Worshipping with my children this morning, I fix breakfast while the music plays. It is hard to focus on bagels when the melodies course through our kitchen. “Hallelujah! Grace like rain pours down on me. Hallelujah! All my stains are washed away, they’re washed away!” My eyes close. I cannot keep my mind on the task at hand. My hands must raise, lifted in praise to my God. The task at hand is worship! My children sing with me, little voices floating through the kitchen. My eyes well with tears. Prayers lifted for their hearts to run when mercy calls, that they would bask in the grace that overflows into our lives. So much grace. So undeserving. There is no other response than praise.
I watch my children, and I am reminded of Watermark’s lyrics, “Oh, the tenderness of God is twirling around in our living room tonight.” We were made for worship. They were made for worship. There is a beauty and an innocence in their hearts that is convicting. They have no agendas. They don’t care if the music is too loud or too soft. They have no concerns about their pitch. They only know freedom to be who God created them to be. Worshippers.
God has been molding my heart into one of daily worship, constantly bringing His Word and His melody to mind. Last night, holding a tiny girl who is sick yet again, I gazed at her little face. Eyes closed. Steady breathing. Chubby cheeks. Glossy lips. “I worship You, Almighty God. There is none like You.” He created this little wonder. One of the many graces he has poured down like rain into my world. It is easy to grab hold of my life and my family and worship them, but I must open my arms and let them fall into God’s, and I must worship Him as their Creator.
Our loft filled with friends and instruments. Voices. Guitars. Keyboard. Djembe. We worshipped for an hour and a half last week. No inhibitions. No frustrations with song choice. No worrying about whether it was “done the way we wanted it to be”. No concerns about how loud it might be. We just sang our hearts out. At times I stopped playing just to listen and watch my friends. Heads bowed in confession. “God be merciful to me, on Thy grace I rest my plea.” At times I lowered my eyes, listened, and prayed the words He gave songwriters years ago would speak to me. I watched others, eyes closed, heads raised, hearts lifted up, hands beating drums, fingers strumming, and I didn’t want it to end. It was beautiful. And isn’t that what worship is? Seeing the beauty of Christ? I saw it in my friends, and I felt it in my heart. I was made to worship.
We can get so bogged down in the details. The opinions. The traditions. The distractions. We make ourselves the focus and then He isn’t worshipped. We are. We worship our opinions, our traditions, our preferences. Is God the heart of my worship? Or am I?
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee, how great Thou art!” God is great, and that doesn’t change. He is great no matter the style of worship. He is great no matter the sound of worship. He is great no matter the preference of worship. He is the God Who pours down grace like rain into our lives daily. And He must be worshipped. Daily. I was made to worship. What am I missing out on when I don’t? I watch my children and I realize I’m missing out on a lot. I’m missing out on the moment by moment gratitude for His grace in my life. I’m missing out on the joy of Who He is, because I’m more worried about the how. I’m missing out on the “tenderness of God twirling around my living room.”
Y’all, don’t miss out. We were made to worship.
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