First Friday: Sing a Hallelujah

All The Poor & Powerless from All Sons & Daughters on Vimeo.

“EEEEW, gross…ummmm, Sara?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found what is making you sick.”

(Cue that look between two married people that says, “You know I’m kidding but still, you have to check this out—it’s really that disgusting.”)

I put down my frog tape and shuffle over to the head of our bed but before I can brace myself for the horror that awaits, my mouth can’t help but cry, “Oh, Mylanta, God could create like 1,000 Adams out of that much dust crud!”

“I know.”

Enter another voice that belongs to a seven-year-old someone helping Daddy paint.

“Mom, what do you mean 1,000 Adams?”

“You know, Adam of Adam and Eve.  God made him out of dust.”

“But wait, we’re not made out of dust, are we?”

“Well, uh, technically you were not made from dust…but your body will turn into dust when you die.”

Then I try to get fancy….

“It’s the great equalizer, kiddo.  Any time you get too big for your britches, remember that. We’re all just dust, baby.”

“Wait, what are britches?”

“Pants, baby.  They’re pants.”

Then, as if on some tripped-out beat, my love starts warbling, “Dust in the Wind…”

I start singing too.

Then shaking her head, my girl taps my arm and says, “Would someone please explain this whole pants situation?”

“What pants?”

It is at this moment, the same sweet little head shakes steadily down into open hands as the second verse of “Dust in the Wind” grows louder and louder and louder…

These are my people.

And this how we roll.

Our music.  Our mayhem. Our mode of operation.

Give us a theological question.

You get uncertainty. You get fancy.  And then you get confusion.

Uh? What? Er?

On our part, not the children’s…

That is, until later.

When I sit down and put pen to paper and hope that the Spirit can trump my brain. Which, by the way, He always can. Even when it looks completely hopeless and confused.

So let me begin again…

“We’re just dust, baby.”

You. Me. Daddy.

Dust.

Let’s take a second and think about this…

God takes dust…

He molds it. He uses it. He creates from it.

And then in it, He breathes a common thread through all humanity.  No human accolade or degradation can take this one thing from us. We are made by God, for Him, in His image, all with a specific purpose.

It is this purpose that flows through the song we sing in the bathtub, in the van and even in the occasional play place of late. It is a plan that promises All the Poor and Powerless will sing and shout and cry out together one day.  It is the power that says, “Don’t wait.”

Sing now. Shout now. Cry now.

Because while we’re here in our bathtubs and mini-vans and play places, it’s not just about dust.

It’s about praise. It’s about honor. It’s about hallelujahs.

It’s about shouting it out to the masses.

From our greatest mountaintops to our lowest valleys.

We are to sing our hallelujahs from dawn to dusk…

We are to worship where we live.  Not just in pews and hallowed halls.  Not just in moments when music is audibly heard.

For it is in the mundane, the daily and the seemingly inconsequential where praise groans into a beautiful melody.

The beat. The range. The harmony.

Yes, God craves the song of our everyday, baby.

So listen closely to the way your mama sings…

In every dirty sock I pick up…

In every knee I bandage…

In every homework page I sign…

I sing a hallelujah.

In every meal I plan…

In every pizza I pick-up…

In every dish I scrub…

I sing a hallelujah.

In every 3 a.m. wake-up call…

In every little dream I consider…

In every hurt I listen to…

Mama sings her hallelujah.

But listen still…

Your Daddy is singing too.

In every dollar he earns…

In every mile he travels…

In every second he is apart from us…

He sings a hallelujah.

In every Saturday donut he offers…

In every story he reads…

In every game he plays…

He sings a hallelujah.

In every prayer he utters…

In every hug he gives…

In every kiss he offers…

Daddy sings his hallelujah.

But listen still, sweet one…

You have a hallelujah too.

In every classroom…

In every mini-van…

In every play place and playground…

You have a precious hallelujah.

So sing it.  Cry it. Scream it.

From dawn to dusk. From mountain to valley. From beginning to end.

SHOUT. IT.

Because we’re only dust, baby.

And the world needs us shouting until we can’t…

So cue the music.  Set the volume.  And sing the words.

Together now, baby…

“HE. IS. GOD.”

Sara Cormany guest posts on the first Friday of each month. Sara is mommy to six-year-old Grace, four-year-old Drew and one-year-old Sophie.  When she is not wiping noses, changing diapers or chasing her kids, she is a sometimes writer and a sometimes teacher to teenagers.  But her most cherished role is that of one who is perfectly held by Jesus. She loves watching Him take the broken, the messy and the seemingly mundane of her everyday and turn it into something beautiful.

 

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