On this last Tuesday night, I lifted my phone and tried to keep Simmone in the frame.
Our daughter had just joined The River worship team, one of only two new members this year. Now she was singing with them for the first time, in front of thousands of people.
She had the microphone. I had my camera. I was so proud I could hardly keep still.
What surprised me was what didn’t happen inside me.
For a long time, being a worship leader was tied to my worth. I’d see someone I knew take the lead on a bigger stage and feel myself shrink. Then I’d quietly shrink their achievement too: They only got there because they knew someone.
I hate admitting that. But it’s true.
Watching Simmone, I felt none of it. No calculation about where I should be by now. No wish that I were holding her microphone. I just wanted to catch a good picture of my daughter.
Sometimes you don’t know a wound has healed until something touches it and you don’t flinch.
Later that week, Aimee and I were guests on a couple of podcasts. We talked about getting pregnant in Bible college before we were married. For 26 years, I couldn’t imagine telling that story openly. The shame sat so close to the surface that even thinking about it made my stomach tighten.
But I told it. Aimee was beside me, and the knot wasn’t there.
I don’t think time did that on its own. I’m learning to stand in what Jesus has given me: His righteousness, and a love I don’t have to earn. I can say, “Here is what happened. And here is who God is.” Someone else’s response no longer determines who I am.
That freedom is helping me see my calling more clearly too.
I’ve often thought of myself as the worship guy. I love helping people encounter God. I thought the microphone was central to that. But music was one instrument. Songwriting was another. Now I’m finding that creating a children’s book, building with technology, and helping parents make space for their children to meet God are instruments too.
Last week, I wrote about parenting being like leading worship. We can introduce our children to God and make room for them to know Him for themselves. A parent’s lap can become a child’s first chapel.
On Tuesday night, Simmone sang with her own voice. I couldn’t sing her part for her, and I didn’t want to.
I kept my phone up and cheered.
P.S. That hope is why Aimee and I made AlreadyLoved. If you know any parents of preschoolers, I’d be grateful if you sent it their way.
Oh, and the first episode of one of those podcasts is out: https://pod.link/1709107189/episode/ZGViNnkucG9kYmVhbi5jb20vMWFiNmQ1OTUtNDc4MC0zOWJiLTk2YTgtMmNkZjUxZmI4Y2Nk?view=apps&sort=popularity
(Check out the Reel of Simmone here: https://www.instagram.com/reels/Ddq5ImTubEO/)
Give her a follow too 0
See you next Friday