Singing My Song by Doug Floyd The drive to school took about 45 minutes in our VW bug.

I’d lay in the back sea t, singing goofy little songs. I still make up goofy little songs. I believe we were made to sing. In fact, I might go so far as to suggest that ea ch of us is a living, breathing song. We don’t tell our heart to beat in rhythm. It simply beats. As we join the const ant pulse of our hearts, we clap, dance, jump, and sing. Step outside and we mig ht discover a tree, a sun, and even a breeze reminding us to sing (and maybe ski p). At times in life, I’ve lost the song. Too busy trying to be grown-up and look gr own-up and respected as a genuine, successful grown-up, I’d forget to sing. Some times I’d be too serious, too important, too spiritual, too busy or too depresse d to sing. All sorts of odd folks and experiences help me to remember, help me to hear, hel p me to start singing again. Sometimes the laughter of birds startled it forth. A walk around the neighborhood, a funny little story, a Psalm of David. And of c ourse, my wife has always been able to stir up a song in my heart. One of the most profound stirrings of song in my heart came when I began baptizi ng my imagination in the stories and poems of Celtic Christians. With hearts and pens tuned to the rhythms of the psalmist, the Celtic poets sang the praises of God as they meditated upon His Word, as they beheld His good gifts in the trees , birds, books and people around them. They praised their friends, their leaders and their loved ones. Yet as one 13th century Irish poet proclaimed, To praise man is to praise the One who made him, and man’s earthly possessions add to God’s mighty praise. All metre and mystery Touch on the Lord at last, The tide thunders ashore In praise of the High King. Their words and hearts were tuned to sing of the great High King Jesus. Even as they sang, they invited the world around them to join in the song: Glorious Lord, I give you greeting! Let the church and the chancel praise you, Let the chancel and the church praise you, Let the plain and the hill-side praise you, Let the world’s three well-springs praise you. Two above wind and one above land, Let the dark and the daylight praise you. Abraham, founder of the faith, praise you: Let the life everlasting praise you, Let the birds and the honeybees praise you, Let the shorn stems and the shoots praise you. Both Aaron and Moses praised you:

Let the male and the female praise you, Let the seven days and the stars praise you, Let the air and the ether praise you, Let the books and the letters praise you, Let the fish in the swift streams praise you, Let the thoughts and the actions praise you, Let the sand-grains and the earth-clods praise you, Let all the good that’s performed praise you. And I shall praise you, Lord of glory: Glorious Lord, I give you greeting! The more I’ve read, the more I discover a people immersed in prayers and songs. They had prayers for waking up, prayers for sweeping the house, prayers for maki ng the bed, prayers for milking the cows and even prayers for talking a walk. My walk My walk My walk Ho! Ho! this day with God, this day with Christ, this day with Spirit. Ho! The three-fold all-kindly.

A certain playfulness spills over in many Celtic prayers. In this playfulness a dance with the Creator. God is not away on some far off planet. He is present. E ver present. Fully present. I need to be reminded of a Savior who near, not far: May Christ be with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Chr ist beneath me, Christ above me, Christ to my right, Christ to my left, Christ w here I lie down, Christ where I sit, Christ where I stand, Christ in the heart o f everyone who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me, C hrist in every eye which looks on me, Christ in every ear which hears me. As I listen to the steady cadence of these prayers, these songs, I hear the musi c in my ever beating heart. We live in a world with many images but little vision, many sounds but few true words, many jokes but little deep joy. There is suffering all around us and ofte n within us. There are troubles in life we cannot explain. Our dreams and hopes do sometimes whither and fade. But our heart keeps beating. We may take a cue from the old pumper and tap a toe, whistle a ditty, make up a song, and then make up another song. We might actually discover music that the g ood Lord put inside us that we never even realized was there. As we sing and rejoice in His goodness, we might be surprised how music, like ox ygen, rejuvenates, refreshes, and tunes us to the sweet Lord Jesus who ever pray s (and sings) over us.

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