It’s not about me; it’s about God.
To say that I am not the most talented musician is neither faux-humility nor a public pleading for pity; as the sky is blue and the grass is green, my musicianship is, at best, passable. A doxological white noise machine, one might call me. The things I bring to the table are what people would call “the intangibles”: unlearned and unquantifiable attributes that sound more euphemistic than flattering. Passion. Heart. Drive.
This past Sunday, I had the great honor of leading worship at my church. And there is much grace even in that providential privilege of leading praise. On paper, one would look at my qualifications and relegate me to a different serving opportunity, like, I don’t know, the post-service disinfector. I’m not gifted but I am willing and punctual. I can set up signs and banners with the best of them.
As a perfectionist and precise planner (in certain contexts), I profoundly enjoy the process more than the port of call. Things left in the imagined are better than the imperfections of the realized. I treat the days leading up to Sunday as my laboratory for the Lord; in the organized chaos, I piece together a set that is both cohesive and Christ-exalting; powerful and pertinent (to the sermon). Throw in a key change here, an obscure deep cut there, and voila! Revival is not just imminent, it’s inevitable.
