Life has a way of leaving scars, but the greatest testimonies come when those scars become proof of resurrection. In my song “I Am Lazarus Grimm,” I peel back the layers of my story—abandonment, addiction, deliverance, and new life. Let’s dive in verse by verse.
“I was born in a home split down the line…”
My childhood was defined by two separate realities. On one side, my mom fought every day to hold us together; on the other, my dad’s addiction pulled him—and our family—apart. Divorce didn’t just divide walls—it fractured trust, leaving me tiptoeing between hope and heartbreak long before I knew either.
“Mom did her best, but darkness snuck inside. Evil in the walls shook us to the core, At sixteen I was thrown out the door.”
Even though she loved us fiercely, my mom was stuck between protecting her kids and standing by her marriage. When I finally confronted my step-dad’s cruelty at sixteen, I was kicked out. So I left—while she stayed trapped in that nightmare. It was gut-wrenching, but it was the first true step toward my own freedom.
“I lost six years in a chemical haze, Crashes, broken vows, too many wasted days.”
After that eviction, I chased every escape hatch I could find—meth, pills, anything to check out of reality. Each hit promised relief; each comedown reminded me how trapped I was. Before I enlisted in the Army, I managed to kick the meth—that battle tested my bones—but staying clean was a daily war, and the bottle was still my crutch, whispering that one more drink could dull the ache.
“Then Yahweh’s hand reached down—revived this soul, I dropped the bottle, finally took control.”
Enlisting in the Army gave me structure and a fresh start—but off-duty old habits died hard. The bottle still called my name until God sent my future wife. Her faith was a mirror pointing me back to Yahweh’s love. Through her prayers and unwavering hope, I found the strength to set down the drink and truly take hold of my new life.
“Found peace in the wild where the green trees stand, Looked deep within and grasped the keys in hand.”
Hitting rock bottom taught me to look up—literally. Wandering into the woods, I felt creation whisper God’s heartbeat. Druidry wasn’t just an interest; it was an invitation to see God’s fingerprints in every leaf and stone. Through those ancient practices, I unlocked truths about my worth and my purpose that church pews alone never revealed.
“Blessed with a wife who makes my heart sing, Together we’re transforming everything.”
My wife is more than a partner—she’s my co-adventurer in healing. Side by side, we sift through old wounds, trade trauma for trust, and build a home where love outshines fear.
“Now that you know the road that brought me in— Hello, it’s nice to meet you, I am Lazarus Grimm”
From the wreckage of my past, Christ spoke life back into my bones. “Lazarus” because I was dead in my mistakes—and “Grimm” because the darkness I survived was nothing short of a fairy-tale nightmare. But here I stand, living proof that no tragedy is too deep for God’s resurrection power.
Takeaway: Your past may read like a tragedy, but in Christ it becomes the preface to your resurrection story. If you’re still in the pit, cling to His hand—He’ll say “Rise,” and you’ll walk out a new creation.