Last night, instead of witnessing the devastating loss of my beloved Houston Astros, a friend and I enjoyed a night of worship with Casting Crowns, one of my favorite bands – second only to Bon Jovi.

Casting Crowns is the only other band I will make an effort to go see anytime they are in town, no matter how many times I have seen them before. They are the only other band I can sing practically every word to every song.

. . . and this may be strange for those who know about my 37-year-and-counting love affair with Bon Jovi to understand, but I actually enjoy a Casting Crowns concert more than I enjoy a Bon Jovi concert.

The reason is that, for everyone I have come to like and admire as an adult, I see Casting Crowns through the lens of a woman who was married to a professional musician – meaning I am not quite a “fan” as the term often connotes. However, when it comes to Bon Jovi, I am emotionally all of that 10-year-old girl who first fell in love with Jon Bon Jovi.

When at a Bon Jovi concert, I am not screaming or singing at the top of my lungs. I am almost not breathing at all as I desperately try to hear every word and absorb every moment, petrified of missing a thing.

At a Casting Crowns concert, although never the one for outward signs of rowdy emotional displays, I will stand, sing aloud, and tap the beat on my leg. I am much more relaxed and present.

I first discovered Casting Crowns many years ago and their music became increasingly important to me during the pandemic. During a particularly rough visit (as a hospital chaplain), I would go back to my office and play the Casting Crowns YouTube channel, usually starting with my favorite song, Oh My Soul.

This morning, as I reflected on the concert, I realized that I love Casting Crowns for the same reason I love Bon Jovi. Simply put, their music speaks to me.

Bon Jovi gave hope to a lost and lonely little girl. They brought me comfort the way no one else and nothing else could at the time.

I was seeing a therapist even then, but back then, I was still so ashamed and embarrassed of my thoughts and emotions that I kept them hidden even from the person hired to help me through it. I felt alone in my thoughts and emotions and was afraid that if I told her, any sense of normalcy and safety I felt would somehow be shattered. I realize the fallacy of that now, but as a kid . . . well, kids have a way of thinking they are the only ones in the world dealing with their issues.

Anyway, Bon Jovi music was the one and only thing that fully penetrated my broken heart and brought me comfort and healing. I felt safe when listening to their music and I felt hope for the future.

In many ways, Casting Crowns does the same thing for me. Although I am now embarrassingly forthright with my therapist and wear my heart on my sleeve in both my fictional and blog writings, their music still gives voice to what my heart cannot communicate . . . and brings me peace.

Last night, Mark Hall, the lead singer, spoke about how he’s a dork, how we’re all dorks – and how, when we are broken, we have to tell our story. That is the only way to bring healing.

When he mentioned his music, he said that it is in-your-face. There is no questioning what or who the song is about. The listener is not left questioning if the singer is singing about God or his girlfriend.

Yep. That is what I like about the music. It speaks truth – to what is going on in the world, in the church, and in me. It pulls straight from scripture and holds nothing back.

I started thinking of some of my favorite songs:

• Stained Glass Masquerade
• Voice of Truth
• Praise You in this Storm
• Just Be Held
• Nobody
• Only Jesus
• and, again, my absolute favorite – Oh My Soul

Mark Hall writes songs the way I write – and I was told under no uncertain terms that I would never get published through the mainstream channels unless I changed my style . . . either tone down the graphic talk of brokenness or turn Jesus into a generic god. I refused. That, in brief, is why my stories are on my website free of charge. I don’t write for “them.” I write for HIM. I write for others like me – lovers of Jesus Christ who are also broken. Those who need to know that they are not alone. Those who need hope.

Yesterday was October 23 – 7 months since Bailey died.

Today is October 24 – what would have been Brad’s 56th birthday.

Last night, toward the end of the show, the band played Scars in Heaven.

I have played that song for many family members after the death of a loved one – especially during the COVID days. I love that song, but last night, it hit at a very emotionally raw spot. I thought of Bailey. I thought of Brad. And I unashamedly wept. Tears streamed down my neck.

I cried again this morning thinking about it.

I imagined Jesus with his arm slung around Brad’s shoulder. Jesus and Brad with big ole grins on their faces. I imagined Bailey snuggled in Jesus’ other arm, content and at peace.

The image made me think of the lyrics:

“And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down
is that the only scars in Heaven are on the hands that hold you now.”

Earlier in the day (yesterday), I spent time with a family, helping them to say goodbye to their loved one. Before leaving them, I asked them to be kind to themselves and to one another, understanding that their emotions will vary and however they grieve is normal and personal. I let them know that there will be unexpected moments throughout their lives that trigger memories, when they will feel the person that they love and miss close to them. Embrace those moments.

Last night, I experienced my own unexpected moment, and it was devastatingly beautiful.