Thriving Through Life’s Trials

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Psalms 42:11 — “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.”

The night I discovered I had cancer, I sat down at the piano. That’s how songwriters bleed. We bleed songs. I started writing out my feelings, and a song called “O My Soul” began to emerge.

It captured my inner turmoil—a battle with myself—reminiscent of some of King David’s verses in the book of Psalms.

I felt like I was walking through fog. Everything was loud, disorienting, and out of control. But somewhere beneath all that fear and shock, something inside me held firm. And I don’t say that to sound spiritual or strong. I didn’t feel either of those things.

But what I did feel, buried beneath the panic, was something steady. Something rooted. It was Jesus. He was the same God I had spent years getting to know in the quiet.

Long before the diagnosis, I had sensed God calling me—and our band—to something deeper. Not just to sing about faith, but to live like it was anchored in something that couldn’t be shaken.

That became the heartbeat of our ministry: Thrive.

That’s also the origin of a special line in the song I wrote that night: “There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.”

I can’t explain it, but those words reminded me that the storm didn’t get to define my story. Fear would have to bow to something greater.

I didn’t thrive that night because I was brave or strong or ready. I thrived because what I knew about God was already rooted deep in my bones.

And now, I want to ask you what I had to ask myself: What are you building your life on?

Friend, if life feels calm right now, this is the best time to get to know Him. Because the storms are coming for all of us. If you’re planted in Him, really planted, you won’t be moved.

Not because you’re strong.

But because He is.

— Mark Hall

Oh My Soul

Oh my soul, oh how you worry
Oh how you’re weary from fearing you lost control
This was the one thing you didn’t see coming
And no one would blame you though
If you cried in private
If you tried to hide it away
So no one knows
No one will see if you stop believing

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

‘Cause you’re not alone

Here and now, you can be honest
I won’t try to promise
That someday it all works out
‘Cause this is the valley
And even now He is breathing on
Your dry bones
And there will be dancing
There will be beauty where beauty was
Ash and stone
This much I know

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

I’m not strong enough
I can’t take anymore
(You can lay it down
You can lay it down)
And my shipwrecked faith
Will never get me to shore
(You can lay it down
You can lay it down)
Can He find me here?
Can He keep me from going under?

Oh my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

‘Cause you’re not alone

Oh my soul, you’re not alone

Written by: Mark Hall, Bernie Herms

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What Faith Sounds Like in the Dark

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Psalms 119:50 — This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life.

No one talks about the silence after a funeral. It is the kind that wraps around your ribcage and squeezes, the kind that makes you forget how to pray.

After TobyMac’s son, Truett, died from an accidental overdose, he knew people meant well. They quoted verses and reminded him of Heaven, but they hadn’t buried their sons. They hadn’t sat on their child’s bed, with sheets still rumpled, wondering how the world could possibly go on.

There was no song to sing. No words were big enough, and no melody was brave enough. The truth was simple and terrible: his son had died, and no amount of faith could make this less awful.

Weeks passed. Then months. And when he finally walked into his first writing session since it all fell apart, he wasn’t sure why he was there. He still felt hollow.

But something happened in that room. He sat down with a few chords, a few unfinished thoughts. What poured out wasn’t polished or planned. It was raw and quiet—an ache turned into lyrics. And the song that came to life that day was called “Faithfully.”

He wrote it because he needed to. He needed a reminder of what he believed… even when he didn’t feel it.

“But when my world broke into pieces
You were there faithfully
When I cried out to You, Jesus
You made a way for me
I may never be the same man
But I’m a man who still believes
When I cried out to You, Jesus
You were there faithfully”

As the song played back, he let the tears fall. That’s when he knew. This was a gift. Not a fix, not an answer—just a lifeline. A melody for the midnight hour. He hadn’t expected “Faithfully” to become the anchor he’d need, but God did.

And maybe you’re in a place like that now. Gutted. Like your world doesn’t make sense. Like God is a million miles away. If so, let this be a hand on your shoulder.

The truth is, God loves you. And He is still holding on. Faithfully.

This is what Toby discovered in that dark stretch of road. Not all prayers get answers. Not all stories get neat endings. But even then, God is good. He won’t abandon you in your pain. If that’s all you can hold onto right now, believe me, that’s enough.

Lyrics:
It’s been a long year; it almost took me down I swear
Life was so good, I’m not so sure we knew what we had
I’ll never be the same man, I’ll never feel like I felt before
It’s been a hard year, it almost took me down

But when we my world broke into pieces
You were there faithfully
When I cried out to you Jesus
You made a way for me

I may never be the same man
But I’m a man who still believes
When I cried out to you Jesus
You were there faithfully

I’ve had a hard time, finding the blue in the skies above me
And if I’m keeping it real, I’ve been half fakin’ the happy they see
I may look like the same man, but I’m half the man I was
It’s been a hard year it almost took me down

In my darkest hour, You met me
So quietly, so gently
You said You’d never leave, and You stood by Your word

So quietly, so gently
In all my pain, You met me
You said You’d never leave, and You stood by Your word

Songwriters: Kyle Williams / Toby McKeehan

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My Name Is Son

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1 John 3:1 – “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.”

They say you can’t miss what you never had, but that’s not true. I missed my dad—even when he was standing in the same room.

I grew up on a dairy farm in southern Vermont. We worked hard. We didn’t talk much. My dad was a man of few words, and I spent most of my boyhood trying to earn one of them. I just wanted to hear that he was proud of me. That I was enough.

But silence echoed louder than any shout.

By the time I was a teenager, the ache in my chest had a name: not good enough. And I learned how to quiet it. First with small lies. Then with alcohol. Then cocaine. Numb was better than nothing. High was easier than hurt.

I wasn’t chasing a thrill. I was running from the boy who never heard the words he needed most.

From the outside, I was the life of the party. Inside, I was unraveling.

Things got dark fast. Addiction doesn’t care if you’re from a good home. It doesn’t care if your mama prayed for you. It just takes. I was burning bridges with everyone I loved, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore.

Then came 2017.

My best friend—my anchor, really—died of a heroin overdose. I remember standing at his funeral, heart cracked open, wondering how I’d made it out alive when he didn’t. That was my rock bottom.

I wanted more. I needed more, and I reached for God. It was not with clean hands or a perfect prayer but with honest weakness. To my surprise, He met me there with the kind of love I had tried to earn my whole life.

I love you. I’m proud of you. You’re my son.

It undid me. I wasn’t the addict. I wasn’t the disappointment. I wasn’t just my dad’s silence or my worst mistake. I had a new name now. A new identity. Son.

That word changed everything.

I started writing songs, not for radio play or applause, but because I needed to speak the truth out loud—about pain, about healing, about God. Every time I write, I remember what freedom feels like. And I want others to know it too.

Because here’s the truth: no matter what your dad did or didn’t say, you already have a Father who loves you. He’s not ashamed of you. He’s not withholding anything. And He’s not going anywhere.

You’re not forgotten. You’re not too far gone.

Your name is Daughter. Your name is Son.

— Ben Fuller

 

Who I Am

I stand in front the mirror, But I don’t like who’s looking back at me
Wish I could see things clearer, like who I’m supposed to be
In every trial, lift me higher
Through the fire, hold me tighter
Remind me again, I was made for more

Who I am in the eyes of the Father, Who I am His love set free
Who I was I left at the altar, I am Yours Lord, I believe

It’s who I am – I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me
It’s who I am – I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me

Everything has been changing, You haven’t left a stone unturned
Anything I’ve been facing, I’ll keep standing on Your word
In the water, take me under
Fill my lungs to, to speak Your wonder
You brought me of the darkness, I was made for more

Who I am in the eyes of the father, Who I am His love set free
Who I was I left at the altar, I am Yours Lord I believe

It’s who I am – I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me
It’s who I am – I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me

You gave up everything, for me to have everything
For all of eternity, a song in my lungs to sing

I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me
I’m a child of the most-high God and the most-high God’s for me

Songwriters: Ben Fuller, David Spencer, Krystal Polychronis

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Breathe In His Presence

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2 Corinthians 3:17 “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

If you had asked her, Marie would’ve said she was a wife, a friend, and a worship leader, maybe. But not a songwriter, and certainly not anyone famous.

She felt more at home in ballet studios and church pews than anywhere else. Her days were spent teaching dance, folding laundry, and loving people. Her ministry happened in bare feet and ballet mirrors. Quiet, hidden, holy.

Then came the phone call that changed everything.

Her mentor—a man she cared deeply about, who had once come to church with her— died by suicide. He left behind a note asking Marie to take over the dance studio. No warning. Just grief. And a heavy set of keys.

There was no manual for that kind of loss. No training for how to carry someone else’s legacy when your own knees feel weak beneath you. But Marie kept showing up.

She kept teaching. Pliés in the morning, worship services on Sundays, prayer when she had the words—and when she didn’t, she just whispered the name of Jesus. She didn’t need a spotlight to serve. She just needed space to breathe.

One Sunday night at the Mission Viejo Vineyard in Southern California, there was no plan—no printed setlist. Just Marie and her husband, John, leading worship as they’d done so many times before. They had just finished singing Isn’t He by John Wimber. John kept playing quietly, and in the stillness of that moment, something welled up in Marie’s spirit. It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t planned.

It was just raw worship.

“This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence
Living in me…
And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you”

The congregation joined in, as if the words had been waiting in their hearts too. And even though Marie had sung spontaneous songs before, something about this one was different. People kept singing it—at home, in the car, in the grocery store. And they told her so.

The song, Breathe, soon became a regular part of their church’s worship. It brought many to tears. Even Marie could hardly get through it herself. “I think the word desperate digs deep into me,” she later said. “The longer I’m a Christian, the more desperate I am for God.”

They recorded the song for Vineyard—just another quiet offering during a season of raw worship. “We recorded the song for Vineyard, and then nothing happened,” Marie would later say. “Not that I thought anything about it, because, to me, it was just a neat thing the Lord gave to our church.”

Five years passed.

Then worship leader Brian Doerksen reached out, asking to include Breathe on Vineyard’s Hungry project. From there, the song quietly began to travel. Michael W. Smith recorded it on his 2001 album Worship. Rebecca St. James followed. But even as it began to echo through churches and concerts around the world, Marie stayed grounded in what it had always been: a prayer whispered in desperation, not a platform.

So when she was driving one day and heard Breathe playing on the radio, it wasn’t excitement that overtook her—it was awe. She pulled the car over, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Because somehow—somehow—God had taken her lowest moment, her heartbreak, her whispered worship, and turned it into healing for strangers she’d never meet.

How could God take so much pain and breathe hope through it into kitchens and traffic jams and hospital waiting rooms? But He did. He always does. He fills the cracks and carries what we can’t.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit shows up like wind and fire. But more often, He’s as close as breath in our lungs. He doesn’t wait for us to be strong—He fills the places where we’re trembling and somehow gives us the strength to dance again.

Take a deep breath today. Let it remind you that you are not alone. Even when you’re weak, He is near—and that is more than enough.

— Inspired by the story of Marie Barnett

L Y R I C S:

This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your Holy Presence
Living in me

This is my daily bread
This is my daily bread
Your very Word
Spoken to me

And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you

Written by: Marie Barnett
Copyright © 1995 Mercy/Vineyard Songs (ASCAP) (adm at IntegratedRights.com) CCLI#1874117

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What Happens When You Are Available

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Isaiah 6:8 – And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Then I said, “Here I am! Send me.”

Eighth grade was a big year for me.

It was the summer I found myself kneeling under a tree at youth camp. I was far enough away from the noise to think yet close enough to still hear the music drifting from the chapel.

I did not know how to pray the right way. I just knew I needed to talk to the One who made all of this—the trees, the sky, and somehow, even me.

I remember looking up and saying, “God, I know You’re the Creator of all things. I have no idea if You can even hear me, but I’m available.”

I meant it. Every word.

When I went back to school that fall, the world around me looked the same—rows of lockers, math homework, everyday middle school chaos. But inside, something had shifted. I began talking to God more in private. Again, my prayers were not eloquent. Most days, they were just raw honesty. Still, I kept showing up and kept staying open.

Years have passed since that summer, but I still remember what it felt like to pray that first real prayer. Today, I get to write songs that help people talk to God. That still stuns me. Not because I think I have earned it, but because it reminds me how powerful one simple moment of surrender can be.

Most of the songs I write are still just prayers like the one under that tree.

Maybe that is the point. So, if you are wondering what comes next or whether God still has something for you, start there.

Get honest. Get still. Ask Him what He wants.

You do not have to map it all out. You just have to stay open. The Creator who made you already knows exactly what He’s doing.

He always has, and He always will.

— Chris Tomlin

LYRICS:

Verse 1
A thousand generations falling down in worship
To sing the song of ages to the Lamb
And all who’ve gone before us and all who will believe
Will sing the song of ages to the Lamb

Pre-Chorus 1
Your name is the highest
Your name is the greatest
Your name stands above them all
All thrones and dominions
All powers and positions
Your name stands above them all

Half-Chorus
And the angels cry, Holy
All creation cries, Holy
You are lifted high, Holy
Holy forever

Verse 2
If you’ve been forgiven and if you’ve been redeemed
Sing the song forever to the Lamb
If you walk in freedom and if you bear His name
Sing the song forever to the Lamb
We’ll sing the song forever and amen

Chorus
Hear your people sing, Holy
To the King of Kings, Holy
You will always be, Holy
Holy forever

Tag
You will always be, Holy
Holy forever

Holy Forever
Written by: Brian Johnson, Chris Tomlin, Jason Ingram, Jenn Johnson, Phil Wickham

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The Blessings in the Pain

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Romans 5:3-4 “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

Laura didn’t expect Facebook to hurt. But somehow, it did.

She had just signed up for it, like everyone else she knew. It was new. Easy. Harmless. A place to scroll through happy faces, birthday dinners, and funny stories from people she hadn’t seen since high school.

The only problem was that their picture-perfect highlights looked nothing like the life she was living.

Not long before, she and her husband, Martin, sat in a sterile hospital room, listening to words no one ever wants to hear. Brain tumor. Surgery. Risks. She held her breath, hoping for healing. He survived—but the man who came home was not the same. His memory slipped. His vision blurred, and he struggled with basic skills.

While other people posted milestone moments, Laura sat in rehab waiting rooms, coaching her husband through how to button a shirt.

Facebook became unbearable. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward. Her life had slammed to a halt. Eventually, she stopped opening the app altogether. It hurt too much to compare her pain to their joy.

She stopped scrolling, and started praying. Not polished prayers. Just questions. She brought her anger and grief. And somehow, God didn’t flinch. Even when she had nothing to say.

In time, they found their way. It was not a perfect life, but it was still life. And it was theirs.

Later, sitting at the piano, Laura put words to what her heart had learned the hard way:

“Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?”

Friend, we can be so quick to scroll past pain—to hide it, mute it, deny it. But what if it is the very place God chooses to meet us? And the God who walks with us through fire is faithful to shape even our suffering into something good.

 

Lyrics

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand
To ease our suffering
And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your word is not enough
And all the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

When friends betray us
And when darkness seems to win, we know
The pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It’s not our home

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

Songwriters: Laura Mixon Story
Blessings lyrics © New Spring Publishing Inc., Laura Stories, New Spring Publishing Inc.

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When Strength Fails

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Psalm 73:26 – My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

It all changed without warning.

At fifteen-years-old, Lauren Daigle dreamed in full color—wide-open skies, big stages, and a voice that could carry for miles. But then one morning, she couldn’t get out of bed. No fever. No clear diagnosis. Just a kind of tired that made her body feel like lead and her dreams feel impossible.

Days blurred into weeks. Then into months. Her world shrank to the walls of her home. The girl who used to sing without stopping could barely whisper now. Doctors ran tests and offered guesses, but nothing brought answers. Just more waiting. More silence.

And honestly, she started to wonder if her dream had been lost forever.

One afternoon, Lauren’s mom suggested voice lessons. Not to prep for a tour or audition, of course, but just to sing again for the sake of singing.

It seemed laughable at first. What good was a voice lesson when she could barely speak above a whisper? But something in her wanted to try. She wanted to feel human again, so she said yes.

It was slow. It was shaky. Her voice cracked, and her confidence trembled. But she kept going. And with each lesson, something started to wake up. Her voice didn’t come back all at once—but breath by breath, it grew stronger. And so did she.

Maybe you too are in that kind of season right now—where everything feels stalled, and your strength feels gone. Maybe you have let go of a dream because you are tired of hoping.

But if you can still whisper—just barely—you’re not finished. God still has a plan for you.

 

 

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The Love That Defines Me

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Psalms 8:3-4 – “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?”

Mark Hall had spent years trying to keep up.

He wasn’t the smartest kid growing up—dyslexia made sure of that. Reading was hard, school was harder, and no matter how much he tried, he always felt a little behind. So, he learned to compensate. Work harder. Push more. Don’t let anyone see the struggle.

By the time he became a youth pastor, that mindset hadn’t changed. He poured everything he had into ministry, convinced that if he just gave enough, maybe he’d finally stop feeling like he was falling short.

But one night, long after the last teenager had left youth group, he sat alone with his guitar.

Not to write a song. Not to impress anyone. Just to breathe.

And as his fingers found familiar chords, the words came.

“Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth would care to know my name?”

He stopped.

That lyric was his question. The one that had been chasing him since childhood. The one he had been too busy to face.

Who was he, really? Just some guy trying too hard? A pastor with good intentions but a heart that still wondered if God was really as steady as He claimed to be?

And then, the answer settled over him.

It was never about who he was. It was always about who God is.

For the first time in years, Mark let go of the pressure to be “enough.” He let himself believe that God was not waiting on him to measure up, and He had loved him long before he had anything to offer.

That song—Who Am I?—would go on to remind millions of people of the same truth. But for Mark, it started in that quiet room, on an ordinary Wednesday night, when he finally stopped striving.

And maybe that is a moment you need too.

Maybe you have spent years chasing approval, measuring your worth by what you do instead of resting in what has already done.

But here is the truth: You don’t have to fight for a love that was never based on your performance in the first place.

God’s grace has never been about your ability to hold on to Him. It has always been about His ability to hold on to you.

 

Lyrics:

Who am I, that the lord of all the earth
Would care to know my name
Would care to feel my hurt?
Who am I, that the bright and morning star
Would choose to light the way
For my ever wandering heart?

Not because of who I am
But because of what you’ve done
Not because of what I’ve done
But because of who you are

I am a flower quickly fading
Here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean
A vapor in the wind
Still you hear me when I’m calling
Lord, you catch me when I’m falling
And you’ve told me who I am
I am yours

Who am I, that the eyes that see my sin
Would look on me with love
And watch me rise again?
Who am I, that the voice that calmed the sea
Would call out through the rain
And calm the storm in me?

Not because of who I am
But because of what you’ve done
Not because of what I’ve done
But because of who you are

I am a flower quickly fading
Here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean
A vapor in the wind
Still you hear me when I’m calling
Lord, you catch me when I’m falling
And you’ve told me who I am
I am yours

Not because of who I am
But because of what you’ve done
Not because of what I’ve done
But because of who you are

I am a flower quickly fading
Here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean
A vapor in the wind
Still you hear me when I’m calling
Lord, you catch me when I’m falling
And you’ve told me who I am
I am yours
I am yours
I am yours

Whom shall I fear, whom shall I fear?
‘Cause I am yours
I am yours

“Who Am I”
(Mark Hall)
© 2003 Be Essential Songs (BMI) (admin. at EssentialMusicPublishing.com) / My Refuge Music (BMI) (admin. at CapitolCMGPublishing.com)

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When Your Faith Becomes Real

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Matthew 10:38-39 – “And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

I was in college when I really began to understand, internalize, and digest what it really meant to have my identity rooted in Christ.

The reason why is that I grew up in a strong, church-life kind of family. Scriptures were ingrained in my siblings’ and my whole world. You know, I knew what the Bible said about me because my parents made sure I did.

But it wasn’t until I was out of that protective bubble, and I was around people who were different than me and had different ideologies, philosophies, values, and morals that I had to make my own choices.

Would I let the labels, expectations, and freedoms that others defined for me shape my life? Or would I choose to anchor myself in the unchanging truth of who God says I am?

And let me tell you, I didn’t always get it right. There were stumbles, bumbles, and missteps. But through it all, one thing became crystal clear: God doesn’t have grandchildren.

You don’t inherit faith. You don’t ride on the spiritual coattails of your parents, your church, or your upbringing. You are either His child by your own decision, or you are not.

Though I had been a Christian, I realized that truly living for Christ was a choice I had to make for myself. And once that truth took root in my heart, it changed everything. I discovered in that stage of life my identity as a “Christ-follower”.

That identity in Christ? That has carried me every single day since. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

— Priscilla Shirer

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Where You Cannot Be Replaced

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“The beginning of wisdom is this: get wisdom, and whatever you get, get insight.”

Proverbs 4:7

You’ll have to know a little background on my sister, Priscilla. She is a master at saying “no.” And not in a rude way—she just knows that every “yes” costs something. So, she is intentional. She prioritizes what matters most, which means she has to be just as serious about what she turns down.

One day, we were talking, and she said something profound.

She said, “You know, Anthony, when I say no to an event—whether it’s something in an arena somewhere or a women’s conference or Bible study— it is because I know that my voice in that scenario can be replaced.”

“Somebody else can step in and do that,” she continued, “but my voice at my son’s basketball games cheering them on cannot be replaced.”

I had to sit with that for a minute. Wow. That’s crazy, I thought

Because, if I am honest, a lot of us—myself included—are drawn to what looks bigger. We chase the opportunities that seem more important, more influential. We say yes to what shines the brightest, thinking that is where we’re needed the most.

But we miss what actually matters most.

The places where our voice is not just wanted—it is necessary.

So, here is the question: Where is your presence irreplaceable?

Because that’s where you need to be.

— Anthony Evans

 

More information on our events page!

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