Clinging.

Rough day. I don't know if cold/flu season is finally catching up with me or if my allergies are responsible, but I'm running on fumes tonight. Throw in a little dinner table drama, and I was ready to bury myself under a toasty blanket right after supper. This was one of the rare Wednesday nights that I headed to church more out of obligation than choice. But I knew Sunday's program wasn't going to build itself, and it's awfully nice to run through (and project) the songs for the praise team practice. So off I went.

Before I even made it to the building, I was glad I had ventured out. As I crested one hill and looked west, I saw this:


Katie said it was like a horizontal waterfall.

In the sound booth, Katie helped by getting the mics all battery-ed up while I prepped the Sunday songs. Still feeling yucky, I continued to question my presence in the booth. Then we started to sing.

Recent news stories have forced me to once again face the randomness of life. You can do everything right, but evil can still get you. It feels like the grief and anger are winning. I know today's glass-half-empty outlook has a lot to do with  my current inability to breathe through my nose, but it's unsettling, this vertigo that comes from realizing (again) what a topsy-turvy world we live in.

So how glad am I that I was in that booth tonight, that even though I couldn't sing, I could still hear the words I needed:

"You alone are my strength, my shield."

"And we cry holy, holy, holy is the Lamb."

"Let Your glory fill the earth."

"And though the storms may come, I am holding on, and to the Rock I cling."

"Your name alone has power to raise us. Your light will shine when all else fades."

Thank You, Father, for being our Rock, for comforting us when we're sick, for carrying us through this crazy world, for promising us a better life.

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