The Walk: Real Stories of Faith

Worship Leader Magazine

The Walk from Worship Leader Magazine is a podcast of real conversations with worship leaders, artists, pastors and believers, hosted by worship leader, songwriter and pastor Kurtis Parks. Each episode is about the moments when faith was tested, obedience cost something, and God showed up. Guests include Tauren Wells, Lecrae, Jenn Johnson, Matt Maher, Aaron Shust, Leanna Crawford, Ginny Owens and 150+ more. We talk about calling and surrender, worship leading and songwriting, church hurt and healing, unanswered prayer, and what it looks like to walk by faith in everyday life. Whether you lead worship every Sunday or you're just trying to follow Jesus through a hard season, The Walk is here to encourage you. Faith isn't just a moment. It's a walk, and you don't have to walk it alone. Presented by Planning Center. Show notes and more at worshipleader.com/podcast-network/the-walk

  1. 18h ago

    Michael Sarver: Shame Is the Number One Battle of My Life

    Michael Sarver moved to Nashville in February after a lifetime in Louisiana and East Texas, and the conversation opens the way conversations with new transplants do, with gumbo, hot chicken, and the strange feeling of no longer needing to book a flight home. Then it goes somewhere else entirely. He grew up Pentecostal, and jokes that the first place he went after the hospital might literally have been church. Music was around him constantly: live drums, real instruments, a choir he loved. But it didn't become his until he was eleven. His mother had remarried, and what looked like a good thing became an abusive one. Michael describes running to his room and turning music on, and finding that it shifted the atmosphere and shifted his spirit when he was frightened and in pain. That's when he learned music was more than a sound. Not long after they got out of that situation, he auditioned for a church choir with a minimum age of thirteen or fourteen, and got in at eleven. His first time leading was a Larnelle Harris song with what he remembers as about fifty key changes, and he says that was the day it went from wanting to do this to knowing it was his. At fourteen he wrote his first song, "Broken Pieces," the night before a Sunday special he'd already picked a Phillips, Craig and Dean song for. He credits Steven Curtis Chapman as the reason he writes at all, someone taking the noise in his head and putting it on paper. He's written over 3,800 songs since. While other kids played football, he went straight home and taught himself to sing like Michael English and the guys from Avalon, always finding somebody stronger and pushing until he could do what they could do. He's candid about the rest of it: legal trouble as a late teen, being bullied for years over his religion and for how little his family had, and real church hurt. He calls religion a poison that almost destroyed his faith. When his sister invited him to a church in Jasper, Texas, he sat there judging the pastor's wife for wearing makeup and the women for wearing pants, and recognized he was doing to those people exactly what had been done to him. What broke it was a worship rehearsal. The presence of God showed up in a room full of people who wore makeup and cut their hair and grew beards, and it undid the framework he'd been handed. That church is also where he met his wife, though not the way you'd guess: the man who kept shaking his hand every week and telling him somebody noticed him today, the one Michael found mildly annoying, turned out to be his future father-in-law. American Idol happened almost by accident. He drove twenty-plus hours across Texas to Arizona to support his sister-in-law's audition, and made it himself. He went back to the oil rig between rounds, sweating it out and waiting for the next call. What he thinks made the difference was worship leading. On group night, when everyone around him fell apart, he was the one feeding lines and holding it together, because that's what he'd trained to do on a platform. He also had something most contestants didn't: he didn't need the show. He had a wife, two kids, a church he loved and good money on the rig. When producers went looking for the story about his dad leaving when he was two, he told them that wasn't a tree they were climbing today. He finished in the top ten of Season 8, and speaks warmly about Danny Gokey, who he says held him up during it. Then the part he doesn't soften. He signed with Dream Records and went country, because everyone said country, the accent, the size, the Texas of it all. He explains it as a branding decision, sound and image as two brands that have to marry. And he says plainly that it was the wrong one. Not a detour God used, not a season of preparation. He says he liked being famous, chased what he thought would bring the most credit, and left his actual purpose behind. Around six years ago, right as COVID cancelled everyone's tours, he stopped. He gave back a large signing bonus, walked away from a deal, and spent his energy winning back a family he'd nearly lost and a wife he says he wasn't the man she deserved. The restoration came slowly and through a local church, where he had no desire to sing and got asked anyway, ended up as worship pastor, and learned to tell someone kindly that singing isn't their gift. He says the shepherding changed his character more than the music did. Around year four he wrote a song called "Layers," about looking back through every layer of his life and seeing that God was already there before he ever asked Him to show up. He didn't think it was a worship song, and he started praying about why he'd written it. That song is the seed of both EPs. He deliberately broke the rule about a cohesive body of work, because being true to layers meant being true to every style that shaped him. "Storms Don't Bother Me" is up and encouraging. "Fire" is a nod to the old gospel sound he grew up on. "Limitless" is built on the prodigal son but is actually about his own son, who went through a short season where it looked like he was walking away. Michael and his wife chose not to say I told you so. He asked one question, do you want to go home, and his son said yes, and that was the end of it. His son gave his blessing to tell it. He ties it to the limitless love of a father, natural and heavenly, and to the thing he calls his number one battle: shame. The two EPs are seven songs each, which he chose on purpose. Layer One released August 21 and Layer Two follows on September 25. "I actually made the wrong decision because I liked being famous." - Michael Sarver ABOUT MICHAEL SARVER Michael Sarver is a singer/songwriter and worship leader who was a Top 10 finalist on Season 8 of American Idol, going from the oil fields of East Texas to a national stage. He released multiple country singles and toured nationally before stepping away to serve as a church worship leader. He made his Christian music debut in 2025 with "Warrior," followed by "Victory Song," "All I Need," and the 2026 singles "Wonderful God," "Count It All Joy," "More Like You" and "Limitless." His seven-song EP Layer One released August 21, 2026 on S&G Music Enterprises, distributed by WieRise Music, with Layer Two following September 25. He has written more than 3,800 songs and now lives in Nashville with his wife and family. IN THIS EPISODE The year music stopped being background and became the safest place in his houseAuditioning for a church choir two years under the minimum age, and getting inWriting "Broken Pieces" at fourteen, the night before a Sunday specialSteven Curtis Chapman, Michael English, Avalon, and 3,800 songs laterChurch hurt, and catching himself judging people the way he'd been judgedThe worship rehearsal that dismantled what he'd been taughtThe man at church who wouldn't leave him alone, and who he turned out to beDriving twenty hours to support someone else's audition and making the show himselfGoing back to the oil rig between rounds of American IdolWhy worship leading is what carried him through group nightWhy he calls the country years the wrong decision, in his own wordsGiving back a signing bonus to go win his family back"Layers," and the realization that God was already in the room"Limitless," his son, and the only question he asked him LINKS Michael Sarver: https://michaelsarvermusic.comLayer One: https://ffm.to/wmzbj1jYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@MichaelSarverOfficialWieRok Entertainment Group: https://wierok.com/Kurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_193_michael_sarver Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Michael Sarver: Shame Is the Number One Battle of My Life
  2. Oct 14

    Red Rocks Worship: Why Worship Leaders Leave Too Soon

    Tyler Roberts has been at Red Rocks Church for sixteen years, which in worship ministry terms makes him an elder statesman. He says so himself: everything looks the same, but everybody keeps getting younger, which can only mean one thing. Red Rocks started in 2005 with a plain goal, to be a youth group for adults, and a tagline they still use: make heaven more crowded. Tyler's arrival in 2010 tells you what the early days felt like. The church met in a rented red barn at the back of a theme park, a quarter-mile walk from the parking lot, with a wedding chapel on one side and a haunted house on the other. He auditioned on Halloween, singing "Our God," with a miniature train going by outside and a man in a Jason mask running around with a chainsaw while girls screamed. That was a normal Sunday. The origin of Red Rocks Worship is less glamorous than people assume, and better for it. When the church went multi-site around 2011, there were suddenly two campuses, two worship teams, and nobody really in charge. Tyler is candid that they handled it badly at first. The fix was a question: what if we prayed together and wrote songs together? They started meeting Fridays at 8:30, praying for half an hour, then writing, on the theory that a song all of them liked could be sung at both campuses. The songs were mostly not good, he says, and he advises against going back to listen. What happened next was an accident. Around 2013 the staff wanted to record a Sunday-after-Christmas special called Holiday Hangover so nobody had to come in that weekend. Leadership asked whether the worship team had any songs, didn't much care what they were, and recorded them. Weeks before it aired, someone asked whether they could put it on iTunes. For one day only, the Rooftop EP was the number one Christian and gospel EP there, because the whole church downloaded it. Then those songs came back around on the weekend and the church already knew them. They had become the congregation's songs. Tyler's picture of a Red Rocks Sunday is worth the episode for worship pastors. They like to throw good parties, and they describe themselves as a front porch for prodigals, taking the father in the parable literally: he threw a party the moment the son came home. So song one is loud and full of energy, songs two and three go upward into high praise, the message lands, the response time leans into songs like "The Lord Is With Me," and then they send people out. We're not here to just play church and have a big audience, he says. We're an army. He walks through the multi-site structure in useful detail. Every campus has a worship pastor who sits on the campus staff, reports to the campus pastor, and dotted-lines to central. Those pastors own resourcing, developing, recruiting and pastoring their teams; central supplies the set lists, the Ableton sessions and the creative. Brussels, now ten years old, has grown into its own thing. He's honest that they've failed more than they've gotten it right, and have tried to fail forward. On set lists, the rule is at least fifty percent Red Rocks songs, sometimes seventy-five, sometimes all of it. They write to fill gaps in their own church, and right now the gap is song ones. When they bring in an outside song, it usually comes out of the message. Then Kurtis asks the question every church that releases music wants answered: why do your people actually sing your songs? Tyler refuses to give a formula, and says plainly that what the Lord chooses to breathe on is what He chooses to breathe on. But he does explain "The Lord Is With Me." Pastor Shawn Johnson learned a few years ago that he has a rare form of Parkinson's disease, and asked the team for a song to go alongside a book he was writing about it, something people could anchor to in the hardest season of their lives. They wrote it, the church preached a series on it, and suddenly everyone's story was connected to one anthem. Tyler says he doesn't even have to set it up anymore. That leads into the strongest charge in the hour. When the team writes, they're in the lobbies, down front at the end of service, in Thursday morning prayer watching their own people's names scroll on a screen. And they're in Scripture, which Tyler says too many worship leaders neglect. He isn't talking about charisma or being able to sense and shift a room. He's talking about a depth you can't gain, weren't born with, and aren't talented enough to supersede, and he includes his own dry seasons in the indictment. The record is called Promised Land, and the title came out of the worst six weeks of his recent life. The church forced him to take a sabbatical, which he'd never done and isn't good at. Two weeks in he was going crazy, sitting on his bed while his wife was at work and his kids ran wild, telling God that this gift didn't feel like a gift. What he found underneath was that his identity was wrapped in what he did, that he needed the validation and the affirmation, that he had to be doing things to feel like enough. The answer he got back: the promised land isn't on the other side, or in the standing ovation, or in the approval he'd been chasing from certain people. It's the presence of God, which he can't outrun, because Jesus already did the work. Then, as it happened, they recorded at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, which Tyler is careful to say is not the promised land. But twenty years earlier, Pastor Shawn and some of the founders stood at the top of those same rocks, looking out over Denver, crying, asking people to give to a church that didn't exist yet. There's video of it. Ten thousand people came, nearly all of them their own church, sold out, on a November night that should have been snowing and somehow wasn't. Production ran three hours behind on lighting so there was no real soundcheck. They went full send and hoped God would be in it, and He was. At one point they cut the band and let ten thousand voices carry "The Lord Is With Me." He closes on faithfulness. A mentor once told him deep roots grow great fruit, and you can't grow deep roots if you keep getting ripped up and replanted. Every move is traumatic; the plant spends its energy finding water again instead of bearing fruit. He's clear that God does call people out, and that some people are called to a place while others are called through one. But if you're on the fence, don't take a step until you hear clearly, and the way he's known it wasn't time was never an audible voice, just the absence of peace. Jesus is the Prince of Peace, so follow peace. Tyler left a dream job, a full-ride scholarship, his family and a house he'd just bought to come to Denver. None of it made sense on paper. He's felt no peace to leave since. "Some people are called to a place and some people are called through a place." - Tyler Roberts ABOUT TYLER ROBERTS Tyler Roberts is worship division director at Red Rocks Church in Denver, Colorado, where he has served for sixteen years and helps oversee both the church's campus worship teams and Red Rocks Worship, the church's recording collective. Founded in 2005 with the vision of making heaven more crowded, Red Rocks Church now spans four Denver-area campuses with a fifth on the way, plus locations in Austin, Texas, and Brussels, Belgium, and prison campuses in Colorado. Red Rocks Worship has released songs sung in churches worldwide, including "Good Plans," "Living God," "Never Gets Old" and "The Lord Is With Me." Their live album Promised Land was recorded at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in November 2025 during the church's twentieth anniversary celebration, and released in 2026 on Provident Entertainment. IN THIS EPISODE A church that met in a rented red barn at the back of a theme parkAuditioning on Halloween with a man in a Jason mask outside holding a chainsawFriday mornings at 8:30, praying first and then writing songs to stay unifiedHow the Holiday Hangover special accidentally produced a number one iTunes EPA front porch for prodigals, and why the father threw a partyHow the multi-site worship structure actually works, campus by campusThe fifty percent rule for set lists, and writing to fill their own gapsThe story behind "The Lord Is With Me" and Pastor Shawn's diagnosisWhy he thinks worship leaders are neglecting the one thing they can't fakeThe forced sabbatical, and what he found underneath his need to achieveTen thousand voices at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, with no real soundcheckDeep roots grow great fruit, and why replanting yourself is traumaticCalled to a place versus called through a placeWhy they released multiple versions of one song, and the key change that fixed it LINKS Red Rocks Worship: https://www.redrocksworship.comRed Rocks Church: https://www.redrockschurch.comRed Rocks Worship on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@redrocksworshipRed Rocks Worship on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/redrocksworshipKurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_192_tyler_roberts Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Red Rocks Worship: Why Worship Leaders Leave Too Soon
  3. Oct 6

    Jordan St. Cyr: I Wrote Fires Before I Walked Through One

    Jordan St. Cyr grew up in Niverville, Manitoba, a town of about 1,200 people with six churches in it. He says a place that small keeps people's radar for what's fake and what's real very keen, and that's why his music has to be honest, conversational, almost blue collar. His dad was the worship pastor. His mom worked in children's ministry. There was never a dramatic conversion moment, just a home where it was obvious Christ was the center of everything. The first word he heard his dad use for God was loving heavenly father, which lands differently once you know his dad grew up without one. Jordan compares his own faith to marriage: he and his wife will hit nineteen years this year, and looking back he thinks, you idiot, you had no idea what that yes meant. He expects to think the same thing at forty years. Jesus got his heart as a five or six year old and keeps getting his yes daily. He was the athlete first, not the singer. That ended around fifteen or sixteen when he found himself batting against a six-foot-three pitcher and decided he was done. A buddy talked him into auditioning for the school's Wizard of Oz, mostly because there were girls there, and that same friend brought a guitar to rehearsals. Jordan picked it up and never put it down. When he sang at the church Christmas play, his parents were sitting in the back row and had no idea he could sing. Then comes the part that reframes everything. Jordan wrote "Fires" during a season of songwriting camps, after a year of country conferences convinced him he needed to say the name of Jesus in his work. Nobody bit on the song. He was too old, he says, and his numbers weren't high enough. His radio promoters initially turned him down because they didn't want to take food off the table of a guy with four kids. He put the money aside himself and released it independently on Easter weekend of 2020, which he calls about the worst financial bet an artist could make. It became a hit. And it was written six months before the birth of his youngest daughter, Emery, who was born with a rare brain condition. He used to feel guilty that a song about fires hadn't come out of his own experience. He now believes God gave it to him for his experience. Emery has been four years seizure free. On songwriting and style, Jordan credits the town he spent decades trying to escape, and the twenty years of construction work he cursed more than once. He describes his upbringing as a safe harbor and a diving board, and says of his parents, who came out of a lot of trauma and moved to a small town to recalibrate the family, that he got to spend what they saved up. Kurtis stops him mid-sentence and tells him to write it down, which he does, live on the call. The two new singles get their turn. "Wild Love" is about the pursuit of God, and Jordan explains why wild is the right word: when you're in your sin nature and your shame, the love of God is foreign, otherworldly, something that pierces the veil rather than something you solve your way into. He follows it to a striking place, saying it's practically a prerequisite to be a screw-up, because no perfect people are allowed. He grew up as the churchgoing brother with brothers who partied, and credits his parents with threading the needle of not accepting bad behavior while never affirming self-righteousness in him. His own posture now: your sin doesn't bother me, because I've got enough of my own. "The Storyteller Man" is his upbringing set to music, right down to the green Dodge Monaco with the rear-facing seat, a detail he confirmed by calling his dad mid-write. The song name-checks Billy Joel, Elton John, Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan as the world's best storytellers, and then points past all of them. As Jordan puts it, people call him the storyteller man, and he isn't. He's a storyteller telling you about the greatest one. He closes on working with producer Paul Mabury, which he describes as terrifying, and on what it taught him: anything good is low and slow, like a good brisket. A full record follows next year, plus a Christmas project aimed at candlelight-service intimacy rather than big production. And what he most wants right now has nothing to do with music. He wants a Habitat for Humanity day so he can go swing a hammer, and maybe to sing at an old folks' home. It doesn't need to be on camera. It can be held sacred. "The hard things of this life are the greatest teachers." - Jordan St. Cyr ABOUT JORDAN ST. CYR Jordan St. Cyr is a Juno Award-winning artist, songwriter and storyteller from Niverville, Manitoba, now based in Nashville. His breakthrough single "Fires" spent 45 weeks on the Billboard Christian Airplay chart and reached the Top 5, followed by his multi-week No. 1 hit "Weary Traveler." He is a 16-time GMA Covenant Award winner and won the 2023 Juno for Contemporary Christian/Gospel Album of the Year. He spent two decades in construction before music became his full-time work. Signed to BEC Recordings, he released "The Storyteller Man" and "Wild Love" in 2026, both produced by Paul Mabury, ahead of a full album. He and his wife Heather have four children. IN THIS EPISODE What a Manitoba town of 1,200 taught him about telling the truth in a songHis dad, who grew up without a father, teaching him to call God a loving heavenly fatherQuitting sports at sixteen, auditioning for the Wizard of Oz, and picking up a guitar he never put downPlaying dive bars in Winnipeg at midnight and leading worship at 7 a.m.Being told he was too old with numbers too low, and releasing "Fires" independently anywayWriting "Fires" six months before Emery was born, and the guilt he carried about thatWhy he says the love of God is wild, and why being a screw-up is close to a prerequisite"I get to spend what they saved up," written down live on the callThe Dodge Monaco, four legendary storytellers, and the one the song is actually aboutWhy anything good is low and slow LINKS Jordan St. Cyr: https://www.jordanstcyr.comWild Love: https://jordan.ffm.to/wildloveThe Storyteller Man: https://jordan.ffm.to/storytellerEvery Reason To Believe: https://jordan.ffm.to/everyreasonHands To The Sky: https://jordan.ffm.to/handsPray For You: https://jordan.ffm.to/prayforyouMy Foundation (album): https://jordan.ffm.to/myfoundationMerch: https://jordanstcyrmerch.myshopify.comBEC Recordings: https://www.becrecordings.com/jordanstcyrInstagram: http://instagram.com/jordanstcyrFacebook: http://facebook.com/jordanstcyrmusicTikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@jordanstcyrYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbR1q9f7-C1itmIVpE9nHLwSpotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/4RbkVdTJEHZEfppvxBD6IlApple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/jordan-st-cyr/441238969Kurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_191_jordan_st_cyr Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Jordan St. Cyr: I Wrote Fires Before I Walked Through One
  4. Sep 30

    Orlando Palmer: The Prosperity Gospel Has No Room for Pain

    Orlando Palmer records as IAMSON, produces, writes for other people, and is married to the gospel artist DOE. He and Kurtis start where you'd expect, on what it's actually like when two artists share a house. His answer is more interesting than the question: when they're commissioned to write professionally, it snaps on immediately, because both of them were raised in this and know how to work a room. At home, safe and comfortable, it takes much longer. DOE runs lyrics past him for a theological read, and he says he's grateful she trusts him with that. He also admits that before they ever spoke, he critiqued a cover she'd done of one of his songs. They still talk about it. Asked which part of the work makes him come alive right now, he doesn't pick the one he's best at. He picks performing live, because it's the thing he needs to grow in. He's been drilling keyboard sounds and breath control and learning material to the point where he isn't thinking about the piano while he's singing. The goal, as he puts it, is to practice enough that you can be present to the audience. The center of the conversation is mental health, and Orlando doesn't soften it. He names the prosperity gospel as the thing that ruins it: a framework where praying a specific prayer is supposed to produce an immediate result, with no process and no theology of suffering. He calls that especially damaging in the mental health conversation. When he writes about anxiety, he's writing with specific people in mind, his parents' generation, for whom it was even more taboo and who may not have had or sought resources; men who need permission to be soft and vulnerable and to feel their emotions; his own cousins, and Black men raised in environments where the only available responses were violence or argument. His summary of the whole project is one line: it's all about giving people language. He traces where the songs come from, and it isn't a strategy. God gave him a passion for the piano and for words, and he started writing because he needed the songs himself. Then something clicked and it became a love for the church too. He talks about ADHD not as an obstacle but as the shape of how he was made. He'll read a book and stop after chapter four, not from boredom but because he's overwhelmed with information and needs time to process. What he's landed on fairly recently is that he doesn't have to become an academic theologian to be useful. Romans 7 means more to him because he expressed it through music. That's how he prays, and it's enough. The theological heart of the episode arrives when Kurtis asks how he'd write about the cross. Orlando says he'd go straight at the humanity of Christ, and try to get inside where Jesus actually was in that moment. That opens into the best exchange of the hour. Most Christians, he says, hear the question as striving upward to get to where God is. But the point of the incarnation runs the other direction. He descended so that we could be known. Once that lands, there's safety, and from that safety he can behold mercy and kindness and grace. Then the weight. Orlando says he's been thinking about the weight of God's glory, precisely because he knows the weight of depression and darkness. He's careful about the claim: it isn't that the presence of God removes everything, it's that there's something weightier there, something more transcendent than his own comfort. Sometimes it's just bread for today, a reminder that it's going to be okay. Kurtis takes it to Isaiah's exchange of heaviness for a garment of praise, and Orlando lands it as a warm blanket that covers you. The last stretch is about tradition. Orlando was recently on staff at an Anglican church, and he says it formed him more as a Christian than any other experience: access to the history of the faith, the church fathers, the hymnody. Be Thou My Vision will make him cry. Be Still My Soul, It Is Well, 'Tis So Sweet. What it gave him was scale. He doesn't have to be innovative or be the superhero. He gets to be part of a great cloud of witnesses that was there before him and will be there after. His encouragement to anyone worried about the state of the church: there's nothing new, and we have access to the stories of God's faithfulness and to the mistakes, so we don't have to make them again. He closes on his album, which is called Forgetful. It starts with a traditional Pentecostal song he heard in Trinidad, "Jesus I'll Never Forget," the kind grandmothers sing. Then it turns: I can't even remember where I put my healer. Sometimes I forget that God is good. And then it comes back around, because the Holy Spirit is the one who reminds him. Even when he grows old and can't remember, the Spirit will keep him. He says it's about ninety percent done. "He descended for us to be known." - Orlando Palmer ABOUT ORLANDO PALMER Orlando Palmer is a songwriter, producer and artist who records under the name IAMSON. The child of pastors, he was accompanying choirs on piano by age ten and later studied songwriting at Berklee College of Music. His music sits deliberately at the intersection of faith and mental health, with songs like "Slow Down" and "Always With Me" written to give people language for anxiety and for being present. His production and songwriting credits include the worship collective Urban Doxology and The Porter's Gate, and he has collaborated with artists including Audrey Assad, Josh Garrels and United Pursuit. He most recently served on staff at an Anglican church, and now lives in Nashville with his wife, the gospel artist DOE, after years based in Richmond, Virginia. His album Forgetful is on the way. IN THIS EPISODE Two artists in one house, and why the professional switch flips faster than the home oneThe critique he gave her music before they'd ever spokenWhy he's chasing live performance right now: it's the thing he's not best atThe prosperity gospel, and a framework with no process and no theology of sufferingWho he pictures when he writes about anxiety, including his parents' generation and his cousins"It's all about giving people language"Stopping a book at chapter four, and why that isn't boredomRomans 7 mattering more because he put it in a songThe incarnation as descent: we are the ones being knownThe weight of glory measured against the weight of depressionWhat an Anglican church staff job gave a Pentecostal-raised songwriterBe Thou My Vision, and hymns as a songwriter's libraryForgetful, and a song his grandmother's generation sang in Trinidad LINKS IAMSON (Orlando Palmer): https://www.iamsonmusic.comInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/iamsonmusic/Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/orlando-palmer/1064294957Worshipology: https://www.worshipologybook.comKurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_189_orlando_palmer Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Orlando Palmer: The Prosperity Gospel Has No Room for Pain
  5. Sep 23

    Natalie Layne: Writer's Block Is Not Real

    Natalie Layne grew up in Colorado watching her parents lead worship together, her mom singing and her dad on bass, while she ran around the rehearsals singing along. Her parents never pushed piano on her. They put a little keyboard in the playroom with her toys, said nothing, and let her discover it. She decided it was the coolest toy in the house, and started lessons at three. Her grandmother, who ran a piano studio for thirty years, was her first teacher and taught her to read music, to play by ear, and to write songs. By twelve, her church was asking her to lead worship, and she spent high school leading several times a week under worship pastors including Cory Asbury, John Egan and Jared Anderson. Kurtis asks what made that mentorship work, and her answer is one worship leaders will want to hear. We tend to think discipling someone means handing them a ten-step plan and all our best nuggets. What actually shaped her was simpler: they invited her into what they were already doing. Come to the writing camp. Come sing BGVs. Sit in on this meeting. It's not as hard as we think, she says. It's just the invite. Her grandmother also gave her the first songwriting method she ever used. At ten or eleven, she was told to come back next week with a song, protested that she didn't know how, and was told to take the words of Scripture and put chords underneath them. The Psalms were meant to be songs anyway. She still writes that way, because those words don't return void. She's also firm that writer's block isn't real: you may not be able to write something good today, but you can always write something bad, and the point is to show up. When the piano runs dry she switches to guitar just to change the palette. Her sound came from the car stereo. Her mom played Christian radio; her dad, a bass player, played gospel, jazz, blues and Earth, Wind & Fire. She remembers wondering young why Christian music didn't have all those styles, and deciding that a God who contains multitudes should have all the music, and the best of it. The road to a label was not a straight one. Nashville told her it was a ten-year town, or maybe five. It took five years, almost to the day. She stayed at Belmont long enough to finish a master's in piano, and in her final year won the school's Christian showcase, where labels quietly scout. Several reached out in 2019. Then March 2020 hit and every conversation stopped, and she spent a confusing season asking why God seemed to fling doors open only to shut them. What she did with the waiting is the practical heart of the episode. She spent two years in practice rooms, started sharing verses and choruses on a new app called TikTok while she was still writing them, and let people weigh in. It turned into a giant online co-write. People started asking her to come play shows, and she built a real career with a manager and no label, reaching her one definition of success: doing music for a living. When she did sign with Centricity, about four years after that first conversation, it was to add radio and marketing to something already moving. That's also how "Grateful For" happened. She wrote it with Mitch Wong, who told her the chords she was playing sounded like gratitude. Her team thought it was fine. The internet disagreed, and it became a small thankfulness movement. Kurtis names joy as the thread through her music, and Natalie explains where it came from. Right when she signed, she felt the Lord tell her to go write a whole bunch of songs about joy. It was the first direction that specific she'd ever felt, and she connects it to the moment, with everyone carrying heartbreak after the last few years. But she's careful about what joy is. We say choose joy, and that's true, but we slide into thinking we have to manufacture it or put on a smile. Joy is a fruit of the Spirit, not of our own striving. If she wants more joy, she needs more of the Spirit. That's why the songs aren't only about joy when life is easy, but about how to have it when it's hard. The new EP, Still Running To You, pulls in more of her childhood influences, horns included, because God deserves all the instruments. She produced for the first time, explaining it as the movie director of the record, and insisted on tracking it live, nine players in one room, which she says is rare in Nashville now that most parts get sent back and forth from home studios. Asked about AI, she's measured. She doesn't think it's all evil, but she loves real music, and thinks AI is only going to make real music and live shows more precious. People have already left comments asking whether her new songs are AI. They aren't. She closes with the difference between opening for someone and headlining her own night, her band of friends she grew up with at church, three trips to Bonnaroo, and the National Hot Dog Festival, where most of the crowd was holding a hot dog or an ear of corn and still heard about Jesus. At festivals, she says, people come for the groove and end up getting Jesus in the lyric. "Joy is not a fruit of myself or my own striving." - Natalie Layne ABOUT NATALIE LAYNE Natalie Layne is a singer-songwriter, pianist, worship leader and producer from Colorado, now based in Nashville. A classically trained musician who holds a master's in piano from Belmont University, she blends the '90s Christian music she grew up on with gospel, jazz, funk and R&B. Her debut album, All Joy, produced the half-billion-impression hit "Grateful For" and a Top 10 title track that earned a K-LOVE Fan Award nomination, and Pandora named her an Artist to Watch. She has played Bonnaroo three times and toured with Chris Tomlin, Jeremy Camp, We The Kingdom, Danny Gokey, Brandon Heath and Tenth Avenue North. Her five-song EP Still Running To You, which she co-produced and recorded live with a full band, released September 9, 2026 on Centricity Music, ahead of a sophomore album due in 2027. IN THIS EPISODE The keyboard her parents hid in the toy room and let her discoverA grandmother who ran a piano studio for thirty years and taught her to write songsLeading worship at twelve under Cory Asbury, John Egan and Jared AndersonWhy mentoring is mostly just the inviteWriting songs straight from Scripture, and why writer's block isn't realWhy a God that big should have all the musicWinning the Belmont showcase, then watching every label conversation stop in March 2020Turning TikTok into a giant online co-write and building a career without a labelThe chords that sounded like gratitudeWhy joy is a fruit of the Spirit, not something you manufactureNine players in one room, and producing her first recordAI, real music, and fans asking whether her songs are realBonnaroo, the National Hot Dog Festival, and Jesus in the lyric LINKS Natalie Layne (official site and tour dates): https://www.natalielayne.comStill Running To You: https://natalielaynemusic.lnk.to/stillrunningCentricity Music: https://centricitymusic.com/artists/natalie-layne/Kurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_188_natalie_layne Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Natalie Layne: Writer's Block Is Not Real
  6. Sep 16

    Tauren Wells: Yesterday's Yes Won't Cover Today's Assignment

    Tauren Wells has four boys under fourteen, a church he planted two years ago, a book, and a live album arriving October 2. Asked how he balances it, he says he gave up on balance a long time ago. What he chases instead is rhythm and discernment about the season he's actually in. He puts it this way: he's spent stretches of his life looking like a man in a fur coat at the fireworks on the Fourth of July, doing the right thing in the wrong season. The call to plant a church came in 2006, while he was still in Bible college. What followed was seventeen years of waiting. He got married in 2011, served on staff at his in-laws' church in Houston, left his band in 2015 expecting to do music as a hobby, and then found himself on tour with Lionel Richie and Mariah Carey. He served five years at Lakewood as a pastoral worship leader. God gave him the name Whitestone in 2016 and the full vision with it, but no city. Austin came in 2022. When he asked his wife's cousin why so many things in town carried the name, he learned that Austin sits on Texas limestone, and that limestone is called white stone. Church of Whitestone launched January 28, 2024. Then Kurtis, a church planter himself, asks for the part that doesn't make the Instagram page. Tauren calls it battles and blessings. On the morning they announced the church in Georgetown, it rained all day, the radar opened for exactly two hours, and 4,000 people showed up for Good Friday. In the hotel room beforehand, one of his sons had a health scare out of nowhere. Stretch that over two years, he says, and you get a sense of it. About a year ago he came close to his first panic attack, convinced he was alone in a way no one could relate to, which he now names as a lie. On the other side of the ledger: over a thousand people have given their lives to Jesus in two years, nearly a thousand baptisms, more than a million dollars given to missions, and average attendance around 2,400 across four services. That leads into what may be the heart of the episode, the power of your yes. Tauren wrote a song that didn't make the album with the line "you have my yes, you have my here am I, Lord send me." He says it's the constant posture of a Jesus follower and you never graduate from it. Yesterday's yes doesn't cover today's assignment. And the yes usually isn't a thousand baptisms; it's forgiving the person you've been bitter toward, or having the conversation you've been avoiding. On collaboration, he traces a real shift in himself. He grew up in a culture that rewarded individual achievement, and long believed the highest statement was "I did it." He now calls that a poison to purpose, and reframes the question from "what's in it for me" to "what's in me for this." He wanted the record to be the church rather than himself, so it started with the people already around him, Whitestone worship pastor Demetri Wells and longtime collaborator Davies., both of whom moved their families to Austin, before it ever grew to include Tasha Cobbs Leonard, Israel Houghton, Naomi Raine, Paul and Hannah McClure, Abbie Gamboa, Todd Galberth, Tiffany Hudson, Hulvey and Red Rocks Worship. He also makes a point of the people you never see: God, he says, has a very deep bench. The leadership section is worth the episode on its own. Tauren preaches 30 to 36 times a year and has led worship maybe four times in two and a half years, describing himself as the church mascot and the number one worship leader on the front row. He explains why the frequency of feedback determines the health of a church, and walks through the hard power and soft power framework he credits to Erwin McManus and Rich Wilkerson Jr. Hard power is "shut out the light." Soft power gets the same result through inference and suggestion. Whitestone aims for 90% soft power, so the remaining 10% has relational equity behind it. It closes at Austin City Limits Moody Theater the night before the recording. The room went to the floor during "Bless Your Name." Tasha Cobbs Leonard was singing, Lorna began to pray and cry out in tongues, and Tauren describes it as a war cry going out from the heart of Austin. He believes God sent the Levites into one of the most creatively iconic cities in America. On the record you can hear him shouting to fill the room with the sound, then the city. "Yesterday's yes is not sufficient for today's assignment." - Tauren Wells ABOUT TAUREN WELLS Tauren Wells is a multi-platinum recording artist, bestselling author and pastor with 11 GRAMMY nominations, eight GMA Dove Awards, seven No. 1 radio hits and over 2.5 billion global streams. His RIAA-certified singles include the platinum hits "Known" and "Hills and Valleys" and gold singles "God's Not Done With You" and "Famous For (I Believe)." He has toured with Lionel Richie and Mariah Carey and collaborated across genres with artists from H.E.R. to Lecrae. In 2025 he released his debut book, Joy Bomb: Unleash Jesus's Explosive Joy for an Extraordinary Life. He and his wife Lorna are co-lead pastors of Church of Whitestone in Austin, Texas, which they launched in January 2024. His first live album, Here Comes The Church, recorded before a sold-out crowd at Austin City Limits Moody Theater, releases October 2. IN THIS EPISODE Why he gave up on balance entirely, and what he chases insteadSeventeen years between the call to plant a church and the church actually openingHow God gave him the name Whitestone in 2016 and the city six years laterThe battles nobody sees: the near panic attack, the isolation, the two years of oppositionA thousand salvations, nearly a thousand baptisms, and a million dollars to missions in two yearsWhy yesterday's yes doesn't cover today's assignment"I did it" as a poison to purpose, and the better question he asks nowHard power versus soft power, and why Whitestone runs 90 percent softThe night at Moody Theater when the whole room went to the floor LINKS Tauren Wells: https://www.taurenwells.com/Here Comes The Church (pre-order, vinyl and CD): https://store.capitolcmglabelgroup.com/collections/tauren-wellsTour dates: https://www.taurenwells.com/tour/Music: https://www.taurenwells.com/music/Joy Bomb (Zondervan): https://www.zondervan.com/p/joy-bombChurch of Whitestone: https://www.yourwhitestone.orgInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/taurenwells/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/taurenwellsofficial/YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/tgwells04X: https://twitter.com/taurenwellsKurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_187_tauren_wells Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Tauren Wells: Yesterday's Yes Won't Cover Today's Assignment
  7. Sep 9

    Love Song: The Jesus Movement Had No Strategy at All

    Tommy Coomes and Jay Truax were there. Not adjacent to the Jesus Movement, not students of it, but in it, on the beach, in the room. They're two of the founding members of Love Song, and this conversation is the long version of how a handful of California musicians accidentally became the front end of an entire industry. Jay starts at the beginning. He was an inland surfer who helped build the first skateboards out of plywood and cut-up roller skates on his dad's bandsaw. He talked his father into a guitar instead of a trumpet, got a 1957 Strat from a pawn shop for ninety dollars, and traded it in 1963 for a brand new Fender Jazz bass. Two weeks later his band opened for the Beach Boys in a skating rink, and Brian Wilson asked to borrow the bass. Jay was fifteen. Then came the surfing, the LSD, a string of bands, and two years in Salt Lake City playing alongside the Grateful Dead and Creedence. Tommy played trumpet for fourteen years, formed a band, and within six months all three of them were drafted at the height of Vietnam. Fred Field went to Vietnam. Chuck Butler went to South Korea. Tommy went to Germany, where he got deep into drugs mostly out of loneliness. He spent his leave in London and was standing on Carnaby Street the day Apple released its first four singles, with "Hey Jude" blasting out of every doorway. He came home in early 1969 planning to quit music and get a real job. Then friends dragged him to see a band called Love Song at a bar in Costa Mesa, and somewhere in a song he decided he couldn't quit after all. The heart of it is what happened next, and how little of it was planned. Tommy invokes the opening of 1 John, this is what we saw, this is what we heard, and calls himself and Jay living witnesses, noting that the generation who can say that is thinning out. Jay's account of the Holy Spirit is the plainest thing in the episode: it comes about when you pull the plug on everything and stop getting in the way. They woke up with no idea what the day held and played three times a day, in jails, convalescent homes, high schools, two services at the Orange County jail. Jay compares it to being firemen. The phone rang and they went. They tell it without polishing it. There's the Seventh Day Adventist church where they had no idea the congregation was vegetarian until Fred gave his testimony about being delivered from vegetarianism. There's Madison Square Garden one week and a flatbed truck on the Rio Grande in El Paso the next, which is where Tommy lands one of the best lines in the episode about being the same person in front of sixteen people or fifty thousand. There's Calvary Chapel going from a room the fire marshal capped around 220 to 2,500 people in a matter of months, with local pastors turning up in white belts to see what was going on. Then Maranatha! Music, which is the part worship leaders will want. Chuck Smith sent them to a four-track studio in Huntington Beach. The compilation cost four thousand dollars, sold 160,000 copies with no distribution, and the records lived in a Sunday school room. Michael W. Smith found a copy in a used clothing store in West Virginia, took it home, and walked the aisle of his Baptist church six weeks later. Twenty years on, Tommy asked Chuck Smith why he'd started the label. The answer: because the band had no gas money and he figured an album to sell would get them home. Kurtis asks about Chuck Fromm, who founded Worship Leader, and the two of them light up. Chuck Smith's nephew, called down from a city administration job in Yuba City to run Maranatha!, a man who used his Rolodex as a thinking tool and would talk an idea through with someone for an hour just to hear it out loud. Tommy tells the story of Chuck buying property and building a real studio without telling his uncle first. It opened in 1978 with fifty of the best tube mics in the world, and they recorded in it nonstop. The last stretch is a challenge. Tommy is blunt about what he sees walking into rooms as a producer: he estimates 60% of people in the pews aren't singing at all, and he lays it at the feet of volume and craft rather than sincerity. He points to Cliff Barrows, who never called it worship and always called it community singing, and who could make fifty thousand people feel like a living room. His charge to worship leaders is to be a communicator first, because there are plenty of great players and very few great communicators. He also refuses the easy version of the argument, insisting God isn't an either-or God and that he's all in when a room full of people knows the songs and pours their hearts out. Kurtis closes by asking whether God could do something like the Jesus Movement again. Tommy says yes, and points out that people get serious about finding a raft when the ship starts sinking. Then he tells his own conversion story, which he'd been saving. He was working a factory job, paying off a court fine, living with his parents, one day from starting at his father's construction company. There was a note by the phone about an anti-drug rally. Love Song played three services for the Orange County police department, the same department that had illegally searched him and put him through a year of court. On the third service he ended up on the floor crying for forty-five minutes. "If there's sixteen people in front of you, or sixteen thousand or fifty thousand, you gotta be the same guy." - Tommy Coomes ABOUT TOMMY COOMES AND JAY TRUAX Tommy Coomes and Jay Truax are founding members of Love Song, the band formed in the late 1960s out of the counterculture scene in Laguna Beach, California, and widely regarded as the first Christian rock band. Alongside Chuck Girard, John Mehler, Fred Field and Bob Wall, they came out of the Southern California club circuit, with Jay's earlier bands sharing stages with the Grateful Dead, Creedence and Canned Heat, before finding their way to Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa under Pastor Chuck Smith. Love Song became one of the founding acts of Maranatha! Music and helped shape what Time magazine called the "Jesus Revolution" in 1971, influencing a generation of artists who followed. Tommy went on to a long career as a producer and has worked for years with the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. IN THIS EPISODE Jay building skateboards out of roller skates before you could buy oneA ninety-dollar 1957 Strat, and Brian Wilson borrowing his brand new bass at fifteenThree bandmates drafted within six weeks at the height of VietnamCarnaby Street the day Apple released its first four singlesComing home to quit music, and hearing Love Song at a bar in Costa Mesa instead"Living witnesses" and why Tommy thinks the record matters nowJay on the Holy Spirit, and what it means to pull the plug on your own plansMaranatha Music, four thousand dollars, and 160,000 copies in a Sunday school roomMichael W. Smith finding the record in a used clothing store in West VirginiaWhy Chuck Smith actually started the label: gas moneyChuck Fromm, the Rolodex, and the studio he built without telling his uncleTommy's challenge on volume, craft, and community singingThe factory job, the note by the phone, and three services for the police who arrested him LINKS A Band Called LoveSong (documentary): https://www.abandcalledlovesong.com/Kurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_186_love_song Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Love Song: The Jesus Movement Had No Strategy at All
  8. Sep 2

    Franni Cash: I Grew Up in a Cult and Had to Relearn God

    Franni Cash spent most of her twenties as one-quarter of We The Kingdom: two Grammy nominations, three Dove Awards, two No. 1 songs. Then she left the family band at the end of 2023 and nearly walked away from music entirely, paralyzed by the fear of not measuring up to what she'd already done. She looked into acting and seriously considered going to school for interior design. What pulled her back was friends passing her demos around behind her back and refusing to delete them. She wrote more than 200 songs to find her own voice and narrowed them to the thirteen on her debut solo album, Here I Am, out September 18. Her rule: only the songs she kept reaching for in the car, not the ones that might scratch an itch in the Christian market. Then the conversation turns to "Raised By Wolves." Franni grew up in a religious cult for twelve years of her childhood, which her family left during her senior year of high school. Her husband suggested the title, drawn from the warning in Matthew 7 about false prophets who come in sheep's clothing but are inwardly ravenous wolves. She wrote it with David Leonard and Andy Cherry, and it was David who spoke the opening line: "be quiet little girl." She had assumed a story that specific would isolate her. Instead she found that when something is that personal it becomes universal, because everyone knows what betrayal from a safe place feels like. On the music itself: songwriter Paul Duncan told her he wasn't worried about her relationship with her family, he was worried about her relationship with music, and sent her on "musical dates" with no goal but enjoyment. Al Green, Elton John and Marvin Gaye on the record player. Long drives in a beat-up 1978 Corvette off Facebook Marketplace. Six producers worked on Here I Am, with Franni as executive producer holding it together. Asked what she wants listeners to take away, Franni lands on one word: validation. She talks about narrative therapy and learning that not all twelve of those years were bad, because her grandmothers poured scripture into her, and that's what "Jesus Girl" is really about. She pushes back on the idea that people outside the faith are simply choosing sin. In her experience, someone misrepresented God to them. The episode closes with bravery. Franni grew up believing women were less than men. On the Brandon Lake tour she felt the Holy Spirit tell her she was brave and should ask to open the second leg, and minutes later her guitar player picked a worn card off the dressing room floor that read, in gold letters, "I am brave." She asked. He said yes the next day. Then Amy Grant invited her to lunch, listened to "Darken the Doorway," and asked her to join The Me That Remains Tour. "Don't let anybody keep you small or silent." - Franni Cash ABOUT FRANNI CASH Franni Cash is a two-time GRAMMY-nominated artist, three-time Dove Award winner, performer, vocalist and songwriter. Formerly of We The Kingdom, she co-wrote two No. 1 songs and was named one of the Top 20 breakout artists across all genres. Following her departure from the band, she released her debut EP Good Woman and now her debut solo album, Here I Am, out September 18: thirteen autobiographical songs covering her years in a religious cult, reclaiming her faith, and stepping into her own voice. She has shared stages with Lauren Daigle and Brandon Lake, and joins Amy Grant this fall on The Me That Remains Tour. IN THIS EPISODE Why leaving We The Kingdom nearly ended her music careerThe friends who passed her demos around against her wishesWriting over 200 songs to find her own voiceThe story behind "Raised By Wolves," Matthew 7, and twelve years inside a religious cultWhy she believed her story would isolate her, and what happened insteadNarrative therapy, her grandmothers, and what "Jesus Girl" is actually aboutMusical dates, a 1978 Corvette, and falling in love with music on her own termsThe card that said "I am brave," asking Brandon Lake for a second tour, and Amy Grant's kitchen table LINKS Franni Cash: https://www.frannicash.com/Here I Am (pre-order / stream): https://frannicash.lnk.to/hereiamWETour dates: https://www.frannicash.com/tour/"Raised By Wolves": https://frannicash.lnk.to/raisedbywolvesWE"Jesus All Along": https://frannicash.lnk.to/JesusAllAlongWE"Menace": https://frannicash.lnk.to/hereiamEMHere I Am vinyl and CD: https://store.capitolcmglabelgroup.com/collections/franni-cashInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/frannicashTikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@frannicashYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@FranniCashSpotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/4fxcjHw2RUb4fBwuqHufT1Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/franni-cash/694735313Kurtis Parks: https://www.kurtisparks.comWorship Leader: https://worshipleader.com SPONSOR This episode is brought to you by Planning Center, the all-in-one software that helps your church schedule volunteers, plan services, and stay organized. Start free, no credit card required: https://www.planningcenter.com/?utm_source=worshipleader&utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=the_walk&utm_content=episode_185_franni_cash Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

    Franni Cash: I Grew Up in a Cult and Had to Relearn God
4.5
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About

The Walk from Worship Leader Magazine is a podcast of real conversations with worship leaders, artists, pastors and believers, hosted by worship leader, songwriter and pastor Kurtis Parks. Each episode is about the moments when faith was tested, obedience cost something, and God showed up. Guests include Tauren Wells, Lecrae, Jenn Johnson, Matt Maher, Aaron Shust, Leanna Crawford, Ginny Owens and 150+ more. We talk about calling and surrender, worship leading and songwriting, church hurt and healing, unanswered prayer, and what it looks like to walk by faith in everyday life. Whether you lead worship every Sunday or you're just trying to follow Jesus through a hard season, The Walk is here to encourage you. Faith isn't just a moment. It's a walk, and you don't have to walk it alone. Presented by Planning Center. Show notes and more at worshipleader.com/podcast-network/the-walk

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