This reflection comes before recording a cover of “God Bless ” by Brooke Ligertwood, because the lyrics still hold true for me. They name a trust in God that’s been shaped by experience—less polished, more honest, and deeply lived.
Now, if I sit in church during worship—if Alex and I choose to go, which lately has only been for a Christmas Eve service—I’m only partly convinced by what I’m singing. Some words I say very carefully, some I hesitate over, and some I’m still deciding whether I truly believe. That certainty feels about fifty-fifty. Because really, going to church with me now isn’t for the spiritually uneasy. There’s a part of this song where I’ve had to stop mumbling through the words or rushing past them just to get through it—not because I don’t believe anymore, but because those lines ask for something real, something that costs more than habit or momentum.
I’ve spent years on church platforms singing words that are theologically beautiful, yet often untested by real suffering. In Western culture, we’re fluent in worship language but far less practiced in lament. So when suffering finally arrives—sudden and disorienting—it can leave us unsure how to respond. We numb out. We keep singing. We move through the motions because it’s what we know. This song reminds me that faith isn’t proven by certainty or polish, but by continuing to trust God when belief feels costly, complicated, and deeply human. Even in the tension, faith is still what anchors how I live and makes sense of my life.
Leave a Reply