Today’s scripture: Psalm 5:11 (NRSV) (KJV) (The Message) What might God be saying to me?
My thoughts (Brent Walsh):
Being raised a preacher’s kid made God a liquid asset.
I was taught to look at many childhood experiences through the lens of spirituality. Prayer was a legitimate and well-used excuse when caught talking to one’s self. Jesus’ name was employed just as often to cast out demons from an errant bicycle chain as it was to bless the food at the dinner table. It seemed Bibles were stored everywhere — on the third tier of the book shelf, which was eye level for me; under the passenger seat in the family car, keeping company with stale french fries; on mom’s bedside table next to the hand lotion; on top of the comic section of last Sunday’s paper next to dad’s recliner; and buried with the sheet music and church hymnals in the old piano bench with the wobbly loose hinge.
My experiences of God were, for the most part, hand-me-downs from my older sisters or my friends at church. If one of my sisters thought Michael Card was God’s gift to music, I would rush out to the library to check out all the Michael Card cassette tapes. If my friends had a favorite verse, I would memorize it and claim it as MY favorite verse. If someone went down the aisle during an emotional altar call, I would wonder why I hadn’t been convicted, too! The idea that I could experience God in a unique way apart from my sisters and my friends never crossed my mind until I was on the other side of the world.
I went on a trip to South Africa when I was sixteen and spent three months with a family who started a church in a run-down township on the outskirts of Rustenburg. The church met in a classroom of the local school, which was essentially a roof and four walls with square holes that served as windows. Every morning before school the children gathered in rows outside to sing in the new day. One child lifted her voice strong and bold to get the melody started, and the rest joined in with the rhythm and the flawless harmony. They raised their hands and danced their feet, puffs of dust exploding with every step. As I watched them sing, their music enveloped me and I was carried away to a place of wonder and amazement.
I found God in the song of African children, most of whom were not much younger than me. They didn’t have money for books or shoes and yet they sang. They were oppressed by apartheid and yet they sang. Their school house didn’t have windows or grass and yet they sang. They didn’t have clean drinking water and their dilapidated world was falling apart around them and yet — they sang!
Their song escorted me out of my own world and into the presence of God. This was my experience and mine alone; not a hand-me-down from my sisters; not a praise and worship service with my friends. I closed my eyes and it was as if the children and the school house and the dust disappeared. It was just me and God, our hearts dancing to the African beat.
I thought the purpose of my trip had been to minister to the African people and to let them see God through me. Looking back, I see that the real purpose of my trip was exactly the opposite.
Thought for the day: Lord, help me to foster a unique relationship with you; not a hand-me-down religion, but a one-of-a-kind faith that You and I can share.
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