This morning I laced up my shoes and went on my usual walk. It doesn’t always happen; some days the schedule wins, but today it did.
Living in Bryan, Texas, just a few miles from Texas A&M University, has made these walks both familiar and new every time. My route starts at the Bush Presidential Library on West Campus, winds its way past Kyle Field and Aggie Park, and circles by most of the sports stadiums. It’s Aggieland in all its brick and bronze glory. Sometimes I listen to an audiobook. Sometimes it’s SiriusXM: Radio Margaritaville or No Shoes Radio. That’s just how we hang.
But more often than not, these walks turn into prayer meetings. Spaces to think. Times to sift through the noise of life.
And right now? Life feels like a lot.
Melody just left public school teaching to become an academic advisor at Texas A&M. My daughter Delaney is in the thick of her senior year as a Biomedical Sciences major. I’m in my last semester at The Bush School of Government and Public Service, wrapping up a master’s degree in Public Service and Administration, focusing on nonprofit management. And our son Connor, a proud Aggie graduate himself, is down in San Antonio, preparing for a wedding in April to his amazing fiancée, Morgan.
So yes, there’s a lot to think about. A lot to pray about.
And then there’s the world itself. These last weeks have been chaotic. The assassination of Charlie Kirk was still weighing heavily on my mind. Another name added to the grim list of American violence: JFK, RFK, MLK, Reagan’s near miss, and even Lincoln from centuries ago. The sheer vileness that swirls on social media in response to such events is hard to fathom. People celebrating death? In my heart, the only person I can imagine celebrating the death of is Adolf Hitler, and even then, I know that human evil is bigger than any one man.
Closer to home, Texas A&M has been in the spotlight with controversy stirred by Representative Brian Harrison. His charge of indoctrination on our campuses is not without warrant; fifty years of educational drift testify to that, but the calls to fire everyone, even President Welsh, reveal more anger than wisdom. Another tangle of thoughts to carry with me on the path.
Somewhere between the weight of my family’s future and the fractures of our culture, a song came through my headphones.
True Colors.
You probably know it, Cyndi Lauper made it famous, though I’ll admit my current favorite is by Music Travel Love. But this morning, I heard it differently. I can’t explain why. Maybe it was the chaos of the headlines. Maybe it was the quiet space of reflection. Maybe it was the Spirit nudging my heart. But as I walked, I heard those lyrics as if they were the voice of Jesus.
“You with the sad eyes, don’t be discouraged … the darkness inside you can make you feel so small.”
Isn’t that where so many of us live? The world feels overwhelming. Darkness outside us threatens, and darkness inside us condemns. And yet, I remembered His words to the disciples the night before the cross:
“In the world you have affliction, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33, LSB)
Take courage. He has overcome.
“But I see your true colors shining through … and that’s why I love you.”
What are those “true colors”? They aren’t the broken attempts at righteousness I try to stitch together. They aren’t the masks we wear or the performance we chase. Our true colors are what God has already made us to be in Christ:
“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
God sees me clothed not in my failures, but in the righteousness of His Son. That’s why He loves me. That’s why He loves you.
“So don’t be afraid to let them show … true colors are beautiful, like a rainbow.”
That word rainbow pulled me straight back to Genesis 9. God set His bow in the sky as a covenant promise: never again would He flood the earth. A rainbow is a weapon hung up, pointed not at man but at God Himself. Mercy on display.
And in Christ, that mercy becomes personal. Our “true colors” are not a thin veneer of optimism, they are the radiance of Christ shining through us. Paul says we are jars of clay carrying the treasure of His light (2 Corinthians 4:6–7). Beautiful, not because of what’s in us, but because of Who is in us.
“If this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear, you call me up, because you know I’ll be there.”
I could almost hear the Lord’s invitation in those words:
“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)
Or His promise:
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)
That’s the voice we all long to hear in a culture gone mad. When violence rises. When leaders disappoint. When the headlines crush. When our own souls whisper accusations.
The Shepherd still says: Call on Me. I’ll be there.
So yes, my morning walk covered the familiar route past Kyle Field and Aggie Park. But it also took me somewhere deeper. It reminded me that the Christian life is always a walk with God, through this broken world, toward the glory He has promised.
Maybe that’s what I needed today. Not perfect answers. Not political clarity. Just the voice of Jesus in an unexpected song, saying: I see you. I love you. I am with you.
And maybe you needed that reminder too.
Closing Prayer
Lord Jesus, You see us when the world feels overwhelming and when our own hearts feel so small. Thank You that You don’t just see the brokenness, weary eyes, discouraged souls, but You see who we are in You: new creations, clothed in righteousness, radiant with Your light. Teach us to walk with courage because You have overcome the world. Help us to show the “true colors” You’ve placed within us, not for our glory, but for Yours. And when this world makes us crazy, remind us again that we can call on You and You will always be there. Thank You for Your covenant mercy, Your unfailing presence, and Your love that shines brighter than any darkness. Amen.
