The Chapel Song

I went to kindergarten in a small private school.  My teacher was sweet and squishy and I don't remember her name, except I think it started with a B because she had earrings that had the letter B on them.

I also had my first crush.  His name was Taylor.  We met at the pencil sharpener every once in awhile.

We learned cursive (which was pretty fun) and I made the best lowercase "h" out of all of the class.  My teacher told my mom so.  I'm still pretty proud of that "h."

We had chapel every week.
I don't remember what day it was on.  Hey, I was in kindergarten.

Every time we had chapel, we sang the same song.
I thought it was just the chapel song... that it was some kind of ritual.
I thought it only took place in my chapel.  (It didn't by the way.)

I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice
To worship you, Oh my soul rejoice!
Take joy, my King, in what you hear
May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear

(This is all I remember from this song.  Evidently there are lots of other verses.  Who knew?!)

This morning I went to sit down during nap time, and I closed my eyes and tried to lift whatever lingers in your heart after you've been needed and pulled on and wanted and taken from.

And it rushed up out of somewhere, that chapel song.
My heart started to sing it ritually.
I got to the line with the "sweet, sweet sound part"...
And I sang out loud.
(Because my husband leads worship, I often get asked if I sing too.  I do sing, thank you.  
Um, no, I don't sing well.  But I do sing.)

Somehow, while looking around my messy house that I just. cleaned. yesterday. and singing the song that came every week for almost a year, over and over, it strikes me:
The repetition, it never ends.
Whether it be the cleaning or the singing or the choosing to praise or the petition that our lives make sweet sounds instead of discordant noises.
It's day by day, moment by moment, endless.

When it seems like whatever you just worked through comes back to haunt your heart, don't get weary.
When it seems like your pleas fall on deaf ears, don't stop singing.
When it seems like you're finally together, don't stop pressing forward into the exposing light.

The house, it gets messy again, even after deep cleaning.
My heart, it fails me.  Sometimes, the sound it makes is less-than-sweet.

But this morning, I will declare, ask, beg that somehow, by grace, I make a sweet sound to His ear.
And sometime today, I'll clean the house.  Again.

I'll do the same tomorrow.