One thing I’ve come to understand, deeply and personally, is that worship isn’t just a routine. It’s not a box to tick or a performance to perfect. For me, worship has become a lifeline. A place of honesty. A healing space.
There are moments when my mind is racing, when I feel overwhelmed, uncertain, or emotionally drained—and in those moments, I’ve learned to stop trying to fix everything with my thoughts. Instead, I sing.
Not always because I feel strong. Often, it’s because I feel weak. But as I lift my voice, even in brokenness, something shifts. The fog clears. The anxiety softens. My spirit realigns.
Worship creates space. Space for clarity. For surrender. For truth to rise above the noise.
I’ve experienced healing in the most personal ways, healing of fears, disappointments, internal battles I couldn’t even put into words. And while prayer gives me language, worship gives me posture. It reminds me that I don’t have to carry it all.
There’s something powerful about stepping into God’s presence with your heart wide open. No mask. No pretense. Just saying, “Here I am. You know me better than I know myself.” That kind of worship does more than lift our spirits, it recalibrates our minds. It brings peace. It heals.
If you’re reading this and you’re in a place of emotional exhaustion or mental strain, I want you to know: worship is still for you. Especially for you. You don’t need perfect words. You don’t need to feel qualified. Just start where you are. God sees the heart behind the melody, even if it’s cracked.
I wrote RABONNI during one of those seasons. And singing it has continued to be a reminder that even when I feel undone, God is present, and He still responds to my cry.
Let worship be your anchor this week. Let it be where healing begins.
