In 2024, I had the honor of attending three concerts. If you'd told me a few years ago that I'd be excited about live music, I would've probably laughed. See, I’m not exactly a concert enthusiast. The first real concert I attended was, well… an experience. Don’t judge, but it was a Rob Zombie, Volbeat, and Megadeth concert. I was just a teenager, tagging along with my parents. It was loud, chaotic, and honestly, a lot to process. The noise, the crowds, the sheer intensity—it all felt overwhelming, almost like I was trying to drink from a fire hose of sound. Still, I had fun, but I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that concerts might not be my thing. My favorite (and least favorite) memory was sitting with my foot up, because it was in a cast, and seeing Rob Zombie himself coming close to sign it and being pushed away by security.
In high school, things took a turn. I lost some of my hearing, and that made the whole concert experience even less enjoyable. They said I'd need hearing aids to a tune of over 10,000 dollars. There was a time when I could no longer hear the nuances of music the way I used to. It wasn’t just a physical loss—it felt like a piece of my connection to music, to community, to joy, was gone. So for a while, I avoided concerts altogether. One of my favorites when I was in youth group was outdoor RiseFest in Iowa. It was an amazing experience but once again, I couldn't experience it well. You see, i learned to feel the music and vibrations. It's not easy outdoors but I did what I could. Thankfully most of the hearing is restored but still some remains gone or less than what I should have as a 25 year old.
But in 2024, something changed. I decided to step outside my comfort zone and give it another try. Three concerts later, I can honestly say, I'm craving another!!
First, there was Brandon Lake and Phil Wickham. It was like stepping into a whirlwind of worship. The energy was electric, but not in the chaotic sense I’d experienced before. It was the kind of energy that made you feel like you were part of something much bigger than yourself. There, I found myself singing, arms raised, completely immersed in the music, in the moment, and in the presence of God.
Next came Crowder, Cochren & Co, and MercyMe. I remember standing there, surrounded by thousands of people, and thinking, “This is it. This is what I’ve been missing.” MercyMe’s song “Say I Won’t” blasted through the speakers, and I couldn’t help but scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs: “Say I won’t, and I’ll keep proving you wrong.” It’s a song that’s been my personal anthem since it came out. It’s a declaration that no matter the odds, no matter the circumstances, we keep moving forward. It was on my graduation cap in college because so many said I wouldn't, heck I was only given a small percentage (5%) chance of surviving past the age of 4 so "you won't" has been a narrative people have said for my entire life.
As I belted out those words, standing next to friends, surrounded by strangers, all of us with our hands lifted, I felt something profound. My heart skipped a few beats, not just because of the music, but because I was witnessing something beautiful: a collective moment of worship and defiance against the challenges life throws our way. It was like I was standing in a crowd of warriors, each of us with our own battles, but united in our resolve to keep going. It was one of the most powerful moments of my life. I hope to simply capture it once again, and if God allows to meet the band to tell them how much it means to me.
The last concert of the year was For King & Country. Their performance felt like a celebration of life itself—full of joy, energy, and unapologetic passion. I danced, I laughed, I cried. There was something profoundly liberating about being so vulnerable in a space where everyone was doing the same thing. I realized that, in a way, I was no longer hiding. I was allowing myself to fully experience the music, the crowd, and the worship. I loved being that person—the one who is openly singing, crying, and shouting with all her heart.
And here’s the thing: these concerts didn’t just teach me about music—they taught me something deeper about myself. I had been afraid of crowds, afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of connecting with people. But at these concerts, I realized something powerful: I love being that person who can scream at the top of her lungs, cry without shame, and be totally open with who I am in front of others.
It’s funny because, once upon a time, I wasn’t a “people person.” Believe it or not, I used to be quite shy. I preferred the quiet, the solitude. But God, in His infinite wisdom, has a way of changing us in ways we never expect. The same person who once dreaded being in big crowds now finds peace, joy, and connection in them.
God knew this about me long before I did. And now, concerts have become a form of worship for me. They're not just entertainment—they’re a way for me to connect with God and with others in a deeply communal way. In those moments of collective worship, I can sense God’s presence in the crowd, in the music, and in the hearts of people around me.
And here’s where I get really excited: I think this is what God intends for us in community. I can’t wait to explore more about this in a future blog, but for now, I’ll leave you with this thought: sometimes, the most unlikely places and situations—like a loud concert—are where we find God, where we find ourselves, and where we find the kind of connection we’ve always been searching for.
So stay tuned. There’s more to come on community, but for now, I’ll just say this: I never imagined concerts would be a place of spiritual transformation for me. But here I am, screaming my lungs out, crying, and finding joy in the collective worship of thousands. It’s a beautiful thing, and I’m so grateful to be experiencing it.
Who knew that the girl who once hated concerts and people would be transformed by the very thing she once avoided? I think God has a way of surprising us like that.
