Audible has become my favorite app. It helps me pass the time on my long commutes to and from work, as well as all the other places I frequent in my Jeep.

I just finished the complete Sherlock Holmes stories and am now embarking on all the novels of Charles Martin, starting with The Dead Don’t Dance. I’ve read most of his books already, but I’m looking forward to revisiting some of them and checking out a few I’ve not heard before.

Charles Martin is a faith-based writer whose stories are steeped in the South and God. He’s a bit like Nicolas Sparks, but more God-centered and (in my opinion) a better writer.

There’s something about a story that can take you away in your imagination, especially when you’re stuck in creeping rush-hour traffic. Unfortunately, I can only go to these places in my mind, but at least I get to have pictures painted in my mind other than the back of the car in front of me.

It also takes me back to all those road trips back in the day where we listened to books on tape. Anyone remember cassette tapes? Then came books on CD, so at least you didn’t have to worry about one of the tapes breaking in the middle of the story.

Now, we have Audible. All the books in one place with no changing out tapes or CDs. Ain’t life grand?

God, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
    for the rest of my life” (Psalm 23, The Message).

“We are on the way to glory, so let us sing as we journey thither ; and as the lark, ascending up to heaven’s gate, sings as she soars, her wings keeping time with her music, and mounting in her song as she rises through the air, so let it be with us, — every day a psalm, every night a day’s march nearer home, a little nearer to heaven’s music, and a little better imitation of it. Let us sing now, in our hearts if not with our lips; and when the time comes, let us join our lips with our hearts, and sing unto the Lord. That is our text, ‘Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness’” (Charles Spurgeon).

I heard a sermon today that blew my mind a little . . . in a good way. It was about why we as the Church sing when we gather together. I mean, why not sing by ourselves? Why do we need to sing with other people?

Worship is not just vertical, stretching from us on earth to God in heaven. It’s also horizontal. We’re commanded to “[t]ell of your joy to each other by singing the Songs of David and church songs. Sing in your heart to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:19, The Living Bible). We’re to sing not just with each other but to each other, reminding each other of God’s faithfulness.

The pastor said something profound. While each church has its own worship minister, sometimes you might just be a worship minister to someone near you. When you’re going through your own valley of the shadow of death and can still sing of the goodness of God, someone else might hear your song and be inspired to sing their own song of praise.

For your story to be known requires you being in community. For you to be willing to share your song requires transparency and vulnerability. It means singing when you’d rather be weeping, or sometimes singing even while you’re weeping.

You don’t have to be a great singer — or even a good singer. You may not be a fan of singing even in the shower for fear that someone might walk by and hear you. But you can make a joyful noise.

I heard this illustration from our worship minister. You may not be a professional dancer. You may not even be any good at dancing or even like to dance. But if your daughter asks you to go with her to the Daddy-Daughter dance, you will go and you will dance, not because you love dancing but because you love your daughter.

In the same way, you sing not for love of your own voice or for the love of singing but because you love the One who first loved you. You sing because of the One who sings over you every night. You sing because the overflow of joy at what God has done for you wells up in you and flows out of you uncontrollably.

“In this life we are all just walking up the mountain and we can sing as we climb or we can complain about our sore feet. Whichever we choose, we still gotta do the hike. I decided a long time ago singing made a lot more sense” (Author Unknown).

When you sing in the middle of sorrow, you’re declaring God’s faithfulness and believing in the promises of God over and against the reality of your circumstances. You are declaring the ultimate victory even while walking in what looks like a losing battle.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re a great singer or not. It doesn’t even matter if you can carry a tune in a bucket. What matters is that you can make a joyful noise to the Lord. In the same way that a father who knows he can’t dance will go to a Daddy-Daughter dance with his daughter even if he doesn’t like dancing because he loves his daughter. In the same way, we sing not out of ability or love for singing but out of a deep love for God in response to the extreme and unconditional love that He’s shown us.

“In this life we are all just walking up the mountain and we can sing as we climb or we can complain about our sore feet. Whichever we choose, we still gotta do the hike. I decided a long time ago singing made a lot more sense” (Author Unknown).

So many will do for others and give without a moment’s hesitation yet will never once ask for help. So many feel like they aren’t allowed to be the recipients of charity or help. Yet they are the ones who probably need it more than anyone.

First of all, it’s never wrong to need help. It’s never wrong to admit that you can’t do it alone. It’s not weakness to have others do for you. Besides, the Apostle Paul himself could say that weaknesses weren’t something to be ashamed of but to boast in because that’s where the power of God is perfected.

Still, notice those around you who are always helping others and doing for others. Be willing to look beyond the surface to see where the other might be struggling or in need. And sometimes you need to be persistent in offering to help because they won’t admit they need it.

The old motto isn’t true about God only helping those who can help themselves. In fact, He goes to those who can’t help themselves. He helps those who know they are powerless and in need. He is close to the brokenhearted and the crushed in spirit. He is near to all who call on Him in faith.

At the very least we can pray for those who are strong for everyone else but never take thought of themselves. They might refuse our help but they can never refuse our prayers to an Almighty God who sees and knows more than we do or even more than the people in need do. And that kind of prayer avails much.

I think the biggest lesson I am learning right now is that it’s foolish to put all my hopes and desires into this present world alone. It’s not wrong to want to seek happiness, but it’s wrong to think that everything I yearn for can be found on this side of heaven.

I think C. S. Lewis said that sometimes God puts desires into us that nothing in this world can satisfy to show us that we were made for another world. No Amazon package, no car, no house, no job, no spouse can fully fill the gaping hole of longing that we carry.

And yet I forget. I keep thinking that something other than God and heaven can completely bring me joy and peace. To think that God can give me happiness apart from Himself is foolishness because it doesn’t exist (and I’m pretty sure C. S. Lewis said that, too).

Learning to live with a bit of discontent is to understand that the life of faith is a kind of now and not yet proposition. We have salvation and all that comes with it, but not in its complete form. We have joy, but it has not been made full. We have peace, but still mixed with all the anxieties of this life.

We have faith, but one day that faith will be made sight and our joy made complete and our eyes will see what we were really longing for all along, and it will be Jesus. Only Jesus.

I love these words that speak to grief as if from the one who has passed away. I love the idea that for the believer death is not the period that denotes the end, but a comma that speaks to a momentary pause until the sentence resumes. Billy Graham once said that when he was reported to have died, he would be more alive than ever. He would have only changed his address.

“We will never be over those things that God has set under us until we learn to be under those things that God has placed over us. There is strength through surrender” (Adrian Rodgers).

Surrender and submission are two dirty words in this society. Maybe the only two dirty words left, since all the others have been deemed fair game. But God’s ways are not our ways.

There truly is strength through surrender. As soon as we put ourselves under what God has placed over us, the more we experience peace and joy. The more we know God’s will and hear God’s voice. The more we see God at work around us and in us.

The crux of the matter is that we are not our own. We were bought with a price. We’re free but not like the world says we’re free. We’re not free do do whatever we want whenever we want, acting out any and all impulses, sexual or violent or otherwise, without any consequences. We are free to do and to be all that God made us to do and be. We are free to flourish as we lay down our lives as Jesus did only to get them back, more abundant and overflowing.

The problem is that I want my way some of the time. I want God’s way some of the time, but in my own timing. As in right now. The best way is God’s way in God’s time.

The hardest truth to accept is that God’s ultimate desire for us is not our happiness but our holiness. And holiness comes through hardship and suffering and loss, but the thing is that there is no true happiness apart from God. And holiness, once it is birthed in us, brings joy. And joy stays when happiness comes and goes.

May our prayer always be, “Not my will but Yours,” and “I surrender all.”

It’s been two years, but those two years have really flown by, haven’t they? It seems like only yesterday they were introducing you as the new Kairos Pastor. Now you’ve accepted a new calling and chapter in your life in Spartanburg, South Carolina.

I’m grateful for those two years. I’ve learned so much from you and seen your heart for Kairos from day one. It’s always been about Jesus first and foremost with you.

I’m thankful that I have lots of good memories to keep in the months and years to come. Those Kairos 4th of July celebrations at Crockett Park. Those times we had Kairos at the Factory in Franklin. Those retreats in Willow Pond.

I think you helped to birth in us a vision for reaching the city of Nashville and a heart for college students and young professionals. I love that your last words to us were for us to carry out the Great Commission.

It’s true that none of us are junior varsity when it comes to proclaiming the gospel and sharing our faith. In this game, none of us are supposed to be spectators. We’re the ones Jesus called to go into all the world and make disciples — not just the ones who get paid to preach and teach.

I hope to visit your new digs in South Carolina. I hope you will get to come back once in a while to visit as Kairos enters a new chapter in a story God continues to write on our hearts and lives.

We thank you and your family for your faithfulness to God’s calling on your lives and your willingness to obey, no matter what. We will miss you but we also rejoice and give thanks to God for you all from now until Jesus returns.

Thank you.

Your will be done. It’s the simplest and yet the hardest prayer to pray in all the Bible.

It’s four words, but the ramifications are never-ending.

Your will be done, even if the healing doesn’t come.

Your will be done, even if my marriage can’t be saved.

Your will be done, even if I lose my job and my home.

Your will be done, even if the doctors don’t have good news.

It can go on and on.

And it’s not always bad news. Praying God’s will can also be full of blessings and joy.

The point is that either way, God is good and His will is best. Even if it’s not my will.

Your will be done.

I wish that I could say that I was peaceful and calm all the time. I wish I could say that stress never got to me because I always went to God in prayer first and got a proper perspective on my circumstances before freaking out.

Unfortunately, no.

It seems to me that a lot of my anxiety is just me looking at my circumstances with me in the place of God trying to figure out how to make it all work. The problem with that little scenario is that I’m not God — not even close. I don’t have nearly all of the answers. I don’t see every part of the problem. I am nowhere near omniscient or omnipotent or anything omni.

But God is.

The sooner I relinquish my anxiety, the better off I am in the midst of my stressful situation. And many times God doesn’t remove me from the trial but uses the trial to make me more like Jesus. In other words, to borrow the words from a song, He doesn’t always calm the storm but He calms His child in the middle of the storm.

It helps if you are able to see the stress in perspective. It’s not the end of the world. In fact, it’s not probably something you will remember next month. Or possibly even next week. Beyond that valley of trial is a greater joy and a greater hope and a greater vision of a great God who got you through. And beyond that is the ultimate happy ending where God in Jesus makes absolutely everything right and we get to be on winning team when evil and sin finally are defeated forever. Not bad, eh?