True Song

I sat there in the front pew on Friday morning; i was the only one in the church so I went ahead and wailed away on the guitar and sang.  After playing a few songs I go back to one of the first songs I learned.  April Showers by Caedmon's Call.  Why'd I learn that one?  Well, it had a tab and chords which involved picking and strumming and if I could play that song, well then people would be impressed because I could do both in one song.  As I played that song, those same thoughts re-entered my mind as I wondered if anyone would come in the church, hear me play and be impressed...

...yes, i crave praise like that...

...and that's when I heard it.  Not an audible voice, but this whisper that said.  You can't play the guitar.  Oh,
you can fake it, and you've figured out some of the tricks to play the right chords and such with some fancy palm muting and whatnot...but you really can't play the guitar.  You don't know any kind of music theory or anything and if, IF a jam session were to erupt and you were called on to play from within...you'd be without.

And as quickly as my guitar skills were humbled, so was my faith...and you better not let your faith become that either.  If you think an ability to play the 'right chords' to make the 'right sound' is music to My ears...then you don't know my song very well.

 - Do I have your heart?

I sat quiet.  humbled.  ashamed....

 - Well, do I?  Do I have your heart?

Oh, how I want You to!  Lord, I want you to take my heart!

 - That's not how this goes.  I'm not taking it.  You know that.  Do I have your heart?

Lord Jesus, yes, please!  Take it, take it, take it...

 - Would you let it go?  Do you trust me?  Do you trust me to teach you how to play my song?

Oh, to play the song of the Most High.  That the life and breath of God would flow through me as melody and harmony in perfect sync drawing all hearts to Him.  Do we do what we have to do to look like we think we should...or does He have our heart?

Here's my heart.  Make it yours.

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breathe

this is the hardest.  no, not the down in the dumps, world is crashing around me feeling.  that emotion actually keep me moving and reminds me i'm living.  its that feeling of silence all around, that feeling of, i know You're there but i can't feel you or hear you.  i sometimes think it's some cosmic game of hard-to-get.  how long will i wait?  how hard will I seek?  or maybe, just maybe, how long until i just sit?

maybe the silence serves no other purpose than to teach me to breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out.  and that is in those breaths that a touch of the divine reminds me of the Breath that gives me life. maybe the silence is a reminder emotion is a trickster, and to live with a quiet heart and mind is a gift and a blessing.  maybe the silence is a reminder that God's presence and moving has nothing to do with how hard i work or how happy i am or how hurt i am.  God's presence is because God is God.

the silence teaches me that.

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what he said

i love John 17. I love to hear and read how Jesus prayed for me...really, prayed for us. Thinking about the fact, that as Jesus was preparing himself for the cross, for his glory restored...his prayer was that we might be as unified with him and the Father as they are unified. that's pretty sweet. think about that for a second, the creator of all things desires to be united with you, to reside with you, with us. And something tells me...Jesus' prayers, they were heard...

i loved visiting my grandparents when we both lived in New York. I'd go out there at least once a month on a Sunday night, and spend the night and half of Monday. Grandma would always have spaghetti and meatballs on the oven, no matter if I showed up at 7 or at 10:30. She'd be watching out the window for me and we'd sit around the kitchen table, mugs hanging on the wall, pictures covering the fridge...we'd talk, well, she would talk and I'd eat, sharing in between mouth-fulls. I always sat facing the fridge. I loved seeing that fridge. it was filled with pictures of all my aunts, uncles, cousins, family...the extended family, the ones my grandparents had adopted as famil

y. she called it her prayer fridge...if your picture was on that fridge, you knew Grandma was praying for you. there was no doubt about that.

And every morning as I got out of bed and joined Grandma and the Bishop (what we call Grandpa) for breakfast, we'd eat; Grandpa would read a devotional and then he prayed. There was something about when Grandpa would pray, he'd call out all the family members by name. I'd sit there and marvel at the way he could pray every time with earnestness in his voice. Never were our names mentioned as in rote repetition of a prayer prayed daily...Grandpa would pray with a love and a passion that would call me into that same spirit as we prayed for everyone. Hearing Grandma echo with her 'yes' and 'o Jesus'...i knew, again, that prayer fridge was used for that purpose. it was never rote repetition...it was always real love and real pleas.

And i would be humbled as I sat there and listened to Grandpa pray for me, pray that I would serve Christ with faithfulness. And I also couldn't help but believe that his prayers were being heard. And every time we talk on the phone, one of them will tell me, we're praying for you Nick, and Mandy and the boys...and now baby Mia...every day Nick, every morning we're praying for you. And I know they are.

Thinking about the prayer of Christ and the prayers of these two Disciple-Giants, i'm humbled; these aren't words said because they need said or should be said. These are prayers prayed with expectation, expectations that they will be answered. and for that, i'm thankful. And I'm able to move forward in power and with hope...

Lord, hear our prayer...hear their prayer...hear your prayer...

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