Music Born from Grace

Spent Hours

A friend sent me something the other day that has been sitting with me ever since. We hadn't really hung out much in quite a while, and then somehow we ended up hanging out twice in the same week. He had been watching an Instagram video while he was working out and sent it to me because it made him think about our family. Then he sent me this: "I thought of you and Lisa as I listened to this because of how you made us feel when we first moved into the ward. You welcomed us into your beautiful home, embraced my family, and sincerely connected. We felt seen and loved. That feeling has stayed with us eight years later. THANK YOU! You're a power couple and I am fortunate to have crossed paths with you guys." I remember when they first came to church. I think it was their first Sunday in the ward. We were sitting in Sunday School and I walked over, sat down next to him, and basically told him, "I think we're going to be best friends." That was kind of it. We immediately embraced their family into our lives. They came over. We spent time together. Our families became friends. I certainly wasn't sitting there thinking I was doing something that somebody would remember eight years later. I just liked the guy and his family and wanted them to know they had friends here. But eight years later, that was what he remembered. That hit me because I spend a ridiculous amount of my life thinking about how I'm spending my hours. I'm constantly doing the math in my head. There's an hour left before dinner and a week's worth left to do. I can keep working and get a little further ahead, or I can shut it down and go inside. I can finish the call, answer the email, solve one more problem. Or I can go find my kids, spend time with my wife, call somebody, serve somebody, exercise, rest, or do one of the other twenty things I know I probably need to do. And whichever one I choose, something else doesn't get done. That gets especially hard when things are tight. Anxiety starts doing some of the thinking for me. Work a little more. Make sure the bills are covered. Get ahead of whatever might be coming. Keep carrying it because you're the one who is supposed to carry it. I feel a real responsibility to provide for my family. I don't resent that responsibility. I actually care a lot about it. But sometimes I have a hard time knowing when I've done enough for today. Because the other side is real too. My kids are growing up while I'm working. My wife needs parts of me that can't be deposited into an account later. There are conversations and afternoons and completely ordinary moments happening right now that I'm never going to get another shot at. So people say, "Find the balance." Man, I've looked. I don't think balance holds still long enough to find it. There are days when another hour of work is exactly where I should be. There are days when I need to close the computer and walk inside. Sometimes somebody tells me I should have done one when I chose the other, and they might even be right. That's probably one of the hardest parts for me. Everybody can see the thing you didn't do. You're the one who saw what was standing beside it when you had to choose. I still need to listen when somebody I love tells me they needed more from me. I need to be willing to admit when I got it wrong. But I'm learning that I can't spend my life making every decision based on whether everybody else agrees with where I put my time. At some point I have to take the whole thing to God. That's really where the testimony in this song is for me. I believe my time is a stewardship. So is my ability to work. So are the people God has put in my life. I have a finite amount of all of it, and I'm responsible for what I do with it. Then I get that message from my friend. Eight years later, he remembered how he felt. He remembered being new at church and having somebody walk over and immediately make room for him. He remembered his family being embraced. He remembered feeling seen and loved. I have no idea what work I had sitting on my desk that week. I couldn't tell you what was in my bank account. I don't remember what problem I was worried about. But somehow a few hours we spent on people were still sitting there eight years later. That's where "Spent Hours" came from for me. I'm still going to work. I'm still going to worry sometimes. I'm still going to get the calculation wrong. I'll probably keep wondering whether I'm giving enough to my family, my work, the Lord, and the people around me. I just want to get better at asking a different question. Where did I spend it? And when all of these hours are finally gone, I hope some of them are still out there somewhere, living in the people I spent them on.

I Smile

This song was not written from a place of ease. It was written from nights that feel heavy. The kind where the house is quiet, but your mind isn’t. Where your chest feels tight, and you’re searching for peace that doesn’t come the way you expect it to. No mountains move. No skies open. No clear answers come. And yet… something remains. This song came from hearing a man speak about a life that, by any measure, was full of hardship. He didn’t soften it. He didn’t pretend it was easy. He spoke plainly about loss, confusion, and prayers that felt unanswered. And still... he smiled. Not because life was kind to him. But because of Jesus Christ. That is what this song testifies of. At the center of it all is one line: “I smile for the scars You chose to save.” Christ did not rise from the grave untouched. He rose with scars. He kept them. The resurrected Savior still bears the marks in His hands and His feet... not as weakness, but as witness. The wounds remained because the redemption remained. Those scars are proof that He chose the cross. That He descended below all things. That He carried what would crush us, wore what we became, and paid what we could never repay. So when this song says, “my debts have all been paid,” it is not metaphor. It is truth of the atonement of Jesus Christ and what he made possible with his perfect sacrifice. The weight may still be felt. The questions may still come. The night may still be long. But the debt is gone. And if the debt is gone, then despair does not get the final word. That is why this song exists. It is a testimony that Jesus Christ lives. That His Atonement is real. That His mercy is present—even in the quiet, unseen moments where nothing dramatic happens. This song is for those moments. For the nights when all you have is breath, and a prayer, and the smallest piece of peace you can’t explain. There is a reason to smile. His hands still bear it. “I Smile”

Here We Go Again