There’s a seismic shift.
There’s a thermal lift.
You’ll stumble or you’ll fly.
Worship while you cry*.
Humans prefer something to hold on to. Maybe because we don’t know what to do with our hands. Maybe because we’re afraid we’ll fall. Maybe because we always think we’re the driver and need to hold the wheel. It is the illusion of control, in every case. You might hold the mic, the wheel, or their hand. But. You are never, ever, in control of what happens next.
Li’l Girl, Can’t dance.
Quit tryna lead.
Stand still a minute.
Get lost in it.
Let Him worry about the beat.
Relinquishing control of the next moment. Is terrifying. But like a roller coaster. Heartracing. Visceral. Delightful… Addictive.
It’s not the sweetness that makes you.
Weak in the knees.
It’s the fighting against the beauty.
Disbelieving that He wants to give you.
The desires of your heart.
We don’t drop the reins, because we are more intelligent than the horse. We don’t take our hands off the wheel, because the car can’t choose a direction for itself. In relationship with God there is no control instrument. Much as we’d like that. We couldn’t handle Him, if we wanted. When I stop trying to drive, He takes me further, faster. It’s a thrill ride.
*many years ago, a worship leader pointed out that sometimes crying could be an expression of worship. (Not that single, sexy tear. Ugly, snot-smearing crying.) I was so relieved. Because I often cried through entire worship services when I wasn’t sad or angry and didn’t know why, this explanation liberated me.