This may be one of the saddest statements I've ever had to make:
There aren't many times in the past few years where I've been able to say with confidence that God was near.
Even tonight I struggle. Even tonight, with with my soul's senses heightened and a inexplicable sense of urgency acute, emotion and conviction that in the past I would have attributed without hesitation to the Holy Spirit is tonight resignedly relegated to the realm of simply that, the emotional.
And yet, the part of me that I have suppressed for so long out of fear that I will do and say things in a heightened emotional state that are not really of God, the part of me that I haven't seen since the dark days of 2009 - that part is reemerging tonight, reminding me that God is indeed near, that my cry to God is not always one sided. That God is not always silent. That God is here.
Tonight I sat in my room in silence, mindlessly playing Tetris, as the emotion slowly built inside me - the conviction that I must not allow my life to be dictated by fear, the conviction that I must step out in faith. Tonight I allowed myself to go back to those "Freedom" nights at Northwestern, or those hours upon hours I spent in the practice rooms in college playing piano and pouring my soul out to God. Tonight I (very quietly since it's 1 am) truly allowed myself to lament. I wouldn't even call it "worship," at least in the "Happy-and-you-know-it" sort of way. I turned my piano on, opened my Bible to Psalm 51, and sang David's prayer. Probably the crappiest composition ever, but it came from a place inside me that I had forgotten existed. I remembered as I sang the power of prayer through music, the power of Scripture through song. I remembered too the power of worship unhindered by rules - worship that is truly "free." I remembered those dark nights in the summer of 2009 when I spent many a night walking through the dark South Dakota prairies crying out to God. I remembered those moments when He was near, so near that I could almost explode from the sheer emotion of His presence. Those moments of solitude when I allowed myself to dance, to twirl, to jump, to skip, to run as fast as possible...because He was near. I remembered the holy presence of God in that little church up the hill from my farm, the power of singing "I Love You Lord" a cappella in an empty sanctuary in the middle of the night and hearing the simple melody fill the room to the bursting point.
All of my life I have allowed myself to be defined by my strengths. Growing up in a small town surrounded by loving family and friends was good for the ego. Here in this new place, that is all stripped away. I'm not the best thing since sliced bread here (not that I was back home, either, just for the record). Here I'm just another face in the crowd, another discordant voice adding to a beautiful symphony. But here I realize more fully the depth of my weakness. My strengths are no longer at the forefront. I find myself often dictated by fear. Fear not only of what people may think if I step out of the crowd to take a leadership role, but fear that I will fail in what I feel compelled to do. So I don't do it. And what I do, I do halfheartedly so that when I do fail, it won't be for trying.
That needs to be done.
I'm going to close by typing out Psalm 51. I challenge you to take the chance from time to time to find a place alone somewhere and sing the Psalms. It changes everything for me. Brings it alive...brings the sheer emotion of the words to life. After all, the Psalms were originally songs...that's what they're meant for.
My lament:
Psalm 51
Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are proved right when you speak
and justified when you judge.
Surely I was sinful at birth,
sinful from the time my mother conceived me.
Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.
Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins
and blot out all my iniquity.
Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will turn back to you.
Save me from bloodguilt, O God,
the God who saves me,
and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
In your good pleasure make Zion prosper;
build up the walls of Jerusalem.
Then there will be righteous sacrifices,
whole burnt offerings to delight you;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.
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