Thank you for the food we eat,
the quality, the variety, the abundance.
Thank you for the world so sweet,
the color and form of all creatures, for flowers and trees.
Thank you for the birds that sing,
and call and whirr and peck, making me smile.
Thank you God for everything,
for every good and perfect gift.
P erson, public—often at odds—
E ntering monologues and dialogues full of
A ccusation and assessment—sometimes brutal and quite often blind—
C alling for change and definitive answers that cannot
E xist except that we lay down our swords, beating them back into plowshares.
For me, singing is like following a rainbow through black rain.
It is like crepuscular rays that rupture leaden skies.
Singing is like walking in an unmarked place, lost, not sure of prayer or path and
seeing far off the pinpoint light that means home.
It is faithfilled praise, knowing that in this one moment with this one voice,
I am sure of one thing.
It is a hopefilled reach, feeling that in these simple words with this simple tune,
I am grounded in at least one true thing.
Singing is declaring Your worth when I am unsure of myself.
Singing is my voice outstretched, knowing if my hands were raised,
I would not sing but cry.
For me, singing is a peace of the puzzle of life—respite, restoration, renewal;
and so when other parts of my life seem weak and wondering, lacking conviction,
I will sing.
When disoriented,
disheartened, and
feeling distant,
I will sing.
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Psalm 104:33
I will sing to the Lord as long as I live.
I will praise my God to my last breath!
Psalm 5:11
But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
let them sing joyful praises forever.
Spread your protection over them,
that all who love your name may be filled with joy.
I don’t want to be naïve again, speech peppered with Praise the Lords and God Bless Yous, and other Christian slang, as if by filling in the blanks I could sanctify the moment.
I meant well.
There are elements I wish I could reclaim—the idea that God would intervene if I could muster enough faith, the idea that God would love me more if I kept more of His rules.
Always.
Simple. Kind of.
I would love to get back to the uncomplicated worship where I knew God was big, powerful, and good, and that somehow my weak words meant something in His kingdom economy, that his gifts freely given actually changed things—changed lives.
Even mine.
But things don’t always turn out as expected. The right key doesn’t always fit in the lock; and though I still believe, my belief is tangled and mangled with shaky hopes and sanctified suspicion.
The strength of will is not always armor enough when facing a cosmic battle. And inspiration and revelation once cavalierly received have slowed to a trickle in the murkiness of time, trouble,
and desperation.
Cataracts of soul have dulled even further the glass darkly explanations, and my longing for more drives me to my knees.
Can I have the wonder back? Can I feel again past the numbness of mind and heart? Oh, Lamb, Oh Lover, Oh Rescuer, save me. Let me feel again what it means to be connected to eternity with these frail threads of confidence and leave the doubt of this dirty life behind.
******************
Psalm 86:1-7
Bend down, O LORD, and hear my prayer;
answer me, for I need your help.
2 Protect me, for I am devoted to you.
Save me, for I serve you and trust you.
You are my God.
3 Be merciful to me, O Lord,
for I am calling on you constantly.
4 Give me happiness, O Lord,
for I give myself to you.
5 O Lord, you are so good, so ready to forgive,
so full of unfailing love for all who ask for your help.
6 Listen closely to my prayer, O LORD;
hear my urgent cry.
7 I will call to you whenever I’m in trouble,
and you will answer me.
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