Dear Younger Me

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Hebrews 12:2 — “Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Bart Millard sat in his living room, watching a familiar face on ESPN. It was a friend he had known for years, now a professional athlete.

When the interviewer asked why he loved baseball, the answer was unexpected. He shared that as a boy the athlete had been abused by babysitters, but the baseball field was the only place they could not reach him.

Hearing that struck Bart deeply. He understood what it meant to need a refuge. For Bart, it was music. Growing up with an abusive father, he had carried shame like a heavy coat he could never shrug off.

After the interview, Bart reached for his phone and sent a message. The words came straight from his heart:

“If I knew then what I know now, condemnation would have no power. My joy and pain would never be my worth.”

He added, “And if I knew then what I know now, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out what I would have changed if I could have heard ‘Dear younger me, it’s not your fault. You were never meant to carry this beyond the cross.’”

His friend replied, “Man, I’m in tears.”

Months later, Bart sat down to write the song “Dear Younger Me.” When he opened his phone and saw that message again, it all became clear. The song was already written. All he had to do was give it a melody.

That moment, where the words fit together perfectly, felt bigger than anything Bart had done before. The lyrics felt like a door opening to a room where he could finally lay down the past—the guilt, the blame, and the suffering.

Pain leaves scars, sure, but what other people did to you, or even what they didn’t do, wasn’t your fault.

God wants to restore you, heal you, and take away your shame. Just like Bart’s friend found safety on the baseball field, maybe you can find your safe place too—at the foot of the cross.

Dear Younger Me . . .

What would you tell your younger self if you had the chance? Email us what you would say:
info@887thecross.com.

 

LYRICS

Dear younger me
Where do I start
If I could tell you everything that I have learned so far
Then you could be
One step ahead
Of all the painful memories still running thru my head
I wonder how much different things would be
Dear younger me

Dear younger me
I cannot decide
Do I give some speech about how to get the most out of your life
Or do I go deep
And try to change
The choices that you’ll make cuz they’re choices that made me
Even though I love this crazy life
Sometimes I wish it was a smoother ride
Dear younger me, dear younger me

If I knew then what I know now
Condemnation would’ve had no power
My joy my pain would’ve never been my worth
If I knew then what I know now
Would’ve not been hard to figure out
What I would’ve changed if I had heard

Dear younger me
It’s not your fault
You were never meant to carry this beyond the cross
Dear younger me

You are holy
You are righteous
You are one of the redeemed
Set apart a brand new heart
You are free indeed

Every mountain every valley
Thru each heartache you will see
Every moment brings you closer
To who you were meant to be
Dear younger me, dear younger me

You are holy
You are righteous
You are one of the redeemed
Set apart a brand new heart
You are free indeed

You are holy
You are righteous
You are one of the redeemed
Set apart a brand new heart
You are free indeed

You are holy
You are righteous
You are one of the redeemed
Set apart a brand new heart
You are free indeed

Songwriters: Barry Graul / Bart Millard / Ben Glover / David Garcia / Michael Scheuchzer / Nathan Cochran / Robby Shaffer

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Help Always Has a Paddle

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Matthew 22:39 — “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

It happened on a Thursday night that went sideways in a hurry. One minute, the sky and seas were calm, then—boom—not so much.

Locals say the wind went from gentle to howling in about the time it takes to butter toast. Unfortunately, that was exactly the same time that a couple paddled out into the sea on their kayak.

Now, to be fair, nobody’s faulting them. They probably thought they’d squeeze in one last paddle before dinner with their dogs. And it would’ve stayed sweet, if not for the New Jersey sky deciding to throw a temper tantrum.

In seconds the winds picked up immensely, and their kayak flipped. The woman and her dogs went one way. The man went another.

People started gathering on porches and decks, holding their breath at the scene.

And then came the hero. Brennan.

“He just ran,” said one of the neighbors. “Full sprint. Down the dock. Gone.”

He leapt straight into the chaos, paddling furiously, and one by one—pulled them back. First one dog, then the second. Then the woman. By that time, the man had managed to grab hold of a dock, wet and shaken but safe.

It all happened so fast. And then it was over. Everyone said the same thing: “If Brennan hadn’t been there…”

Well. He was.

And here’s the part you may not expect: Brennan wasn’t a local business owner. Brennan was one of the dogs. A Labrador retriever who didn’t hesitate to launch himself into danger for the sake of his people.

That’s the thing about love—it doesn’t overthink. It doesn’t weigh the odds. It just runs straight into the storm when someone’s in need.

Jesus said the greatest commandment is to love God—and the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). That kind of love isn’t always convenient, and it doesn’t always make sense. But it’s exactly what this world needs.

So maybe the question today is: Who around you needs you to run into the storm for them?

Because if a dog named Brennan can do it… surely we can too.

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Lasting Lessons from Godly Leaders

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Hebrews 13:7 — “Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith.”

The start of another school year always brings out the nostalgia in me. I love the smell of new pencils, fresh notebooks, and all the gizmos and gadgets that a new school year brings! It also reminds me of the important teachers who helped shape me in ways they may not have even realized.

Levi Kroeker was one such teacher. Though his name and nerdy glasses might have sparked some giggles, this man was always held in the highest regard.

You see, he was not only my middle school history teacher but also the principal.

His dual role could have been intimidating, and quite frankly it was! He was a tough teacher, yet students who went through his classes came out the other side with a new respect for him – both as a teacher and as the leader of our school. Despite his authoritative position, he had a unique ability to make his presence approachable and even endearing.

What truly symbolized his connection with us was his simple metal lunchbox. It told a thousand stories. It was adorned with a colorful array of stickers – each one representing a grateful student who had given him a sticker as a token of their love and respect for him.

When he passed away a few years ago, the gymnasium overflowed with students and alumni. The sheer number of people who came to pay their respects for the man with the lunchbox spoke volumes about the powerful mark he left on our lives.

As the new school year begins and fresh supplies fill the aisles, it is a perfect time to reflect on the mentors who have shaped your journey. Consider how their guidance aligns with the values taught in the Scriptures—kindness, integrity, and love.

Maybe this year you might take a moment to reach out and give your gratitude to those who have had an influence on your life and shaped you into the person you are today.

— Linda Meyers

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Serving Joy in a Jar

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Philippians 2:4 – “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

The car ride home from the hospital was quiet. Eleven-year-old Jessie Joy Rees was curled up in the back seat, her soft knit cap slipping down over her eyes.

Her parents were worn out. They had just watched their daughter endure another round of chemotherapy. No one spoke for a while. Then Jessie broke the silence with a question that changed everything.

“What about the kids who don’t get to go home?”

They had no answer. They were still trying to hold themselves together. But Jessie was not waiting for anyone else to lead. She had already decided what to do.

That evening, they found her in the kitchen, surrounded by toys from her room and five brown paper lunch bags. She was writing cheerful notes in bright marker.

“You are brave.” “Keep smiling.” “Never give up.”

At her next appointment, Jessie brought the bags with her. The hospital staff smiled and offered a few guidelines. The bags became jars—clear, colorful containers filled with new toys, crafts, and other kid-friendly treasures, all meant to brighten a long hospital stay.

That was how Jessie’s Joy Jars were born.

She packed more than 3,000 jars in just ten months. Their garage transformed into a joy workshop. Word spread. Families joined in. Hospitals took notice. And children who had stopped smiling began to smile again.

But the jars were never just about the toys. They told a deeper story—one of a little girl who refused to let a diagnosis define her. Her kindness did.

And so can you.

If you are walking through something dark today, remember: love does not need perfect conditions to show up. It only needs someone willing. Jessie was. And her life still says what words sometimes cannot.

There is always a way to give joy.

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Sox and All

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Proverbs 3:27 — “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.”

I came across a story recently that’s been sitting with me ever since.

A woman named Jane Arndt was driving her regular bus route when she saw someone standing barefoot on the hot pavement. Her clothes were worn, her hair tangled—someone the world had stopped noticing.

Without thinking twice, Jane slipped off her own shoes and handed them to the woman. “They’re not new,” she said, “but they’ll keep your feet from burning.” Then she got back behind the wheel—socks and all—and kept going.

Another passenger, who had once been homeless, wiped a tear from her eye and whispered, “She sees her.”

That moment has stayed with me. Because love like that—love that notices, that moves, that gives—does something more than help. It heals. It tells someone they matter.

Proverbs 3:27 says, “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act.” Most days, we have more power than we think—a kind word, a small gift, a few seconds of courage. And when we use that power to see and serve someone else, we reflect the heart of Jesus.

So today, let’s not hold back.
Let’s not wait.
Let’s be willing to give up a little comfort, so someone else can take a step forward.

That kind of love? It changes everything.

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Living Beyond the Hurt

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Ephesians 4:31-32 – “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Some men age by the calendar. Bruce Seaver aged by what he survived.

He doesn’t talk about it much, but he was 31 when they shot him out of the sky. The year was 1965, and the Vietnam War had no end in sight. What followed wasn’t strategy or tactics—it was just survival. Bruce spent over seven years in captivity.

His is not the kind of story people expect. There’s no big climax, no revenge, and no sweeping rescue. Just long days, empty stomachs, and a slow-burning resolve. Faith, Bruce says, is what kept him sane.

When he finally came home in 1973, the word “hero” followed him like a shadow. He still squirms when he is called one.

“No,” he said, voice even, “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The real heroes are the ones who didn’t come home.”

He could’ve come back angry. Some did. But Bruce chose to leave bitterness behind. Back home in West Monroe, he didn’t lash out or preach. Instead, he hugged his wife, kissed his daughters, and started living again.

In a world that insists that bitterness is strength and paints forgiveness as weakness, Bruce showed a different kind of courage. It’s one the world doesn’t quite know what to do with. He said it best: “I just want to focus on time gained, not time lost.”

At ninety-one, he still swims thirty minutes every morning—not to outrun the past but to stay grounded in the present. And maybe that’s the truest kind of hero: the one who is mistreated and never lets it twist his heart.

So, friend, what might it look like for you to stop clinging to what hurt you and choose what heals instead?

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God on Bus 27

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Isaiah 52:7 – “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation.”

Glenda has seen it all.

As a bus monitor, she’s witnessed the kinds of things nobody wants to see. Kids getting dropped off at houses she wouldn’t have sent a stray dog to. Some have stepped on in yesterday’s clothes, carrying no lunchbox and even less hope.

Sometimes she wonders—before they ever climbed onto this bus, had anyone told them they were loved? That they mattered? That they weren’t alone?

So she does what she can. She smiles big. She calls them “honey” and “sugar,” and plays 88.7 The Cross every single morning like it’s a love song on repeat.

Because she sees them. Every single one.

And to her, this has never been just a job.

Bus 27 is her mission field. Her chance to show those kids what steady looks like. She has memorized their names. She knows who likes the window seat, who hums when they were nervous, and who needs a little extra kindness before the sun fully rises.

This morning, “My Jesus” by Anne Wilson rolled through the speakers, and a boy two seats back gives her a grin.

“Miss Glenda, can you turn it up?”

Oh, she turned it up, all right.

When she glances back, even the grumpiest kid is bobbing his head along to the beat. One child’s shoulders drop like a weight is finally lifted. The shy girl—the one who never speaks—is mouthing every single word. And the rest? They are smiling. Like really smiling.

In that moment, that worn-down bus just feels like church.

And though Glenda has seen a lot over the years, She knows she will never forget this morning. Because that moment—that transformation—that’s what she wants for them. Not perfection. Just a glimpse of Jesus.

And if playing one song can make a child feel seen and known, she will keep doing it every day until the wheels fall off.

Because as far as Glenda is concerned, telling people about Jesus?

That’s the best thing she’ll ever do.

Will you sponsor one day of hope—just like Glenda lives it out every morning?

When you give to 88.7 The Cross, you’re putting songs of truth and love into the lives of kids like the ones on Bus 27. You’re reminding them they matter. That they’re seen. That Jesus is for them—even if no one else has ever said it.

Your gift makes moments like these possible. Choose a day that matters to you, or give what you can. Because every single morning, someone is listening… and what they hear could change everything.

GIVE HERE!

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A Couch, a Coffee, and a Change

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Luke 6:36 — “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.”

Some lessons from God don’t start in a church. They start behind a gym, yelling at a stranger in a junked-out car.

The sun wasn’t even up, but Jeff’s blood was already boiling. There it was: a man’s silhouette under a ragged blanket. Again.

He banged on the window with a flat palm.

“I said this yesterday. You can’t sleep here! I’m not running a shelter. I’m running a business.”

The kid jumped, wide-eyed, and climbed out without a word. He disappeared into the trees like smoke. Jeff stood there for a minute, jaw clenched, muttering all the way back inside.

The next morning? Same car. Same blanket. Same boiling anger.

By day five, Jeff wasn’t even surprised. His feet thundered as he marched toward the car, already rehearsing what to say when—

Do you remember when you had nothing?

The words weren’t audible, but they might as well have been shouted.

He did remember… how close had he had come to losing it all. The gym. His sanity. His hope.

So, he turned around, marched back inside, filled a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee, and carried it out.

“I brought you something.”

The young man sat up slowly, blinking. Confused.

“What’s your name?”

“…Brian.”

They talked a while. After hearing Brian’s story, Jeff offered him a job. Brian agreed, but showed up hours late. This time he didn’t let it slide.

“Job’s off the table,” Jeff said. “But I’ll help you. You can shower here and sleep on the couch. But I’m not jumping in the hole with you. You’ve got to want out.”

The weeks passed, and there were more slip-ups and missed chances. But Jeff didn’t walk away. Every time he looked at Brian, he saw himself, just younger and in need of someone steady.

And do you know what? Eventually, Brian did find a steady, meaningful job, but what he gained more was the confidence that someone cared about him when all he had was a tattered blanket and a place to sleep in the back of someone else’s car.

When you think about Brian and Jeff today, I hope you will remember someone else needs what God gave you, too. Could it be grace? Patience? Or a second chance?

And when you meet someone stuck where you once were, don’t yell. Don’t look away. Just lean in, lend a hand, and offer a little hope and a cup of coffee.

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The Day Hope Came Back

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Romans 15:13 – “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

“Enclosed is a check to sponsor one day of Hope. I will be mailing checks to you monthly.”

That is what Susan wrote on the card.

Hope. The word alone brought a lump to her throat.

Hope was her Cocker Spaniel. She had a coat like caramel and eyes that always seemed to understand. For years, she was with Susan for everything. Walks in the early morning. Long afternoons on the porch. The simple parts of life no one else really saw, she was there for them all.

When she passed away in January, she did not know what to do with the stillness. It was more than missing her. It was grief.

For a while, the house felt unfamiliar. She would catch herself looking for Hope and reaching for the leash. Listening for her feet on the floor.

But even in the ache, Susan noticed something. Each morning, she would turn on 88.7 The Cross. And somehow, the words that came through the speakers gave her something she did not know she needed. Not a distraction. Not a fix. Just a reminder that hope still had a place in her story.

Now, by giving she wants to share that same hope with others.

You see, real hope is not sentimental. It is a Person who shows up when life falls apart. He is present on the good days and the bad. His name is Jesus, and if you have known Him in that way, you know He is worth sharing.

Is there someone who needs the same hope that carried you? You may not know their name. But just like Susan, you can still be part of the reason they keep going.

Will you give today so someone else can experience the same hope Susan found?

Your gift makes it possible for 88.7 The Cross to be there in the quiet, in the heartache, in the moments that matter most. Just like Susan, someone is listening—grieving, searching, reaching for a reason to keep going.

And your generosity can be the reason they hear exactly what they need.

Give hope. Share Jesus. Sponsor a day—or whatever you can—because real hope is worth passing on.

GIVE NOW!

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Never Stop Planting Seeds

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Galatians 6:9 – “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”

Jonathan always thought his grandpa saw too much. Maybe it was age, or maybe it was wisdom, but he could read right through him…especially when Jonathan was unraveling.

It had been a rough stretch. One bad decision turned into ten. He was barely staying afloat. Jonathan hated how weak that made him feel, but Grandpa never scolded or lectured. He just kept calling and kept showing up.

Then came the call: “You think you could take me to Bible study tonight? My night vision is not what it used to be.”

That night, when they pulled into the church parking lot, Jonathan left the car running and began scrolling on his phone, but Grandpa surprised him.

“You can come in, if you want. Up to you.”

There was no pressure. No lecture. There was just a door left open.

Inside, Jonathan didn’t find pews or perfect people. He found men like him telling their real stories, real pain, and real hope. No one tried to clean him up. They just thanked God for the hope they had found.

By the end of the night, Jonathan realized: Grandpa had played him. The whole “I can’t drive at night” thing was a setup.

Grandpa had spent years planting seeds: cooking breakfast, praying when Jonathan didn’t know it, holding steady when everything else shook. This was just another seed planted, but it landed deep.

And Jonathan did not walk away the same. He didn’t become perfect overnight, but he did start to heal as he invited Jesus into His life.

Years later, Jonathan still remembers the sly grin Grandpa gave him after that night. He knew what he was doing. But what stuck most was not the trick. It was the love behind it. The patience. The years of small things that added up.

Maybe someone has done that for you, or maybe you are the one doing it for someone else.

Keep going.

Your steady prayers and faithfulness matter more than you know. You may not see the change yet, but God sees. And He is not finished.

So, keep planting. God brings the growth. Always.

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