Have you ever been convicted by the Holy Spirit so hard that you literally end up snot-nosed and bawling on the kitchen floor, so grateful no one was at home to witness this embarrassing and humiliating encounter with Him? That seems to be my life more often these days. I mean, I know I’ve been pressed hard for repentance, but I wasn’t ready for the spontaneous blubbering and the constant cleansing that repentance in His Presence brings. I really had no idea.
I’m a music girl. Song, music, dance – I am drawn to Him through these amazing creations of His. I know this about me, about Him, about how I connect via Holy Spirit to Him… And yet I find so many other things during my off-day to do. Dishes. Laundry. Organizing the kids’ outgrown clothes for consignment. Grout-scrubbing. Volunteering. Bible study homework. Subduing the toilets. Vacuuming. Dusting the ceiling fans. Meal planning. Balancing my checkbook. Rearranging the junk drawer. Trying to deny the vast gulf that exists between the mundane chores of being a mom and the wild adventure warrior God made me to be.
But today I danced. I was listening to a talk given by Don Potter. Don is a guy who wrote number one hit songs for The Judds, Willie Nelson, Reba McIntyre, the list goes on. He also loves Jesus. Since he is a music guy, he was speaking my language. He was telling his story about how God transformed him from someone who played music for money to someone who surrendered to God. Not “I Surrender Some.” Or even “I Surrender Most.” God lead him to the point where Don finally rejected that it was his music. God lead him to the point where Don finally heard “It’s My sound (moving through you.).” It’s His sound. His sound. His heavenly sound. Oh God I want this. I want to move in Your sound. I want Your sound to move through my entire being. It’s Your sound. It’s Your sound!!! Queue the blubbering.
I am also a harpist. I don’t practice. I have quite a bit of shame about this. I used to be good. Really good. Won contests, won competitions, all that stuff. I’ve lost my callouses, but the songs, I never lose. I feel their rhythm in my blood. My fingers still tap and dance to the musical choreography. Still.
Today, I renounced that the music coming from my harp belongs to me. Today, I made an agreement with the Living God: it is His sound, through my instrument. The pressure released, the guilt fled away. It’s not my music. It is His. It feels good to belong to the King. Queue more blubbering. This time, it’s unashamed.