I Can’t Sing

Sure, I can carry a tune—if you hand it to me in a bucket, but really, I shouldn't. Not unless there's a crowd also singing that can drown me out. I don't really like to sing. In my car maybe, but that's it. It's the one part of church I really don't like—well, that and the part where I have to shake hands with people I don't know.

It's supposed to be a time of worship. I get that. Singing to God… Rapture practice, one of my pastors used to call it. 'Cause that's what we're going to spend eternity doing, right?' Praise and worship. But does it have to be singing? I really hope not.

I don't feel particularly close to God when I'm singing. Sometimes, maybe, but it isn't the song. It's Him. Something He's telling me or something we're doing together and there just happens to be music playing. Don't get me wrong—I LOVE music. I mean, I really love it. It gets into my soul and I can listen to the same song over and over and over and drown in it. But I'd rather leave the making of it to those who do it best. The Stephen Curtis Chapman's, the Bruce Hornsby's and the Usher's of the world. They can sing—let's let them do it.

I'm pretty sure God knows how I feel about singing. He knows it's not something I enjoy and he knows what's going on with me when I'm in church and the music isn't moving me. Someone else picked those songs and decided that everyone would sing them. It's hard to worship—really worship—on command.

Maybe singing really does move most people and they really do feel like they're worshiping when they sing. I don't. I feel like I'm being forced to do something I'd really rather not do. Like when you're just going about your business and some random stranger says "smile—it's not that bad." Really? Do you KNOW how bad it is? Do you KNOW why I've chosen at this moment NOT to smile? No—you don't. So mind your own business—I'm smile when I'm happy. I'll sing when I'm feeling musical.

Worship is personal, though not necessarily private. To worship is to express love and adoration to God. It has nothing to do with singing. It's not about talent or showing off—it's doing whatever it is I do to tell God what song lyrics never seem to get right for me. When I can't focus on anything but Him, He looks into my heart and knows what no words can say. When I can look to Him and we connect and He knows what I can't express in words. When I can be in a room with Him and nothing else matters. When I can feel what I feel and know that He understands. That's worship. That's more than I love you. That's more than you mean everything to me and I can't live—and don't want to try to live—without Him. That's how I feel about God. That's how Jesus and I get to know each other. That's how the Holy Spirit dwells within me. I can be in a crowded room, I can be lying in bed, I can be doing the laundry or any number of mundane or profound things. I can be singing! Or not…

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Easter

It’s Holy Week.  I remember being confused by so many pieces of Easter when I was young.  Why was it called Good Friday if Jesus died?  Wasn’t that BAD Friday?  Why did we eat so much fish?  Ick.  Why did it always seem to be a gloomy, rainy, week?  Did God do that on purpose?  How could Jesus ride into the city of Jerusalem with such fanfare on Sunday and be beaten so brutally just 6 days later?  As I’ve grown in my faith and age, I understand so much more.  When Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ played in theaters, I went to see it.  My sobs could hardly be heard over the sobs of others.  This wasn’t a movie where you munched on popcorn and sipped a soft drink.  This was a chore—a duty as a Christian to come face to face with the brutality endured by our Savior.  To come to terms with what He experienced so that I could, what?  Show up late to work with no excuse?  Watch movies with foul language?  Tell the occasional lie and not suffer the consequences?  Was it worth it?  What jus
Read more

Shoes=Outside

Image
When Nick comes inside from anywhere, he takes off his socks and shoes. He just likes to be barefoot inside. He also doesn't like shoes on the couch or beds, so when Ivy's inside, most of the time, her shoes and socks come off too. Naturally, this necessitates putting shoes on when we've been home and then decide to go somewhere. Ivy seems to understand this. She LOVES to be outside. She's tall enough to reach the door knob, so it's locked all the time now. She'll go up to the door, try to turn the handle and say "side" when she wants to go outside (which is all the time). When she sees one of us putting our shoes on, she naturally goes to the door and says "side". Yesterday, Nick took Ivy out to the pool for a while before I got home from work. They put their feet in the pool and splashed a bit, but no real swimming (water is still cold). When I got home, they were back inside, shoes off. Ivy wasn't quite done being outside for the day.
Read more

The Wonderful World of Meat Substitutes

I didn’t become a vegetarian until a little over two years ago. I used to think it would be absolutely impossible for me to do—I’m in love with chicken! Can’t give that up. No way. Well, clearly, I did give it up (although so many non-vegetarians say things to me like “you eat chicken, right? Chicken’s a vegetable.” Um, no.). I often encounter someone that is unaware of my food lifestyle and after the initial shock wears off, they want to know if I miss meat. The answer is a resounding no. I hardly notice it at all. I won’t go into why I don’t eat meat (not now anyway). There are different types of vegetarians. I am what is known as a lacto-ovo vegetarian—I eat eggs and diary but nothing that used to crawl, swim, walk or fly. No chicken, no cow, no pig, no lamb, no fish. (Nick and I went to a restaurant today that basically wanted to know how you want your beef cooked, but did include two of what they called “Meatless sandwiches”. They included fried fish and baked fish.
Read more