Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I'm Goin'a Sing When the Spirit Says Sing

Beautiful things are birthed from places of brokenness and suffering. Seed-planted dirt, we thirst for heaven's rain. Until the light of day we wrestle giants for a blessing. 
Barren wombs, shattered dreams, wounded hearts--all threaten, make believe we are who we aren't.  False identity, given cruelly, blinding at birth, rejects and accuses, whispers lies and twisted truths.
Oh, bittersweet the mercy of God when He opposes the one we aren't.  Pressing hard He does not crush; knocking down He does not destroy, but ever so gently draws the soul to see beyond all seen and known and behold who we have always been.
Little seeds, they break.  Hard shells disintegrate.  From within great weakness yields great strength and beauty!  Somehow in the letting go of all we cannot keep, we find ourselves free to touch, holding all Divinity. 
Somewhere in the dying we see the Face of God.  And live.
One speaks our name and we are changed.  Day breaks.  Love rises.  We rise too, and limp, Word-made-flesh.  We are as Jesus in this world.  No longer afraid, the earth blooms color, splashes freedom until even our enemies shine.
Such is the story of a people who have yet to see the glory of their suffering.
For several days I have been listening in my spirit to the sound of a 40-years-old memory, child-like voice joined in song--the heart words of an Negro Spiritual:
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
I'm goin'a sing when the Spirit says sing.
And obey the Spirit of the Lord.

In the dark I wrestle to remember.  I am a sunflower soaking sun, dark, yet lovely.  Do I speak the lie that condemns me, "You will never be free!"?  Or do I sing the song of liberty?
Thoughts reflect on a nation held captive and dance across my own struggle to be free.  These thoughts.  This people.  My identity.  We claim One nation under God, indivisible.  Yet we are scattered in pieces, little seeds. 
A house divided is destined to fall--a man can serve only one Master.  Which master will it be?
For whether we choose willingly or go kicking and screaming, aren't we all slaves to something...or someone?  A thought?  A system?  A false identity?
I choose to let go of me and sing when the Spirit says sing.  I will be one with the One who inspires a spiritual testimony, the heart cry of a beautiful people who persevere in spite of cruelest hardship. 
I will listen to the Wind blow and sing this song--the sound of freedom--and dare to believe it can be on earth as it is in heaven.
Slaves given names by earthly masters and forced to be a people they were not knew in spirit true identity--sons and daughters, kings and queens, highly loved and favored children born and created by God.
We, too, are kings and queens whatever the color of our skin.  The cost of our freedom has been paid with the blood of a Lamb, a Jewish carpenter, a Son, One who walked freely and fully full of God.
Beauty rises from deepest suffering.  In death we discover resurrection power.  So in Christ, we shall rise, singing, because our eyes have seen the Face of God who lives to be in who we are.
That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.  ~ 2 Corinthians 4:16-28 NLT
Won't you sing--beautiful things--with me?

Photo Credit:   Robert Pernett - flickr

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