This is my song

“Wow, how I have missed this.” It’s the comment made on a live Facebook recording our worship pastor posted from her piano, in her home, on a snowy morning. We had all missed church that morning, thanks to the several inches of snow that had fallen in our Virginia town, but we were still enjoying our time together in song. And, while I was definitely enjoying the time spent in my pjs; I was also missing the time spent together, in each other’s presence in worship as well.

It’s your breath in our lungs/So we pour out our praise, pour out our praise/It’s your breath in our lungs/So we pour out our praise to you, only. -All Sons and Daughters, Great Are You Lord

Praise and worship can come in many forms. Giving the words of one’s testimony. Prophecy. Service. But nothing gets to the core of my soul and my connection with God (aside from prayer) quite like a song. The lyrics. Well-written and perfectly timed. Sang directly from the heart can speak to the place in my heart that God may want to reveal or ignite.

Music can speak to those overwhelmed and hidden emotions. It can often say the things I dare not speak. The things I can’t quite find the right or most eloquent words to say. Surely someone, somewhere wrote some song, or catchy chorus that said just what I needed.

Music was the gateway that led me straight to God in the first place. It is how his prevenient grace kept calling to me over and over, before I ever realized what was happening. Whether it was belting out “His Eye is on the Sparrow” as a teen, and not quite understanding the greatness of those words. Or dancing on a stage to “Joyful, Joyful,” God was pursuing me through song.

As I sat in my favorite chair, reading His Word, listening on this snowy day to a new song, I stopped when I heard these words:

Take a look at my life/I’m not who I was before/Look in my eyes/I’m not hiding anymore/We all fall short of perfect, and I’m living proof/So, if you think God’s love could never find you/Take a look at my life. -Branan Murphy, My Life

That song tells a story. One that could easily be mine. Or yours.

Because I was not perfect when I came to Jesus, and asked for forgiveness. When I asked for his mercy. His grace.

But there is this idea that we need to be.

And I still remember that song that was playing when this mess of a young woman decided she needed a Savior. What that song said she needed to be “perfect.”

Perfect submission, all is at rest. I in my Savior am happy and blessed. Watching and waiting, looking above. Filled with his goodness, lost in his love. 

This is my story. This is my life. It was not perfect. There are days it still is not. I was broken. Confused. Saved in a worship service, while a song played. The only thing I had to offer him was “perfect” submission. And thanks to his love, I am not the bitter, negative, unhappy person I was before.

I can sing a new song. Boldly. Praising my Savior. All the day long.

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