This will be my worship.

Someone once said that to write well you have to write what you know. Well, this is what I know… 

Sometimes worship comes through gritted teeth and crying eyes, through tired breath and legs that shake as they stand. It’s not the care-free dance or the light-hearted shout, it’s the power of a mind deciding to overcome its desire to shrink back.

Sometimes there’s no atmosphere, no feeling-like-it, no softened emotions. Just a slow and steady determination rising in you, telling you that it’s time to get off the floor. It’s time to stand again.

In spite of everything.

It’s a choice, to move beyond our short-comings, our brokenness, our un-healed parts, to move beyond the shame and confusion and to stand in a different place—if just for a moment.

A moment when your present realities defiantly collide with the truth and hope of heaven, and although perhaps you don’t feel it, something deep in your bones knows it—and desperately longs to know it more.

And so you press in.

Sometimes it comes from the rawest, most beautiful parts of you; the real, authentic, aching parts that battle to both stay hidden and rise for air in equal measure, it’s the war that wages within you.

It’s the intimacy of a dialogue you cannot articulate and the closeness of a small, quiet room with nothing and no one else standing between you.

It’s the courage it takes to stare pain and hurt in the face and cling to a different story, a new reality.

It’s real. It’s gritty.

Completely and utterly unguarded and vulnerable.

It’s beautiful.

It is most definitely beautiful.

It’s true that we sometimes worship on the mountain top, in the bright blue skies, open spaces and with the sweet breath of cool fresh air.

But not today.

Today tells a different story.

Today is a day to be still, to sit in it and be wholly and completely present. To allow yourself to feel it—really feel it—although it hurts. To stay put, rather than to run away, and to let worship be the heart-wrenching cry of something deeper within.

Let it be.

It is a beautiful mystery—this road we each walk down. The sorrow, the joy, the laughter, the tears…those hands that are holding yours.

These moments will leave a legacy, of that I’m certain. A sweetness of some sorts that you can’t at first imagine; a deeper connection, a truer trust, and a stronger, more beautiful you.

And so we press in.

We don’t rush on, although we want to.

We don’t leave this place before it’s time.

We just stand here, right in the midst of it, leaving tomorrow until the dawn rises, holding just enough in our hands for today.

Because enough is all we need.

And so a different song rises up in us, a mixture of major and minor keys clashing together, seemingly making no sense.

To most it sounds like a mess, like unordered chaos…but I know the depths from which this tune is playing and I know the heights to which it rises.

It has purpose.

And so we press in.

Because today—with all that is within me—this will be my worship.


Photo Credit: Corey Holms

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