Sometimes, my time with the Lord is quiet and peaceful. Other times, it’s frustrating and challenging.
But today, it really smacked me upside the head with Truth.
In today’s entry of the daily devotional Streams in the Desert, music was used as a parallel for life. This was huge for me, because I worship the Lord best through music and singing.
Everyone has a unique song. My song won’t sound like yours. The notes, the melody, the major and minor strains … they are created from our experiences. Our personal heartaches and triumphs are translated into composition. It’s a song not even the angels can sing (this blows my mind).
Whatever we go through, it is purposeful. It’s part of the bridge, the chorus, the interlude. Not a molecule of our being is wasted, none of our suffering is empty. The happy times in life have weight; they aren’t just frivolous! I have confidence that my song is beautiful, even when it changes to a minor key for a time. Even when there are rests — where the music pauses for effect — I can be confident that the music will start again. Even in silence, the Lord speaks.
Below is today’s entry of Streams in the Desert. Hope it speaks to you and lifts you up today.
“And no man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which were redeemed from the earth.” — Rev. 14:3
There are songs which can only be learned in the valley. No art can teach them; no rules of voice can make them perfectly sung. Their music is in the heart. They are songs of memory, of personal experience. They bring out their burden from the shadow of the past; they mount on the wings of yesterday.
Saint John says that even in heaven there will be a song that can only be fully sung by the sons of earth — the strain of redemption. Doubtless it is a song of triumph, a hymn of victory to the Christ who made us free. But the sense of triumph must come from the memory of the chain.
No angel, no archangel can sing it so sweetly as I can. To sing it as I sing it, they must pass through my exile, and this they cannot do. None can learn it but the children of the cross.
And so, my soul, thou art receiving a music lesson from thy Father.
Thou art being educated for the choir invisible. There are parts of the symphony that none can take but thee.
There are chords too minor for the angels. There may be heights in the symphony which are beyond the scale—heights which angels alone can reach; but there are depths which belong to thee, and can only be touched by thee.
Thy Father is training thee for the part the angels cannot sing; and the school is sorrow. I have heard many say that He sends sorrow to prove thee; nay, He sends sorrow to educate thee, to train thee for the choir invisible.
In the night He is preparing thy song. In the valley He is tuning thy voice. In the cloud He is deepening thy chords. In the rain He is sweetening thy melody. In the cold He is moulding thy expression. In the transition from hope to fear He is perfecting thy lights.
Despise not thy school of sorrow, O my soul; it will give thee a unique part in the universal song. (George Matheson)