Author name: Nahid Ahmed Joy

Waiting is one of the hardest places to worship from. Not because God isn’t good. Not because we don’t believe Him. Not because the promise isn’t real. But because waiting exposes the parts of us we’d rather keep hidden. Waiting reveals our impatience. Waiting reveals our fears. Waiting reveals our desire to control outcomes. Waiting reveals the places where our faith still needs to grow. This week, I found myself in a familiar place — a place where God wasn’t saying “yes,” and He wasn’t saying “no,” He was simply saying… “Wait.” And if I’m honest, that word hit me in a tender place. Because waiting feels like stillness. Waiting feels like silence. Waiting feels like delay. Waiting feels like being overlooked. Waiting feels like nothing is happening — even when everything is happening behind the scenes. But here’s what God whispered to me: “The wait is not punishment — it’s preparation.” That shifted something in me. Because the truth is, God never wastes a waiting season. He uses it to strengthen what’s weak. He uses it to mature what’s underdeveloped. He uses it to align what’s out of order. He uses it to protect what’s not ready. He uses it to build what you’ll need once the promise arrives. Waiting is not God withholding. Waiting is God building. And sometimes the greatest act of worship is trusting Him when nothing around you looks like what He said. So if you’re in a waiting season — waiting for clarity, waiting for healing, waiting for breakthrough, waiting for direction, waiting for the next chapter — I want you to know this: God is not late. God is not silent. God is not ignoring you. God is not finished. He’s working in the background. He’s aligning what you can’t see. He’s preparing what you prayed for. He’s strengthening you for what’s coming. And when the time is right — not your time, not their time, but His time — the door will open, the answer will come, the promise will manifest, and you’ll understand why the wait was necessary. Takeaway: Waiting isn’t wasted — it’s where God prepares you for what He promised you. Until next Tuesday — stay transparent, stay surrendered. Yvette Worshipps

There’s a kind of ministry we don’t sign up for. A ministry we don’t train for. A ministry we don’t advertise or celebrate. The ministry of being broken. It’s the ministry that happens in the quiet places — in the tears no one sees, in the questions we’re afraid to ask, in the moments when our strength runs out and all we have left is honesty. This week, God reminded me of something I didn’t want to revisit. A moment in my life where I felt shattered — emotionally, spiritually, and even physically. A moment where I didn’t feel anointed… I didn’t feel strong… I didn’t feel “called”… I just felt broken. And yet — that was the moment God used the most. Not because I was powerful. Not because I was polished. Not because I was perfect. But because I was real. Brokenness has a way of stripping away everything we hide behind. It removes the performance. It removes the pressure. It removes the pretending. And what’s left… is the part of us God can actually use. I used to think brokenness disqualified me. Now I understand it positioned me. Because here’s the truth: God does His best work with broken pieces. He multiplies broken bread. He heals broken hearts. He restores broken spirits. He rebuilds broken lives. He uses broken people. Your brokenness is not the end of your story — it’s the beginning of your ministry. The moments you thought would destroy you are the very moments God will use to deliver someone else. The tears you cried in private will water someone else’s healing in public. The pain you survived will become the testimony someone else needs to keep going. So if you’re in a season where you feel cracked, crushed, or completely undone… you’re not failing — you’re being formed. Takeaway: Brokenness is not your weakness — it’s your offering. Until next Tuesday — stay transparent, stay surrendered. Yvette Worshipps

When Surrender Doesn’t Feel Safe There’s a part of surrender we don’t talk about enough. We talk about trusting God. We talk about letting go. We talk about giving Him everything. But we don’t always talk about the moments when surrender feels… unsafe. Not because God is unsafe — but because life has taught us to protect ourselves. Some of us learned to survive by holding on tight. Holding on to control. Holding on to plans. Holding on to people. Holding on to the version of ourselves we built to stay strong. So when God says, “Let it go,” or “Trust Me here,” or “Release what you’re gripping,” it can feel like stepping into a free fall with no guarantee of where you’ll land. This week, I had to face a truth I didn’t want to admit: I trust God… but sometimes I don’t trust the process. Because the process can be painful. The process can be slow. The process can be unclear. The process can feel like loss before it feels like victory. And yet — God keeps inviting me deeper. Not into fear. Not into uncertainty. But into Him. Surrender isn’t about losing control. It’s about shifting control. It’s about placing what you’ve been carrying into the hands of the One who can actually hold it. And here’s what God whispered to me this week: “You’re not falling — you’re being held.” That changed everything. Surrender doesn’t feel safe when we forget who we’re surrendering to. But when we remember His character… His faithfulness… His track record… His love… His intentionality… His protection… Surrender becomes less like falling and more like resting. So if you’re in a season where God is asking you to release something — a fear, a plan, a timeline, a relationship, a version of yourself — I want you to know: It’s okay if it feels scary. It’s okay if it feels unfamiliar. It’s okay if it feels like too much. God isn’t asking you to be fearless. He’s asking you to be willing. Takeaway: Surrender isn’t about being brave — it’s about being held. Until next Tuesday — stay transparent, stay surrendered. Yvette Worshipps

There’s a side of worship most people never see. They see the microphone. They see the smile. They see the lifted hands, the flow, the anointing, the sound. But what they don’t always see… is the weight. The weight of showing up when your heart is tired. The weight of leading others into a place you’re still fighting to reach yourself. The weight of carrying your own battles while helping others fight theirs. The weight of being called, chosen, and stretched — all at the same time. This week, I felt that weight. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a “fall apart in the middle of the day” way. But in that quiet, subtle heaviness that sits on your chest and whispers, “You’re pouring out more than you’re receiving.” And for a moment, I felt guilty for feeling that. Because worship leaders are supposed to be strong, right? We’re supposed to be ready. We’re supposed to be full. We’re supposed to be “on.” But here’s the truth I had to face: Worship leaders are worshippers first. And worshippers get weary too. God reminded me of something simple but freeing: “You don’t carry worship — worship carries you.” The weight I feel isn’t a sign that I’m failing. It’s a sign that I’m human. It’s a sign that I need Him. It’s a sign that I can’t pour from a place I refuse to let Him fill. So today, I want to speak to every worshipper — whether you’re on a stage or in a quiet corner of your home: You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to pretend you’re not tired. The weight of worship was never meant to crush you. It was meant to draw you closer. Closer to His presence. Closer to His strength. Closer to His heart. Because the truth is… Worship doesn’t demand perfection — it invites surrender. And sometimes the most powerful worship you can offer is the worship you give while carrying weight you can’t explain. Takeaway: If the weight feels heavy, it’s a sign you’re due for a fresh filling. Until next Tuesday — stay transparent, stay surrendered. Yvette Worshipps

There are some parts of our story we’d rather skip over. The moments we don’t post. The seasons we don’t testify about — at least not right away. But here’s the truth I’m learning: God doesn’t waste anything. Not the pain. Not the pause. Not the process. This week, I found myself reflecting on a season I thought I had already healed from. You know those moments — the ones you think you’ve moved past until something triggers a memory, a feeling, or a wound you didn’t realize was still tender. I asked God, “Why am I feeling this again?” And His response was gentle, but clear: “Because I’m not done using it.” Sometimes transparency isn’t about exposing the wound — it’s about exposing the work God is doing through it. I used to think healing meant forgetting. Now I know healing means remembering differently. The very thing I wanted to bury is the thing God is using to strengthen someone else. The moment I wanted to erase is the moment He’s using to reveal His faithfulness. The chapter I wanted to skip is the chapter someone else needs to survive their own story. So today, I want to encourage you: Don’t despise the parts of your story that still feel unfinished. God is still writing. God is still healing. God is still using it. Your transparency is not your weakness — it’s your ministry. Takeaway: If it still hurts, it still has purpose. Until next Tuesday — stay transparent, stay surrendered.  Yvette Worshipps  

Welcome to Transparent Tuesdays. If you’re reading this, I want to start by saying thank you. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for being willing to take this journey with me. And thank you for giving me the space to share my heart in a way I’ve never done publicly before. My name is Yvette McClendon, but many of you know me as Yvette Worshipps — a name that reflects not just what I do, but who I am. I’ve spent more than five decades singing, worshipping, ministering, and learning what it truly means to live a life poured out before God. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned along the way, it’s this: Worship is most powerful when it’s honest. That’s why I created Transparent Tuesdays. For years, I’ve carried stories, lessons, scars, victories, and moments with God that shaped me into the woman I am today. Some of those moments were beautiful. Some were painful. All of them were necessary. And now, I feel led to open up those pages — not to impress you, but to strengthen you. Luke 22:32 says, “When you have been converted, strengthen your brother.” Transparent Tuesdays is my “yes” to that assignment. Every week, I’ll be sharing pieces of my journey — the real journey. The worshipper’s journey. The woman’s journey. The mother’s journey. The believer’s journey. The journey of someone who has fallen, gotten back up, and learned to trust God in the in‑between. Some weeks will be reflective. Some will be raw. Some will be joyful. Some will be challenging. But all of it will be transparent. My prayer is that as I share, you’ll see yourself somewhere in these words. That you’ll find healing, hope, strength, and maybe even a little bit of courage to be transparent with God — and with yourself. This is not just a blog. This is a space for encounter. A space for honesty. A space for growth. A space for worship. So welcome. Welcome to my heart. Welcome to my journey. Welcome to Transparent Tuesdays. Let’s walk this out together — one truth at a time. With love and transparency, Yvette Worshipps