Sometimes you can sing the words with your mouth long before life teaches your heart what they truly mean.

For years, I led “For Your Glory” at church.

I knew the words. I knew the melody. I knew when to lift my voice, when to pull back and when to let the worship build. I watched people raise their hands, close their eyes and surrender themselves in worship.

And I meant what I sang or at least I believed I did.

But today, I understand that song differently.

There are some songs you learn through rehearsal, and there are other songs life teaches you through experience. This song has become both for me.

It is one thing to sing about wanting to be in God’s presence when life is going well.

It is another thing to still desire His presence when you are sitting beside your child in a hospital room when your heart is hurting, your mind is overwhelmed and you do not know what tomorrow will bring.

It is one thing to sing about surrender when surrender feels beautiful.

It is another thing to surrender your plans, expectations, fears and unanswered questions because you have reached a place where you realize that God’s presence is the only place strong enough to hold you.

For years, I sang, “I want to be where You are.”

Now I understand that those words are not merely about wanting to feel God during a church service. They are a declaration:

God, wherever You are leading me, I want to remain with You. Even when I do not understand the journey, do not let me step outside Your presence trying to escape the pain.

Looking back, I thought I was leading the congregation in worship.

But perhaps God was planting those words inside me for the season when I would need them most.

He knew there would come a day when I would not sing from a platform but pray beside a hospital bed. He knew there would be moments when I would not have the strength to lead anyone else. He knew the lyrics I had sung for years would eventually become the language of my own surrender.

This season with Bug has taught me that worship is deeper than singing the right notes. Worship is continuing to trust God when life has left you with more questions than answers.

Worship is saying:

“Lord, I still want You, even here.”

Even in the uncertainty.
Even in the waiting.
Even through the tears.
Even when my heart is tired.
Even when I cannot see how the story will unfold.

I still want to remain close to You.

Looking back, I thought I was leading the congregation in worship.

But perhaps God was planting those words inside me for the season when I would need them most.

He knew there would come a day when I would not sing from a platform but pray beside a hospital bed. He knew there would be moments when I would not have the strength to lead anyone else. He knew the lyrics I had sung for years would eventually become the language of my own surrender.

This season with Bug has taught me that worship is deeper than singing the right notes. Worship is continuing to trust God when life has left you with more questions than answers.

If I am honest, there have been days when I wanted answers more than I wanted a lesson. I wanted relief more than growth. I wanted God to fix everything immediately so I would not have to walk through the uncertainty.

But God has been teaching me that surrender does not mean I stop praying for healing, restoration and complete recovery. It means that while I pray boldly, I also place Bug, myself and everything I cannot control into His hands.

I Finally Understand

I sang this song for years, but now I understand it.

I understand that wanting to be where God is means choosing His presence over panic.

I understand that beholding Him as King means allowing Him to remain sovereign even when life feels completely out of control.

I understand that surrender is not proven by what I sing when everything is good. It is revealed by what I still believe when everything suddenly changes.

Today, I do not sing “For Your Glory” only as a worship leader.

I sing it as a mother who has cried, prayed, waited and watched God sustain her.

I sing it as a woman whose faith has been stretched.

I sing it as someone who has discovered that God’s presence is not limited to the sanctuary. His presence meets us beside hospital beds. It sits with us in waiting rooms. It holds us together when our hearts feel as though they are falling apart.

And now, when I sing that song, it comes from a different place.

It comes from experience.
It comes from surrender.
It comes through tears.
It comes from a heart that finally understands:

God, more than answers, more than comfort and more than understanding, I need Your presence. Wherever You are, that is where I want to be. Let my worship, my waiting and even this chapter of my life bring You glory.

Open your Bible. Pick up your journal. Let’s grow together.