And all I want is you, Lord.
I just need You here.
All I want is you, Lord.
Please Abba, please draw near.
I could have the whole world
but if I don’t have You…
what good is the whole world
if it doesn’t include You?
So I pray Your Kingdom come.
So I pray Your Will be done.
Oh I beg you Lord, draw close
Draw close to me now
May Your heaven touch down
And make this sacred ground.
Oh would You draw close?
Because I just want You, Lord
Before anything else.
I just want you, Lord.
I hope this doesn’t seem super depressing, but I’ve had a lot of conversations this past week that dive deep into the depths of who we are and what we believe. When that happens I often like to listen to music that goes there with me. These songs don’t need much explaining. The mood, the melody and the lyrics do that on its own.
I remember the first time I “discovered” this song. It was a few years after Tidal came out, I think, and I was in my first real relationship, if you will. I was so sure I loved him, and in a way I did. But we were so incongruent. Our paths were heading in very different directions and I felt as if I had to choose between abandoning someone to their chaos to discover my own answers or… drowning in order to save someone else. This song spoke so deeply to me; that someone out there understood suffering and the beautiful depth it gave to life, as well as what it meant to be with someone who didn’t see it. Who didn’t know that the depth that we love others is the depth at which we might also suffer, and who didn’t believe the price we pay is worth admission. Over and over, I would choose to love at the cost of pain rather than choose to not love at all. I had to believe it was worth it. That it was an essential part of what it meant to be truly alive.
This is not to mean that I believe all love is pain or suffering, but sometimes there is loss, or betrayal, or disappointment. The guy I was with at that time… well, it worked out for the best for the both of us when it ended (I assume). And I’ve discovered there are special people out there who know some of these depths we can reach and choose to let it be something that enhances their life rather than steals it. That makes them treasure even more the shades and shadows, to reach greater and greater heights. As I listen to this song, I remember feeling the way she does at the beginning… “I’ll never glow, the way that you glow…” and I’m relieved I don’t feel that way anymore. More than ever, I feel filled with light. But I believe that is because I have discovered the blessing, the hope, the love in my struggle. As I grow older, I feel like my emotions go deeper, but they are less turbulent. There is a nuance to life that the black and white vision of my youth did not allow. Anyways, I’ve listen to the Tidal album a few times this past week and it’s reminded me of all this and I wanted to log it somewhere.
I love the intro on ODESZA’s A Moment Apart.
“…the cosmonaut decides the only way to save his sanity… is to fall in love with the sound.”
And then… it makes you the cosmonaut. And you fall in love.
“Equality feels like oppression when all you’ve known is privilege.” “Why you love your guns more than our sons…?” “Angry, jealous… offspring of the broken…” “Your unquestioned personhood…”
These are all lines I jotted down as I listened to Propaganda rock a room full of leaders in ministry. What an amazing opportunity to get to see him not only do spoken word but to add his voice and experience to a panel that discussed topics centered around race. While I couldn’t find the piece he performed with these quotes, I did find this one:
He truly brought me to tears this week with his performance of this song, written with a white friend of his and inspired by a couple that they are close to.
I had a really great time at Bethel Worship in Lexington last night and I wanted to record some experiences or reflections from it.
First, this song. I’m going to be speaking on grace in a couple weeks and then bam! This song hits me like a brick wall: A quote from “Abba” is: “Grace is the collision on the way back home. With the arms of a Father who won’t let go.” And then, in case I wasn’t getting it, the conviction and the experience of remembering my return to God felt like a fire being set inside my chest: God ran to me. Abba threw his arms around me and I knew his love.
During the pitch for Compassion International, I was listening to this man talk about his family and his encounter with the kids while he was on a mission trip. It was a good story but I wasn’t hyper engaged; I was mostly just looking around at all the people there and feeling excited that my sister was going to get to have a night of worship. I looked back at the picture of this man and his beautiful family that was projected on the screen and for a moment there was silence as these words passed through my mind: “I will give this to you too.” And I was startled. So I prayed a bit, repented a bit, gave thanks for a bit. Those words felt mostly like comfort though, reassurance. As if I was being reminded of something I already knew.
Mid-way through the worship, I felt prompted to kneel. I have felt this often during corporate worship and I have always ignored it because how weird would that be? But I kept feeling the push, so much so that I was a bit distracted. Then I heard the lyrics, “every chain will break…” and it caught my attention. The super crazy thing I had heard during our church journey was that I was a chainbreaker. Then they start singing about every knee bowing. I told some of my friends and they were like, just sit. That’s basically the same thing, but something in me rose against that. “Did you hear sit? Or kneel?” So I knelt. And the words of Luke 16:10 came to me, “If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones.” Then, as I prayed, I recalled a verse I had been talking to God about earlier that week, Romans 8:31: “What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” I had written about this verse in the context of freedom in love, but I had also mentioned my love of the word hupernikao, or “more than conquerors.” And it was like an epiphany: be more faithful in these little things, because they are building the habits that will grow faith and bring freedom from fear. We are not only conquerors of death, we bring new life: we resurrect, we reconcile, we restore, we redeem. We don’t bind people in chains, we break them.
So that was… cool.