These days, all I want to do is SING.
I keep looking forward to the next time that I will be at home alone.
When I'm out I'm thinking that I would rather be somewhere with a piano, or a guitar...
When I sing, when I play, I just find myself so drawn in...
The beauty of sound.
Every note has been pre-created,
but every combination and every expression is new
and ignites another part of your soul.
An honest worry:
I am so full of pride.
I hope that I don't do music...in hope of being loved by people.
I hope that I don't
but I can't guarantee it at this point...
I have prayed about it.
I have told God that I want to breathe no breath except to His glory,
for my lips to sing only of His beauty,
to please Him alone.
I examine my heart though
and I find all the wrong intentions.
I just want to be loved and admired.
In a sense I create a version of me that is not me
in hope that it receives love and admiration.
My heart...doesn't seem to be CAPTURED by the beauty of Jesus.
I don't seem to be ENRAPTURED.
Ablaze.
Is my understanding of what it means to love Jesus all wrong?
Surely it's not just about feelings.
It's about obedience, about faith.
But surely it must permeate every part of my life.
Surely it must mean that I desire none besides Him...
Conversation I had with Paul tonight:
All of creation points to God.
EVERYTHING that is...says something about God.
His majesty, His glory, His beauty.
Even hunger, speaks of our hunger for God.
Marriage, speaks of a union even greater.
Anything and everything...speaks about God, and our relationship with Him.
Ah...music...
I wonder if this is going anywhere.
This love is definitely intensifying.
But first I want in on REAL love -
The only one, the only thing worth loving.
I want anything I produce
to be marked with His beauty.
I want people to hear His whispers
I want them to hear His heartbeat
His cry.
I want to write music
that pours hope into people
that leads people to the Healer
that makes them overflow with thanks
and praise
and speechlessness.
But first
I want to be there.
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