Music and the Stories
Every song begins with a moment that still speaks.
Not only what happened then — but what it invites in us now.
These reflections are why these stories stayed with me.
Mary Magdalene in the Morning Dust
Scripture: John 20:11-16
Reflection: I was drawn to the moment before recognition.
Not the resurrection itself — but the space where grief had not caught up to hope yet.
Mary stays when everyone else leaves.
She is still trying to care for a body while standing inside a miracle she cannot see.
What moved me was how personal the turning point is.
The world is changed forever, but it becomes real to her only when she hears her name.
I wrote this song about that instant —
the shift from searching for what was lost to realizing you are being called.
Faith often arrives quietly, one voice speaking directly to you in the middle of ordinary sorrow.
Mary of the Quiet Yes
Scripture: Luke 1:26-38
Reflection: I didn’t write this song about the miracle.
I wrote it about the decision that came before it.
We often imagine Mary already peaceful, already certain.
But the courage of her story is that she said yes without understanding the life it would rearrange.
The moment that stayed with me was not the manger —
it was the ordinary room where obedience first became real.
Faith sometimes begins long before joy catches up to it.
That quiet agreement felt like the true beginning.
Oil in Your Lamp
Scripture: Matthew 25:1-13
Reflection: This song came from the tension in the waiting.
The parable isn’t really about lamps — it’s about preparation that no one else can do for you.
All the women fall asleep. None of them are perfect. The difference is simply who prepared before the moment arrived.
I wrote it in first person because the question in the story feels personal:
When the call comes, will I already have chosen who I am becoming?
The line “I have oil in my lamp” isn’t confidence in effort.
It’s the quiet peace that comes from small faithful choices made long before they seem important.
Readiness rarely feels dramatic.
It usually looks like ordinary days lived in the direction you meant to go.
Miriam’s Song
Scripture: Exodus 15:19-21
Reflection: I was drawn to what happens after deliverance.
The sea has already parted. The danger is behind them.
But relief and gratitude are not always the same thing.
Miriam doesn’t just observe the miracle — she responds to it.
She leads the people in remembering what they have just been saved from before ordinary life begins again.
I wrote this song about the human need to mark a moment,
to stop and acknowledge that something has changed and we are not who we were on the other shore.
Celebration, in this story, is not noise.
It is recognition — choosing not to forget the help that carried you through.
Ruth
Scripture: Ruth 1:16-17
Reflection: I kept returning to the simplicity of her decision.
Ruth is not promised safety, provision, or belonging.
She chooses Naomi knowing the road ahead will likely be harder, not easier.
What stayed with me is that her faith is expressed through relationship.
She does not speak about belief — she walks beside someone who needs her and lets that choice define her future.
I wrote this song about devotion that isn’t built on outcome.
The kind that commits before knowing what it will cost or where it will lead.
Sometimes the holiest direction is simply the one where you refuse to leave.
Hannah’s Prayer
Scripture: 1 Samuel 1:10-18
Reflection: I was moved by how unguarded her prayer is.
Hannah doesn’t tidy her words or hide her longing.
She speaks with the kind of honesty that can look strange to people standing nearby.
What drew me to this moment is that nothing has changed yet.
The answer hasn’t come. The future is still uncertain.
But she leaves different than she arrived.
I wrote this song about the point where pleading turns into trust —
when being heard matters more than being immediately helped.
Sometimes peace begins before circumstances do.
Twelve Long Years
Scripture: Mark 5:25-34
Reflection: I was drawn to how quiet the miracle begins.
She isn’t asking publicly. She isn’t stopping Him.
After years of disappointment, she reaches for the smallest contact she can — the edge of a garment in a moving crowd.
What stayed with me is that she expects almost nothing and still reaches anyway.
The healing happens in an instant, but the courage to try again took twelve years to form.
I wrote this song about faith that survives exhaustion —
the kind that keeps moving toward hope even when hope has felt unreachable for a long time.
Sometimes belief looks like one more attempt when you have reasons to stop.
Esther
Scripture: Esther 4:13-16
Reflection: I was drawn to the moment before action.
Esther is given a choice she never asked for — remain safe and silent, or step forward knowing it could cost her life.
The story turns not on certainty, but on willingness.
What stayed with me is that courage here isn’t loud.
It’s a decision made in private that becomes visible only afterward.
I wrote this song about the weight of responsibility when you realize your position matters for someone else’s future.
The risk is real, and so is the hesitation.
Sometimes faith looks like moving forward while still afraid.
Abigail the Fearless
Scripture: 1 Samuel 25:18-35
Reflection: I was drawn to how quickly she acts.
Abigail doesn’t wait for permission or for someone else to fix the danger.
She sees what anger is about to cause and steps directly into its path.
What stayed with me is that her courage is thoughtful, not reckless.
She brings humility, truth, and peace into a moment that could have turned violent.
I wrote this song about the kind of bravery that protects others —
the willingness to intervene before harm becomes irreversible.
Sometimes strength looks like meeting fury with wisdom.
Come, Follow Me
(The Mother of James and John)
Scripture: Matthew 4:21-22
Reflection: I was drawn to the moment from the shore rather than the boat.
We often picture the disciples leaving everything, but someone also watched them go.
A calling for one person can quietly rearrange another person’s life.
What stayed with me is the trust required to release what you love into a future you cannot guide.
The miracle here isn’t only that they followed — it’s that someone allowed them to.
I wrote this song about faith expressed through surrender,
when belief means supporting a path you don’t control and may not fully understand.
Sometimes devotion is not in going, but in letting someone else go.
Blessed Are the Meek
Scripture: Matthew 5:1-12
Reflection: I was drawn to how public the moment is and how personal it feels.
The crowd is large, the teaching simple, yet the words land differently for each listener.
What sounds like a blessing to some sounds impossible to others.
What stayed with me is the quiet reversal in the message —
strength described as gentleness, fullness promised to those who feel empty.
I wrote this song about hearing hope spoken in a way that suddenly includes you,
when familiar ideas become intimate instead of distant.
Sometimes faith begins when you realize the promise was meant for you too.
Lord if it is You
Scripture: Matthew 14:22-23
Reflection: I was drawn to the faith of the one who stayed behind.
The story usually follows Peter stepping onto the water,
but someone also watched the storm from the shore and lived with what that moment would ask of him afterward.
What stayed with me is that belief often reaches beyond the person called.
Trust becomes shared — carried by the ones who must accept the risks they did not choose.
I wrote this song about loving someone whose faith leads them into uncertainty,
and learning to find peace without controlling the outcome.
Sometimes faith is standing on solid ground while your heart walks into the waves.
Tentmaker’s Thread
Scripture: Acts 18:1-3, 24-26
Reflection: I was drawn to how much of the story happens in the middle of daily work.
Priscilla and Aquila are not standing in crowds or on hillsides.
They are sewing, hosting, explaining, and patiently helping truth become clear to someone else.
What stayed with me is that influence here is relational and steady, not sudden.
The faith spreads through conversation, correction, and shared labor.
I wrote this song about the kind of calling that grows through ordinary faithfulness —
when small acts of guidance shape something far larger than the moment feels.
Sometimes the work that changes the world looks like a normal day done with intention.
At Your Feet in My Kitchen
Scripture: Luke 10:38-42
Reflection: I was drawn to how ordinary the setting is.
Nothing dramatic is happening — a meal, a house, familiar responsibilities.
Yet in the middle of good and necessary work, attention becomes the real choice.
What stayed with me is that both responses come from care.
One serves, one listens, and the moment gently reveals what cannot be postponed.
I wrote this song about the tension between doing for someone and being with them,
and how easily devotion can become distraction without meaning to.
Sometimes faith is choosing presence when productivity feels more justified.
Phoebe Servant of the Church
Scripture: Romans 16:1-2
Reflection: I was drawn to the quiet importance of her task.
Phoebe is not described through a miracle or a crisis.
She is entrusted with carrying a message and caring for people — work that requires reliability more than attention.
What stayed with me is how much the story depends on someone willing to be trusted.
The faith moves forward because she faithfully delivers what was placed in her hands.
I wrote this song about responsibility accepted without recognition,
and how steady service can shape history just as surely as dramatic moments.
Sometimes faith is simply proving trustworthy in what you were given.
Waiting in the Temple
Scripture: Luke 1:5-25
Reflection: I was drawn to the years before the announcement.
Elizabeth’s story holds a quiet ache — hope carried so long it almost becomes part of your identity.
By the time the answer comes, she has already learned how to live faithfully without it.
What stayed with me is the gentleness of the moment.
The miracle doesn’t erase the waiting; it gives meaning to every year that came before.
I wrote this song about prayers that remain unanswered long enough to reshape expectations,
and the humility of receiving joy after you have stopped demanding it.
Sometimes fulfillment doesn’t return you to who you were — it honors who you became while you waited.
Purple River
Scripture: Acts 16:13-15
Reflection: I was drawn to how unremarkable the setting is.
There is no crowd, no urgency — just conversation beside the water during an ordinary day of work.
Lydia isn’t searching for disruption, yet she remains open enough to recognize meaning when it reaches her.
What stayed with me is that her life doesn’t pause for faith; it makes room for it.
Her response is immediate and practical — she listens, believes, and then opens her home.
I wrote this song about the moment understanding becomes hospitality,
when belief turns into action without spectacle.
Sometimes faith begins in a quiet place and continues at your own table.
Woman at the Well
Scripture: John 4:4-30
Reflection: I was drawn to the conversation that becomes personal before it becomes public.
The setting is ordinary — water drawn in the middle of the day — yet the exchange moves quickly past surface talk into truth she cannot hide from.
What stayed with me is that she isn’t turned away after being known.
The moment she expects distance becomes the moment she is invited closer.
I wrote this song about the relief of being fully seen without rejection,
and how honesty can transform shame into testimony.
Sometimes change begins when you stop avoiding the truth and discover grace waiting there.
Daughters of the Story
After writing these songs, I realized I wasn’t drawn to the same kind of woman each time — I was drawn to the same thread.
Some waited for years.
Some acted in an instant.
Some spoke bravely.
Others stayed faithful in ordinary places.
They lived in distant cultures and unfamiliar days, yet their questions are still ours —
fear, hope, responsibility, trust, patience, belonging.
None of them knew they were standing inside history.
They were simply choosing as best they could with the light they had.
Scripture began to feel different to me while writing these —
not a record to finish, but a place to recognize lives that still teach us how to live.
From them we learn courage without certainty,
devotion without recognition,
kindness that steadies another person’s faith,
and trust that grows slowly in ordinary days.
Their testimonies were built in repeated choices —
the same kind of choices still placed quietly in front of us.
The invitation was never only to read about them, but to live the same faith in our own time.
We are the daughters of the Story.