Grace Art

I don’t know all the chords
Haven’t memorized the lines
Barely know the bars
Grace sufficient for my art
Haven’t memorized the lines

I don’t know all the lines
Can’t seem to memorize the bars
Barely know the chords
Simple music to the Lord
I barely know the chords

As far as I can see
Psalm 150 is to me

And so, even though,

I don’t know all the bars
Just can’t memorize the chords
Barely know the lines
To You it sounds just fine
And unskillful it may seem
Doesn’t matter much to me

I’ll sing

Even though

I don’t know all the bars


Little Things

I’ve been complaining a lot about winter lately. It sucks. Honestly, it’s horrible. I used to play outside as a kid in the snow with my family. Snowball fights and snow angels and so many fun little things. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve turned into my mother – who proclaimed violently that there would, contrary to popular opinion, be no fire in hell- but instead would look like winter in Michigan. This, comically, when she did not even believe in a heaven or hell.

I argued – “It’s pretty!” and “fun,” but I’ve lost that. So I’ve been praying, a lot, often begrudgingly that God would show me the good in winter. Although, these are not noble prayers – these are frustrated two-second prayers on my way to my car after work. I picture them kind of floating up lazily to heaven. Slowly. In some droopy boring font. Not like the grandiose prayers Jonathon Edwards and Elizabeth Elliot must have prayed. Or whoever. Exploding into heaven, lighting up the throne room.

On Monday night we ended up in a little barn church in Ann Arbor with some friends. One of them had just gone through a break up he was struggling with letting go of fully. One wrestling through a video game addiction that had been undermining his efforts to be with God and people for years and cutting him off from reality. I’m struggling with hanging onto a false pseudo-mega-save-everyone Christian image that leaves me in a cycle of perpetual guilt. And this guy is urging us to move on from the dead and diseased things in our life. So we’re sucked in. Naturally.

And here’s my point. God is so sweet. One woman with a guitar in hand walked to the front of the stage as we’re all completely locked in and vulnerable, accompanied by a girl with the sweetest prettiest voice. And she starts singing about Summer, about how He is Summer – and it’s beautiful – about how  He is celebration, He’s in children’s games, He’s in the sun rays.

And I’m just sitting there balling, because I was like He’s so beautiful and He’s everywhere. And I’m realizing how my little prayers about seeing Him in nature are being realized in a little barn in the middle of Ann Arbor.

She sings about how He’s Autumn, and then, of course, winter.


And I’m just sitting there balling because He heard my tiniest, lamest prayer, and He cared about it. His sovereignty and beauty laid out in front of me, and I felt like the most special daughter to ever be.

That’s just how He is. He goes after us with a lot of love. Pursuit of our hearts. Pursuit of changing our vision to see Him in the winter, in the summer, spring autumn and in music, movies and people.