Worship is a wily word. When you are tone deaf, and find singing to be an unpleasant sound reminder of lacking abilities, it gets confusing. Because aren’t worship and singing as synonyms? I know, make a joyful noise, and sometimes, I do. But only in the quiet of my home with 2 girls who also can’t sing. I am missing a gene. Music is not a language I speak. It moves me very little. So how does one, like me, worship?
We worship when spend an hour preparing our faces for a date. Or when we choose to sit in the pretty place admiring the fabric and coordination and lack of stains, because it brings inner peace for a time. Or when we stand in a garden admiring the results of our weekly toil. We know how to worship. But worshiping a God without a human form today is trickier.
Years of struggling with this w word have taught me that worship comes in gratitude, in recognizing moments that only God can orchestrate, in the startling beauty of fellowship in the midst of pain, in the on-the-knee-moments of surrender. It is recognizing my size and skill in comparison to Him and the humbling, knock -me down fact that He knows and loves us anyway (even if we can’t sing). So just as I have redefined church for my girls (from a building where people go on Sundays to a body of believers meeting together anywhere) I am redefining worship as a painful or joyful ( or both) moment of recognition that the King of Kings, the Creator of the world, the One who is All knowing and All Powerful, he loves us.
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