But I can write a damn good song. And I'll sing the hell out of it when given a chance.
A former worshiper leader, a wonderful musician, and an amazing vocalist somehow ended up in my living room with my wife and I tonight.
I sang out, stumbling across the strings of my guitar. Every sour chord, all my arrhythmic strumming and plucking, it seemed to fade away despite her keen ear.
The lyrics. The melody.
My voice. The meaning.
That's all she heard.
My voice. The meaning.
That's all she heard.
It all came together.
It meant something to her.
Just as it was. It meant something to her without being refined or reconfigured. It meant to her exactly what I meant it to mean. She found my heart. She listened and heard it, touched by it's words. She spoke to it. Comforted and encouraged it.
And a part of me was renewed.
I was made to sing a new song. And a new song. And a new song...
In fact, the songs just keep coming, one after the other.
I've kept them all under my hat as of late. Text files on the Mac, scraps of papers and scribbles in notebooks. Melodies in the safety of my car and shower. Strums on the guitar at 3:57am when the rest of the world sleeps.
But under that hat... I'm beginning to think, yet again, might not be the place for all this... whatever this is... But mostly, I'm just thankful for this evening. For the fellowship. The graceful ears. The colliding of hearts. The opportunity my wife and I shared with this fellow believer to worship God in our own home. I am grateful. And inspired.
And from it, in my heart, a new song is growing.
It meant something to her.
Just as it was. It meant something to her without being refined or reconfigured. It meant to her exactly what I meant it to mean. She found my heart. She listened and heard it, touched by it's words. She spoke to it. Comforted and encouraged it.
And a part of me was renewed.
I was made to sing a new song. And a new song. And a new song...
In fact, the songs just keep coming, one after the other.
I've kept them all under my hat as of late. Text files on the Mac, scraps of papers and scribbles in notebooks. Melodies in the safety of my car and shower. Strums on the guitar at 3:57am when the rest of the world sleeps.
But under that hat... I'm beginning to think, yet again, might not be the place for all this... whatever this is... But mostly, I'm just thankful for this evening. For the fellowship. The graceful ears. The colliding of hearts. The opportunity my wife and I shared with this fellow believer to worship God in our own home. I am grateful. And inspired.
And from it, in my heart, a new song is growing.
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