I left work early that day, my world was spinning. My heart was in anguish, feeling as if it would burst at any moment. And once I arrived home, I was completely undone. Weeping. It seemed like suddenly all the light had gone out of the world. Out of my world.
Sin and death.
Like two arrows shot straight into my heart. Within one hour that morning.
First arrow, Sin. I was cut deeply by sin, the sin of someone I loved.
Second arrow, Death. A dear friend had passed away, leaving her husband, and three kids. Alone.
Sin and death. All at once, I could feel their power. Taste the bitter. And that night as it grew dark outside, it grew dark inside…me. It felt that night like Satan won.
Like he would always win.
Crushed and broken, I sat at the old piano, with no words, watching the neat black and white keys blur with my tears.
Have you ever had one of these moments? When your world suddenly flickers black?
When tears run dry, and strength wears thin,
No hope of going on again,
When hands are fragile, thin, and weak,
No words are left to even speak?
There are nights in this life that are simply dark.
When I was a little girl, I was afraid to go upstairs in our house because…it was dark. So my mom taught me to sing. To sing in the dark.
I’d run upstairs belting out Jesus, Loves Me and flipping on light switches as I’d go…and Mom was right. It did make me feel better. Braver.
And there at the piano, that night, in the dark and death and despair, I somehow remembered. To do it again.
The words were choked out, and awkward.
A song we sing at church, “You Are Good,” a lively, up-beat song—but that night it came out very slow. My voice cracked with pain. Stopping every few words, choked with the weight of it.
I sing, because You are good
I dance, because You are good
I shout, because You are good
You are good to me
And in my darkest night,
You shine as bright as day
Your love amazes me
But as I worshipped in my weakness and pain, something incredible happened. The Light began to appear. Like a soft candle in a dark room, growing steadily brighter. Jesus Christ, the Light of the whole world. In whom, there is no darkness at all. (1 John 1:5)
I tremble as I write this, but it is true: God is worthy of our worship—even when the darkness comes. And before it leaves. And often, our worship of Him is the very thing that leads us out of the darkness. We take our eyes off our pain, hardship, questions, conflicts, confusion, and put them on Jesus. We do the very thing we were born to do: worship our God.
Singing is powerful. Worship is warfare between darkness and light. It’s not just emotional. It’s not about the “warm fuzzy feeling” that music can induce. We feel better when we sing because the Light of the World actually enters into the room. He enlightens the darkness. He takes us by the hand. He makes us brave.
Whatever your situation, however dark, or grim; however complicated your relationships, or frustrated your efforts—invite the Light into it. Invite Jesus to come into the picture. He will.
The Day is drawing near, when He will stand again on the earth. With a sword upon His side. You with your own eyes will see him. (Job 19:27) And ‘He will wipe every tear from [your] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelations 21:4) He Himself will bind up and heal every wound. Every wound. And for every tear of pain, will flow ten thousand tears of joy. For He is making everything new.
And we will sing a new song that day,
“Where O death, is your victory? Where O death, is your sting?” For Death has been swallowed up in victory. (1 Corinthians 15:55, 54b)
Sing, Daughter of Zion.
Sing, because of Your God.
Even in the dark.
For your Light is coming.