Worthy of My Song
A montage of movie scenes dances across the screen, along with an appropriately emotional song in the background.
As viewers, there’s a tension in knowing that so much of what we’ve seen for the last hour-and-a-half has led to these moments. We watch it all play out on the TV and feel our own shoulders sag as the woman pictured is given the heartbreaking news she was so hoping she wouldn’t get. We’ve been rooting for her. We’ve seen her faithful prayers and building hope. We’re devastated for her even though we know she’s fictional. We’re wondering where she goes from here? Then we hear her speak.
What words could do justice to the weight of sorrow that has settled on her shoulders? What could even begin to honestly express the depth of her heart?
“I will still love you, Lord,” she whispers.
Oh.
I first watched this movie when I was in high school. I remember the tears that pricked my eyes as I witnessed this woman’s pain and her subsequent commitment to still praise the Lord, but I had no idea what it actually felt like to offer such worship.
Sometime during my third year of marriage, I watched it again. This time, tears spilled onto my cheeks as I watched. Grief hovered right at the surface, but so did awe; and it was awe that bubbled over as I understood what a precious sacrifice this kind of praise is. I believe it’s akin to the expensive oil with which Mary covered Jesus’ feet. It’s the kind of sacrifice that doesn’t make sense in light of the desperate way we feel or the hopeless state of our circumstances, but it’s the most worthwhile offering we have for a most worthy God.
This particular movie has a truly victorious ending. We hear it said over and over by the end: “Tell me, what’s impossible with God?” And even though there’s a resounding truth in that question, it’s not what resonates in my mind long after the screen goes black.
To be honest, it’s not the ending of a story like this that bolsters my faith.
It’s the humbly offered praise, when the ending is still unknown, that echoes throughout my days.
It’s the sacrificial worship of a truly worthy God that reorients my heart and reminds me exactly who I serve.
I find that when I offer praise like that, my lifted eyes meet the gaze of a good and kind Father who never promised me happiness. Caught in his gaze, I remember that He has promised me presence.
His presence.
Locked on Him alone, I remember that it will always be worth it. Loving Him will forever be the most worthwhile thing I do; when things turn out the way I want them to and especially when they don’t.
I lift my voice to join the chorus that I hope includes your own, and sing:
Cause the way I feel and the fear I’m facing doesn’t change who You are.
I give you my worship, you still deserve it.
You’re worthy, you’re worthy of my song.
I’ll pour out Your praises, in blessing and breaking.
You’re worthy, you’re worthy of my song.
What would it look like for your life to sing a song like this today?
I can’t begin to know the depth of your current unwanted, unexpected, or unknown circumstances. But I do know the One who is forever and always worthy of our praise.
Lifting your voice to sing, whether you know the ending or not, might just be the sweetest offering you could give Him today. And finding His presence in the midst of it all might just be the sweetest gift you’ll be given today.
Will you sing with me, friend?