LETTERS FROM EXILE
It is my intention to reflect daily via this blog- will it happen? Probably not....I happened to get to work exceptionally early this morning, and found myself with the time to contemplate for a moment.
Somewhere, sometime before we left Findlay, OH for Nashville, I set the little ribbon marker in my bible at Psalm 51, for reasons unknown. Actually, scratch that- I do know why. I was trying desperately to write some lyrics, to compose a tune that expressed my heart (which was, at that point, sadly empty). I failed. I suppose I needed to.
Anyway, fast-forward to 2 weeks ago, feeling as if I had heard God tell me that He brought me here to Nashville to teach me something- to test my loyalty in worship when a paycheck was not provided for my songs...mind you, I told people all along that I thought this was why I was going to Nashville, but now I actually believed it.....sorry everyone.
So, I open my bible, after having the thought one morning that 1.) I was desperately empty due to having almost no prayer life or scripture-reading time, and 2.) What has made it so difficult for me in the past to absorb the Words is my ridiculous notion that I should be on some sort of fast-track- that my understanding of scripture would grow as I speed-read through it like I did everything else. It's ok, and even necessary for me to spend DAYS (this hurts me), DAYS, absaorbing the same scripture. I know, revelation, right? Anyway, I open my bible, and its still stuck on Psalm 51. I read it, and read it, and read it, and get little nuggets about worship and sacrifice, and such. Then, it hits me- I AM in exile. I HAVE gone through the motions. I DID learn God-worship when my pride was shattered. I sat in my car on the drive to work one morning crying as I sang along with a song I had never noticed the words to. How sad the time I wasted; how sad I had to learn my lesson in exile. But, "Your grace has found me just as I am, empty-handed but a life in your hands." How majestic God is.
Psalm 51, from The Message//Remix.
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