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  • USUV71701644

    Every Mile Mattered

    For anyone who has been on a faith journey for some time, walked the long road with Jesus, the peaks and valleys, the deep joy and deep sorrows, the confusion and questioning, the moments of certainty and gratitude, every mile, every bump, bruise and beautiful encounter… these songs are for you. For both of us.

    There comes a time in your life and in your faith where it makes sense to look back at what’s behind you. Looking over your shoulder at where you’ve been, what you’ve learned, what you thought you knew, but didn’t, what you’d change, and what you wouldn’t. That’s where I’ve been. Taking spiritual inventory.  Examining what I thought I understood, but didn’t, what I got right and what I might still be getting wrong.

    In that moment, the looking back, it is easy for us to judge ourselves. To look at certain decisions or beliefs or experiences and feel regret. Wishing that a certain chapter ended differently. Wishing I’d taken a right instead of a left at that fork in the road. Wishing I could re-write history. Rewind the tape. It’s only natural to glance at the miles in the rear view mirror, and see all the “if onlys.”

    I’ve been doing a bit of that.

    I feel like God interrupted those conversations in my head…the “if only” talk. He interrupted with compassion and reassurance to tell me that all of it mattered. All of it…all the pain, the tears, every long night staring at the ceiling, the questions and struggle and confusion, brought me to this place, a place where I could finally be honest before God as I am, not as I wish I was.

    God reminded me that He uses everything. None of it is wasted as we journey closer to who we were meant to be and who God intends for us be.

    These songs have given me permission, and I hope you too, to silence the voices of regret. To recognize that every part your journey, every broken place, have all been part of the story God is writing in your life. Lessons we had to learn. Tears that had to fall. Chapters that had to be written and then closed, to find ourselves in a bigger, more beautiful story.

    It all mattered. Every single mile.

  • nn emm

    I Needed To Hear This

    Hi. I’m in Nashville for the K-Love fan awards.
    It’s a super jam packed, fun couple of days, where the wonderful people at K-LOVE Radio put on multiple events/concerts/coffees/dinners with all your favorite CCM artists, culminating in an award show tomorrow night. A lot of people work super hard to pull this off…the artists love connecting personally with fans and there are performances galore. In short: it’s a big hit every year.

    Today, I was at my designated booth at my designated time to sign autographs. Here’s some real talk: I felt so insecure about it. I’ve been making music for a long time. Decades. I feel like the songs God is giving me now, are among the most important and special I’ve ever written. Probably the most honest, too.
    But the entertainment industry (yes, I know it’s ministry too, but it’s very much an industry) is a tricky one to navigate.

    There was a time, years ago, when I would have really looked forward to meeting fans, signing autographs, and taking pictures. Somehow, for the ego of my youth, that signaled some sort of “I’ve arrived” moment. I cringe remembering that girl, at times.

    I am making new music that I am really proud of (out in July), God is carving out beautiful paths for me to lead in local ministry for the first time in years. Leading local worship. Mentoring younger writers…I feel so energized by the new doors the Lord is opening for me, in this season.

    But today (I warned you about real talk) I sat there at that autograph booth and felt…old. And maybe slightly uncool and irrelevant. Weighing more than I want to weigh. A few more wrinkles and meeting a lot of precious teenagers who literally “grew up” on my music…(sigh) which made me feel grateful and also really dated. I battled all morning not to allow myself to spin into this self esteem spiral.

    I’m so grateful to be here. I’m so grateful to be nominated for an award. I’m so grateful to connect with my peers and meet fans and…you know, all the grateful disclaimers.

    But truth? Feeling a little small in spirit today, because I let ego sit in the drivers seat. I should know better.

    About halfway through the autograph line I met a big, tattooed, burly guy named Michael and his lovely wife Darla. I signed their stuff. Took the picture. And then he tells me that they run a non profit ministry that speaks to kids all over the country about sexual abuse. About finding a courageous voice if they themselves, are victims. He says he plays my song “Brave” for these girls, everywhere they go. Immediately I feel small tears sting my eyes.

    Then he tells me about a certain girl who was molested by her stepdad from age 13-17, and that it was my song that helped her finally find her own shaky voice and tell someone. He was just convicted and is serving 7 years.
    A song did that.
    God used a song to stop her abuse and help her healing begin.

    I had to stop myself from climbing over the table and assaulting them with the ugly clinging cry/hug for 17 minutes.

    I needed to hear this.
    Songs can communicate God’s love in ways that sermons and books and conversation can not. Certain songs have utterly changed my life over the years, in just the right moment. Something unlocks. Spirit shifts.

    And today I was reminded again that is why I do what I do, and what an astonishingly sweet privilege it is. That kingdom work is always about holding your offering with open hands, and being unattached to any outcome that doesn’t have deep, eternal significance. Being unattached to all the “stuff” that comes with fame and recognition. Unattached if it ever fades. Easier said than done, let me tell you.

    This girl’s story is etched on my heart, forever. And it was timely. Yanked me firmly out of my slow descent into insecurity and self loathing. Halted my orbit around Planet Nichole.

    Thank you for that, Michael and Darla.
    Thank you, Lord.

  • Nichole Dad


    All of my favorite little girl memories spent with my Dad, involve a little failure.

    I like to be good at things, and I tend to stick to what I’m good at. As I child, I recognized that musical things came easily, so I sang a lot. Played my piano, constantly. I was good at creative stuff, so I felt very at home in my mom’s domestic world. I knew intuitively what to do with electric mixers and spatulas, coloring pencils or a needle and thread. I have always been a creator. Most of my childhood memories are washed in these warm watercolors.

    My Dad was the one who always coaxed me into a world of risk.

    Learning to ride a bike.

    Trying out for the basketball team.

    Getting my driver’s license.

    The trying of the awkward things. The failing of the things.

    The things that take time and repetition and hot tears and hugs.

    This is unique to a father’s love, I think.

    Women are so prone to nurture and protect. Moms are never the first ones to push us out on a branch and let our legs shake uncontrollably. As my son enters the 7th grade, he occasionally dreams out loud about where he’d like to go to college. His list always includes far away, wonderful places. YES! I say. I want you to fly and dream and explore …at the local community college. I want you to STAY.

    My Dad always said GO.

    And if you need me to, I’ll go with you.

    Go allllll the way up to the tree at the end of the street. Pedal hard and then make a big wide turn and ride back to me.

    Go out on that court and play defense like we practice in the driveway every night. Stop apologizing. Go hard.

    (It’s okay. Go tell the coach tomorrow that basketball is not really your thing. Let’s go get ice cream and go home).

    Yes, you may go to the movie with the boy. Go change that outfit, first.

    Go get your oil changed. Check both mirrors. Go slow.


    You want to go to Los Angeles to try and pursue a music career instead of using the college degree I just paid for? I’ll drive the U-Haul. Let’s go.

    Oh. Now we’re moving to Nashville with the same dream? You go, girl.

    The broken marriage is not going to survive? Go gather up those pieces and bring that shattered heart over here, this minute. (and see above comment about the U-Haul). And then let’s go to the Lord about it all.

    Anybody have anything hurtful to say about my girl? Let me tell you where you can go.

    Father’s Day retail displays always make me roll my eyes, a little. I just can’t really buy into the fact that there are so many men for whom meaning and masculinity are found in grilling accessories and electric razors. Or ties.

    Dad, I’ll never be able to really articulate how lost I’d be without you. How relieved I am to know you have my back, always. That I can lean hard into your quiet strength. I’m not even afraid of falling down anymore, because I know whose hand will dust me off. I know whose heart I can trust. And Dad, where words fail me, I really think this “Meat Smoking Manifesto” says it all.

    (This is an actual book, which I’m sure is wonderful).

     This Father’s Day, let’s try to slow down long enough to find some words and pictures and songs to tell the men in our lives what they mean to us. Let’s dust off the older memories etched deep in our hearts…or maybe a few from last week. Let’s find ways to point to the times and the talks that shaped us as children…the ones that are shaping OUR children. Dig out old photographs. Tell him why they are your favorites. And sure, give him a new apron for the grill, but stand out there in the heat with him and tell him who you are because of who he is.

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  • NicholeNordeman.2.10.1415688

    Sharing Some Difficult News



    Since my first release in 1998, I have spent my career listening to many people’s stories. This, as many songwriters will tell you, is one of the great privileges of what we do. I have sat in countless green rooms backstage and in autograph lines and the basement hallways of arenas and held hands in the the back row of churches, as fragile and wounded people pour out brokenness from their beautiful hearts. I have read endless emails and posts from people who were brave enough to expose the most vulnerable pieces of their lives with me. Maybe it was something in a song I sang, that resonated in a raw place of another’s life, or maybe music gives a person permission to feel when words are inadequate. Or maybe God simply uses music to speak healing when nothing else can. This has been true in my own life many times.

    I’ve always considered these moments be an honor. To be trusted with the pain of another, a stranger even, is, I believe, a sacred privilege. These stories, over the years, have made their way into my songs and into the deepest part of my prayer life and reflection. I’m grateful to be a careful guardian of them.

    But today, it’s my turn.

    My turn to share brokenness with you.

    Your turn, if you would, to be a careful guardian.

    My friends and family have known about the ending of my marriage for a long time. After more than three years of separation, this will not be news to many trusted peers either. But because I have been out of the public spotlight for quite awhile, taking several years off to try and focus on life at home, it is, with a heavy heart, that I share this news with you.  There are not “issues” worth anyone’s speculation or gossip, just many years of pain and wilderness. Questions without answers. Brokenness without healing. We have, in a decade of marriage, sought counseling together and separately. I have walked this journey with trusted therapists and pastors over many years as well.

    Because we live in an online culture where every nanobit of information is fodder for public commentary and discourse, and very few are mindful of the digital footprints we leave, let me say this:

    While I am sharing this publically for the first, time, I humbly ask that you respect the private nature of this news. Thank you for understanding that every person is entitled to private pain (all cultural evidence to the contrary).  I have chosen a career and a ministry that has a public platform. My children and their father have not made that same choice. Please consider that before you post casual comments or opinions (or at all). That said, I will always be grateful for and covet your prayers.

    To acknowledge a failed marriage, is agony for anyone, I assure you. The social media aspect of these fragile moments has the potential to add so much salt to open wounds.

    I have been humbled and encouraged and bolstered by so many of you over the years, who have pulled back the curtain and shared with me how God has healed and restored and redeemed the most shattered bits of yourselves. God has placed around me the gift of good counsel, invaluable friendship and support, and more than anything, the secure knowledge that He has a hope and a future for me. For us all.

    I am humbled that the Spirit is breathing new things into my life and music. New words of hope.  Songs and stories I long to share with you, as you have been so generously vulnerable in sharing yours with me.  I am humbled to walk beside you in these moments, even with a limp.


    “Let us bear one another’s burdens.” Galatians 6:2


  • Slow Down

  • “Name” lyric video

  • Nichole Nordeman in studio performing The Unmaking

  • Nichole Nordeman in studio performing Legacy

  • Nichole Nordeman Talks About “The Unmaking”

  • Nichole Nordeman – The Unmaking


There are no upcoming tour dates.