give me words to speak

I feel in my heart that there’s a song I have to sing, but I don’t know the words.

What can I say to praise God? What can I do? What words are there to sing it with? There is a unique song that each of us can sing to God, and I feel like I don’t know the first thing to do to figure out what mine is. It’s really unsettling, and heavy on my heart.

What can I sing to You that can glorify You all the more?

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Falling

So this song has more or less been striking a lot of heart-strings (where did that term come from?) for me as of late. Guess I wanted to share cuz it more or less summarizes a lot of what my brain is processing. I’m going to bold the parts that have stuck out the most as well as the parts that I want to grow. =)

Artist: Pocket Full Of Rocks
Album: Song To The King
Song: Falling

Father, it remains to me a mystery
Why You still love me
When You see the bad in me
You show me mercy
You show me grace
Call me Your own

Day by day, I’m finding out, just a little more
Just exactly what this journey is for
It is to love You, hold You, touch You,
Call You my own, my own

And I’d trade treasure, I’d trade fame
Just to hear You speak my name
I’ve been touched by You
And I won’t ever be the same
I won’t ever be the same, for

I am falling more and more in love with You, my King
My heart sings a song that even angels cannot sing

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What strikes me about the last line is realizing why my heart can sing a song that even the angels can’t sing. I remember my pastor once stated that the angels don’t really understand salvation (I haven’t found the specific verse… I’ll let y’all know once I find it). I read a book recently called Demon: A Memoir by Tosca Lee (Rachel, you can fix my grammar and comma errors in that last sentence O.o), which is more or less kind of a modern take on C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters. The demon that is telling his story talked about how jealous and angry they were when they saw God bending down to the dirt and breathing life into it to create man. And when man continued to fail God, the legion continued to become enraged and jealous that they could not make God turn His back on the “clay people.”

They couldn’t understand what it meant to have a soul breathed into them by the very lips of the Father. The angels who did not fall have the same experience… they don’t understand this either.

God treasures us so much that He would kneel to the ground to breathe life into His children… and He does this everyday still, I think, breathing life into His kiddies.

This is what we have that the angels don’t have: the breath of God in our lungs… and the promise of salvation in His Son. They can’t experience this.

This is why we can sing our own unique music to the Lord.

jewels and stones

I did a LOT of writing last night. It’s a bit scattered, really, but well, here we go. O.o heh. yeahhh… i kinda went all over the place, and it’s REALLY kind of hard to follow, but bear with me. =P

oh, yeah, and I like to write in 3rd person when I’m journaling. I’m more likely to re-read the entry and give a more objective point of view that way. You also might have to go back to my entry about the jewels and the rocks to get a lot of this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She feels the need to write, though she is unsure on what subject. She is beginning to see a change in herself as of late. The extra time she spent daydreaming, she’s found other uses for. To start working again will need some getting used to, but she welcomes the change. She only hopes that she will still have time to write and play music like now.

A voice that sings for God. This is what she desires. She loves music, but music cannot be what she worships. If it came down to music and God, she must choose God. Is that what is happening as she wrestles with her future? Is music simply her choice and not God’s? She doesn’t believe the black stone in her left hand is music. Music may be the amber-colored jewel in her right hand.

She suspects that the black stone in her left hand may be her need to save her mother. It is not a representation of the love they share. No, it is something much more toxic than that. The feeling of need to be her mother’s savior is a yoke she was never meant to bear. It is something she took upon herself, having been her mother’s pillar of support her entire life. However, she must realize that it is a responsibility that she cannot and must not shoulder. It is a weight that will threaten to crush her once her arms become too numb to notice the pain in carrying it.

No wonder this stone is so difficult to drop. No wonder this stone takes up so much of her hand. This weight is enormous. She does care for her mother, but so long as she continues to try to shoulder this responsibility, she can never fully love her mother. It is not possibly to love her when all she feels from her is pain and a weight that no human can shoulder. It is not possible to love her when she feels that she is a burden.

In order to love her mother and freely live her own life, she must release her iron grip on this rock and let it fall to the ground. She had said once before that she must learn to trust that God will catch what needs to be caught, pick up and heal what was bruised, and let fall what is unnecessary and even detrimental to her growth. She will choose to believe that this rock is something she can freely drop. She is not and can never be her mother’s savior. She can only be her mother’s daughter. Only Christ can be her Savior. Only Christ is her true and rightful Savior. She must let her go. Her mother must live her mother’s life, and she must learn to live her own. If she tries to live out both their lives. This is a tragedy that must not come to pass or she will certainly ruin what is left of her life.

It is never too late to start over. She is not only releasing the black; she is throwing it as far as she can and sending it off their cliff.

She was mistaken. This burden is great, but it is not the black stone. It was another rock in her hand that she kicked over the edge. The black stone was not meant to be thrown. It was meant to be given to her Jesus. And in turn, He replaces it with a pink jewel: love for her mother.

Perhaps her need to be her mother’s savior was truly the black stone, but it was not meant to be thrown but given to Jesus to craft. She feels, however, that there were two stones: the shiny and somewhat beautiful black one, and a round ordinary gray one like the one she found a picture of. No matter that case, she has dropped the plain one and handed the black on to Jesus.

Black one: the relationship with her mother.

She is beginning to realize that her relationship with her mother will never be the same again. She sees now that by giving this black stone to her Father, she is giving her mother back to Him. She has snatched her mother from His hands multiple times before. God has asked me to release my hold on her so that He can love her fully without another’s hindrance.

She had once asked God why this had to happen and why God didn’t allow things to go the way she wanted for her life and her mother’s. His answer was very clear and tinted with the solemness of a broken heart. “Because you love your mother more than you love Me.”

She is ready to learn to love her Father now. She is thankful that she didn’t know what the black stone was before handing it over. Otherwise, she would not have done it so easily.

But now that she has, her heart feels that it can breathe. It feels as though there is room to beat and beat only for her Father.

As she envisioned the image one more time, she sees herself near the edge of the cliff. There were 2 stones. She did not realize it, and she was about to drop both. The ordinary-looking one fell to the grass with a soft thud, and she kicked it over the edge. The black one that shone with a little radiance plopped into her Jesus’ hand as He saved it in the nick of time.

It is true that He will catch what needs to be caught. She did not ask for the black stone back. Instead, she freely receives the pink jewel and the promise that she will learn to truly love her mother.