Remembering

I am remembering that before the chaos of life became the heartache of life, I was not so distracted as I am now. Before the crying of babies, and pain of a broken relationship, God would put words in my heart to write and speak, to give testimony of who He is and what He does. I am remembering that He created me, even me, with gifts to share of His goodness. I am remembering that He did not create me to hide in shame for great failures, but to write of His redemptive power. Somehow, I lost myself in all of this, in the hardships of life and what I thought I was supposed to be. Letting go and moving on is hard, painful, but not impossible. And so I am taking a step, reclaiming who You made me to be.

Here is my first step.

Song of Surrender

     I remember the music clearly, though I cannot recall the melody. At one point, I knew the words to the song, though they escape me now. I remembered hearing how we are to make a new song unto the Lord, and I always thought that was just for those who were gifted in the arts. I remember thinking, “that’s not for me. I don’t have the gift of creativity or music.” But as the music played, with a melody that I knew, though I cannot remember it now, my heart began to make new song unto the Lord. And the melody that I once knew was transformed into the cry of my heart, as the Holy Spirit danced out the melody of me. 

I felt it, the Spirit, tangible, thick in my hands, but somehow not heavy or oppressive. Like a web that will not come off the fingers or out of the hair, without the impending fear of getting bit by that which spun the web. Like a thickness that enveloped my body, like a wax that poured over me, to remain warm and moldable, with room to move and fresh air to breathe. Covering, but not smothering. Encasing, but not smoldering. It filled me up, then invited me to dance. It wrapped me up, then unraveled me. And the song that I once knew was not the song that I sang, but became the backdrop of a new song altogether. I sang a song of surrender.

     My mouth, it mumbled at first, full of fear to form the words that danced all over my tongue. What if it came out wrong? What if my song made no sense or didn’t rhyme? What if it just didn’t sound right? But the words continued to dance, and my mouth began to form them for want of any other option. And it sang a song of surrender.

     The surrender flowed, deeper and deeper, and the melody intermingled with the Spirit, and the very air that I breathe, and my voice became clear and loud. And I sang a song of surrender.

     I surrender my fears, as I have so many. I surrender my need for control. I surrender my comfort, as it is a constant reminder of how little my faith truly is. I surrender my relationships, and those whom I love, as I know that You loved them first. I surrender my life to the plans of the Creator, to be used to carry out the Great Commission as He desires. I surrender my crowns, my desires, and my heart. I surrender the throne to the One who truly belongs on it. I sang a song of surrender.

     As I sang and my voice rang clearer, the weaknesses that were handed over became glory to the Christ. The Spirit draped itself over areas that were once my burdens to carry and my back became straighter and taller. I felt the Christ come under my arm, His strength holding me up higher than I’ve ever stood. The tears came pouring down, as I saw all that was ugly lifted from my back and placed on His, His smile unwavering and His strength unfailing. I turned my head in shame, paralyzed by my pride, and His hand gently touched my cheek, turning me to face Him fully.

Don’t be afraid, child. I’m with you now, as I always was.

Let’s finish this together.

And I sang a song of surrender.