New Beginnings

There’s something sacred about starting again. Not just the fresh calendar or the cleaned-out drawer kind of starting over, but the soul-deep kind. The kind where you’ve walked through something, maybe even broken a little, and still, you choose to begin. Again. With trembling hands, with hope that doesn’t yet have words, with faith that somehow the next step will meet you as you go. There’s a holiness in that choice. A quiet defiance. A whispered yes to life, even when you don’t know what it will ask of you next.

Maybe it’s the hush of early morning, when the sky is still unsure of itself, stretching out in soft pinks and hush-toned blues. Maybe it’s the silence before the first note of a new song. That quiet, that breath… full of promise.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about beginnings. Not the loud kind, not the fireworks and confetti kind. But the gentle ones. The ones that bloom slowly, tenderly, from loss or rest or reflection. The kind that comes after letting go. The kind you feel in your bones before you see them with your eyes.

That’s the kind of new beginning I’m walking into right now.

As a songwriter, I’ve always believed that our hearts speak in rhythms, soft pulses of longing, joy, ache, and grace. Every melody I write, every lyric I offer, is just a reflection of that rhythm. And right now? My rhythm is changing. It’s slower. More rooted. More aware.

There’s a new chapter unfolding in my life and music. It’s one built on deeper trust in God’s timing. Less hustle, more heart. Less fear, more faith. Less needing to prove, more choosing to be. And honestly, that feels like the most honest kind of artistry there is.

To those of you who are also starting again, whether in your craft, your faith, your relationships, or just in your inner world, know this: new beginnings don’t always look like blank pages. Sometimes they’re edits. Sometimes they’re soft returns. Sometimes they’re just showing up again, a little more whole than you were before.

So here's to the soft, sacred start of something new. To the quiet courage it takes to keep becoming.

Thanks for walking with me, always.

With love, Amy