"My heart is overflowing with a good
theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; my tongue is the pen of a
ready writer…."
-Psalm 45:1
From the midway of June
bleeding into recent July, the Lord has spoken this Scripture to my heart three
times, in three ways. One time gently, in preparation. Two times audibly,
through a father that I dearly esteem.
The first time made
me laugh hard.
As a band, we've
just come off the running heels of releasing a CD-- one so awe-striking in its
gunshot start and its cross-country course that the work has left us all
stunned. Come time for the concert, we each questioned reality a good bit.
Beforehand, we joked in backstage fervor that it felt like birthing a baby in
front of 100 of your closest friends. That picture? Very apt, as it turns out.
And, afterwards,
after sharing in song with saints, engaging the Father's own heart, boldly
approaching His throne of grace... His beautiful awe struck me even harder. It
buckled my knees and emptied my chest clean of useable air.
So that next
morning, when knees and lungs couldn't move from bed, I laughed when He traced
the verse clear in front of my eyes. Laughed like Sarah before she met her son
Isaac. Before she knew that faith has to run wide-eyed, hunting for the next
immeasurable victory He'll win, expecting that it will be holy in its
foolishness. That the way Christ leads in triumph stumps even our most learned
wisdom because He uses the weak things to flat out confuse.
Like Sarah, I
laughed because I was confused. I was confused because my tongue hadn't been
full of compositions, but of grieving questions. Because my hand had stayed
plastered Job-style across my mouth for a-year-and-then-some.
Because My Author
again had articulated a truth that my postpartum, joy-wearied soul could not.
After so long
struggling for words, here He was telling me softly,
"My
overflow will be your theme. It's time to pry the scared hand off and doff the
fear at the door. At My Door where only I AM the Way in and no fear can enter
in My Living Gate , because I've already banished it far. I will inhabit the
praises of My people and My overflow will
be your theme."
Laughing turned to
crying when I realized that He was not only putting words in my dry mouth, but
He was asking that I continue to speak them. That I extend my hand with a ready
pen, and that it reach across distance of fear and divulge deep unto deep and
grasp
your hand.
My friend, whoever
you are and however well we know each other...it doesn't matter but for the
fact that we share in what Christ is teaching our ever-brightening eyes. We
share in His death as in His life (Rom. 6:5)! Oh yes, there are revelations
needing to be kept between our souls and the Father's unending heart. It would be desecration to air every intimacy. Please don't mistake that.
But when He laid it
heavy on my mind, that I was holding back words from fear, I knew confession
was needed. Confession to you. In this new format.
You see, as much as
I delight in singing His words to people, there's deep joy in writing them out,
too. Intertwined stories read as infinitely more interesting plots, and the way
He made us intends a particular wrapping to happen. When we bind together as
that unyielding cord not easily broken, we hurt and rejoice and triumph in a
more glorifying array of Love. Our unity as the Bride brings deep delight to
the Bridegroom's heart.
The part where I
need to confess?
I've been terrified
of entering into the world that He so loves, through words, and through the
tangible.
I've been hiding.
I've been wondering how in the world to stop hiding when it appears (in the
safety of darkness) the only reasonable reaction to throbbing questions.
Because as beautiful
as the past year-and-then-some has shown itself to be, it's also been chock
full of ache.
Ache came last May
when a classmate of mine ran ahead of us, pounded dirt into Glory after a
brutal fight with leukemia.
She shone like Moses
descending the Mount whenever she came to school for classes. Her determination
shook your bones and made you want to run miles like she did on the
cross-country team.
Her mama asked if a
friend and I would sing "Healer" and "Yet Rejoice" at the
memorial service.
And in the wail that
threatened to erupt from grief, there instead grew this rugged Hope of Christ's
Healing. Right in the eyes of friends bearing their hearts and a solid wooden
box.
Right
in the middle of a hole staring open.
Ache came in last
June when a dear family friend lost ability to remember altogether, and
graciously He relieved her from body.
Again, song was
asked for. And again, the question hung like a "how"? How to play
songs for the hurt? How to declare that this is always True: Jesus is ALIVE.
Especially when your
heart starts doubting…?
Then my grandma's
sister leaves us and the last song she asked for? Amazing Grace.
A woman trapped by
her shaking body and inability to control it asked for the only thing that
heals.
And in this most
recent, whirling April when the mama of four gorgeous girls ran Home, too…
It burned like too
much fire.
The feet that scaled
the mountain seemed like two feet too many... and with a family behind her?
She'd been diagnosed
with a second bout of breast cancer when my Mama got the same news.
She'd shone so
bright and so hot that fire lit up everything around her when she lifted
those beautiful hands heavenward and sang.
She lifted herself
as living offering that desired to be quenched by nothing but a burning, holy
Flame.
Even when inside her
burned like everything.
The songs she leaves
ablaze in our midst still grow hot, and all these memorials
All these cherished
souls left behind,
All these words to
proclaim,
They pull the hiding
heart out.
Because, friends,
hiding in grief is simply no option when you hear the good news the blessed
feet bring (Is. 52:7). Tears, yes. Questioning, yes.
Hiding, no.
I'm sorry that I
have.
When the lives of
these healed saints declare that
The Gospel breathes
LIFE into dust people, you know it more true than anything. Jesus took the
place of His people's sin, broken so that we can actually LIVE fully, reunited
with Him Who gives LIFE.
I don't know about
you, but that turns my tears into laughing, again. That looses the stifled
sadness into a full out sprint that tells the world, "He is alive! Oh,
have you heard?!"
He's alive and I've
heard it from His own mouth.
It makes me want to
sing it to you. Share His goodness with you in the face of what strikes us hard
across the soul.
Yes, it makes my
heart overflow with a good theme. And if you agree, something glorious will
come of our sharing.
His Name will burn
on our lips.
And we will burn
like everything.
