This month, I’m writing to you from one of my favorite places—my back porch, which is snuggled into a green hillside in Tennessee. Bright threads of sunlight keep looping through the silver clouds above me. A cool breeze pushes through the trees every now and then. There isn’t much traffic or noise. Today seemed like a perfect back-porch kind of day, so my brother, Chase, and I made coffee milkshakes and came out here to hang out. While I’m writing to you, Chase (who says hello) is tuning his guitar. Just between us, I’ve been getting a little choked up lately whenever I hear him play. If he knew I told you that, he’d roll his eyes, but it’s true.
A few weeks ago, Chase and I were in a car accident. One minute we were on our way to rent a movie. The next, we were being loaded into an ambulance. My injuries weren’t serious, but my brother’s were. I’ll never forget the way he looked in the emergency room. His broken arm was in some strange contraption, spread out like a spider web. His leg was elevated and braced; broken in four places. He was asleep (thank goodness), but I had one of those uncanny big sister moments when I wished there was a way to trade places with him, or hug him and make all the pain go away, or go through the months of therapy he’d go through. From that moment to this one, I’m overwhelmed with thankfulness my brother is alive.
Post-wreck, Chase’s life has changed quite a bit. The great internship he received had to be postponed. His classes were pushed to this summer. Instead of putting his energy into studying for his finals, he’s concentrating on physical therapy. I knew it would take months for his broken bones to heal. I wondered how long it would take for his heart to rebound from that kind of disappointment. This circumstance was completely unexpected and unplanned. I think some people, maybe even the person writing to you, would wallow around in defeat for a while or have a giant cry fest and ask “why me” over and over.
But Chase is different.
Today, I’m watching him take the brace off his wrist. I can see his fingers tremble when he presses them against the strings of his guitar.
Then little by little, under a cloudy sky, in a season we never saw coming, a beautiful and familiar worship song emerges.
A Song in the Dark
Imagine sitting in the dark caverns of a prison—a prison you’ve been in for years. It’s almost midnight, and usually at this time of night there are only a few noises you hear: the clinking of someone’s chains when he readjusts in the darkness. The sound of water drip-drip-dripping in the corner. The sound of a rat scurrying across the hard ground. On this random night, you hear something unexpected break the inky silence: you hear singing. And the singing you hear is coming from a most unlikely source: Paul and Silas, two fellow prisoners who just spent most of the day being tortured.
Things started out great for these guys. On sailboats, on the beach and throughout the villages, they preached beautiful messages about the love of God. People responded in mass numbers. Then, rather suddenly, they were arrested, tortured and thrown in jail.
Know what I love about Paul and Silas? They really lived the kind of life they preached. When Paul said he’d learned to be content and lean on God in every situation (Philippians 4:11-12), he wasn’t just stringing together pretty words. He really lived that way. Acts 16 is proof: Instead of wallowing in defeat, or having a giant cry fest, he and Silas started to sing and pray.
Those prayers and hymns threaded the deafening darkness, and according to Acts, the other prisoners were all ears. Imagine hearing about hope in a place so hopeless. Imagine hearing the way Paul and Silas spoke to their Lord and knowing maybe you too could have a relationship with Him.
They didn’t give some flashy rock opera performance or dazzling sermon. They just sang and prayed. The Bible says an earthquake ripped through the jail’s foundations after that. The doors flew open, and everybody’s chains came loose (verse 26). Not only did God not leave them during their imprisonment; He actually used the situation to minister to the jailer, who became a believer (Acts 16:29-31).
I think when we’re in one of those bizarre situations we never saw coming, praising Him with shaky voices, playing guitars with trembling fingers, praying and singing and asking questions (which is OK—He’s big enough for the questions), people are very likely to notice. Like Paul and Silas, we live the hope we always talk about. God is beside us in the darkness, and He’s working the situation out for our good. That kind of love is worth singing about.
My life; My Love Song
The music stops for a second, and my brother stretches out his hand. I can see the new scar trailing down his forearm. I tell him it looks cool, like a fret board on a guitar, and he laughs. He didn’t see this situation coming, but he’s rolling with it. He’s hopping around on a walker these days, still making funny jokes and still trusting God’s timing. In the past few months, I’ve seen my brother live out the hope he believes. His life is a love song back to his God, and it’s a song that makes the people around him want what he has.
Don’t lose heart through the unexpected. Even in the darkness, let the song in your heart, the worship anthem of your crazy beautiful life, rock the world.
