How Emptiness Sings, Christa Wells

I’ve abandoned writing here for ages. So I don’t know why I felt like depositing here this song I recently discovered and am now listening to again, late on this Sunday night.

Brother, he’s suffered like a tree taken down
Wept as he witnessed his dreams carved out
And how can a man just keep walking around
With his heart full of holes

But ooh,
His bow is on the strings
And the tune resonates in the open space
To show us how emptiness sings:

Glory to God, Glory to God!
In fullness of wisdom,
He writes my story into his song,
My life for the glory of God.
Hmm, hmmm

Sister carries her loneliness
In a hidden hollow inside her chest
And sometimes all that she wants is an end
To the long, long night

But ooh,
Her bow is on the strings,
And the tune resonates in the open space
To show us how emptiness sings:

Glory to God, Glory to God!
In fullness of wisdom,
He writes my story into his song,
My life for the glory of God.
Hmm, hmmm

I haven’t been asked yet to walk the hard roads
Still there’s a sense of deep loss in my soul
In the middle of a party, I’ll just want to go
Home.

But ooh,
My bow is on the strings,
I’m beginning to learn where to find the words
To the song that emptiness sings
Ooh, bow is on the strings:

Glory to God! Glory to God!
This is how emptiness sings, oh,
This is how emptiness sings

When I discover a new voice, a new song, music that moves me, I often think back on a talk I heard some 10+ years ago. Mike Reeves, I think, speaking about the Trinity, and music. The terrible thing is, I can’t remember exactly what he said. Only that when I heard it, I was incredibly awed by a sense of “This, this is why music does that to a person.”

These days with our toddler son are filled with music. He loves Super Simple Songs, Rain for Roots, Donut Man tunes from my own childhood… but a recent favourite is a random Chinese one I found on Youtube:  幸福的孩子爱唱歌. He asks for me to sing it frequently, while having lunch, on the bus, before a nap… often so that he can dance along, blow a “trumpet” with his fists, or strum his own arm (guitar). So much laughter! There are so many things I could write about, wish to record, as he grows. The explosion of language, his kindness to an often irritable mother, how each visit to the playground these days holds a new surprise for me (always having to swallow “be careful”s!) – “what, he can climb that now?”, “when did he start sliding down so quickly?”, etc… Then there’s the noisy inner jumble of thoughts about parenting, motherhood, marriage, family, work, discipleship, life… to sort through.

I feel a gnawing need to pause and reflect, journal and pray. But the need for sleep, the need to finish each day’s tasks, the need to catch up on this/that/another often win.

Here’s another from Christa Wells:

Being loved is a hard thing to take
It’s a hard thing to take
Being loved is a hard thing to take
I will try, I will try

I would like to show you
Something of my own two hands
I want to have earned it
I want to deserve this
Where is the sparrow in all the skies
That gained by merit its place in life
You are persistent and I wonder why
And how do I let you in

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