Psalm 77-ish

(HT: ASBO Jesus)
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This is about what I felt like on Monday… which is kind of a rough go when you’re a worship leader.

Thankfully, I wasn’t actually onstage this week – my very talented and capable friend Brandon was leading this week – and bless his heart, as I got progressively sicker in body and soul over the course of the night, he stepped up and auditioned the brave souls who’d come out for auditions, while I flopped on a couch, taking notes. (I mean, really, of all nights to feel like an alien, it had to be audition night?!)

I’ve had the flu since last Friday. Or something like. I’m not sure I remember what it’s like to not feel nauseous. It’s been pretty hideous. Doesn’t seem to matter whether I eat or not, or what I eat – I just don’t feel good, and it’s wretched – I’m wretched. My mom used to refer to my sister and I as her “good” sickie and her “bad” sickie. I’ll let you guess which one I am…

If there was ever a doubt in my mind that body and soul in this life are somehow tied together, I think that’s been wiped out by this week. Monday was probably the worst of it, in terms of how far I felt from God. Since then, I know His presence has been with me – and honestly, I even knew it on Monday; I just didn’t feel it. But oh! was it hard to worship on Monday. It was a choice – which it always is – but I was very much aware of the choice I was making to worship God, as I really didn’t feel connected in any way, shape, or form. (And I’m supposed to be leading these people?!) I take that role pretty seriously, and even when I’m offstage and in the room, I try to model worship as best I can, because I know people are watching me. And it’s not for show – I don’t land face-down on the cold tile unless God sends me there – nor do I tend to be overly charismatic in general unless I feel led to go there – but I am, in general, aware that as a leader in my community, I am being watched. And so I try to teach worship – its spirit and mechanics – through what I do and say, both on and offstage.

This week was tough. I spent most of Monday night flopped on a couch at the back of the sanctuary, curled up in a ball, crying my eyes out, feeling far from God, and lifting my hands by choice to declare that I loved Him and would follow.

Follow. Even here. Even into sorrow that I can’t explain. Even into heart-sick pain for which I can’t find a logical source. The rest of the room was singing and shouting and clapping and joyfully expressing their love for God, and I was desperately whispering it through nausea and confusion, saying “I love you, God” even as I wondered if I really did…do.

And I do. I do love You, God – but I don’t understand why I’m here in this place I find myself in. This inexplicably dark and stressful, heartbroken place, where I’m not quite sure what to do. Or how to get out.

Being sick is certainly not helping. Working full-time all week and having rehearsal tonight in preparation for leading three services this weekend on top of being sick is also probably not helping. Worrying about money, the future, friendships that are changing, the auditions that did not go so well, and “getting it all done” is so not helping.

And so I will choose – again – to remember.

I will choose to remember
what You’ve done – and who You are – and who I am in You.

And I will read Psalm 77.
Again.

“I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me.”

And He did. Does. Will.