Perhaps we feel the Holy Spirit most when we're least in control.
I walked into a room of people feeling disillusioned, overwhelmed, and disheartened. As I sat on the newly pressed chairs, I exhaled deeply. It'd been a busy, hectic day.
After a two-hour dance practice, my heart wept at the grave of my brother. The weather outside matched the occasion: gloomy, grim, and dreary. I think that's how most if not all of us would describe death. We weren't created for it, after all.
Mustering strength, my husband and I then visited my grandpa in the hospital. A sudden phone call the night before made me aware of his illness. But in person, he seemed good. Cheerful. Lively. More talkative.
Now, here I sat at a worship night. A worship night I'd agreed to sing at before the series of events of that day unfolded before me. Why? Because as much as I was hurting, I wanted to worship. I wanted to praise. I wanted to prove to myself and my God that He was still worthy of my words and voice, even when everything around me was crumbling and taken away.
Praise Despite the Pain
To my left were the faces of strangers. The church had invited numerous groups to participate, and though I was singing with my former worship team, I barely recognized the masses around me. The more the other groups practiced, the more inferior I felt. Voices in my mind created anxious waves:
You're not as good as them.
You're not as happy as them.
Do you really have a reason to sing?
Look at yourself. You're wrestling with your faith.
Aren't you just a fraud?
Shaking my head from side to side, I dismissed the thoughts the best I could. Our team was singing first and I had to focus. When it was my turn to lead Gratitude, however, something strange happened. I felt a deep void open. Waves of emotion overtook my body. I began to shake. I felt like jumping up and down. I meant the words that I cried. And for the first time in a long time, I think I truly began to worship.
With my arms stretched wide, I closed my eyes. I lifted my hands. I stomped my feet. I paced around. Not because I thought it looked a certain way, but because it helped me to focus on what I was singing. I let loose. I let Him have control of my voice, my words, my everything.
So I throw up my hands
And praise You again and again
'Cause all that I have is a hallelujah
Hallelujah
And I know it's not much
But I've nothing else fit for a King
Except for a heart-singing hallelujah
Hallelujah
I've got one response
I've got just one move
With my arm stretched wide
I will worship You
Despite the pain, I worshipped. I encouraged my weary soul and the souls of those around me to get up and praise the Lord. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that we're all weary. We can all use encouragement. We all need something from within to lift us. And when I moved around, flailing my arms and feeling my heart beat within my chest, I felt something break loose. A roaring lion shook my core.
So come on, my soul
Oh, don't you get shy on me
Lift up your song
'Cause you've got a lion inside of those lungs
Get up and praise the Lord
Open Mind, Open Heart
Although I've helped lead worship since I was twelve, I have to admit that I always thought people who acted like this in worship were crazy. I grew up in a traditional Methodist Church, and dare I say raising your hands was frowned upon. When I moved to a Pentecostal Church and later a Non-denominational one, I learned and assumed that type of worship "just wasn't for me." I always felt anxious and overwhelmed by external stimuli and believed that I was a more contemplative worshipper.
While that might be true most days, and there's nothing wrong with worshipping however you're led, I have to tell you this: Perhaps we feel the Holy Spirit most when we're least in control. And that release of control looks how He wants it to—not how we think it will or are most comfortable with.
That night in worship, I felt like I finally let loose. I believed the words I was singing. And though I was weary and wounded, I pressed through. It took everything in me to praise and worship God. I didn't feel like it. I felt sad, I was hurting and wounded. Yet, I was empowered. I was developing an open heart and an open mind.
I used to think that pressing through was faking it. Like I was putting on a façade before God. What I've learned is that God knows my heart. Whether I'm raising my hands in worship and jumping up and down, or mindfully being calm and contemplative, He's still the same God. He's still worthy of my praise. Not because everything that happens in this life is good or from God, but because despite my circumstances, He's beyond them. He's good. I think learning to worship from all of those places is beautiful and necessary.
Remember Why You Worship
I pray that I don't forget the power of praise I felt that night. Of truly slowing down and focusing on the words I said. Of caring more about the praise I gave God than what people thought about the singing. Those are all battles I believe worship leaders and those who share the gospel risk and face.
But it's not about us. It's about Him.
It's not about our outward actions, but our inner soul.
It's not about how we worship. It's the choice we make to worship even on our darkest nights.
As the worship leader of the team I sang with said, "Keep worshipping even in your darkest days" (Jason Hildenbrand, Frontline Church of God). I believe this is why it's important to remember why we worship.
A Good Kind of Different
I find it no coincidence that the night I sang Gratitude my vocals reached new heights. Not only was I able to power through a challenging chorus, and sing at a stronger octave, but something felt different in my soul. A good kind of different.
During intermission, numerous people complimented my singing. Even my former pastor told me that was the best he'd ever heard me sing. My mentor noted that though I'm good at a lot of things, she believes "singing is my number one."
Though I might disagree with her (I'm biased toward writing), her compliments and theirs made my day. Not because of the praise of men, but because I was reaffirmed that what I was doing was indeed the Holy Spirit working in and through me. I was leaving room for Him to move. I will continue to.
That night, the power of praise radiated over me. I felt it. Experienced it. Tasted it. And I desire more. Despite my circumstances, I felt hope. Encouraged. Equipped to keep going amid the storms. Not because they wouldn't come, but because amid them, I was clinging to my sword—the Word of God—the truth that pierces even the darkest nights and stormiest seas.
I know it's hard.
I know you won't always feel like it.
I know it's going to take all the strength you mentally and physically have to lift your hands or sing that chorus out.
Do it anyway.
Prove the enemy wrong.
Show him Who's boss.
Praise the Lord with all you've got.
Give Him gratitude in and out of the storms.
Agape, Amber
Photo Credit: ©Daniel Reche/Pixabay
