Romans 12:6
As a young boy with this terribly awful voice that could scare life out of any living soul, I always felt that God was never interested in me so he would never be pleased with my songs of praise. I did think ‘it all ends’ on the stage where the lead chorister lifts up her hands into the empty space above her head and starts to pass this chill that made us shiver under the influence of her angelic voice. I tried to pitch like them and ended up creating chaos in the paradise of holy saints who were eagerly waiting to be led into ‘the throne room.’

I tried to train my voice but the more I tried to convert the noise I made to melody, the more distinct it became that I am the master of cacophony.

I looked at those dancing – I mean those involved in pantomime and all hope was lost. I was a definition of rigidity, so…no need trying to twist my body like these rubber-cops of praise. People were always glorifying the father for their sake and when they turn to find me seated quietly in a corner mourning my uselessness, they made my predicament worse by giving the look called, “your mates are making heaven proud and all you do is seat like an effigy and watch. Shame on you!”

I felt lonely even when the religious crowd were all around me. I wondered why God would create me and earmark me as the only creation that would never bring him praise, better said, “Glory”.

I wished…that I was Don Moen and that my voice was as melodious as that of Cece Winans’. I looked to see the choir growing in number, many that were as untalented as I was in singing braces up to the challenge of hitting the drums as their solace yet I was still tying up the lace of my shoe, thinking hard on what next I’d do. Of course music was never my thing so I tried out the bible club only to succeed in reciting Genesis 1:1-5, and that was the end of my bible story movie directed by the bible club.

I became the living dead, the definition of a useless vessel. The phantom story you wished you never heard – that was me. I was nowhere close to being in the clan of this holy saints who told me that all the activity groups that heaven would ever have is Gospel Singers International and APC (Adonai Praise Choir) and the only rendition allowed would be Choir Ministration. I had to make my conclusion, “heaven would certainly be a boring place” so no need striving to enter through the narrow gate. I wondered what Milton, my good friend, would be doing in heaven when all he ever did was expose the scripture in poems. Though Paul sang with Silas but he was more like Apollos, so tell me how he’d enjoy heaven with David the Psalmist. Heaven became a lost cause, God can take all their praises for all I care, and he can keep his heaven too. In short, He is a joke to think he’d play with my emotions so expertly.
But then this love song was heard, it was his heart song. He loved me so he gave his only begotten son. He’s never interested in my striving to have an angelic voice; he is only interested that no distance becomes a barrier to my voice. So, here I stand doing his will; not in songs but in writing.

Do you read him?


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