This week, we launched AlreadyLoved.

We help parents create a stunning book that shapes their child’s heart.

Here is a sample of our daughter Simmone’s book

On another, bigger note, I have a wonderful praise report—my eldest son is experiencing a personal revival. He's encountering Jesus anew, and his passion is ablaze. He even ministers to me now, with an incredible heart for worship. There's truly nothing better.

In fact, AlreadyLoved was inspired by him and his life. And it’s amazing to see those seeds come to life, the very week we launch Alreadylovedkids.com

Read more about how his life inspired us here: https://alreadylovedkids.com/about

My whole family loves the Lord deeply. There's nothing more valuable to me than that. They're upstairs right now, talking excitedly about worship, and I can hear them as I write this newsletter. I feel like the richest person in the world without realizing it.

Lord, help me see.

I could really use your help:
1. If you know of any parents of preschoolers, we would love to have you share this with them.

2. If you want to create a book for your kid, use this code LAUNCH25 to get 25% off.

Aimee and I would be so grateful.

Batsirai
We need your support.
Follow us on IG & TikTok. @alreadylovedkids

It’s math.

Happiness = Reality – Expectations.

That’s it.

When reality beats your expectations → you feel amazing.
When it falls short → you feel miserable.

Same life. Different expectations.

You go to a Christmas party expecting socks.
You open an iPad.

Euphoria.

You expect an iPad.
You get socks.

Depression.

Nothing changed but the expectation.

You perform a song.
You think you bombed it.
Crowd loves it.

High.

You expect a standing ovation.
You get polite applause.

Low.

Same performance. Different expectation.

Most stress isn’t from reality.
It’s from the story you told yourself reality should be.

“I should be further along.”
“My marriage should feel easier.”
“My bank account should be bigger.”
“My body should look better.”

Should.
Should.
Should.

Expectation inflation kills joy.

The Bible says give thanks in all things.

Not because pain isn’t real.

But because gratitude resets expectations.

Roof over your head.
Food in the fridge.
People who know your name.
A body that still carries you.

Ten years ago, some of this was a prayer.

Now it’s “normal.”

That’s the trap.

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Notice it doesn’t say for all circumstances.
It says in them.

Gratitude isn’t denial.
It’s alignment.

This verse is basically spiritual expectation management!

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
— Philippians 4:6

Look at the formula:

Anxiety → Prayer + Thanksgiving → Peace.

Thanksgiving is in the equation.

Not optional.

Contentment is rooted in presence, not possessions.

When expectation is anchored in God’s nearness instead of material outcome, joy stabilizes.

Reality: no fruit.
Expectation: still joy.

That’s mature faith.

This doesn’t mean aim low.

You should grow.
Get stronger.
Build more.
Earn more.
Become more.

But push your expectations just 1% beyond reality — not 10x overnight.

Massive expectations without massive capacity = chronic disappointment.

If you want to feel happier today:

Lower your entitlement.
Raise your gratitude.
Adjust the math.
Increase your expectation of good - HOPE - anchored in the One you love.

Reality is probably better than you’re giving it credit for.

And if it’s not?

Then improve it — steadily.

But stop poisoning today with tomorrow’s fantasy.

Happiness isn’t a mystery.

It’s managed expectations.

You have something in your life that is better than it could be.

Control the inputs. Pray for the outcomes.

Enjoy and thank God for the normal.

Here I made this… AlreadyLovedkids.com

It was late.

Not dramatically late. Just quiet-house late.

The kind where the dishwasher hums and the lights are low and the day finally exhales.

I was thinking about that verse again.

The one about God turning the hearts of fathers back to their children… and children back to their fathers.

Not fixing behavior.

Not improving performance.

Turning hearts.

I used to read that verse like it was about repair.
Like something had already gone wrong.

But recently I started wondering…

What if it’s also about prevention?

What if the deepest restoration isn’t patching something broken —
But building something so secure it doesn’t fracture in the first place?

I’ve seen how easy it is for drift to happen.

Not rebellion.

Drift.

A thousand tiny moments of distraction.
A thousand subtle messages that love must be earned.
A thousand ways a child can slowly start asking,
“Am I enough?”

And most parents don’t mean for that to happen.

They’re tired.
They’re carrying what was handed to them.
They’re doing the best they know how.

Sometimes the ache between generations isn’t intentional.
It’s inherited.

That’s why this matters to me.

Because I keep thinking —

What if a child never had to question love in the first place?

What if from their earliest memories they heard,
“You belong.”
“You are seen.”
“You are loved.”
“God is not disappointed in you.”

What if their connection with mom or dad was warm and steady — not perfect, but secure?

What if the turning of hearts happened early…
so there was nothing to turn back from later?

That question has quietly become something we’ve been building.

It’s small right now.

Simple.

It’s called Already Loved.

It’s a way for parents to speak beloved identity over their children in a tangible, personal way. Not as a slogan. Not as behavior management. But as foundation.

We don’t know what this will become.

We’re not launching fireworks.
We’re not declaring world change.

We’re just offering what we have.

A few loaves. A couple fish.

If even one child grows up deeply anchored in love…
If even one parent feels closer at bedtime…
If even one heart is turned gently toward the other…

That’s enough.

That’s faithful.

So today, this is a soft beginning.

Not hype.

Just a seed in the ground.

If you believe turning hearts early matters, share this with one parent today.
Let’s see what grows.

[AlreadyLovedKids.com]

This is simply us saying yes to something we felt nudged toward.

Turning hearts.

Before they drift.

See you next Friday.

It was 6:40am.
Coffee going cold.
Laptop open to the book app I’m building. Been building…

And instead of finishing it, I was tweaking fonts.

Again.

I’ve judged Israel before. Have you?

The promised land was right there.
Milk and honey.
And somehow they still wanted to go back to Egypt.

“Just cross over,” I’d think. “Why is this so hard?”

Now I understand.

I’m standing at my own Jordan.

This book.
Already Loved.
It’s almost out.

And yet I keep wandering.

I answer emails that don’t matter.
Tweak designs no one will notice.
Research tools I don’t need.

It looks like work.
It feels productive.
But it’s wilderness activity.

I started asking myself why.

Am I afraid it won’t work?
Afraid it will?
Do I secretly enjoy dreaming more than delivering?

Crossing over means something dies.

The version of me who talks about it.
The version who plans.
The version who can still say “almost.”

A caterpillar doesn’t get to brainstorm about wings.
It has to hang upside down in the dark and dissolve.

Becoming is violent.

It’s easier to stay who you were.
It’s safer to wander.

But the promised land isn’t about geography.

It’s about identity.

Israel didn’t just need new land.
They needed to stop thinking like slaves.

Maybe I do too.

I know the straight path.
Finish the book.
Ship it.
Let it bless who it’s meant to bless.

The resistance isn’t logistics.

It’s transformation.

And I can feel it.

I’m closer than I’ve ever been.

If you’ve ever found yourself wandering when breakthrough was a few steps away…

Maybe it’s not laziness.

Maybe it’s the cost of becoming.

I’m crossing.

See you on the other side.
See you next Friday. (with good news hopefully)

Peter & John & the shadow

Talent gets applause.
Intimacy gets impact.

Yikes. It’s so easy for me to lean on my talent and experience…

Not being insincere or anything fake - but it’s easy to do the job…

I do that more than I care to admit to myself.

We obsess over:

• Arrangements

• Transitions

• Tone

• “Does this sound cool?” (Does this song flatter me?)

But the real power of worship never comes from the setlist.
It comes from the inner life of the one leading it.

You can hear when someone knows God.
You can feel when someone walks with Him.

God doesn’t show up because the bridge hit hard.
He shows up for His friends.

Peter and John didn’t heal people with sermons or techniques.
People were healed by their shadow.

Why?

Not because they walked better.
Not because they talked better.
But because of who overshadowed them.

Same thing today.

Some memorize evangelism scripts and hope for the best when we witness.
Others open their mouths…
and love flows out.

Different methods.
Same result?

No.

One is effort.
The other is overflow.

Remember the disciples?

• All night fishing: nothing.

• One word from Jesus: nets breaking.

Fruit doesn’t come from striving for God.
It comes from abiding with Him.

That connection is built in the secret place.
Daily.
Quietly.
Unseen.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

I’d rather follow a worship leader who knows Jesus deeply
than one who sings perfectly and knows Him shallowly.
(Yet I focus on the opposite - I want to sound good)

Of course, you can be excellent and intimate.

Talent + intimacy isn’t optional.
It’s the goal.

And here’s the good news:

Intimacy is available to everyone.
Talent varies.
Union doesn’t.

Impact comes from God’s shadow on your life,
not your skill set. (God can use it - but He wants to do life WITH us not just use us for our talent)

So the real question isn’t:
Can I lead worship powerfully?

It’s:
Am I willing to live the life that makes it inevitable?

Create and protect one non-negotiable daily block this week for the secret place—no music prep, no output, just presence. It might even feel like a waste of time…

The secret is in the secret place.

Not the strategy.
Not the hustle.
Not the clarity doc.

The secret place.

God already has the answer to every problem I’m facing.
Every question I haven’t asked yet.
Every frustration I keep rehearsing.

He doesn’t just have the solution.
He is the solution.

Most of what I call “lack” isn’t lack at all.
It’s absence.

I don’t ask there.
I don’t yield there.
I don’t vent there.
I don’t listen there.

So I stay busy.
Overwhelmed.
Reactive.
Trying to carry what was never meant for my hands.

Worry is what happens when I try to be sovereign.
Peace is what happens when I remember I’m not.

If He is Lord.
If He is wisdom.
If He loves me more than anyone else ever could…

Why wouldn’t I sit there first?

Everything I’m chasing is either found in the secret place
or is simply fruit of time spent there.

Holy Spirit, make me hunger for the secret place.
Teach me to want the secret place more than results.
———-
PS:

Even as I was about to publish this, I felt a pull…

The secret place isn’t a ritual to perform.
He is the secret place.

I don’t have to escape my day to find Him.
I can turn to Him inside it.

Any moment.
Any breath.
Any thought.

He’s not far.
He’s not delayed.
He’s not waiting for conditions to be right.

He’s closer than close.

Yes, a quiet room helps.
Yes, a set time is beautiful.
But the truth is simpler—and better:

Every minute can be secret with Him.
Every second can be shared.

This kind of closeness doesn’t add pressure.
It removes it.

It turns striving into resting.
Noise into clarity.
Urgency into peace.

I don’t need to get somewhere.
I just need to remember who’s already here.

Holy Spirit, train my hunger.
Teach me to live aware of what’s always been available.

Most people ask the wrong question when life gets hard.

Ask:
“What should I do?”

Should I:
Stay or go.
Quit or push through.
Protect your peace or fight for it.

That question is a trap.

Because when you start with what to do,

Any answer can sound right when you’re tired, scared, or overwhelmed.

Here’s the better question:

“Who do I want to be?”

Because identity drives behavior.

Who you choose to be → determines what you do.

What you do → determines what you have.

Remember this: Be. Do. Have.

But when you reverse it—

When you chase what you want to have (less stress, more happiness, relief)—

You’ll justify almost any decision to get there.

Picture two people at the same crossroads.

Same pressure. Same fear. Same options.

One asks: What gets me out of pain fastest?

The other asks: Who do I refuse to stop being?

They choose very differently.

One chooses escape.

The other chooses to stay.

So next time you’re stuck, don’t negotiate with outcomes.

Anchor to your identity.

Identity brings clarity.

Ask the question that collapses the noise:

“Who do I want to be… when no one’s clapping?”

Then act like that person already exists.
Because they do…

You are already loved.

You can fill a church with $100 bills on every seat.

It would work.
Every week.

And you may grow broke eventually…

You can’t just decide not to do it anymore without risking your growth.

Because incentives drive behavior.

What you use to attract people
is what you must keep using to keep them.

Churches usually grow in three ways:

Entertainment
Music. Production. Food. Energy.
A dopamine hit.

Education
Teaching. Insight. Depth.
“I’m learning something.”

Encounter/Community
Being with God. Ministering to Him. Together

Here’s the problem:

Entertainment and education make people ask,
“What did I get out of it?”

Encounter makes people ask,
“Did we meet with Him?”

The first two put the weight on you.
The third puts the weight on God.

Entertainment burns teams out.
Education puffs up & plateaus.

Encounter multiplies—without striving.

Because when people come for Him,
you don’t have to impress them to keep them.

He does that. He is majestic, magnetic, and magnificent - everything they actually need and want.

What you win them with
is what you win them to.

Choose carefully.

I’ve been doing something interesting lately.

I’ve been taking old songs I wrote years ago—songs that mattered to me, that hold real memories—and running them through AI. Letting it re-imagine them. New arrangements. New performances. Sometimes even new voices.

And here’s what surprised me most:

They weren’t just impressive.
They were beautiful.
Emotional. Connected. Alive in a way that caught me off guard.

I loved them. (Hear my song below)

Not in a “wow, tech is cool” way—but in the same way I’ve loved human performances.

So I shared it with a few people, and my non-musician friends responded with, “Wow - that’s such a beautiful song”. You could see it on their faces!

Then with musician friends.

At first, they listened with wonder and curiosity, “You wrote this???”
Some with genuine appreciation.

Then I told them it was performed by AI

And for some reason, something shifted.

Not outwardly at first—but in the eyes. The posture, the energy in the room changed.

It wasn’t really about the music anymore. (The thing that impressed them just a few minutes before.)

It was about what the music implied.

I think three thoughts landed all at once:

1. That was really good—maybe better than I could do.

2. I was kind of duped by the AI thing.

3. So… what does that mean for me now?

If a machine can sing like this…
Perform like this…
Move people like this…

What am I supposed to do?

And deeper than that:
Who am I, and what is my place in this new world?

This Isn’t Just a Musician’s Question

Musicians and creatives are just the first to feel it.

But the same fear is surfacing everywhere:

• What if AI takes my job?

• What if I’m no longer exceptional?

• What if what I built my identity on isn’t needed anymore?

And when that fear shows up, we often rush to spiritualize it.

We make conclusions.

• If AI isn’t human and

• It doesn’t have a soul then

• God can’t use it.

Some of that may be true. (the first 2)

But a lot of it is us trying to manage our fear.

Especially as creatives.

Because the real question underneath isn’t theological—it’s personal:

Who am I if I’m not special at this?

The Question Was Always There—AI Just Exposed It

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

This question didn’t start with AI.

There have always been better singers.
Better songwriters.
More skilled musicians.
People with more opportunity, more training, more talent.

The difference is—we could explain that.

We could say:

• They practiced more.

• They’re gifted.

• They had better chances.

But now we’re facing something we can’t outwork or out-talent.

And that’s why this moment feels existential.

Because when performance is no longer a safe place to root our identity, we’re left with the question we kept avoiding:

Was my worth ever supposed to come from what I do?

AI will change how you do things

AI may change what you do

AI can’t change who you are

This Is Where the Gospel Speaks—Quietly but Clearly

Jesus didn’t receive His identity from what He did.

Before a miracle.
Before a sermon.
Before proving anything.

He heard:

Beloved before useful.
Loved before productive.

That wasn’t just His story.
It’s the human story restored.

Its your story.

Maybe This Is Actually Good News (the gospel)

AI can do many things.

But it cannot:

• Be known

• Belong

• Love

• Receive love

It can perform.
It cannot be.

And maybe this moment—uncomfortable as it is—is an invitation back to something truer.

Not identity-as-output.
Not worth-as-performance.

But identity-as-gift.

Perhaps AI is forcing us to finally answer the question we’ve dodged:

If I am already loved… then who am I, really?

Here I made this… hope you like it - cause I do, and He does…

Dr. Geoffrey Chada

Today, Jan 2, is my dad’s birthday.

He’s in his early 80s, living in Zimbabwe—so popping by isn’t an option. We usually talk every Sunday afternoon, but today my daughter and I called him from the car.

It was a simple call. A normal call.

And afterward, I felt that familiar ache: I wish I could do more.

But here’s the thing about fathers in their 80s…

At that point, they pretty much have everything they want.
And even if they didn’t—it wouldn’t change what they really crave.

Presence.

If he had the whole world, he’d still want family time.
If he had nothing, he’d still want family time.

So what do you give someone who has everything?
You give them yourself.

And then it hit me:

This is how it is with God too.

What do you give the One who made everything—who lacks nothing?

Our presence.

Not our performance.
Not how well we sing.
Not how polished our prayers sound.

He doesn’t need our output.
He wants our with-ness.

That’s why Jesus came—not to make God tolerable, but to make God accessible. Face-to-face. Heart-to-heart.

So this year…

Let’s give God the gift He’s always wanted.

Run to Him.
Climb into His lap.
Look into His eyes.
And stay there long enough to remember you’re loved.

Happy New Year. 🤍

Most of what matters to God

never happens on a stage.

It happens in the dark.

In the quiet. In the early morning. In a manger.

When no one’s watching.

In the parable of the ten virgins, the difference wasn’t belief.

It wasn’t morality.

It wasn’t proximity.

It was oil.

Oil isn’t loud.

Oil isn’t impressive.

Oil is built slowly — through history, attention, presence.

You can’t borrow it.

You can’t fake it.

You can’t rush it when the moment arrives.

That’s why the wise men matter.

They didn’t show up to a palace.

They weren’t invited to a public celebration.

No crowd. No applause. No recognition.

Just a long journey.

Costly gifts.

Time spent for a King who couldn’t repay them.

Gold.

Frankincense.

Myrrh.

The most valuable things they owned — given in private.

That’s what God seems to enjoy. (All intimate relationships by the way)

Oil is private.

Gifts are private.

Time spent is private.

And yet, those are the things heaven remembers.

A lot of people call themselves Christians, but they’re running on fumes.

Professional Christians

Faith as a role.

Take away the paycheck or platform, and the fire dims.

Cultural Christians

God shows up twice a year.

Christmas. Easter.

Sentimental, not relational.

Church Christians

Faith measured by attendance.

Presence in a building, not presence with Him.

It’s a divine social club… a place to be known. Nothing wrong with church friends… but

None of those guarantee oil.

Oil is made when no one’s watching.

Like the wise men.

Like real love.

Like every healthy relationship.

I don’t want to be impressive.

I want to be recognizable to Him… to angels, and even demons. (“Jesus we know, Paul we know, but who the **** are you???” - said some demons to a fake Christian in Acts 19:15)

I want to be the kind of person you can tell has been with Jesus.

The kind of life where, if God went looking for me,

He’d find me already with Him, right beside Him.

School. Work. Dishes. Driving. Resting.

That’s where oil is made.

Christmas reminds us:

God values what’s hidden.

Heaven rewards what’s quiet.

Bring Him a gift only you can bring: your time and your heart… your life.

That’s what love looks like.

Merry Christmas - He is with us.

This one’s short because it’s late—and because I promised you a link.

I thought I’d be launching Already Loved Kids today. Instead, I spent the whole day polishing edges, fixing small things, and getting it truly ready for real people. That’s been the rhythm of this project for months: equal parts joy, doubt, love, and learning when to stop tweaking and let something breathe.

We’re finally at the point where it’s live enough to share.

If you’re willing, I’d love for you to take an early look.
Visit alreadylovedkids.com and try it out. This has been a labor of love—built slowly, thoughtfully, and with a lot of heart—and you’re the first people I wanted to invite in.

Click around. Create a book. Break things. Tell me what lands and what doesn’t.
Your feedback genuinely means more than you know.

Thank you for being here at the beginning.

Here, I made this: alreadylovedkids.com

I’ve done a lot of work on my app - everything except launch it. Why not??
What am I actually afraid of?

As many of you know, I’m building Already Loved, a personalized children’s book to help kids root their identity in God early.

It’s not that I haven’t had positive encouragement…

But instead of releasing it, I’ve been polishing edges no one will ever see. Adjusting pixels. Rewriting sentences that were fine.
And telling myself it’s excellence.

But it wasn’t excellence.
It is fear in a tuxedo.

If I were advising someone else, I’d call it what it is:
You’re delaying because you’re scared of what happens after you launch.

And the truth hit me harder than I expected.

Myron Golden says we sabotage ourselves when our desires don’t match our expectations.

My desire is simple:
To help kids. To bless parents. To contribute something meaningful.

But my expectation?
Is the exact opposite:
No one will buy it. It’s not good enough. People will judge it… and judge me. And maybe they’ll confirm the doubts I already have about myself.

For a moment, I felt like a kid again — holding something I made, hoping someone would say it was good… because I wasn’t sure I was.

And maybe this is where you, the worship leader, the songwriter, the creative, the pastor, the builder, feel it too.

We stand on platforms and stages with confidence,
but we create from places that feel fragile.

We pour years into a song…
a sermon…
a project…
a book…
and then hesitate to share it because we think people aren’t evaluating the work —
they’re evaluating us.

It’s ironic, isn’t it?
I’m making a book to teach kids their worth doesn’t come from what they do… while battling the lie that mine does.

But here’s what I realized staring at that button:

Fear thrives in fog. Fear only exists in the vague, not the specific.
Clarity shrinks it.

So I sat down and wrote out what I was afraid would happen.
And suddenly the worst-case scenarios looked small.

Because even if the worst happens?
Nothing actually changes.
I’m still loved.
I’m still held.
I’m still called.

The best-case scenario, though?
Kids hear truth.
Parents feel equipped.
A generation gets seeded with identity.

And that’s worth being scared for.

Steve Jobs demo’d the first iPhone when it barely worked — a patchwork of fragile code held together with hope. If he could present that to the world, surely I can release this little offering to mine.

God told Joshua, over and over again, “Be strong and courageous.”
Not because Joshua was enough —
but because God was with him.

So here’s the new me:
Weak-kneed, heart-thumping, still nervous…
but courageous anyway.
Not because I’m ready,
but because God is.

My pledge:
Already Loved will be live by next week’s post.

Because at some point, we all have to stop rehearsing fear
and start walking by faith.

Bored? Give Thanks!

Most people miss their blessings because they’re disguised as “boring.”
Especially worship leaders.

We pray for God to move…
then miss the miracle of the morning we woke up pain-free, with breath in our lungs, and a team to lead.

Here’s the reality:

• If you’re not in a hospital waiting room today — you’re already ahead of millions.

• If your kid is running around making noise — that’s abundance wearing chaos.

• If you get to lead worship this weekend — that’s a privilege, not a pressure.

Normal is the gift.
Crisis is the exception.
Most of us get it backwards.

Parents in children’s hospitals aren’t praying for “anointed moments.”
They’re praying for normal ones.
A boring dinner.
A quiet night.
A messy living room.
A Sunday where the biggest problem is a wrong chord.

And here’s the punch in the gut:

You are living in the answered prayers you prayed years ago.
The job.
The home.
The relationships.
The ministry.
The health.
The family.

This is the life your old self begged God for.

So thank Him for it.

And because it’s Thanksgiving weekend in the U.S., here’s the challenge:

1. Thank God for the normal.
   The quiet mercies you step over every day.

2. Thank God for the answered prayers you’re living in right now.
   Even the imperfect ones.

3. Pray in a way that sets up your future self.
   If you’re standing in yesterday’s prayers, what are you praying today to shape tomorrow?

Normal isn’t “less.”
Normal is grace.
Normal is privilege.
Normal is the miracle most people never notice.

Happy Thanksgiving. (To those in the USA, and to those elsewhere who can still give thanks)
Notice the ordinary.
Thank God for the normal.
Lead from gratitude.


Enjoying this new song.
God I'm Just Grateful | Elevation Worship & Chandler Moore

Us worship leaders (in fact, most people) slip into a dangerous lie without even noticing it:

“My identity comes from what I do… the fruit of my ministry.”

You won’t say it out loud, but it sneaks in through the back door:

• “I’m a good worship leader because people love my voice.”
• “…because the room responded.”
• “…because people sing my songs.”
• “…because my Instagram is growing.”
• “…because YouTube comments are fire.”

We don’t mean to tie identity to output.
We just grew up in a world where what you do defines who you are.

“Hi, I’m Batsirai.”
“Oh cool, what do you do?”
Boom. The trap is set.

Carpenter. Lawyer. Teacher. Worship leader.
Title = identity.
Output = worth.

And suddenly your fruit becomes your proof.

If the set goes well → I matter.
If the room feels flat → I’m failing.
If the numbers drop → I’m insecure.
If the applause grows → I feel chosen.

But here’s the brutal truth you have to face:

You don’t get your identity from the fruit of the vine.
You get it from the vine itself.

A seed doesn’t become an “apple seed” after it produces apples.
It’s an apple seed because of where it came from — its origin, not its output.

Same with you.

Your identity is from your Father, not your fruit or followers.
From your Source, not your stats.
From your belonging, not your performance.

Fruit is a byproduct of connection, not a benchmark of your worth.

Healthy connection → healthy fruit.
Weak connection → frantic ministry.

You know this feeling:
When Christ matters most, ministry feels light.
When fruit matters most, ministry crushes you.

Because fruit can’t carry identity.
It was never designed to.

So here’s the shift:

Stop letting the stage define you.
Stop letting the room validate you.
Stop letting the metrics motivate you.

We don’t get identity from our fruit.
We get it from our Father.

Protect that connection - it's the only thing that matters.
Obesses over your Origin, not your output - let it overflow out of you.
Let the Vine define you — and watch the fruit take care of itself.

Hey - it would mean alot to hear from you

You can find me on Instagram @heyBatsirai - send a DM, let me know how I can support you better… assuming I am at all. (is this me looking for evidence of fruit 🤷‍♂️)

Everyone wants more fruit. I do.

More impact. More results. More success.

But fruit isn't my responsibility.
Connection is.

Most people read that and think it means:
Go to church. Obey. Be fruitful.

Wrong.

It means:
Stay connected. Stay rooted. Deep Union.

The branch doesn’t create fruit.
It just stays attached.

The seed doesn’t strain to grow.
It just finds good soil.

Fruit = byproduct.
Connection = power source.

Secret place => Sweet fruit.

You want fruit?
Stop focusing on fruit.

The secret is the secret place.

Less “how to be an awesome worship leader” stuff, you know…

• “10 steps to make your worship set this weekend awesome”

• “How to be a better worship leader”

• “How to create good setlists… “

• Finding the latest big song

• The next worship conference…

• even this newsletter…

Imagine a vine branch studying how to make grapes.
“5 ways to produce better grapes. - Grape Growing Magazine”

Of course, there are things to learn and improve upon - but that’s not what matters.

The same principle Paul shared in the chapter on love applies here: if I do everything right but lack love (connection), I am just making noise.

Start obsessing over connection. Encounter. His presence with you.
Over intimacy.
Over that rich, deep, quiet union with Jesus.
How connected are you to Him… right now?

I know you love Him. I know you believe in Him.
How connected is your heart to Him… how much sweeter could it be?

Sweet fruit doesn’t come from hustle.
It comes from a flow of living waters.
From roots that run deep into the soil of His love.

So before you build, post, preach, or lead— “make good music” this weekend

Lean back into Him.

Be the seed. Send your roots into the soil.

The fruit will follow.

🌱
Be rooted. Stay connected. Let the sweet fruit come forth.

You don’t need another song.
You need an encounter.

An encounter isn’t emotion.
It’s connection.
It’s that moment when heaven collides with your reality and nothing stays the same.

I’ve had a few of those.
Once, God whispered, “Give up the Grammy (goal).”
That one sentence re-wired my life.

Another time, I lost track of time in worship—
what felt like 15 minutes was actually 90.
Because when you step into His presence, clocks stop mattering.

Those moments branded me.
They changed my direction, my desires, my definition of success.

But here’s what hit me lately:
Everyone met Jesus. Not everyone encountered Him.

Crowds touched Him.
Only one woman connected.
One moment of connection did what years of religion couldn’t.

That’s what the world’s starving for.
Not performance.
Not perfect sets.
Encounter.

So here’s the challenge—especially to worship leaders, parents, and anyone shaping hearts:

Don’t just lead people in songs.
Lead them into encounter.

Create moments where heaven touches earth,
where identity gets rewritten,
where someone walks away saying,
“I just met Jesus.”

Because one real encounter with Love
does more than a thousand sermons ever could.

Be the one who opens the door.
The world doesn’t need more songs.
It needs more encounters.

I should end with the gentle reminder to facilitate your own encounter first.

Last week I was leaving Dallas to fly back home, sitting in a cramped airplane seat, when the flight attendant gave the usual safety spiel:

“In the event of cabin pressure loss, oxygen masks will drop. Secure your own before helping others.”

I’ve heard that line a hundred times.

But this time, it stopped me cold.

I had just finished speaking at a worship leader conference hosted by Lamar Boshman—a gathering full of powerful teaching, deep hunger, and honest conversations about transcendence in worship. The kind of space where people weren’t looking for the next catchy setlist, but for a real encounter with God.

We talked about presence over performance. About guiding people beyond the song into the sanctuary of His presence.

But sitting there on the plane, it hit me:

I was teaching something I hadn’t fully lived.

Not in a hypocritical way. More like... I’d been giving away the oxygen before breathing it in myself.

For the past few years, I’ve poured out—writing, leading, encouraging, mentoring. But somewhere along the way, I started confusing talking about worship with encountering God myself. I thought I was writing to help others. But many of those newsletters (like this one) were letters to myself, disguised as teachings to others.

That’s the real invitation.

Because if I’m honest, it’s easier to point out what others need—to call for depth, pontificate about wisdom, and authenticity in worship—without seeing the areas in me that are running on empty.

Lead yourself, then others will naturally follow.

So this is my reminder:
Secure your oxygen mask.
Not just once. But daily.
Before the stage. Before the song. Before the post.

Let His presence transform you first.

Let your secret be the secret place.

and let the secret place be a constant - even if you never stand before people again.

And if anything I share helps others encounter Jesus, may it be because I encountered Him first.

Now I understand how & why Paul can say “Follow me, as I follow Christ”. I used to think that was a little prideful of Paul… now, it sounds pretty normal - just “mere Christianity”.

Is God showing you something that’s first meant for you—not the people you lead, not the people you serve, but your own heart?

Joseph of Arimathea took down a corpse.

Hands sticky with blood.
Skin already cold.
The body heavy with finality.

He touched death.
Held it.
Wrapped it.

And in doing so—became ceremonially unclean for Passover.

For a dead man.

Most Christians miss this part of the story.

Joseph wasn’t some peasant in the crowd.
He was rich. Powerful. A member of the Sanhedrin.
A man used to control, comfort, and respect.

And Passover was only hours away—
the holiest moment of the entire year.

But he climbed Golgotha anyway.

Jewish law was crystal clear:

Joseph knew the cost.
He had followed these laws his entire life.

But Jesus was still hanging there.
Alone. Lifeless. Abandoned.

So Joseph does something unthinkable:
He walks toward death.

The hill is quiet now.
The soldiers drunk.
The women weeping.
The crowd long gone.

Only three crosses remain—
and one broken Savior in the middle.

Joseph approaches Pilate,
the very man who ordered the execution,
and asks for permission:

“Can I have the body?”

Pilate shrugs. Grants it.
The permission sounds like a sentence.

Now Joseph has to actually do it.

He climbs the hill.
The smell of blood and dust in the air.
Flies gathering.
The sky bruised with twilight.

He steadies the ladder.
Reaches for the first nail.
Pulls.

The sound rips through him.

And then—
God’s body collapses into his arms.

Still warm in some places.
Still bleeding in others.

The blood stains his linen robe.
It fills the cracks of his hands.
It lingers under his fingernails.
It will not wash off easily.

This is what obedience looks like.
Messy. Costly. Permanent.

Nicodemus arrives—another secret believer.
Another man who hid in daylight.
He carries 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes.
$150,000 worth of burial spices.

Two wealthy men.
Two former cowards.
Finally brave—
when it looks too late to matter.

They work fast.
The sun is sinking.
Sabbath is minutes away.

They wrap the body.
Pour the perfume.
Seal the tomb.

And then Joseph steps back.
Exhausted.
Defiled.
Unclean.

He can’t celebrate Passover tomorrow.
He can’t enter the temple for a week.
He just gave up the holiest night of his life—
for a corpse.

That’s the part we miss.

Joseph didn’t do this expecting resurrection.
He did it expecting nothing.

Jesus was gone.
The story was over.
And still, he honored Him.

This wasn’t faith in a miracle.
It was love for a dead friend.

And that’s the kind of love that changes everything.

Modern Christianity wants clean obedience.
Predictable obedience.
Obedience that doesn’t cost your Passover.

But Joseph shows us what real devotion looks like.

Real discipleship gets your hands dirty.
It ruins your robes.
It costs your comfort.
It might make you look foolish.

But it’s holy.

He climbed Golgotha when everyone else went home.
He touched death when others protected reputation.
He missed the holiest day of his life
to honor a broken body.

That’s not religion.
That’s worship.

And here’s the twist:
Three days later, that tomb was empty.

Joseph gave his grave to Jesus.
Jesus left it empty.

Joseph thought he was burying God.
He was actually setting the stage for resurrection.

Your obedience may look small, hidden, or messy.
But God is weaving resurrection through it.

Even when you can’t see it.

So ask yourself—

What are you avoiding because it’s too messy?
What obedience have you postponed because it’s inconvenient?
What grave are you unwilling to give?

Joseph of Arimathea held death in his hands.
Got blood on his robes.
Lost his purity, his position, his peace.

And gained eternity in the story of God.

Religion says: stay clean.
Worship says: get dirty.

Joseph chose worship.

He chose relationship.

What are you choosing?

I didn’t write the above - I made some edits - but I loved it so much I had to share ir with you.

The original is from this tweet

Twitter tweet

What You See Isn’t the Problem. How You See It Is.

It wasn’t the army that made David fearless.

It wasn’t the size of Goliath that made the soldiers afraid.

They were all looking at the same giant.
But only one of them saw differently.

The most powerful thing about your leadership isn’t your talent.

It’s your perspective.

Your worship team might not be where you want it to be.
You may not be where you want to be.
Maybe you see immaturity. Inconsistency. A lack of hunger. Apathy. Weakness.

But can I ask you something?

What glasses are you wearing when you look?

Because how you see determines how you lead.
It determines your posture, your patience, your pace.
It shapes whether you carry frustration or faith.
Resentment or responsibility.

The servant of Elisha saw armies. Elisha saw angels.

Same battlefield.
Same threat.
Radically different response.

Not because the situation changed.

But because the perspective did.

Maybe today you’re looking at your team and you’re tired.
Or looking at your life and wondering when it’s finally your time.
Or looking at your own heart and thinking, “I should be further along.”

But what if the shift isn’t in what you see—
…it’s in how you see?

Here’s the reframe:

• That volunteer who keeps missing rehearsals?
  ➝ What if you’re being invited to father someone instead of fire them?

• That quiet team member who never speaks up?
  ➝ What if God put you there to draw out their leadership voice?

• That leader you serve under who doesn’t fully see your gift?
  ➝ What if this season isn’t about being seen, but about learning to see like Jesus?

Destiny isn’t always about getting somewhere.

Sometimes, it’s about becoming someone.
And sometimes, we’re so obsessed with "getting there"
that we miss the joy of being faithful here.

We say things like: “I’m not where I want to be.”

But what if God is more interested in how you see the place you’re in
than in rushing you to the next one?

Is he your great reward or just the one to get you what you want?

You can see a giant.
Or you can see an opportunity to slay one.

Same battlefield.
Same threat.
But everything changes
when you do.

You don’t need a better situation.
You need a clearer vision.

Pray for it.
Lead from it.
Serve through it.

Because the kingdom doesn’t grow through perfect people.
It grows through faithful ones.

"Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see." — 2 Kings 6:17

Be the leader who sees differently.
It changes everything.

So… what do you need to see differently?
Your ability to see things like He does is your superpower.

You don’t have to be further ahead. You just have to be faithful here.

How you see is far more important than what you see - Damon Thompson