The Song of My Heart
Sing the song you were born to sing. If you forget the melody...be still.
Be still long enough to hear the One who created you to sing.
Have you ever sung in a choir? I loved being in choir in high school. Some of my favorite high school memories and friendships were made in choir. There is something to be said for being a part of something bigger than yourself. We were like a family—sometimes a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. We learned to listen to each other, to trust each other and to rely on each other. After three years of singing together, we were pretty good. We won quite a few choir competitions back in the day. Most of us were just bunch of outcast, socially awkward teens from all different walks of life, but when we sang as one, it would give you goosebumps because we were so unified in our song.
I was an alto. If you're not a choir geek, then you might not know that altos usually sing harmony while sopranos usually sing the melody. Our choir director (a man named Wally, who looked like Santa and probably had a heart as big as him too) would first teach the melody to the sopranos. Then he would separate the other sections and teach us each the harmony. We would sing it over and over until our part became like second nature to us. Then the entire choir would come together and we would sing the line of the song we just learned as one. If you didn't know your part like the back of your hand, you would be lost as soon as the other sections began belting out their parts next to you. Especially if the choir director sat you right next to a confident, loud soprano. (Divas.)
I think life is a lot like choir. We are all created with a song inside of us that we were born to sing. We may begin singing our melody early in life, so sure of the song in our heart. But sometimes, as life goes on, we begin to hear others songs and we might think we like their melody better than our own. Or we might get out in the noisy world with speakers blaring, telling us who we are supposed to be—what's new, what's in, what's out, what's most important, what we have to have to be happy in life—and it begins to drown out the song inside of us. Or maybe we have been silenced or shamed or made to feel our song is not important so we stop singing altogether. Whatever the reason, as life marches on to the tune of its own drum, sometimes we can't hear the song of our heart anymore.
But I've learned a secret.
I've found if I am still long enough, if I steal away from the noisy crowd, if I put down the to-do list, turn off the phone, the tv, the radio, the computer...I begin to hear a faint, familiar tune inside.
First it is quiet.
It takes time and patience and stillness to hear it.
It takes diligence to set aside time that I think I don't have—but in reality, I do. And if I don't set this time aside as important, I'll waste it on something frivolous and mind numbing like tv or social media. (It's like filling a hole with bubbles. It might look full at first, but in reality, there's nothing of substance inside of it.)
I've learned the importance of tending to my heart. Listening to my spirit inside of me.
I know when I am out of sync and it's usually because I'm moving too fast for my soul to catch up. I'm filling up my "down time" with more busyness and distractions. I'm avoiding being still and knowing He is God. And I am not.
So, I lay my striving and busyness down at His feet (again). I give Him all the things I'm trying to fix or control or worry about. Sometimes I just sit and listen. I listen for His voice, I listen for mine. And if I'm still long enough, I'll hear both. Usually I hear my voice first, screaming for attention. But I still choose to listen because sometimes I'm amazed at the things that have remained unattended inside my heart. And I take those things to Him and ask Him what to do with it. He might not show me right away, but He always takes care of me. Sometimes He shows me a solution. Sometimes He just shows me the timing is not right and asks me to trust Him. And other times, there is no answer...He just carries me.
But I have to let Him.
And when my heart is swept clean of the clutter of cares and distractions, I begin to hear it again—a very faint, familiar melody, at first. But the more I tend to my heart by spending time with Him, the louder the song I was born to sing becomes. And the more sure I become of the melody, the more sure I can be that a noisy world will not drown out the song I was born to sing.
The song of my heart is beautiful and only He knows the way it goes...I'm still learning my part.
Be still long enough to hear the One who created you to sing.
Have you ever sung in a choir? I loved being in choir in high school. Some of my favorite high school memories and friendships were made in choir. There is something to be said for being a part of something bigger than yourself. We were like a family—sometimes a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. We learned to listen to each other, to trust each other and to rely on each other. After three years of singing together, we were pretty good. We won quite a few choir competitions back in the day. Most of us were just bunch of outcast, socially awkward teens from all different walks of life, but when we sang as one, it would give you goosebumps because we were so unified in our song.
I was an alto. If you're not a choir geek, then you might not know that altos usually sing harmony while sopranos usually sing the melody. Our choir director (a man named Wally, who looked like Santa and probably had a heart as big as him too) would first teach the melody to the sopranos. Then he would separate the other sections and teach us each the harmony. We would sing it over and over until our part became like second nature to us. Then the entire choir would come together and we would sing the line of the song we just learned as one. If you didn't know your part like the back of your hand, you would be lost as soon as the other sections began belting out their parts next to you. Especially if the choir director sat you right next to a confident, loud soprano. (Divas.)
I think life is a lot like choir. We are all created with a song inside of us that we were born to sing. We may begin singing our melody early in life, so sure of the song in our heart. But sometimes, as life goes on, we begin to hear others songs and we might think we like their melody better than our own. Or we might get out in the noisy world with speakers blaring, telling us who we are supposed to be—what's new, what's in, what's out, what's most important, what we have to have to be happy in life—and it begins to drown out the song inside of us. Or maybe we have been silenced or shamed or made to feel our song is not important so we stop singing altogether. Whatever the reason, as life marches on to the tune of its own drum, sometimes we can't hear the song of our heart anymore.
But I've learned a secret.
I've found if I am still long enough, if I steal away from the noisy crowd, if I put down the to-do list, turn off the phone, the tv, the radio, the computer...I begin to hear a faint, familiar tune inside.
First it is quiet.
It takes time and patience and stillness to hear it.
It takes diligence to set aside time that I think I don't have—but in reality, I do. And if I don't set this time aside as important, I'll waste it on something frivolous and mind numbing like tv or social media. (It's like filling a hole with bubbles. It might look full at first, but in reality, there's nothing of substance inside of it.)
I've learned the importance of tending to my heart. Listening to my spirit inside of me.
I know when I am out of sync and it's usually because I'm moving too fast for my soul to catch up. I'm filling up my "down time" with more busyness and distractions. I'm avoiding being still and knowing He is God. And I am not.
So, I lay my striving and busyness down at His feet (again). I give Him all the things I'm trying to fix or control or worry about. Sometimes I just sit and listen. I listen for His voice, I listen for mine. And if I'm still long enough, I'll hear both. Usually I hear my voice first, screaming for attention. But I still choose to listen because sometimes I'm amazed at the things that have remained unattended inside my heart. And I take those things to Him and ask Him what to do with it. He might not show me right away, but He always takes care of me. Sometimes He shows me a solution. Sometimes He just shows me the timing is not right and asks me to trust Him. And other times, there is no answer...He just carries me.
But I have to let Him.
And when my heart is swept clean of the clutter of cares and distractions, I begin to hear it again—a very faint, familiar melody, at first. But the more I tend to my heart by spending time with Him, the louder the song I was born to sing becomes. And the more sure I become of the melody, the more sure I can be that a noisy world will not drown out the song I was born to sing.
The song of my heart is beautiful and only He knows the way it goes...I'm still learning my part.
