Albums

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"Contestant number one... Tell us...

What's the proper way... To pray?"

Do you kneel? Do you stand? Do you whisper? Do you shout?

The world keeps looking for the right method.

The Father has always been looking at the heart.

Prayer was never about earning His attention.

It has always been about coming into His presence.

Step into the story behind the song and discover that prayer isn't a performance to perfect—it's a relationship with a Father who knew your heart before you ever spoke a word.

Welcome back... Tonight's category... Forgiveness.

Question one— If Christ Jesus forgave you...

Why do you still replay it?

The world keeps replaying your failures.

God keeps reminding you of His mercy.

What guilt remembers...

Grace has already forgotten.

Step into the story behind the song and discover that because of Jesus, your sins have been removed as far as the east is from the west. The record is gone, the debt is paid, and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

They said the chain was iron — it was memory.

They said the cage was for safety — it was fear.

But grace grew stronger than both,

and I remembered my size.

Caged elephant — heart too wild to hide.

Faith ain’t a prison — it’s a beat.

Now I stand where I used to bend.

Grace don’t shrink… it grows.

Everybody wants the launch. Everybody wants the flight.  

But very few will sit in the cannon long enough for God to shape the shot.  A cannonball doesn’t aim itself. It doesn’t choose the direction. It doesn’t control the fire.  It simply rests in the hands of the One who pulls the trigger.  

Faith isn’t reckless flying. Faith is trusting the hands that launch you.  

So while the crowd waits for the explosion, I’m learning the quiet discipline of the barrel.  

Because when God lights the fuse, the destination is never random.  

Boom — Click — Fire. I’m a cannonball in His hands.  

Step right up. Watch closely.

Before the first breath, before the first twist, before the crowd, before the applause, they called it empty air.

The Artist already saw a masterpiece.

Come one… Come all… Step right up…

See the target… See the apple… See it resting by her head…

Fear takes aim… Doubt leaves the hand… Accusation’s flying in…

Will she move? Will she run? Will the knife finally find its mark?

The crowd sees danger. Faith knows she was safe before the hand.