When 'Here' Is Exactly Where We, Or Our Listeners, Don't Want To Be

"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked.
Money don't grow on trees
I got bills to pay
I got mouths to feed
There ain't nothing in this world for free
I know I can't slow down
I can't hold back
Though you know I wish I could..."

I heard those lyrics LOUD in my earbuds last Sunday morning as I was walking around my neighborhood. Spotify randomized a list for me and I thought "yep, Christian music isn't the only genre that gives me the right song at the right time...I've got bills to pay and mouths to feed-these are the things I know deep in my bones".

I kept walking and crossed paths with neighbor/listener Nancy. She wonders where Charlie (my dog) is. She remembers hearing about Charlie on the air and knows she's seen us on walks. What she doesn't know is that my family dynamic changed and Charlie isn't at my house anymore. I made up some sort of lame answer and quickly looked down and kept walking toward home...my brain and my heart in agreement: "I don't want to be here."

Back in April, I sat in a courtroom as a judge asked questions about living arrangements, how property would be split and how the custody of children would be arranged. And in that moment-and so many others since-my brain and my heart agreed:

"I don't want to be here."

I'm now a single mom of four with a full-time job, a tracking gig, and a green t-shirt that signifies me as a Shipt grocery shopper in my free time. When I stand in the checkout line to buy expensive wine and steak for other families, my brain and my heart agree:

"I don't want to be here."

I didn't walk away from God, but I sure didn't try very hard to make sure I was in church, because it hurt. There's shame and guilt, and memories. My ex and I were the very first wedding in that church in 2000. We dedicated our babies on that stage and sat with them every single Christmas Eve service until last year. That was the year I took them alone and cried. I didn't go back until Easter. I tried again. And cried again.

"I don't want to be here."

After my "ain't no rest for the wicked" walk last Sunday, I went home, gently shook my sleeping children awake and told them to find some decent clothes because we were going back to church. It was time to crack that wound open and let a little bit of air in to begin the healing process. And so, even in my "I don't want to be here," I put on the bravest smile I could, walked through the doors with my kids, and found a seat in the back. I still didn't WANT to be there, but I was there.

And that's when music started-and the lump grew in my throat. And I looked over and saw my taller-than-me-by-a-lot son singing "In my Father's house, there's a place for me..." THAT was the song I needed on that Sunday, NOT the one about paying bills and having mouths to feed.

The right song, at the right time, in the place that feels totally wrong.

I know I'm supposed to write about something I know about radio here; but today, the only thing I know is that at this moment, you have listeners that are sitting in their moments of "I don't want to be here." Their brains are swirling with decisions that need to be made; their hearts are heavy and their stomachs are tied in knots. If they had a choice, they'd be sitting anywhere except for the space they find themselves in.

They may or may not know that God is sitting with them in their messes. They may know that He is there, but they may not feel like He is. And because they're human, they may feel like God is cruel and distant because he isn't making an easy escape from that uncomfortable space.

I know we all have ratings goals and revenue projections to meet and boards to keep happy, but in this season, the thing that motivates me is being there for the person who is sitting in their moment of "I don't want to be here," because I know how that feels.

Being there for...

...the grandmother in the car pool lane who takes her three beautiful granddaughters to school every day because their mom is very sick and their dad is working non-stop to keep the family's health insurance and a roof over their heads.

("I'm gonna sing in the middle of the storm....louder and louder, you're gonna hear my praises roar...")

...the dad standing in the "lady products" aisle at the store because he has a 12-year old daughter who's mom bailed and he wishes he would have paid more attention in Sex Ed and if ANY guy notices that his baby is starting to develop, he will knock his lights out.

("This isn't what I'd choose, it's where I'm finding You...")

...the teenager who is trying to figure out how to hide the bruise she has on her arm because he really didn't mean to get so rough and she can't let anyone find out because they would call him bad and they just don't understand.

("I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkness....")

...the mom who loves watching her kids play sports, but has to sit away from the other parents because it hurts too much to see their dad sitting and snuggling and giggling with another woman. He seems to be doing great and she can't understand why he found someone to love when the closest thing she has had to a slow dance is her weekly mopping of the kitchen floor.

("Your love is better than life...you are the well that won't run dry...")

...the college grad who casually enjoyed drinks with friends, and then a few drinks alone at night, and now drinks that are constant and hidden and full of shame.

("If you've got chains, He's a chainbreaker...")

They may not all be women ages 35-54. They may not go to church. They may not have a knowledge of Jesus, let alone a relationship with Him. But they do listen to you. What you say and the music you play may get them through those moments of "I don't want to be here."

The great thing about what you do is that you can take them from THAT space into a place that makes them say "I LOVE being here." I challenge you to be more than family friendly, and not just safe for the small ones. Work to become a place where moms and college students and custodial grandparents choose to be. If you're doing it right, they'll come to you not because you're an alternative to the swearing and fart noises across town, but because they genuinely feel a little less lonely and a little less sad and perhaps even a little hopeful when they listen.

Give yourself permission to share your mix-ups. Tell a terrible joke. Get excited about the little victories and talk about the amazing sunrise you're seeing out the window. Don't feel like you have to cover it all in Jesus syrup. Your kindness and acceptance can be Jesus in disguise.

Start your shift with the mindset of sharing "you're welcome here," "we're with you" and "you don't have to be perfect, in fact, we like you better if you aren't." Don't feel like you have to save ALL of the lost sheep, or even one of them. Bring them into your space, let them kick their feet up, remind them that they're safe with you and let God do the rest.