The passion evolves into ritual, for the world around me leaves little about which to sing. The empty traditions, they echo into the deep hollow of my heart. And while I scorn the song written for me, written for those I love, written for those I do not know, I’m most terrified by the echo resonating within.
The echo proclaims distance. Emptiness. Detachment. Self-preservation.
The echo bounces off my collection of idols stored deep within, clashing with my fleeting loves, my misdirected passion, my confusion. How did I accumulate so many?!
Yes, my shallow heart holds treasures so deeply. Over-planning, control, manipulation of circumstances – all striving to prevent the Songwriter’s music from singing into my life. Oh, how His Song is often not what I would have chosen.
I’m sure my song was supposed to be different, I think, for if it’s my intended harmony, then I’m so very confused. I must be in the wrong line, the wrong chorus, someone else’s song.
I play the victim and contribute to the clash until the Songwriter’s grace floods my frustration, until it washes away my self-protection. He breathes peace onto the pages and anoints wisdom into my sight, allowing me to see His redemption once again. Yes, He re-arranges the broken into something beautiful. His Love Story – so complex, so tragic, so passionate, so whole.
I understand, and yet I don’t. And He’s glorified.
“My intentions are not always yours, and I do not go about things as you do. My thoughts and My ways are above and beyond you, just as heaven is far from your reach here on earth.” Isaiah 55:8,9