The Original Valentine


The true story of how Valentine’s Day officially began has always inspired me. Valentine’s Day in our modern culture is more about romantic love and the like, but I think it is worth pointing out that historically Valentine’s Day became a “thing” because of one man’s love for Christ and his desire to help others be true to the word of God. Technically, I think this supports the idea that Jesus was rightfully the first Valentine. For sure, He is the best Valentine!

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear readers! May you be blessed today and every day by the love of the original Valentine, Jesus Christ 🙂

God is Love. ~ 1 John 4:8

(And just because it’s Valentine’s Day, here’s a video of my favorite ‘love’ song)

The Christmas Heart

 the christmas heart

“Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. The birth of the baby Jesus stands as the most significant event in all history, because it has meant the pouring into a sick world the healing medicine of love which has transformed all manner of hearts for almost two thousand years… Underneath all the bulging bundles is this beating.”

~George Matthew Adams, from ‘The Christmas Heart’

27 Days of Christmas Music, Day 6: Chris August’s Jesus, Savior

chris august jesus savior

Chris August – Jesus, Savior

As I write today’s blog, I’m actually in the Ohio city of Toledo for the TobyMac Hits Deep tour featuring Brandon Heath, Mandisa, Chris August, Britt Nicole, Jamie Grace, Group 1 Crew, and of course, the man himself, TobyMac.

You can probably imagine that I, along with my VIP Press Pass, am near giddy with excitement. I’ve been looking forward to this night for quite some time, and I’d venture to say that wild horses couldn’t keep me away from the Huntington Center in about 2 hours.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

One thing almost did keep me away: the Anthony Wayne Bridge that spans the Maumee River in downtown Toledo.

If you don’t know anything else about me, the one thing you will probably take away from reading this blog is the truth that I am kind of a quirky person.

For starters, I am physically unable to eat meat that has a bone attached.

I can’t stand the flute.

I have a bizarre, totally inexplicable crush on TV’s Turtle Man.

And, to the delight of my friends and family, I am freakishly terrified of underground tunnels and bridges that span over waterways.

We’re talking a hyperventilating, sometimes vomiting, crying and screaming type fear.

To give you an idea of what I’m dealing with, you should know that I suffer from a recurring nightmare in which I am drive across the Mighty Mac Bridge to Mackinac, Michigan. (This, by the way would never happen, me driving across a bridge like that. It’s better for everyone if I’m blindfolded and sedated in the backseat when we drive across the Mighty Mac.) In my dream, my Honda Civic turns into a science fictional submarine that transports me back in time to World War II, where I land on the beach at Normandy during the Allied invasion of France.

Not a good time to visit France, even in a dream.

Needless to say, as much as I love going to Mackinac Island, I abhor the thought of having to cross over the Mighty Mac in the process of getting there.

My experiences with the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco haven’t been much better. The one positive thing I will say is that the Golden Gate Bridge is breathtakingly beautiful, especially with two feet firmly planted on the ground outside the gift shop while taking pictures.

When I was inside a large passenger van driving over the Golden Gate Bridge…well, that was another matter entirely.

Earlier this afternoon, I was faced with my fear of bridges as I approached the venue for tonight’s concert. There, in between me and the Hits Deep Tour, was a really big, really archaic looking Smurfy blue bridge over a really wide section of the Maumee River. Seriously, this bridge looked like a bad knock-off of the Golden Gate Bridge, only not nearly as well maintained and with far fewer people on the pedestrian bridge.

I was in big trouble, and I knew it.

Abruptly, I pulled my car over to the side of the road to take a moment to come up with a plan.

Should I use my GPS to calculate a different route? A logical plan, but my GPS hates me and the spot I was in was a veritable no-man’s land so I couldn’t pick up a signal.

Should I call my doctor to have an emergency prescription of Xanax filled at the nearest CVS?

Drive across the Anthony Wayne Bridge with my eyes closed?

Turn around and go home?

There was really only one good option, and that was to buck up and just drive across the bridge. I thought to myself, ‘Really, what could go wrong?’

‘Well, since you asked,’ I replied to myself, ‘remember the bridge that collapsed in California a few years ago that killed a bunch of people? Or the bridge that collapsed in Minnesota? Wait, I think that was just a pedestrian bridge, but still, it collapsed. What if another driver veers into my lane and I end up in the river? What if there’s an earthquake, or a fire, or a tornado? What if….”

(Side note: you know you’re in a bad situation when you are having an intense mental debate with yourself. No one ever wins in this scenario.)

As I continued with my very long list of possible catastrophes that were not very likely to occur at any time, ever, I heard the words to Chris August’s song, Jesus, Savior, as his CD, No Far Away, played in my car.

Once upon a time,
In a town called Nazareth,
Lived an ordinary girl.

Mary was her name,
And she was engaged,
To Joseph the carpenter.

Suddenly an angel came,
Said, “You will have a baby boy.
But don’t be afraid,
God is with you.”

It occurred to me that Mary was a young woman who really had a legitimate reason to be fearful, at least when compared to me.

The angel Gabriel had appeared to her, announcing (and I’m loosely paraphrasing here), “Guess what? The Holy Spirit is going to come down and overshadow you, and you’re going to get pregnant! In nine months’ time you’ll give birth. Congrats, it’s a boy! He’s going to be, like, a really big deal. We’re talking the King of Kings and Lord of Lords here. A real VIP.”

Reason to be Afraid #1:  Mary had angels dropping in to visit her. I’m sure that was awesome, but freaky frightening as well.

Reason to be Afraid #2:  Mary was going to get pregnant, not the old fashioned way, but by the power of the Most High overshadowing her. I don’t know about you, but that sounds rather frightening to me, to say the least.

Reason to be Afraid #3:  Mary was going to be an unwed, teenage mother. She no doubt knew when word got out about her situation she would likely be stoned to death or worse. Yikes.

Reason to be Afraid #4:  She had no money, no job, no life skills. No way to take care of a baby, much less the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Reason to be Afraid #5:  How do you even begin to mother God in the flesh anyways? Being a parent is tough enough, but being a parent to Jesus Christ…now that is seriously intimidating.

I’m sure I’m missing at least a hundred more reasons why Mary should have been scared out of her wits, but I’m going to cut to the chase and tell you the two things that strike me the most about this song, and this story.

The first is that Gabriel tells her very plainly, “Do not be afraid. God will be with you.”

The second is Mary’s reply to Gabriel: “May it be to me as you have said. I am the Lord’s servant.”

I love Mary’s response to the news that she was to become Jesus’ mother. What I love even more, however, is the fact that God promises the very same thing to me and to you that He promised Mary on the day she learned God’s plan for her.

God promises us that He will always be with us. Always.

There is nothing, not one thing that can separate us from His love, although many a fear and phobia have tried. When we are at our feariest, He is at His kingliest.

(Yes, I know, I’m making up words again…Deal with it!)

There is quite literally no bridge that He cannot cross to get to us when we need Him, pun intended.

With the song Jesus, Savior playing on the stereo and the song Jesus, Take the Wheel playing in my mind, I made it across the Anthony Wayne Bridge without the least bit of a problem.  For about 20 whole minutes, this was the biggest accomplishment of my entire life.

Then, in one of those weird twists that my life is full of, I unexpectedly got to have a little Q&A session with the one and only TobyMac.  You know, my most favoritest singing person in the whole wide world since I was 12 years old.  (Considering I’m halfway to 70, that’s a long time.)  The one person in the entire world I told my BFF Sarah I never wanted to meet because I was afraid I’d lose all ability to speak coherently, among other things.

Yep, him.

All in all, it was a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious-ly good day of fear fighting on my part.

Bridges and Peter Furler (the other person I never want to meet), take note.




27 Days of Christmas Music: Jesus is Alive…

Jesus is Alive

Wish that I was there
On that Silent Night
When your tiny heart started beating for mine

I wish I could have seen
The Star in David’s town
When you turned a stable into Holy ground
I sing along, the angel’s song

Noel, Noel, Jesus is alive
Emanuel, hope is here tonight
So go and tell the world that death has died
‘Cause Jesus is alive, yeah Jesus is alive!

Written/Performed by Josh Wilson, on the 2012 album ‘Noel’

How Love, Love, Love Saved The Day

Sidewalk Prophets – Love, Love, Love

The time is now 12:02 am (for those of you wondering, yes, 12:02 am Daylight Savings Time.)  I’m sitting at my kitchen table eating some weird soup with spinach and meatballs made out of chicken in it.  According to the label on the can, this particular soup is “all natural and gluten-free.”  The “meatballs “are supposedly made from chickens that were raised on an organic diet in a humane environment.

With the exception of ending up in my soup, I’m thinking those chickens may have had a better quality of life than I do.

I know I should be in bed, asleep, but instead I am sitting here debating the merits of all natural chicken soup and thinking about an interaction I had earlier today with one of my favorite little people in the whole world, 3-year-old Ned.  I’ve known Ned now for well over half of her life, and I’d like to think that she has picked up some of her more endearing qualities from me.  (Truthfully, my influence probably has very little to do with how completely awesome Ned is.  I’m pretty sure Ned has two of the most amazing parents ever to thank for her awesomeness!)

Ned and I always have some pretty interesting, thought-provoking conversations (at least, they are thought-provoking on my end.  What can I say, in addition to being super awesome, Ned is super smart!)   Today was no exception to the rule, but the way my thoughts were provoked came in a different manner than usual.

Things were trucking along very smoothly this afternoon, when completely out of the blue I heard a wail unlike anything I had ever heard before come from the other side of the room.  In a nanosecond, Ned was standing in front of me, holding her finger.  (So you can see what I was dealing with here, I took a picture.)


For sure, I thought she had lost a finger by the way she was crying.  Normally, Ned is not a big crier.  After counting all of her digits to make sure we weren’t missing any, I did the next logical thing and looked for blood.  There wasn’t any, not even a drop.

Okay, this was odd.

Next, I checked all of her fingers for a splinter even though I have no idea where she would have gotten a splinter from considering we don’t really have any wood lying around.

No splinters.

I asked Ned to show me where it hurt, and she pointed at one of her fingernails.

Little Miss Ned had broken a nail, and apparently, it was the end of the world.

“Ned, are you sure it really hurts that much? My fingernails break all the time, and it doesn’t usually hurt,” I asked.

“Miss Beth, can’t you see?  I’m broken!” Ned wailed, and in a moment of over the top dramatics that would probably have won her a Daytime Television Emmy had she been on a soap opera instead of at daycare, collapsed on the floor.

“Ned, can I get you a Barbie Band-Aid?” I asked.

“No,” she sniffed.

“Ice pack?”

Her bottom lip popped out and began to quiver.  I took that as a negative.

“Can I give it a kiss?” I suggested.

“Waaaaah!” she cried, loudly.

“Is there anything I can do to make your owie feel better?” I asked.

Ned stopped crying.  “Uh huh,” she said, holding up her finger in front of my face.  “I want love love love.”

My heart softened.  “Aw, come here sweetheart,” I replied, holding my arms out to her for a hug.  “Come, sit with me and I will give you some love!”

The crying started again.  “No, I want love love love!” Ned sniffled thru her tears.

I was confused.  “Say what?” I asked.

Ned pointed at the stereo.  “Love, love, love.  Now!”

That’s when it hit me.  She wanted to listen to her favorite song, the Sidewalk Prophet’s ‘Love, Love, Love.’


I pulled up the song on the iTouch and immediately all of the other kids began to have a dance party.  Everyone, that is except for Ned.

Ned took her wounded finger and laid down on her nap time cot, listening to ‘Love, Love, Love’ on repeat until, miracle of miracles, she was healed.

Later in the afternoon, Ned came and sat with me and together we looked at her finger.  The broken part of her fingernail had fallen off, and while Ned was deeply concerned that she was now “missing one of her pieces,” I tried to assure her that what remained was a completely normal looking 3 year old’s pointer finger.

As we examined her finger, Ned looked at me with her chocolate pudding eyes, rested her head against my shoulder and said, “When we have a bad owie and are missing some of our pieces, all we really need to make it better is love, love, love.”

Like I said before, Ned is one smart little cookie.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ned and her broken fingernail since this afternoon.  It occurred to me that perhaps Ned’s broken fingernail is a lot like many of the other hurting souls we all walk amongst every single day.  For sure, most people are not going to be as demonstrative about their pain as Ned was today.  In fact, a lot of people go to great lengths to cover up their pain to the outside world; yet their pain remains, a throbbing, stubborn hurt that doesn’t go away.

Ned’s words, “Miss Beth, can’t you see?  I’m broken!” reverberate in my mind.

I wonder how many times I have glanced at someone else in my daily life who is dealing with this kind of hurt and not really seen the pain that lies beneath.  How many times did I walk on by because they weren’t obviously disfigured by their pain?  Did I not see, not take the time to care because there wasn’t copious amounts of blood flowing from their pain?

I want to see, Ned, I really do, but sometimes, it’s hard to see the pain of others thru the lens of my own brokenness.

What amazes me the more I think about Ned and her broken fingernail, however, is the fact that at just three years of age, my little friend already knows the answer to our brokenness and pain.  She knows what will make us feel better when we hurt.

When we have a bad owie, she knows that all we really need is love, love, love.

I’m pretty sure wiser words have never been spoken by a three-year old anywhere, ever.

Now, here’s the ironic twist to this story.  You know how I mentioned I was looking for major wounds, and blood, and splinters when Ned came to me in pain at the beginning of this story?

Well, the love, love, love that heals even the worst owies was first wounded for us so that we might live.

His splinter was a cross.

His blood literally poured from his hands, feet, and sides.

He was completely and utterly broken.  For us.

His death and His pain served only to bring healing and redemption.  To us.

Until we come to know Him, the Love that has no end, we will remain in our own brokenness and pain, unable to help others or even ourselves; but once we know Jesus, there is no owie that is too deep for Him to heal, no pieces of our hearts that are too finely shattered to be put back together.

Not one.

While we might not be able to see what is broken, He can.

While we might not be able to find all of the pieces of our broken hearts, He can.

I pray that if you are hurting tonight, you will turn to Him in your brokenness and give Him all of the pieces of your broken heart to put back together again.

Remember, as my friend Ned so wisely said to me earlier today, “When we have a bad owie and are missing some of our pieces, all we really need to make it better is love, love, love.”

Oh, and just one more thing–“God is love.”  1 John 4:8.

The Trouble With Tweeting

The other night, I found myself unable to sleep at 3 am.

You might be wondering why.  I know I was wondering why the other night as I stared defiantly at the alarm clock, watching the minutes press on towards the inevitable 6:30 am summons to get up and get Alex ready for school.

The reason why, and I admit it’s a stupid one, is that I was upset about Twitter.

Specifically, I was upset because last week I was picked by the News Sentinel (one of Fort Wayne’s biggest newspapers) as one of the top High School Football tweeters. While this sounds like an honor, and believe me I am honored to be chosen, in my twisted mind I had worked this entire tweet-capade into something entirely other than what it was ever intended to be.  (By the way, do you like my new word I just made up—tweet-capade?  It’s kind of a mash-up of ‘tweeting’ and ‘escapade’.  I really think it’s going to catch on!)

If you have read my blog for any length of time greater than three minutes, it may surprise you to learn that I actually write about football in addition to music, wacky news, and other stuff.  I report on the New Haven High School Bulldog’s football games every week, writing feature stories about the team, their families, and other stories related to the Bulldogs for  I also tweet updates live from the games under my Twitter handle, @SpinTheBlog.  My tweets are always re-tweeted by Indiana’s News Center, @INCNOW (Fort Wayne’s premier sports television show), the Journal Gazette’s Prep Sports (the News Sentinel’s sister newspaper), and of course, the News Sentinel.

I’m no Erin Andrews, but not too shabby nonetheless for me being ‘just a girl’ (at least, that’s what I’ve been told.)

Yet In my mind, my 3 am negative self-talk began to erode the good feelings I should have about my fledgling success as a sportswriter. I started to pick apart my tweets to try and figure out why I might have been picked as a top tweeter last week.

After all, I’ve been doing this for 8 weeks.

Why last week?

Maybe it was because the weather was so bad no one was even at many of the games?  I mean, I wasn’t even at the New Haven/East Noble game.  I watched it live online via the stream and tweeted from the dry warmth and comfort of my Laura Ashley recliner.  (In my defense, I’m nursing a broken foot so my doctor said I was absolutely not allowed to be traipsing up and down the bleachers and all over the field.  That excuse only worked for one week, however; tonight I’ll be back at it at Homestead!)

Maybe it was because they needed to pick a girl as some sort of equal rights thing.

Then again, maybe the editors just drew names out of a hat to determine the winner, and since I never win anything ever, the probability theory finally materialized.

I began to wind myself up tighter and tighter into an emotional frenzy over tweeting.

Looking up at the ceiling, I told myself to just let it go and give it to God.

This was not an important issue.

As I started to relax, and only as I started to relax, did it occur to me that probably the reason why my tweets were picked last week was because it was the first week I had used the #nsfootball hashtag required to be considered for the contest.

Mentally, I slapped myself on the forehead and said “Duh!” to myself.

This whole thing made me think…how many times in our everyday lives do we live out this kind of scenario?  Of course, it’s not usually going to be about tweeting high school football, but the premise remains the same; we are constantly tweeting self-messages to ourselves all day, every day, and sometimes, even all night.

I’m willing to bet that for many of us, these self-tweets aren’t what you would consider positive and uplifting.

Perhaps instead of focusing on our own negative self-tweets, we should instead focus on some God-inspired messages to us taken directly from His word in 140 characters or less:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” John 3:16

“But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

Now that’s what I call perspective.

Even though I’m frequently a sinful mess, wreaking havoc on my own self-esteem and sleep pattern, God loves me in spite of me.  In fact, He loves me so much that He sent His only son, Jesus Christ, to cover my deep inadequacies and inherent flaws.

The ‘I’ in the middle of sin—well, I think that is definitely referring to me.

The knowledge that I’m a top high school football tweeter doesn’t really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.  Who knows why I was picked, and honestly, who really cares why?  In my opinion, it’s a much bigger deal that I’m a child of God.  One of the most awesome things about being a child of God is the fact that I won’t be staying up all night trying to figure out why He picked me.  Instead, when I focus on the truth that He has chosen me and He does love me, the only thing I will be doing at night is resting well in the tender peace only He provides.

If you’re tweeting negative self- messages to yourself, I want to encourage you to give it up to God just like I did in this instance.  Whatever your situation is, no matter how unworthy or unlovable you may feel at times, I promise you that you are far more precious to Him than you can imagine in even your wildest dreams.

Let Him come into your heart and heal your hurts.

Let Him tweet you messages from His word about what you are really worth in His eyes.

Let Him bring you the peace and grace and mercy you have been looking for all your life but never been able to find.

Let Him love you.

“May your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep His love really is” (Ephesians 3:17, 18).

Get Your Tiara On!

At approximately 4 am this morning, I realized that I am a princess.

I reacted as you might expect, similar to that of Amy Farrah Fowler on the Big Bang Theory when Sheldon gave her a tiara (if you don’t know what that means, you can watch it here. )

Or, to put it in other words, I was pretty darn excited.

Growing up, I was never much of a pretend to be a princess kind of girl; I was definitely more Wonder Woman than Snow White.  It wasn’t until I was much older and a red-headed mermaid/princess by the name of Ariel came on the scene that I began to think that I might be missing out on the whole princess thing.

Perhaps it is because of this that as an aunt to my own little princess, over the years I’ve purchased an enviable wardrobe for her royal highness, Alyssa—several pairs of princess high heels (one for each Disney princess), a collection of tiaras, an assortment of voluminous tulle frocks, and enough jewelry to make the Queen of England jealous of Alyssa’s stash.

It honestly never occurred to me that Alyssa and I are both already princesses.

You see, as daughters of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, we’re already princesses.

No tiaras necessary.

We’re already beautiful, perfect, redeemed.

In the eyes of our Heavenly Father, our sins have already been washed away by the holy and blameless blood of the one true prince, Jesus Christ.

Alyssa and I don’t need fancy high heels, boatloads of tulle, or a stash of fancy jewelry to enhance who we inherently are:  daughters of the King, heirs to the Kingdom, princesses bought with a love that has no end.

I’m here to tell you today that you are royalty, too.  Just like me and Alyssa, you are loved and you belong as a child of the King.

When you start thinking about yourself in terms like this, it changes your outlook on everything.

So, like Amy Farrah Fowler, get excited and put on your tiara for Christ today.  Be the princess (or prince) you were meant to be.  Live like the heir to the kingdom that you are, being kind and generous in all that you do.  You’re the daughter (or son) of the King!


“You shall also be a crown of glory In the hand of the LORD, And a royal diadem In the hand of your God” Isaiah 62:3

The Hippo Camping Inside My Brain

Tonight I was driving along in my car listening to the radio and the announcer started talking about a very interesting topic:  the hippo camping inside our brains.  Did you know that by taking a walk every day, you can make the hippo camping inside your brain grow larger in just a year?

Yeah, me either.

As I listened to the radio announcer talk about the hippo camping inside my brain, I became enthralled with this new information.  Apparently, the reason we start to have more and more “senior moments” as we get older is because this hippo in our brains gets a little smaller every year as we age.

Personally, I had always heard that elephants have really great memories, not hippos, but maybe I was wrong…maybe my hippo is already starting to shrink?  Egads, I need to get out and take a walk!

Anyway, the entire time I was at the store I was thinking about this hippo that is camping inside my brain.  I envisioned my hippo as being kind of like Gloria from the movie Madagascar–sassy yet sweet, bold but beautiful.  You know, sort of like me only not really.

When I got home, I decided I wanted to find out more about the hippo camping inside my brain so I did what any normal person with a computer and an internet connection would do–I Googled it.

Nothing came up.

I tried it again.  Nothing.

Then, I just tried “hippo brain” and the following search term appeared:  hippocampus.  Not ‘hippo camping inside my brain’.  Hippocampus.

Interestingly enough, the hippocampus is the part of the brain that is involved in memory forming, organizing, and storing.  Apparently, mine is either completely defective or is shrinking at a shocking rate. (Not more than 5 years ago, I passed college Biology with straight A’s.  Somehow, I’m pretty certain we covered the brain.)

All this thinking about the hippo camping inside my brain, and the hippocampus, eventually led me to think about God.

Can you imagine what His hippocampus must be like?

On one hand, He personally knows each and every one of us, and never for one second will ever forget us.

Not ever, not even one of us.

He created each one of us with a design so unique that it has never been nor never will be duplicated again.  He remembers every little detail, delights in every little nuance of His creation no matter how obscure, like the freckle on my left cheek and my aversion to meat on the bone..

On the other hand, He’s also really forgetful…especially when it comes to sin that has been covered by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.  Once it has been forgiven, it’s forgotten.  Forever.  You know, as far as the east is from the west kind of thing.  He’s not going to bring it up again next week when you get in a fight.

Once God has forgotten about it, it’s like me remembering the hippocampus from biology class.

It’s not happening.

As for the hippo camping inside my brain…well, I probably won’t be forgetting her any time soon.

As Long As You Love Me

Backstreet Boys – As Long As You Love Me

This morning I was taking my son to school and we were listening to the Backstreet Boy’s ‘As Long As You Love Me’.  Alex asked me, “Mom, is this For King & Country?”  This is, of course, because in Alex’s opinion every song that he likes is for King & Country these days.

“No,” I replied.  “It’s the Backstreet Boys.”

“Are you sure, Mom?  This sounds like Jesus music to me,” Alex said, sounding perplexed.

Jesus music?  The Backstreet Boys?  Say what now?

“Why do you say that?” I asked, probably sounding more perplexed than Alex.

“Weren’t you listening, Mom?” Alex asked.

“I’ve heard this song before,” I said.  Numerous times.

“Well, it sounds like something Jesus would say.  He doesn’t care who we are or what we did as long as we love Him, right, Mom?”

In all seriousness, I slammed on the brakes in the middle of Seiler Road and gave Alex a long look in the rearview mirror.

Where did this child come from?

The rest of the car ride to school was quiet (well, except for Alex belting out ‘As Long As You Love Me’) the rest of the way to his school as I thought about what he had said.  I hit the repeat button to listen to the song again, this time listening more closely to the lyrics than I ever have before.  Here’s the part that struck me, the part I think Alex was referring to:

“I don’t care who you are

Where you’re from

What you did

As long as you love me.”

Now, if you siphon out the Backstreet Boys from these lyrics, you’ll have something that does indeed sound remarkably like it could be, to quote Alex, “Jesus music.”

Jesus doesn’t care who you are, where you’re from, or what you’ve done in your past history.

All that really matters to Him is that you chose to love Him today, and every day moving forward.

I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather have that kind of love than that of the Backstreet Boys any day of the week!