the word cancer entered her life, the diagnosis would not hinder their love story. They got married anyway, choosing each other in the middle of uncertainty.

Their honeymoon was sweet, but there were moments — brief ones — when she’d press a hand to her stomach and try to wave off her pain. They didn’t dwell on it. They were twenty‑something and in love and trying to believe the best.

When they got home, the news hit hard. The cancer had spread.

Suddenly everything was measured in weeks. They prayed. They hoped. They did everything they knew to do. And four and a half months after they said their vows, Melissa was gone.

In the aftermath, twenty-two-year-old Jeremy was left sitting in that room that felt too big without her. He asked God why. He didn’t know what else to say. But no answers came. There was just a sense that he was supposed to trust God even without explanations.

He finally let his fingers fall onto the strings. A melody came out. It was unfiltered and raw about both the pain he felt and the trust he had in God. The words were, “I will walk by faith, even when I cannot see.”

It became the lyrics to his future hit song, I Still Believe. And just like those lyrics, we know that trusting God means knowing His character. Scripture puts it another way: “Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.”

This isn’t a story about understanding pain. It’s about learning to trust in the middle of it. Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it. And sometimes the most you can do is take the next step with open hands and let God meet you right where you are.

Jesus never promised us a life without pain. In fact, He promised the opposite. “In this world you will have tribulation.” But He also promised something stronger—that He has already overcome the very world that wounds us.

Faith doesn’t erase grief, but it gives you somewhere to aim it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where are you being asked to trust God right now, even without answers?
  • What pain are you carrying that you haven’t yet placed in Jesus’ hands?
  • What would it look like to take heart today—not because life is easy, but because Jesus has already overcome?

 

L Y R I C S

Scattered words and empty thoughts
Seem to pour from my heart
I’ve never felt so torn before
Seems I don’t know where to start
But it’s now that I feel Your grace fall like rain
From every fingertip, washing away my pain

I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your holy word
Even when I don’t see, I still believe

Though the questions still fog up my mind
With promises I still seem to bear
Even when answers slowly unwind
It’s my heart I see You prepare

The only place I can go is into your arms
Where I throw to you my feeble prayers
In brokenness I can see that this was Your will for me
Help me to know that You are near

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Not Alone After All

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Psalm 94:19 — When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.

I should have been on cloud nine, but instead I’m falling apart inside.

On paper, life is unreal. I’m touring with Bethel Music. I’m writing with people whose songs shaped my faith. I’m standing in rooms I never dreamed I’d ever be invited into. Everything is moving so fast, and everyone keeps telling me how blessed I am. I believe them. I really do.

But that night after returning from tour, standing in my boy’s bedroom, something inside me starts to break down.

My wife Brittany is putting one of our sons to bed. I’m lying next to another, just listening to his breathing. And out of nowhere, this wave of panic and depression hits me. My thoughts spiral so fast I don’t know what to do. I don’t recognize myself. I feel like I might crash out or do something crazy just to make the feeling stop.

Pride keeps me from calling anyone. It feels too vulnerable. So, instead, I text two of my closest friends. I tell them I’m not okay. I tell them I’m scared.

They try to call me back, but I don’t answer. I’m still trying to be dad, trying to be steady, and did I mention how vulnerable talking on the phone felt?

Then my phone buzzes again. It’s a voice message.

It’s my buddy, Micah.

I can tell he’s worried. But on his message, he just prays for me. With my son curled against me, I just listen to Micah’s prayer. And something breaks inside of me in a good way. It’s enough to breathe and enough for me to finally admit I can’t carry this alone.

You see, I haven’t told anyone how this season of touring and success makes me feel when I come home. Not even my wife. So I go to Brittany and confess everything I’ve been holding in. She just holds me close in that moment.

Looking back, and after months of professional counseling, I see what was going on that led to my crash out.

On tour, I had gotten so used to the adrenaline, mountaintops, and constant motion that my body didn’t know the difference between joy and pressure. It only knew stress, and when I got home and life got back to normal, the adrenaline crashed. It hit my mind hard and dark thoughts filled the places where stress once lived. Insecurities. Questions I’d never asked before. Lies I never thought I’d believe.

Getting help changed everything. Talking to my counselor reminded me that there is a true north even when my internal compass is spinning. Through every high and low, God is my steady constant to comfort me in the deepest places.

As we see in the Psalms, “When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul” (Psalm 94:19). And sometimes, God’s consolation sounds like a friend praying over you, or feels like arms holding you when you finally tell the truth.

That night changed how I listen to my limits. Even when life looks meaningful and full, the soul can still be overwhelmed. But God’s consolation often comes through people willing to step into the weight with us.

So maybe the bravest thing we can do is stop pretending we are fine and allow His comfort to meet us where we actually are.

— Brandon Lake

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When life looks “good” on the outside, are there places in your heart that still feel overwhelmed or heavy?
  • What keeps you from asking for help when you’re struggling—fear, pride, or the pressure to appear strong?
  • Who has God placed in your life that could be a source of His comfort if you let them in?
  • In moments of anxiety or emotional exhaustion, where do you usually turn first—for relief or for distraction?
  • What would it look like today to stop pretending you’re fine and allow God’s consolation to meet you where you truly are?
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Strong Enough to Need Him

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Philippians 4:13 — I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Matthew West is holding one of those letters. The kind written so carefully. It was like the writer needed to steady her hands before she started. He opens it slowly. A mother’s voice comes through first. Warm. Tender. The kind that loves deep and worries harder than she lets on.

In her letter, she tells Matthew about her daughter, Haleigh, and a car ride close to home that should have been uneventful. But on the road there was black ice slick as Crisco in a cold skillet. With one quick slide and one hard impact, everything familiar got shattered.

I bet you can picture it too, because we’ve all driven those roads before. The kind where you’re almost home and already thinking about what’s for supper. Then the tires lose their grip, and there’s nothing left to do but pray and brace yourself.

The letter keeps going. Hospital rooms. Surgeries that blur together. Rehab that demands grit you don’t know you have. Haleigh learning how to stand again, and most days are measured by small victories most people would never notice.

Somewhere in that long trial, someone tries to offer comfort. They mean well. They always do. They say God won’t give you more than you can handle.

Haleigh’s response lands, plain and steady. She says if that’s true, then God must think she’s pretty strong.

Matthew was touched by that. It was so relatable. We’ve all said things like that on difficult days. All the while, we’re holding ourselves together with prayer, coffee, and the stubborn belief that quitting isn’t an option.

Back in that letter, it becomes clear Haleigh didn’t make it through on sheer determination. She made it through because when her strength failed, God’s didn’t. She stood—not because she was unbreakable—but because she was held by Him. That realization settles into Matthew’s heart and doesn’t let go. He picks up his pen to honor her story, and a song starts forming.

When “Strong Enough” finally finds its way to radio, it met me as a listener right where I was in my car. Midday. Mid-life. Mid everything. And I recognize myself in it—not in the victory, but in the needing.

Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I’ve heard it since I was knee-high and recited it in Sunday school. It’s stitched it into my memory, but now it reads differently.

It doesn’t sound like a challenge. It sounds like relief. Like permission to stop pretending the strength was mine to begin with.

So, if today finds you tired but faithful, steady but stretched thin, you’re not failing. You’re living the kind of faith that shows up. The kind that knows God’s strength has a way of carrying us when ours runs out—and that, somehow, is enough to keep going.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When you hear “I can do all things through Christ,” do you tend to hear it as pressure or as promise?
  • Where in your life are you currently relying on your own strength instead of God’s?
  • Have you ever experienced a season where God carried you when you had nothing left to give?
  • What does it look like for you to admit weakness without feeling like you’ve failed?
  • How might trusting God’s strength—rather than your own—change the way you face today?

L Y R I C S

You must
You must think I’m strong
To give me what I’m going through
Well, forgive me

Forgive me if I’m wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough

Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

For the both of us
Yeah

Well, maybe
Maybe that’s the point

To reach the point of giving up
‘Cause when I’m finally
Finally at rock bottom

Well, that’s when I start looking up
And reaching out
I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be

I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be

Strong enough
Strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken
Down to nothing

But I’m still holding on to the one thing
You are God and
You are strong when
I am weak

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
I don’t have to be strong enough
Strong enough

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don’t have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Oh, yeah

I know I’m not strong enough to be
Everything that I’m supposed to be
I give up
I’m not strong enough
Hands of mercy won’t you cover me
Lord right now I’m asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
Strong enough

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Finding Joy in Life’s Unexpected Gifts

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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.

When I heard the news that we were expecting our third daughter… I nearly passed out.

There is no poetic way to say it. I was stunned. We were not trying. We were not planning. We were not even vaguely thinking about starting over. We already had two beautiful daughters, Ashlyn and Madison. Our world was full, and honestly, we were just starting to find a rhythm again. Nights were quiet, diapers were a memory, and the laundry pile was almost manageable.

So, yes. Shock. Real, physical, sit-down-before-you-fall-over shock.

But over the next few days, something in me softened. The disbelief did not disappear, but it made room for a different kind of feeling.

I started remembering all the small, sacred things from when our girls were babies. The slow sway of rocking them to sleep. The weight of their tiny heads tucked under my chin. The feeling that the rest of the world could wait—because in that moment, I was their whole world. Those memories came back like old songs I had not heard in a while, and they settled in my chest with a warmth I had not expected.

And now? Now I find myself getting excited. Truly, tenderly, deeply excited.

Fittingly, this baby is due to arrive at Christmas. And the timing does not feel random. It feels… personal. Intentional. Like something only God could orchestrate.

It has made me think a lot about Joseph. The one from Scripture. The carpenter. The man who had plans of his own—plans that were disrupted overnight by news he could not have seen coming. I imagine he asked a lot of the same questions I have asked.

How do I love this child well? Will I have what it takes to provide for this family? What kind of man do I need to become for this child?

Joseph did not get all the answers upfront. But he trusted. He obeyed. He stood by Mary, and he raised a child that changed the world.

And that part—that quiet, steady willingness to lean into the unexpected—that is what gets me.

Because here is what I am learning: some of God’s greatest gifts do not come wrapped in the timing we expect. They show up unannounced, inconvenient, and completely out of sync with our plans.

But that does not make them any less beautiful.

This surprise has reminded me that God’s fingerprints are often clearest on the things we never saw coming. And if I had stayed locked in my fear, I might have missed the joy buried inside this unexpected gift.

It reminds me so much of what scripture says in Proverbs 5, “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.”

So, if your life just took a turn you did not plan for—if you are staring down something that makes your knees weak—do not rush to fix it. Do not run from it. Lean in. Let it sit with you long enough for the joy to rise.

You never know what goodness God has tucked inside the surprise.

— Chris Tomlin

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What unexpected turn has God allowed in your life that you’re still trying to understand?
  • Where are you tempted to lean on your own understanding instead of trusting God fully?
  • How has God shown His faithfulness to you in past situations you didn’t plan for?
  • What might it look like to acknowledge God in this current season—even without clarity?
  • Is there a hidden joy or gift you might discover if you released fear and leaned into trust?
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Learning to Welcome Jesus

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Revelation 3:20 — Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.

My dad surrendered his life to Jesus when I was about seven, and everything changed in our house. He started taking us to church and singing in the choir. One of my biggest memories of his singing was Christmas — because he was always in the church Christmas musical.

As much as I loved hearing my dad, my favorite singer was Mr. Roy Reynolds, the church bass. When he sang, he would curl his lower lip and rumble out these deep notes you could feel in your chest. As a kid, he was my favorite to watch because of all the funny faces he made.

Every Christmas, Mr. Roy played the innkeeper — which was huge to me — because he sang a solo called “No Room.”

Our musical had one of the deacons and a sweet lady from church dressed as Joseph and Mary — bathrobes, cloths over their heads, and a baby doll in their arms. They would walk from door to door on the set, knocking, hoping someone had space for them.

Then they’d reach the inn. Mr. Roy would step out, chest high and voice booming with joy because he knew his one line was coming:

“NO ROOM!”

As a kid, I thought the innkeeper was the villain. I imagined him wearing a black hat like in old westerns — the man who turned away Jesus. Jesus came to save the world, and this guy put Him in a barn.

It made all of us feel better about ourselves. We’d never turn away Jesus… right?

But years later, after I’d grown in faith, I realized the innkeeper wasn’t a bad guy. He was just… a guy. Busy. Overwhelmed. Trying to handle life. And when the holy moment knocked on his door, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.

I told a pastor this story once. He smiled and said, “You know… the innkeeper gave Him a place. He just didn’t give Him the place.”

And suddenly Revelation 3:20 took on a whole new meaning: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock…”

The innkeeper didn’t reject Jesus with malice. He just didn’t make room for Him. He offered something — but not his best.

And if I’m honest, I see myself in him more than I’d like to admit.

This Christmas, as the calendar fills and the urgency of life crowds in… how willing am I to stop and make room for Jesus? Not just a place — but the place?

— Mark Hall, CASTING CROWNS

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  1. Where in your life do you feel “crowded” — emotionally, mentally, or spiritually — making it harder to slow down and notice Jesus knocking?
  2. What would it look like to give Jesus not just a place in your day, but the place?
  3. Think of a time when you almost missed something meaningful because you were busy. How might that relate to letting Jesus in more fully this season?
  4. Are there habits, distractions, or pressures that are keeping you from opening the door more widely to Him?
  5. How might you intentionally create space for Jesus — in your home, your schedule, your relationships — as you move through the Christmas season?
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Listen to the Bells of Hope

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Psalms 31:7-8 — I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me in a safe place.

The fire consumed everything. His wife’s screams still haunted Henry’s mind. That was two years ago, but grief has no calendar. Sitting in his study on Christmas morning, Henry’s world still felt like ash.

War raged across the nation, and his eldest son, Charles, was recovering from a near-fatal bullet wound. The bells outside chimed peace on earth, goodwill to men, but they only deepened his bitterness. How could those words ring true in a world like this?

Yet the bells refused to stop. They tolled relentlessly, refusing to be ignored. Listening, he felt it—a faint, rebellious hope.

That morning, he took up a pen—not because he had answers, but because he had to confront the questions. As he wrote, the words to the now famous carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Morning” came slowly, painfully:

“Then rang the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.’”

This Christmastime, may those same bells find you too. When grief feels endless and joy feels far away, listen. Hope has a sound—it’s faint at first, but it grows stronger the longer you lean in.

The psalmist once wrote, “I will be glad and rejoice in Your unfailing love, for You have seen my troubles, and You care about the anguish of my soul.”

Maybe that’s what Henry heard that morning—the reminder that God had seen it all. And maybe this Christmas, it’s time for us to believe it again. To let hope keep ringing, not because the pain has ended, but because it hasn’t taken us under.

Because even now, hope will not let us go.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How can you recognize God’s care in moments of grief or hardship?
  • In what ways can hope grow even when circumstances feel overwhelming?
  • How might you share encouragement with someone facing a difficult season, inspired by Henry’s story?

Heard The Bells On Christmas

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
In my heart I hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on Earth, ” I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir singing (peace on Earth)
Does anybody hear them? (Peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
(Peace on Earth)
(Peace on Earth)
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on Earth, good will to men

Then ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells, they’re ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on Earth)
And with our hearts, we’ll hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells, they’re ringing? (Peace on Earth)
The light, the angels singing (peace on Earth)
Open up your heart and hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men

Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth, good will to men

 

TRADITIONAL VERSION:

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The Power of a Hallelujah

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Psalm 31:21 — Praise the Lord, for he has shown me the wonders of his unfailing love. He kept me safe when my city was under attack.

The beeping was the first sound Joel heard every morning. Beep. Beep. Beep. Each one a cruel reminder that his little boy, Jaxon, was still fighting for his life. Tubes, wires, blinking lights. These are the kind of things that make a father feel helplessly small.

The doctors called it “hemolytic uremic syndrome” (HUS) which is an illness that can lead to seizures and kidney failure.

Somewhere, a nurse whispered into her radio. Monitors flickered. But Joel Taylor barely noticed. The doctors had run out of answers, and Joel and his wife had run out of prayers that made sense. They prayed bold ones, desperate ones, and quiet ones whispered at three in the morning.

Still, the sickness held on.

Back home, their friends from Bethel Church got the call. Jonathan and Melissa Helser didn’t know what to say, so they did what musicians often do when words fall short.

They worshipped.

Jonathan sat at his piano, hands trembling, heart sinking, and sang a melody he hadn’t planned to write. It came out like a battle cry against despair:

“I raise a hallelujah in the presence of my enemies.”

He sent the recording to Joel, who clung to it like oxygen. Joel played it again and again at Jaxon’s bedside, letting the melody fill the sterile air.

And slowly, against every medical prediction, Jaxon began to heal. By January, the Taylors brought their little boy home again.

Today, that same spontaneous song is sung by millions around the world, but to the Taylors, it will always be Jaxon’s song.

And that’s what “Raise a Hallelujah” really is. Not a chart-topper. Not a miracle formula. Just a defiant act of trust from a father who choose to believe that heaven was listening.

The psalmist once wrote, “Blessed be the Lord, for He has shown His steadfast love to me when I was in a besieged city.” That verse tells the truth of Joel’s story. In that hospital room, surrounded by machines, fear, and exhaustion, God’s love broke through.

So, when your own night feels long, and you’re not sure what tomorrow holds, do what Joel did. Turn your fear into a hallelujah.

Because sometimes, the truest act of faith isn’t what you say after the storm. It’s the song you dare to sing while it’s still raging.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • How have you experienced God’s steadfast love during a season of fear or uncertainty?
  • What “hallelujah” could you lift in the middle of your current storm?
  • In what ways can you trust God even when the outcome seems impossible?

Lyrics:

Verse 1
I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, Heaven comes to fight for me

Chorus
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive

Verse 2
I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me

Bridge
Sing a little louder
In the presence of my enemies
Sing a little louder
Louder than the unbelief
Sing a little louder
My weapon is a melody
Sing a little louder
Heaven comes to fight for me

Tag
I raise a hallelujah

Written by:
Jonathan David Helser | Melissa Helser | Molly Skaggs | Jake Stevens

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Transforming Heartbreak Into Worship

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Psalm 34:1 — I will praise the Lord at all times. I will constantly speak his praises.

The studio was quiet that morning. It was not the peaceful kind of quiet. This was the heavy kind that hangs in the air when no one quite knows what to say. Tasha Layton sat with her co-writers, the weight of yesterday still settling in.

Their friend Jonathan had just been diagnosed with cancer. The shock had not yet worn off.

She stared at the blank page before her, praying words would come. Music had always been a way she talked to God, but this time, she did not know where to begin.

The ache was too real, the hope too fragile. Someone suggested they just write from where they were—from the hurt, the hope, the uncertainty.

So they began. Slowly at first. A few chords. A few tears. The song that formed was not a declaration of victory but a cry of surrender. “We were holding the weight of grief,” she later said, “but still believing in a miracle-working God.”

When they finished, they sent the song to Jonathan. He listened from his hospital bed, and though his body weakened in the months that followed, his faith remained strong.

In the end, the miracle came—but not the one they had expected. Jonathan’s healing did not happen on this side of heaven.

Yet somehow, the song did not lose its purpose.

It deepened. It became less about outcomes and more about presence. It was less about God’s many miracles, and more about who He is. For Tasha, it became an anthem for those who stand in the middle of pain and still lift their hands anyway.

She often thinks of the words from Psalm 34:1, “I will bless the Lord at all times.” They remind her that worship is not reserved for the mountaintop moments but for every season, even the ones that break your heart.

Now, when she sings “Worship Through It,” it is not a performance—it is a prayer. A reminder that real faith often sounds like gratitude whispered through tears. And perhaps the truest kind of transformation is found there—in the valley, where thankfulness still rises.

This Thanksgiving, maybe that is where we begin too. Not by waiting for everything to be right, but by choosing to bless the Lord right where we are—and letting that gratitude change us from within.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has worship felt the hardest for you, and how did God meet you in that moment?
  • What does it mean to “bless the Lord at all times,” even in seasons of loss or uncertainty?
  • How can gratitude and praise become an act of surrender when you don’t understand what God is doing?
  • Think of someone you know who is walking through pain—how could your encouragement help them “worship through it”?
  • What might change in your heart if you chose to worship through the struggle instead of waiting until it’s over?

L Y R I C S

This looks impossible
But You’re the God of impossible
And I’ve seen your faithfulness all over my life
I need a miracle
And You’re the God of miracles
Some way, somehow You come through every time

Chorus
I know my God can do it
So, I’m gonna worship through it
Before I see my breakthrough
I’m gonna choose to praise You

I will sing hallelujah to the one
Who can do what the world says can’t be done
I know my God can do it
So, I’m gonna worship through it

In the middle of my no way out
In the middle of my don’t know how
I hear You whisper to me “peace be still”
This is why I believe
You will deliver me
You always have and you always will
You always have and you always will

I won’t wait ‘til the rocks cry out
I’m gonna praise You
I won’t wait till the walls come down
I’m gonna praise You
(Gonna) Lift my hands right here, right now
I’m gonna praise You
Oh God I praise You!

Written by Tasha Layton, Keith Everette Smith, Matthew West, AJ Pruis

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Jesus Seen Through Us

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Ephesians 5:1-2 — Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ. He loved us and offered Himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God.

I can still see her face.

She was a young girl from Venezuela—quiet, reserved, sitting among a crowd of American teenagers who barely noticed her.

She had come with a visiting missions team to help us prepare for a trip to her country. Later, I learned she didn’t even own proper clothes for the journey. Someone had to buy her something suitable to wear.

That Wednesday night, she slipped into our youth group meeting and took a seat in the back. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Eyes down.

No one greeted her. Not one person leaned over to ask her name. Conversations carried on like they always did—some girls whispered about what others were wearing, others laughed about their plans for Friday night.

And there she sat—still, quiet, listening. Then, when the music started, she watched as all those same girls who had ignored her moments before raised their hands high in worship.

It’s funny—Ephesians 5:1–2 tells us to “Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ.” That night, I realized how easy it is to worship with our lips but forget to love with our actions.

Later, her team leader invited her to speak. She walked to the front, her steps soft but sure, and began to pray in Spanish. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with reverence. Every word seemed to hum with sincerity, filling the room. Even without a translation, we could feel it.

Then she began to speak in English—clear, gentle, and steady. And the room went still. That’s when it hit us: she had heard everything said earlier. Every careless word. Every unkind comment.

Yet there she stood—with grace.

Her voice was warm. Her message hopeful. She spoke of love, of faith, of service, and invited us to come to her country.

That moment changed me. I saw how easy it is to talk about God’s love without actually showing it. Her faith wasn’t something she wore—it was something she lived.

Real faith isn’t proven by what we say or sing. It’s proven by how we love the person standing right in front of us. Because when we love like that young woman did, we’re imitating the heart of Jesus Himself—the One who loved us first and offered Himself completely for us.

That’s where people begin to see Jesus for who He really is.

— Mark Hall, Casting Crowns

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever missed an opportunity to show love because you were focused elsewhere? How might God be calling you to slow down and see people this week?
  • Ephesians 5:1–2 invites us to “live a life filled with love.” What does that look like in practical terms in your home, workplace, or church?
  • When was the last time you saw someone live out Christ’s love in a way that challenged or inspired you?
  • How can you make your faith visible through kindness, humility, or inclusion today?
  • Who in your life might need to feel God’s love through your actions right now?

L Y R I C S

It’s crowded in worship today
As she slips in trying to fade into the faces
The girls’ teasing laughter is carrying farther than they know
Farther than they know

But if we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?
‘Cause there is a way

A traveler is far away from home
And he sheds His coat and quietly sinks into the back row
The weight of their judgmental glances
Tells him that His chances are better out on the road

But if we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?

‘Cause Jesus paid much too high a price
For us to pick and choose who should come
We are the body of Christ

If we are the body
Why aren’t His arms reaching?
Why aren’t His hands healing?
Why aren’t His words teaching?
If we are the body
Why aren’t His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?
Jesus is the way
Ooh, ooh
Jesus is the way
Ooh, ooh

Writers: Mark Hall

© 2003 My Refuge Music / Be Essential Songs (BMI)

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Jesus Seen Through Us

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Ephesians 5:1-2 — Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ. He loved us and offered Himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God.

I can still see her face.

She was a young girl from Venezuela—quiet, reserved, sitting among a crowd of American teenagers who barely noticed her.

She had come with a visiting missions team to help us prepare for a trip to her country. Later, I learned she didn’t even own proper clothes for the journey. Someone had to buy her something suitable to wear.

That Wednesday night, she slipped into our youth group meeting and took a seat in the back. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Eyes down.

No one greeted her. Not one person leaned over to ask her name. Conversations carried on like they always did—some girls whispered about what others were wearing, others laughed about their plans for Friday night.

And there she sat—still, quiet, listening. Then, when the music started, she watched as all those same girls who had ignored her moments before raised their hands high in worship.

It’s funny—Ephesians 5:1–2 tells us to “Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are His dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ.” That night, I realized how easy it is to worship with our lips but forget to love with our actions.

Later, her team leader invited her to speak. She walked to the front, her steps soft but sure, and began to pray in Spanish. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with reverence. Every word seemed to hum with sincerity, filling the room. Even without a translation, we could feel it.

Then she began to speak in English—clear, gentle, and steady. And the room went still. That’s when it hit us: she had heard everything said earlier. Every careless word. Every unkind comment.

Yet there she stood—with grace.

Her voice was warm. Her message hopeful. She spoke of love, of faith, of service, and invited us to come to her country.

That moment changed me. I saw how easy it is to talk about God’s love without actually showing it. Her faith wasn’t something she wore—it was something she lived.

Real faith isn’t proven by what we say or sing. It’s proven by how we love the person standing right in front of us. Because when we love like that young woman did, we’re imitating the heart of Jesus Himself—the One who loved us first and offered Himself completely for us.

That’s where people begin to see Jesus for who He really is.

— Mark Hall

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever missed an opportunity to show love because you were focused elsewhere? How might God be calling you to slow down and see people this week?
  • Ephesians 5:1–2 invites us to “live a life filled with love.” What does that look like in practical terms in your home, workplace, or church?
  • When was the last time you saw someone live out Christ’s love in a way that challenged or inspired you?
  • How can you make your faith visible through kindness, humility, or inclusion today?
  • Who in your life might need to feel God’s love through your actions right now?
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