words and music
Growing up, my dad always loved classical music. He set up large hand-made speakers so that the entire house played the same song through every room on the main floor. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons would throb through the house with intensity, crescendos forcing my angsty eyes to roll.
“Why don’t you learn to play an instrument, dad? You like it so much, don’t you want to play?”
“No,” he’d say with a smile so small you would miss it if you didn’t know, “I just like to listen.”
I’ve never felt that way. With music and song, I feel like the kid standing outside the playground sometimes watching others play and laugh. I want to open the gate and run in!
Ask anyone, and they will tell you that gate is locked for me. It’s not my gift, and it’s not my purpose. I feel a song of praise rise up in my soul, and when it comes out of my mouth, I’m frustrated and laugh at the absurdity of the sound. It’s a mismatch, and I’m the one who knows most.
Incredibly, music itself can be a ministry. A combination of sound and lyrics that can hold the hands of our souls. How does a strategic variety of notes permeate every deep place?
When cancer filled my daughter’s kidney, and sorrow filled my heart, I could turn on worship and force my soul to sing since my voice couldn’t even try. The minivan turned into a church for the commute to the children’s oncology floor; songs from church choirs encouraged me to let the tears flow, to let open wounds air out before bandaging them up again. With the notes, the Holy Spirit cascaded across the minivan, coaxing my grief to HEAR God.
I pray that my acts of worship are like songs to Him. That the cracked, out of tune, pitchy words I write are an offering. He takes my mismatched offerings and turns them into an arrangement I can’t hear yet, but He promises me it’s what He wants.
For now, I’ll sing with the voice He’s given me here on this earth. My song is one typed on a page or sung when my hands share dinner with a friend. Sometimes it’s a listening ear, and sometimes it’s teaching a lesson from the front of a classroom.
But one day ... I’m gonna be a voice in the heavens and proclaim what He’s done. I will get to swing and play on the music playground. And I just KNOW it’s gonna sound really good.
The outpouring will match the feeling.
And that will be the Amen.
How about you? How do you sing?
