Is there Pain in your Praise?

 

I have loved to sing since my very earliest memory. Whether it was singing at the top of my lungs while I swung back and forth on a rope and board swing in the backyard as a child, or singing with a group of kids at Sunday School, shouting loudly, “I’m in the Lord’s Army”, or humming under my breath as I worked in my local supermarket as a teenager, or singing through tears as I stood before the congregation of our church sharing in song a message full of hope and comfort. Whatever the case, I loved to sing and I still do. Unfortunately, my voice has not aged well, and I struggle to reach the notes and keep my voice steady nowadays.

But I want to speak about something I’ve discovered over the years.

In my younger years and even in my newly married and raising toddler years, I sang about God. I sang the hymns at church, I sang specials with my family, I played the songs on the piano and knew the words by heart, but let me tell you, anyone can sing about a God they’ve heard about, but there’s a different sound that comes from someone who has walked through the fire, stumbled through the valleys and made it out alive.

Because when you walk through what seems like Hell, and you make it through alive, you come out CHANGED!

When the fires should have destroyed you, and God carries you through it, you come out different. When the storms of life see waves crashing overhead with such fierce that you feel you’re going under for the last time, and you find your footing on solid ground, you come out changed!

Darkness has a way of changing you. Valleys have a way of transforming you. Storms have a way of growing your faith.

Over they years, I’ve walked through many fires, and yes, some of those were in those early years, but the songs that come from my lips now hold a different sound. There is pain in my praise. I no longer only sing about a God I’ve heard about or a God I’ve read about, but I sing about a God who has walked with me through many trials. A God who has walked through the fire with me. A God who has weathered the storms alongside me. A God who stayed. When everything else fell apart. A God who remained faithful even when there was doubt in my heart and words of hurt on my lips. (Isaiah 43:2)

Anybody can talk about God or sing about God when life is easy, but when you cry real tears, when you face real fire, when you deal with real heartbreak and pain, when you fight real battles and survive real nights of anxiety and worry, and still lift your hands in praise anyway, that worship hits different.

There are some things you only learn about God in the fire.

You learn his peace when your world is falling apart. You learn his love when you experience heartache. You learn of his faithfulness when everybody else leaves and you are left standing alone. You learn so much of his character when you walk through hard things and he remains beside you.

You learn that he is near to the broken hearted when you see that he meets you where you are and doesn’t leave you. (Psalm 34:18)

And so, today, as I sing the same songs I have sung for 50 years, the words hit different. They hold more meaning. They speak volumes to me.

When I sing of his amazing grace, I understand what it means that he saved a wretch like me. When I sing about Heaven, I am overjoyed at the prospect of a future in eternity in the presence of my Father. When I sing of his goodness and mercy following me as I walk through the valleys, I know what it means. I’ve been there. I’ve experienced it. When I sing about tomorrow and what it holds, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he will be there, in my tomorrows, because he has proved faithful, over and over. And because he lives, I can face the future, with hope and with a peace that only he can give.

So, when you see me sing songs about God, don’t ever think I’m singing about someone I don’t know, be assured that every part of my being knows who he is and I will sing until there is no voice left in me. I will raise my hands in praise to him. I will let the tears flow unhindered down my cheeks. My voice may falter and shake but there is pain in my praise. And I won’t apologize for it.

I will stand in awe of a God who knows me intimately yet still chooses to love me. I will stand in worship of a God who sees me fall and yet keeps stretching out his hand to pick me up.

Never be ashamed of the way the message of a song hits you as you relive those hard moments in your life and remember God’s goodness to you. Praise him anyway. Let there be pain in your praise. Keep praising him. During the storm. After the storm. Before the next one arrives. Praise him anyway.

“Let not your harp then hang upon the willows but take it down, and strive, with a grateful heart, to bring forth its loudest music. Arise and chant His praise. With every morning’s dawn, lift up your notes of thanksgiving, and let every setting sun be followed with your song. Belt the earth with your praises; surround it with an atmosphere of melody, and God Himself will hearken from heaven and accept your music.”   

 C. Spurgeon