Let the Waters Wash You Clean

on going back to the place where you believe

‍This morning, I sat with You on the porch, taking in the quiet.

Kentucky is beautiful this time of year—the grass already a deep, lush green, while spring hasn’t yet awakened the trees. The crooks and broken places in their branches are still visible, shaped by wind, water, and time.

It makes me think of a life lived and formed by the Lord—marked, not hidden. There is evidence of new life, but there are still places that feel slow to soften, reluctant to surrender.

Spring always has its way—drawing up life from the grave of the soil. And where branches were once broken, it makes room for something new.

Last night, Andrew Peterson’s concert felt like a cold drink of water for this parched soul. I drank his music in and savored every note.

His songs changed my life over 20 years ago, so it wasn’t a surprise when the tears came. His words are full of poetry and beauty, telling the story older than time—a love that pursues relentlessly and redeems what is lost.

If I’m honest, I knew what I was signing up for when I booked the flight.

I knew this would open floodgates I’ve been holding closed— floodgates of a faith that, lately, feels more like failure and a lot like loss.

But I went anyway.

To hug my friend Angela’s neck and laugh like we always do.
To say hello to her husband.
To marvel at how her children have grown into stunning, beautiful teenagers.
To see Kentucky with its fence-lined horse fields stretching wide and open. (If you’ve never seen it, you must!)

But mostly—

I went because sometimes you have to go back to the Jordan and let the waters wash you clean—words that have stayed with me from his music for years.

Sometimes you have to return to the place (or the music) where you remember and surrender to One who was made flesh and dwelt among us, who humbled Himself to come near—and trust You to soften what has grown hard within me.