Two nights ago, once I had grabbed my brand new, fancy apologetics Bible (it was a gift for graduation) and settled in the living room because I share a bedroom with my sister (and it was midnight), I felt the need to start in Exodus. I really didn't know why. I've been wanting to read it, and I knew I would enjoy the story, but, being the good listener I was at the moment inclined to be, I flipped past Genesis and started on book 2. I read through about half of the plagues before my eyes started getting blurry and I figured it was time for sleep. The story was fascinating, as I had expected.
Last night, pushed again by that voice, I picked up where I left off.
And guys, I think I found it. I think I found what I was supposed to find in Exodus.
After the plagues, after Pharaoh says "go" and then changes his mind, after the Red Sea, and after the Egyptian army has been destroyed, the Israelites sing a song. A song that I had never read. A song I encourage you to read.
Because right at the beginning of this song, in verse 15:2, there is a phrase that made me sit back and go, "huh."
The LORD is my strength and my song...
And to explain why this really resonated with me, I must tell a bit of a story. (of course. because it's me.)
I've been a member of our church's praise team (also known as a worship team or worship leaders or whatever your church calls the people who stand in front and sing the melody so that everyone else can follow along) for about two years now. For the first year, it was unofficial. I was the fill-in whenever someone got sick because I knew all of the songs because I'd been singing most of them my whole life (our praise team is a bit outdated, but we're working on it). When my dad passed away, I stepped into the hole he left, even using the same microphone he had (which, I've been told, made some people tear up). It's been a bit over a year now that I've been singing every Sunday (except when I'm out of town) and I loved it. For a long time, I loved it.
But recently, it's seemed like a chore. I haven't wanted to go to a practice in about a month. Every Thursday night seems like it comes too fast, and I feel like there are other things I could be doing with my time that would be more productive (writing blog posts, for example). And it was only this past Thursday night (the first night that I felt the need to read), that I asked myself why. And I think I've figured it out. Many of you can probably relate to it.
The worries of the world have seeped in.
Practice has become more of a time to vent and unload our problems to each other than a time to work on our worship. Complaints of physical pains and emotional turmoil are more prevalent than discussions of what God has revealed to us in the past week. And that's heartbreaking to me. Even I've fallen into this pattern of just showing up to sing, not feeling well physically or emotionally. Any excuse for practice to be cancelled, and a tiny thrill goes through my mind. I do my best to catch myself, to return my eyes to Jesus, but it's difficult when everyone around you only wants to talk about themselves.
I love my fellow praise team members with all of my heart. And that's part of why this saddens me. Because I have found that the best solution for aches and pains of the body and soul is to count your blessings.
But that's a point for another day.
I've made it my mission, every week, to find a lyric in one of the songs that means something to me. This isn't hard most of the time, as that's what worship songs are designed to be. On Sunday morning, God willing, we will be singing "The Heart of Worship". And on Thursday night, the chorus really struck me.
I'm coming back to the heart of worship,
Where it's all about You. It's all about You, Jesus.
I'm sorry, Lord, for the thing I've made it
When it's all about You. It's all about You, Jesus.
I'm sorry for the thing I've made it. I'm sorry that singing His praise has become a chore when I should feel blessed that He treasures me enough to allow me the privilege of singing to Him. I'm sorrier about that than I've ever been sorry about anything.
And thus, this verse hit home. But I found two meanings in it, and I'd like to share them with you.
The LORD is my strength and my song...
Even when I can't find the strength in myself to pray.
Even when I can't find the strength in myself not to cry.
Even when I can't find the strength in myself to sing.
He is.
I don't have to be strong enough. I will never be strong enough.
But He is.
The first meaning is simply this - that when I have no strength and I have no song, He is right there and he supplies everything that I need.
The LORD is my strength and my song...
There is nothing more precious in my life than the gift of being in God's family. I'm a chosen heir, I'm a beloved princess, and nothing can take that away. So why is it that so often I find it hard to pray or to read my Bible or to go to church or to simply sit in His presence and let Him speak to and through me?
I think often times it's because I've forgotten.
The congregation is not why I sing. The praise team is not why I sing. The expectations, the responsibility, my mom, my dad's legacy, my own spirit and soul - none of these things are why I sing.
God didn't have to give me this gift. There are times when I doubt that I have a gift at all, and think that I'm the worst singer ever and that everyone who says "good job" is lying and that I shouldn't be on stage because I'm no better at singing than anyone else. But then I look at the people I know who cannot sing. And I know several. They do their best to make a joyful noise, alright, but they probably only sound good to the Father Himself. And when I look at them, I say a prayer of thanks. Because God has gifted me. HE is the strength. HE is the song. He is the only good reason I have for doing any of this.
God supplies the song. I can do nothing else but sing it.
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