I remember standing in the gymnasium with Mossy after Capital Kings had just finished their opening act for David Crowder. Energy was explosive as the two band members jumped around on stage, banging on some synthesizer in the center of the stage. Mesmerized by the flashing lights and techno beat, Mossy jumped up and down and lost himself in the music. These moments of joy in the midst of chaos were such a treasure.
They exited and the stage was quickly changed for a more acoustic setting. Ellie Holcomb walked out and Mossy immediately judged correctly that this would be an entirely different style of music. She looked like she had just stepped through a portal from Nashville, TN. “Auntie, let’s go sit back down.” I smiled. Not only was this NOT his style of music, but the hour was pushing his routine bed time and he would soon be fighting heavy eyelids.
We walked to the side of the gym where people gathered along the wall so Mossy could lay on the floor with his head in my lap. I was looking forward to hearing David Crowder and didn’t have a clue who this Ellie Holcomb was. To be honest, I was just as ready for her to be finished as Mossy was. But then she began to share the backstory of a song she was about to sing. Her thick southern twang confirmed her Nashville origin. I was tempted to write her off as just another Christian, acoustic, female singer, but something about her tone pulled me in. There was a depth of soul as she shared her struggle with perfectionism (ouch, that hit close to home). Pain laced faith had inspired this song she wrote to sing over her newborn baby. My attention was gripped as she shared two verses that had been with me from the beginning of my own journey with Mossy. Hosea 6 and Lamentations 3. God had my attention.
She began to pluck the strings of her guitar and her soothing voice washed over my wounded soul. I ran my fingers through Mossy’s hair, falling asleep, and let the promise seep inside. The crowd faded and I let God comfort my heart like a momma singing over her baby.
This morning, as I walked Puggle through the woods behind our home, the sun broke through the barren winter trees, and these promises filled me up once again. I don’t know what today or tomorrow holds, but I do know the sun will rise. I know that God’s mercy will not end.