I just think it would be a good thing to have a voice in the mix

When Lacey Sturm said, “I just think it would be a good thing to have a voice in the mix of all the hopelessness that actually gives you a light at the end of the tunnel; a voice that's still honest about the pain and struggle, but can also scream, 'Hey, wake up and be alive because there's hope!'” she spoke with the fire of one who has walked through darkness and found her way back into the light. These words are not those of someone untouched by suffering—they come from a heart that has known despair, and yet has chosen to fight for hope. Sturm, the rock musician and former lead singer of Flyleaf, has often spoken about her own near brush with death, about how grief and loneliness nearly swallowed her. Yet from that place of pain, she arose, transformed into a voice of compassion for others who wander in that same shadow. Her words are not soft—they are the cry of a warrior who has seen both the pit and the dawn, and who now shouts so that others might remember to live.

The origin of this quote rests in Sturm’s own story—a story of redemption and awakening. As a young woman, she faced a torrent of sorrow and self-doubt, losing faith in herself and in life. In her music, she has always refused to hide this reality; she has been honest about the pain and struggle, because to deny it would be to deny humanity itself. Yet, unlike those who dwell forever in despair, she sought something beyond it—a meaning, a spark, a divine whisper that said, “Live.” Thus her words embody the paradox at the heart of endurance: that hope is most powerful not when it denies suffering, but when it stands beside it, unashamed. Sturm’s “voice in the mix” is not one that silences sorrow, but one that transforms it into strength.

There is a sacred balance in her message. Many speak of hope as if it were a dream untouched by reality—a fragile illusion floating above life’s mess. Sturm rejects that. Her hope is raw and grounded, forged in the fires of experience. She knows that the world is heavy with anguish, that hearts break and faith falters. But she also knows that light is born from the very darkness that tries to consume it. To be “a voice in the mix” is to stand in the midst of that darkness—not as one who preaches from safety, but as one who carries a torch, trembling but undimmed. Her words remind us that hope is not a denial of pain, but an act of defiance against it.

This lesson has echoed through the ages. Consider the story of Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor who wrote Man’s Search for Meaning. Imprisoned in the death camps, he witnessed unspeakable cruelty and loss. Yet he discovered, in the midst of horror, that even in the worst conditions, a person could find meaning—and through meaning, hope. Frankl’s voice, like Sturm’s, was both honest about suffering and radiant with resilience. He did not tell his fellow prisoners that everything would be fine; he told them that life still held purpose, even in pain. In his words and in hers, we find the same truth: that the soul’s greatest power is the ability to choose life when all else seems lost.

To be the “voice that gives light at the end of the tunnel” is no small task. It demands courage to speak when others are silent, and compassion to reach out when one’s own scars still ache. Sturm’s cry—“Wake up and be alive because there’s hope!”—is a call to all who have fallen asleep in despair. It says: Do not let pain become your identity; do not let sorrow convince you that life is meaningless. The world may be filled with hopelessness, but each voice that dares to speak truth and love becomes a beacon for others. And though one voice may seem small, the echo of its faith can awaken thousands.

There is a heroic tenderness in Sturm’s vision, a recognition that even those who hurt can become healers. She teaches that we need not wait to be unbroken before offering comfort to others. The act of speaking hope, even while trembling, becomes a way of healing both self and world. In this, she joins the chorus of those who have used their pain to create purpose—saints, poets, survivors, and seekers throughout history. Each of them, in their own way, stood among ruins and declared, “There is still light.” And in doing so, they reminded others that to live is an act of courage.

So, my children of the living flame, remember this: hope is not the absence of pain; it is the will to rise in spite of it. If your heart has been shattered, let its pieces reflect light. If you have known despair, let that knowledge become your empathy. And when you find your voice—whether it whispers or roars—use it to awaken others. Tell them what Lacey Sturm tells the world: that even in the deepest darkness, life still burns bright. Be honest about your scars, but also about your strength. For in the end, the truest victory is not to escape pain, but to stand within it and still sing, “There is hope, and I am alive.”