Longing for Home

Within the past three months, at least three people/families I care about have lost grandparents. I just found out about the third; and one was my family. In fact, I lost my third grandparent this year--sixth if you count great-grandparents that have died within my lifetime. And death is still a weird concept for me. Having someone here breathing one day and gone the next...is never going to feel normal.

There is a crazy amount of peace in the knowledge that all three of the grandparents I know of who have passed away in the past few months--loved Jesus, and are now united with Him, fully seeing the One who has forever fully known them. They are rejoicing in His presence, no longer in pain, no longer weary, no longer hindered by broken bodies. And as one of my friends who recently lost her grandpa related to me, "I'm jealous." More than a little. Because my grandpas and grandma, and her grandpa, and my other friend's granddaddy--they are all in the place my soul longs to be.

But the fact that I am still here on this earth, breathing, means I'm here for a purpose. I'm here for the same purpose these departed loved ones were: to follow Jesus and be His hands and feet on this earth, to somehow be one small part of seeing His Kingdom come more fully to this Earth as it is in Heaven. To love and go after the people within my reach who don't know the One my soul loves, the One who has placed me here to brokenly point them to Him. May they see Him in me as through a mirror darkly, past all my smudges and cracks and failings--so that one day they too may see Him face-to-face in His full glory.

There's a song by Phil Wickham that I had forgotten about until a friend recently posted some of its lyrics online. It's called "Heaven Song," and you should look it up if you've got a sec. The song is about a yearning to be Home. A couple years ago, there were times when I'd retreat to the farthest parking lot at the very edge of my college campus, turn this song up loud, and sing at the top of my lungs. And there at the end of the chorus, where it says, "my soul is getting restless for the place where I belong. I can't wait to join the angels and sing my heaven song," there was a cry and a yearning in my heart, to be able to sing just one note of that song here on the earth.

That's what we're here for. We don't have to wait until we depart from this world to be a foretaste of it. We don't have to do this life alone; Jesus is Emmanuel--He is God with us--and we are present with Him now even if it's not as fully as it shall be one day.

All three of these grandparents we've lost recently have left a legacy and a tremendous impact on the lives of their kids and grandkids. The grief of them no longer being here with us on this earth will never be able to drown that out. Loss hurts because there was something there to begin with. So let's follow in their footsteps--not out of a desire to be remembered, but a desire to live all-out the life we've been entrusted with, to follow God wherever He leads us, to look forward to the day He brings us fully Home.

There's a battle going on. It's not one that can be won with human hands, but one in which the King of Kings has chosen to use our hands anyway. It's amazing, still so overwhelmingly to me, the way He chooses to accomplish His will in this earth. It's not often an easy road, but let us remember the pain is indeed temporary, and it's leading us to something that will last forever. The time for prophecy and teaching and knowledge will pass away, "For we know in part, and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away...For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then shall I know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three: but the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:9-10, 12-13).

"The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith" (1 Timothy 1:5). So let's love in earnest. Let's fight this fight knowing how the war ends, and who sits on throne even now. Let's live with abandon and recklessness, not acting like this life is all that matters. The world needs to see that glimpse of Jesus; they need to hear that broken, fragmented note of the song that is forever issuing forth around His throne.

In the words of Switchfoot, "If we've only got one shot, if we've only got one life, if time was never on our side, then before I die I want to burn out bright." A candle lit on both ends may burn up quicker, but it also burns more brightly. No matter how much longer each of us has on this earth, let's not lose sight of Home. Let's run this race with endurance, sprinting harder everytime we remember what lies at the end. We are here temporarily, passing through on our way to the place we belong. Let's take some other folks with us! Let's join hands and take a stand against the darkness, even if it means we burn out.

 We're a reflection of the Light; we are not the source. His light will never stop shining. Thanks be to God that it does not rely on us! Yet still He chooses to use us, to make us living reflections of His Light, of His glory. So let us sing in the night. Let our hearts cry out for Home, because Home is truly where the heart is; it's where the One our souls desire to be with, resides. Let's savor the journey He has us on, soaking up every minute of it. For He's not far. He's but a breath away. And as the old adage goes, you never know which breath will be your last.

"For we, we are not long here. Our time is but a breath. And so we'd better breathe it. And I, I was made to live. I was made to love. I was made to know You." -Brooke Fraser

Singing Ugly

There I was in a roomful of mostly teenage boys, all of them belting out the words to "Blessed Be Your Name" as I strummed my guitar and sang it out with them. We'd sung it the past three or four weeks in a row, but they still weren't tired of it. Not in the way many people would be by that point. In fact, they were the ones who'd requested we sing it. Sometimes singing sounds a bit more like shouting, though. And although some music majors I know might have cringed had they heard it, I would never have traded those minutes of hearing our guys sing out passionately to Jesus, much less the privilege of singing to Him with them. 

To some, it may have sounded overly-boisterous. To others, perhaps a bit off-key. But for me and the other youth leaders present (if I am allowed to speak for them), it was beautiful. True, a few of the boys may have only been singing so loud simply because they knew the words to this one, and one or two might have been attempting to show off (or goof off). But many of them, you could tell, were truly worshiping. 

Very, very few things in my twenty-two years of living have ever impacted me quite the way those moments did. My heart wanted to burst inside me with joy and thankfulness and awe, just seeing glimpses of what God was doing in these kids I love (and now miss terribly. I still pray for you.), how He was drawing their hearts after Him. It felt like I got a sneak-peek in that moment of His Fatherly heart, for He delights to hear His children sing.

God doesn't demand a series of perfect notes; more often I think He wants to hear our broken dissonance. Anyone can practice and train until they can mechanically produce just the right sounds, but is it just me or does flawless performance sometimes seem to be lacking in feeling? Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying you shouldn't work at singing "better." But I can tell you that after hearing students of music hurl all their disgust at a Christmas concert because at one point the audience was invited to join in and they "weren't singing it right" or were way off key, my heart was not pressed much towards worship; it was broken, because all they could see were the notes and not the far more priceless souls of the people uttering them. 

There's this theory I've run into at times, that some people can't sing. I, personally, think it's hogwash. I invite and even plea with you to sing ugly. Please. Do it for me. Because on the days when I'm focusing more on hitting the appropriate notes than on the One I'm singing to, I need to hear you behind or beside me crying from an earnest heart like some of those youth-group boys in Jackson were that night. I need to be reminded it's less about my perfect performance (though I dare say I've never given one of those anyway), and more about the One we're singing to. 

I very much look forward to the day when all God's people are gathered together in one place to worship the one true King and desire of our hearts. I don't know whether we'll all be able to sing perfectly then or what, but I have a feeling we won't so much care what we might sound like individually at that point. Our eyes, our ears, our hearts--they will be focused elsewhere. They'll be focused where they should be in the here and now. 

So if singing beautifully comes more naturally to you, don't look down on someone else for singing off-key. Learn to find delight in their willingness to sing anyway, even if perhaps its a more humbling experience than it is for you; or maybe it's not because they can't hear themselves. Maybe none of us should care to hear ourselves. I for one sing best (I think) when I'm not focusing on the singing, but on Jesus. I can't say that for sure, because honestly when it happens I'm not really listening to myself. Because it's not about me. It's not about my voice, or yours for that matter. It's about the One who gave us a reason to sing--who is the reason why we sing. 

There's just something about hearing multiple voices raised in praise and surrender to Him. It's beautiful. It's encouraging. It's a teeny, tiny piece of heaven here on this earth. So don't sacrifice that by putting overmuch emphasis on how you or anyone around you is singing. Just worship; get lost in awe and joy and the sovereignty of the One who is our hope, our King, our Redeemer. He's worthy of all our praise, and then some. Let's put the emphasis where it's due.