I love to sing. I
love to sing loud. Really loud. I had a boyfriend in high school who called it
my “strong voice”. By “strong voice” I
think he meant having a small birdie peck away at your ear drum while
screeching in horror like a hawk was trying to swoop down and terrorize her
young. I’m sure I don’t need to go into
great detail about having this take place in an enclosed area such as a vehicle(poor
guy). (Maybe that’s why it didn’t work
out.) I would frequently burst into song walking through the house that I
shared with my parents and not-so-gentle-and-understanding-and-patient brother.
His response was, “LACY! STOP IT!” (Actually, I only saw his lips moved since
my volume far exceeded his, but I’m sure that has to be pretty closed to what
he was getting at.) At some point between then and now I stopped singing which
could be for many reasons. Like my brother’s harsh words, wanting to prevent hearing
loss in my children or simply keeping my husband around. It isn’t something I think about too often
and really don’t miss too much, but this last week I got a glimpse of myself
twenty-some-odd years ago and it made me think…
We are fortunate enough in our small town to have an
overpass. Every Sunday morning, a small group meets under the overpass for
worship. It is cleverly titled “Worship Under the Bridge”. Get it? That’s what we do and that’s where we do it. My
family attended this past week. The order
of service is this: 3 songs. A message. 1 song. All of this laced with a few
prayers and inconvenient train whistles throughout. It is always a wonderful experience and it is
always nice to worship outside the box and see how God is working in places you
don’t frequent.
The songs are usually familiar to me and the kids so they
can really understand the tune and tempo, and sing as if they were singing
along with the radio. Ramzee
especially. She was getting’ after
it. Of the twenty or so people in
attendance that morning(including the worship leader with a mic), she may have
been singing the loudest. There was one
point when she had her eyes closed and swaying her head like Ray Charles or
Stevie Wonder. THIS CHICK WAS
WORSHIPPING. I’m positive that no one
cared or was bothered by her “strong voice”, in fact, I think it made a few of
them smile. The thing about it is…she didn’t care who was watching, who was
listening and who might have thought her voice was too “strong”. She was
singing and praising and worshipping to the only one who matters. GOD. And I’m
convinced that in that moment He was delighted and honored with her voice and
blind man sway.
Psalm 100:1-2 tells us, “Shout for joy to the Lord, all the
earth. Worship the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs.”
That’s what Ramz was doing right there before my very eyes.
She was shouting for joy. She was glad in her worship. And those songs she
sang…joyful! The girl is 7 and I pray
when she is 27 that she is singing her strong voice just as intensely and
powerfully as she did this week. (Really I pray she finds a man that can handle
it.)(Possibly a man with early onset hearing loss.)
If I had a dime for every lesson my own kids have taught me
in their short lives…I’d have a boatload of dimes! But I especially love it
when God uses them to teach me something about himself. I’m getting wiser(and
older) and I don’t wanna miss this stuff!...FROM THIS SIDE OF THIRTY.