I watched him singing from across the room. The lyrics said, “Your love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on me,” and his hand went up in the air as if to say, “I know this to be true.”
I don’t know the story, don’t need to. But I know she’s gone, she left. He seems to have kept both feet on the ground. He still has his wits about him. On the outside he seems to exude a certain amount of strength, that appears to be genuinely coming from within.
He meant what he was singing. He knew it was true, and those words were his testimony. His hand raised as if to say, “I know that’s right.”
I felt hugely convicted in that moment. How many songs have I sung, how many prayers have I prayed, robotically. Never really stopping to think about what I was singing or saying. I preach relationship over religion all the time, and yet I can religiously sing, speak, and pray, acting the part, but never really letting it come from a place deeper within.
Theis past Sunday at church I found myself not just singing. But testifying with the songs we sang. I refused to let them just be words that I knew by memory. I sang them from a deeper place, a place that says, I know that’s right.
Thank you friend, for challenging me. I don’t know your story. I don’t need to. I just know I never want to sing the same way again.