It was a tough week back at work. The government shutdown ended, but the systems of a big city had been stretched thin. Some vendors never reopened, and some employees never returned. Imagine looking forward to your favorite morning fix of coffee only to find the shop closed. Not a big deal, maybe—but that's how it began. Then I learned a friend at work wasn't coming back. They'd been let go.

Now I have a new boss—let's call him John Snow. He was transferred in because of who he knew. Everyone else in his role was fired. He knows nothing, and it shows.

Meanwhile, the medical appointments I needed to make didn't happen. Offices were closed for the holidays, and I found myself talking to answering machines, wondering if anyone would ever pick up again. That wouldn't be such a big deal if I wasn't trying to ease the pain of a wife who has been bedridden since May 2021. Or if my daughter wasn't at her wits' end, caring for her grumpy, frustrated, and angry mother.

Friday came. Payday. Half a check.

But there was a bright spot: I was invited to play at my favorite seniors living facility. In preparation, I bought a new cart to haul my equipment. I think I've got the right setup now—just need some good straps for the amp and microphone stands.

I knew this audience well, so I opened with a Ray Charles classic: "Come Rain or Come Shine." It was a hit. One lady came up immediately afterward, gave me a thumbs up, and whispered that her best friend had just lost her husband two months ago. That song was one of her favorites.

At home, my daughter hasn't lost her touch in the kitchen, and I'll be enjoying leftovers until Sunday. No friends or extended family joined us this year—life is hitting them just as hard.

This performance felt different. I mixed jazzy versions of Christmas songs into my regular set without worrying how it sounded. I smiled more, connected more. I bantered with the audience as they tapped their feet or sipped their drinks. I used the Positive Grid Spark Live amp on a stand, loud enough to fill the great hall but never overpowering. I adjusted constantly, making sure the sound was just right. It felt good to be comfortable, playing my part in more ways than one.

Through GigSalad I submitted proposals for two more gigs but haven't heard back. My next performance is already booked, though—a birthday party for a 90-year-old in Oxon Hill. A three-hour gig with someone I played for last Christmas.

This week I also discovered AI. I tried a program to create an intro for my podcast. And I decided to change the name of my Christian ministry show from Faith's Journey to Broken and Believing. Searching for my podcast on Apple, I realized how unoriginal the old name was—buried among countless other "Faith Journeys." And because I feel broken, I thought: why not?

Broken and Believing.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." — Psalm 34:18

That verse feels spot on for me. James H. Aughey once said: "God is looking for broken men who have judged themselves in the light of the cross of Christ. When He wants anything done, He takes up men who have come to the end of themselves, whose confidence is not in themselves, but in God."

And Vance Havner reminded us: "God uses broken things. It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume. It is Peter, weeping bitterly, who returns to greater power than ever."

This week was heavy. But in the music, in the ministry, and in the brokenness, I see God's hand. And I believe.