Row

Alisa Turner doesn't offer advice in this song — she offers presence. "I knew you weren't doing very well today," she opens, "and somehow I knew you'd be here." The whole song is built around staying rather than fixing, sitting "on the rocks of the shore" while someone else rows through their pain.

She names the hurt without demanding an explanation for it — "the way you swipe through waters run deep, I can tell you're still hurting" — and her repeated instruction isn't complicated: keep rowing, let the rhythm of ordinary motion do some of the work grief can't do on its own.

Paul tells the Galatians to "bear ye one another's burdens" in Galatians 6:2, a command that's mostly about showing up rather than solving, and Psalm 34:18 promises God stays near "them that are of a broken heart." Turner's closing reassurance — "you won't even know I came" — describes a kind of love that doesn't need credit, only proximity.