Three Songs That Saved My Life

I've always been a lover of music, weaving life's most unforgettable moments with the songs that played in the background. Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics still echoes in my mind as the unofficial theme of my kindergarten school carnival pageant. Then there’s 13-year-old me, hanging out on the rooftop (as one does), listening to the radio. Alex from 94.5 The Edge said, "This is something you've never heard before," as he introduced Smells Like Teen Spirit by a then-unknown Seattle band called Nirvana.

As an adult, Love of a Lifetime will forever be tied to my wedding ceremony, while Long as I Can See the Light played as we said goodbye to my father at his funeral.

But there are three songs that stand out from the rest—ones that will always have a more vivid, powerful place in my heart. These are the songs that changed my mind on the night I almost chose to end my life.

Context

For years, I had imagined—and perhaps even romanticized—suicide, though the thought had always been hypothetical. I never truly intended to follow through. But by 2012, the weight of my shame and fear of the unknown had become unbearable. The inner voice that once said, "Don’t do it" or "You'll hurt everyone you love" had shifted, now whispering, "You hurt more people alive than you ever could in death." That voice, of course, was Satan's—and he wouldn’t shut up. He seemed quite reasonable as he laid out various ways for me to end it all.

Suicide by cop? No, I couldn’t bear the thought of burdening officers with the guilt once they realized I was unarmed. Jumping off the water tower my friends and I used to climb? With my luck, I’d only end up with broken bones. The most tempting option was driving off the Red River bridge. The crash might not kill me, but if I "chickened out" at the last moment, I’d hopefully be too injured and disoriented to escape before drowning.

By this point, the thoughts had grown so loud and relentless that it felt inevitable—tonight would be the night. Yet, a small part of me still clung to hope and plead with me to resist Satan’s voice. In the echo chamber of hate, pain, and self-condemnation, there was a faint whisper urging, "Turn on the radio and drown out the voices."

The first station was nothing but static—likely because I listened to a lot of conservative AM radio, and the signal was weak at night. I switched to the clearer sounds of FM, only to land on a commercial. I needed music—not just any music, but something soft and melodic to quiet the storm inside me. So, I hit the SEEK button on my radio, and it stopped on Air1, a Christian music station I’d never heard before.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t even sure if Christian music was appropriate. The faith I practiced insisted on a cappella worship, and listening to instruments felt like another failure to uphold righteous conviction. But none of that mattered in this moment. I was fighting for my life, and any music that could help calm the chaos had to be better than letting Satan push me over the edge.

Worn by Tenth Avenue North

Within the first two seconds of Worn's soft, melodic piano intro, I felt the calm my spirit craved. Still, I wasn’t expecting the song to speak so directly to my situation. Then, the opening lyrics echoed everything I was feeling:

I'm tired, I'm worn.

My heart is heavy

from the work it takes

to keep on breathing.

I've made mistakes.

I've let my hope fail.

My soul feels crushed

by the weight of this world.

The song doesn’t offer a promise of healing or a happy ending. Instead, it simply expresses a longing to see redemption win.

Interestingly, many Christian radio stations were initially hesitant to play Worn due to its raw vulnerability. I’m grateful it ultimately prevailed, because beyond the pain and sadness, it was the song’s deep, unanswered longing that resonated with me the most. Much like the laments found in Psalm 13, this song captures the heart of anyone who has ever struggled to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

As the song drew to a close and singer Mike Donehey held the final note, I felt an emptiness wash over me. While it was comforting to know someone understood my pain, I was now left yearning for healing and hope.

Who You Are by Unspoken

As the first song seamlessly transitioned into the next, the lyrics took an uncomfortable turn. While I wanted to continue lamenting, focusing on my own failings, the singer urged me to be kinder to myself and to stop trying to prove my worth. The nerve! I thought, “You don’t know me. You don’t understand where I’ve been or what I’ve done. You have no idea what a monster I am.” It was at that moment that the chorus poignantly pierced my heart.

You can never fall

too hard, so fast, so far

that you can't get back.

When you're lost, where you are is never

too late, so bad, so much

that you can't change

who you are.

Oooh...

You can change who you are.

The message would have been lost on me if the song had simply been a call for greater willpower. My track record of failures had already convinced me that a man’s ability to change himself by sheer effort is limited, if not impossible. Thankfully, singer Chad Mattson uses the bridge to reveal where true change begins:

So let the ashes fall wherever they land

Come back from wherever you've been

To the foot of the cross

To the feet of Jesus.

It’s at the cross that sin loses its power. I would later come to understand that there is no hierarchy of sin—shame has no stronghold because the ground is level at the foot of the cross. Yet, because my fall had been so public, I feared my sin would define me forever. That’s when the final song in this powerful trifecta revealed where my true identity lies.

Hello, My Name Is by Matthew West

The same voice that told me to end it all that night had been whispering in my ear for years, seizing every opportunity to plant seeds of doubt. “They can’t stand you,” it would say, “they’re just tolerating you.” Then came the relentless accusations: “You don’t belong here. You’re not good enough. You’re a fraud.” I now recognize these lies as coming straight from Satan, the father of deception (John 8:44). But in real time, this constant soundtrack of self-doubt led to a full-blown identity crisis. Over the years, I’d convinced myself that my identity was tied to my family, my appearance, my personality, my work ethic, and my performance. And because none of those ever felt like enough, I believed I was ultimately defined by my failures. Singer/songwriter Matthew West assured me that God disagrees.

"Child of the one true King!" Doesn’t that heavenly title trump every label the world tries to put on us? And when it comes to mistakes, the song’s second verse draws a clear line between past and present:

I am no longer defined

by all the wreckage behind.

The One who makes all things new

has proven it's true—

Just take a look at my life.

This song wrecks me in all the right ways. It’s hard for me to sing the chorus without tears welling up, and when Matthew West bridges into lyrics echoing 1 John 3:1, the dam finally breaks:

What love the Father has lavished

upon us, that we should be called His children.

I am a child of the one true King.

It confirms what I’ve always struggled to believe. Though I don’t deserve to be called God’s child, He loves me enough to give me that identity anyway. After that, nothing else matters.

Conclusion

It's been a dozen years since I discovered my favorite soundtrack. Since then, it has done my heart well to watch these artists maintain steady careers and messages that consistently demonstrate faithfulness to God and His word. I had the pleasure of watching Tenth Avenue North and Matthew West perform live some years ago, and last night marked my son's first concert as Unspoken stoked the already burning fire in his and my hearts.

Having worked in radio for over a decade, I’m well aware of the programming, the pre-produced music logs, and the playlists that preceded these songs hitting the airwaves. So, I don’t pretend to believe that “DJ Jesus” was back in the studio spinning records just for me. But I do believe in God’s foreknowledge and providence. He knew the exact words I needed to hear and how desperately I needed to hear them. I don’t remember if the stars were shining the night I decided to end it all, but I know I struggled to see any light. That’s when God sang to me through three songs that didn’t just change my life—they saved it.