During worship this morning, I stood gritting my teeth and holding back tears, desperately clutching my arm to my body in an attempt to protect it from the low bass sound waves ricocheted around my body. For some reason, my arm responds to low sound waves the same way your arm might if it was placed in a pair of vice grips, then tightened. As painful as it was, it wasn’t the pain that finally caused the tears to roll down my face.
“How can I say thanks
For the things You have done for me,
Things so undeserved,
Yet You gave to prove Your love for me.”
Standing there with worshipers singing around me in reflection of God’s glory, I was hit with the realization that I could not worship with others due to my pain. How could I say thanks to Him for what He had done for me when I couldn’t bear the music accompaniment? I couldn’t give my God the praise He deserves because of my physical pain. The emotional pain that ran through my mind is incomparable to even the longing to sleep on my left side. How can I not worship my God? Why would He create a disease that would inhibit the worship of Him?
As tears rolled down my face, I realized that I was missing the point. Worship isn’t about singing a song, though in American churches, that seems to be the accepted norm. Worship is giving praise to God with my whole life!
“Just let me live my life,
Let it be pleasing, Lord, to Thee,
And if I gain any praise,
Let it go to Calvary.”
It is the things I do every day, the fact that I choose to get out of bed, tell God good morning, and hop out of bed eager to discover what He has in store for me is worship. When I choose the hard road of servanthood, sacrificing my best interests for others, that is worship. I don’t need a tolerant hand to worship, in fact, I don’t need a hand at all, I can worship God solely through my actions.