Mom: Dee, you need to go get your father.
Me: Now?
Mom: Yes. He’s at the car place. It seems as if your car wouldn’t start when he tried to start it this morning, so he went to the Napa place to get something to jump your battery. But he didn’t put your car in park when he left, so it rolled down the driveway by itself but it stopped just short of the ditch. And he set off the alarm.
Me: Umm. Okay…
Such was the beginning of my Monday. My dad’s plan was to take my car to a local mechanic to have it checked out. The check engine light had come on Saturday. Along the way, he had the above eventful episode. I slept through it all. And then I chuckled in horrific amusement when I heard what had happened. (Dad blames all of the “junk” around my gear shift for his not putting the car in park). And finally I chuckled in not-surprised amusement after the mechanic told me that my car was fixed but the check engine light came right back on while I was driving home. Thankfully, I won’t be doing my normal amount of driving over Christmas break. It sounds like my car needs a 273,454 mile break and then a specialist’s visit to follow.
While my car was at the local mechanic’s shop today, I enjoyed a dreary day at home. Because wrapping presents is close to the top of my list of things I most dislike to do, I had a productive day in my living quarters—doing many of the things that I’ve needed to do for months but not made time for—sorting junk mail, filing papers, writing notes, finding things lost. Procrastination is often a useful tool in cleaning; it just doesn’t help with the present wrapping. NCIS marathons are also useful for cleaning; and I hope that they will be useful for present wrapping after I finish this note tonight.
Speaking of presents…On my way to get my dad from the mechanic’s shop this morning, I saw that Percy-the-Dog’s family had put two cans of soda and one tin of cookies on top of their trashcan. At first, I thought, “That’s a weird place to leave trash.” Then I realized, “That’s not trash. They left a Christmas gift for the trash-men. What a great idea. What a loving idea. Maybe people should do that more often.” When I got home from retrieving my dad, I worked with both of my parents to become copycats and leave a small present for our trash-men.
When I went to pick up my car from the local mechanic, I saw a bag of sausage balls, a cheese tray, and some other finger foods that tend to show up at appreciation luncheons or celebrations. I thought to myself, “Someone wants her mechanic to know that he is appreciated.”
I don’t know about you, but I’d gag on a daily basis if I were a sanitation worker and my car would be very dead if I were left to do its repairs…therefore, I am genuinely grateful for sanitation workers and the work they do to keep our towns and streets clean and I am genuinely grateful for mechanics and the work they do to keep our transportation vehicles running. And yet, I rarely say thank you. Maybe I should say thank you more often…and not just on manic Mondays around Christmas.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
Add To The Beauty
A few years ago as I was preparing to lead a women’s retreat, I heard Sara Groves’ song “Add To The Beauty” and immediately knew that I would turn it into the retreat. I did. And the retreat was a success.
On Sunday night, I went to a Sara Groves’ concert in Raleigh. While there, I purchased her latest CD. While listening to that CD, I re-heard “Add To The Beauty.” When the song played this time, I immediately knew that I would turn its message into this year’s mass Christmas gift. [My mass Christmas gift is a gift that I give my coworkers since I cannot afford giving each one of them individual gifts.] I did. We’ll see if it was a success. I pray that it was. And I pray that its words will be a blessing now:
As teachers, we have the unique opportunity to add to the beauty of this world.
We hold the beautiful secret of belief.
We carry purpose on our hearts.
We come to every morning with possibility.
We know that redemption comes in strange places and small spaces.
We know that each new day calls out the best of who we are.
We believe in the value of community and the necessity of helping souls find their worth.
Just as growing a garden takes time,
Growing children takes the same:
Time, effort, patience, and pruning until something beautiful blossoms.
Thank you for the time that you give and the work you do to
add to the beauty of the school and this world.
Merry Christmas.
--adapted from Sara Groves’ song, “Add To The Beauty.”
On Sunday night, I went to a Sara Groves’ concert in Raleigh. While there, I purchased her latest CD. While listening to that CD, I re-heard “Add To The Beauty.” When the song played this time, I immediately knew that I would turn its message into this year’s mass Christmas gift. [My mass Christmas gift is a gift that I give my coworkers since I cannot afford giving each one of them individual gifts.] I did. We’ll see if it was a success. I pray that it was. And I pray that its words will be a blessing now:
As teachers, we have the unique opportunity to add to the beauty of this world.
We hold the beautiful secret of belief.
We carry purpose on our hearts.
We come to every morning with possibility.
We know that redemption comes in strange places and small spaces.
We know that each new day calls out the best of who we are.
We believe in the value of community and the necessity of helping souls find their worth.
Just as growing a garden takes time,
Growing children takes the same:
Time, effort, patience, and pruning until something beautiful blossoms.
Thank you for the time that you give and the work you do to
add to the beauty of the school and this world.
Merry Christmas.
--adapted from Sara Groves’ song, “Add To The Beauty.”
Monday, December 15, 2014
Regardless
Toward the beginning of the year, my dad read to me a statement that made a profound impact on my life: “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.” That one statement worked its way into my consciousness as a statement from God to me, from me to God, from me to myself, from me to those I love, and from me to those I struggle even to like. It became a prayer that I prayed over the people in my life—a mantra that I repeated until negative thoughts began to turn positive—until I was remembered that we’re all human and walking this journey together.
In May, after preaching a sermon based on the statement, I accidentally allowed it to slip to the back of my mind…Until last week when I was telling a coworker a story and suddenly, “I love you regardless of how you’re performing,” popped right back to the forefront of my thinking.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been praying that God would allow me to see people for who they really are instead of who I want or think them to be. Sometimes I want people to be more vulnerable than they are. Sometimes I think them to be more outgoing or friendly than they are. Sometimes I want people to be more capable than they are. Sometimes I think them to be less capable than they are. I don’t mean to do it. But sometimes I want people to be who they are not. Which is not fair to either me or them.
“I love you, (peoples), regardless of how well you’re performing, (I perceive you to be performing, or I want you to perform.)”…
On Wednesday night, I went to preschool choir rehearsal to practice the narration part that I’d been assigned. It was a bit chaotic. I left the rehearsal feeling a bit overwhelmed, wondering how Sunday’s worship service was going to flow with the preschoolers playing a huge role in worship leadership.
Interjection: I have no idea how people successfully work with more than one or two preschool children at a time! I admire preschool workers and know that I could not be an effective preschool leader for more than a few minutes. Preschoolers scare me!
Because I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I couldn’t muster the words to tell the children’s minister, Rebecca, that everything was going to be okay. I honestly didn’t know if everything was going to be okay, and I didn’t want to lie—although part of me knew that the look of exhaustion and concern on her face might be reason enough to lie—so I said nothing.
Fast forward to yesterday morning. As Rebecca was doing her final preparations for yesterday’s children-led worship service, she looked at me and said, “I told my mom the other night that I didn’t even get an ‘I believe in you’ from you on Wednesday night. And I really could have used that I believe in you.”
My response was, “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I didn’t believe in you. I always believe in you. I just wasn’t sure that I could believe in the preschooler’s program.”
“I love you, (friend), regardless of how well you (or your preschoolers) are performing.”
[Which, by the way, they performed—or worshipped—very well. It’s amazing what morning-time, a large congregation, a lot of prayer, age-appropriate content, and duct-taped picture place-cards will do for the kiddos.]…
God,
help me to see people for who they really are
instead of who I want them to be.
And help me daily to
remember, say, and believe,
in all its many forms,
I love you
Regardless of how well you’re performing,
until I truly believe it and live it
in all that I say and do.
Amen.
In May, after preaching a sermon based on the statement, I accidentally allowed it to slip to the back of my mind…Until last week when I was telling a coworker a story and suddenly, “I love you regardless of how you’re performing,” popped right back to the forefront of my thinking.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been praying that God would allow me to see people for who they really are instead of who I want or think them to be. Sometimes I want people to be more vulnerable than they are. Sometimes I think them to be more outgoing or friendly than they are. Sometimes I want people to be more capable than they are. Sometimes I think them to be less capable than they are. I don’t mean to do it. But sometimes I want people to be who they are not. Which is not fair to either me or them.
“I love you, (peoples), regardless of how well you’re performing, (I perceive you to be performing, or I want you to perform.)”…
On Wednesday night, I went to preschool choir rehearsal to practice the narration part that I’d been assigned. It was a bit chaotic. I left the rehearsal feeling a bit overwhelmed, wondering how Sunday’s worship service was going to flow with the preschoolers playing a huge role in worship leadership.
Interjection: I have no idea how people successfully work with more than one or two preschool children at a time! I admire preschool workers and know that I could not be an effective preschool leader for more than a few minutes. Preschoolers scare me!
Because I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I couldn’t muster the words to tell the children’s minister, Rebecca, that everything was going to be okay. I honestly didn’t know if everything was going to be okay, and I didn’t want to lie—although part of me knew that the look of exhaustion and concern on her face might be reason enough to lie—so I said nothing.
Fast forward to yesterday morning. As Rebecca was doing her final preparations for yesterday’s children-led worship service, she looked at me and said, “I told my mom the other night that I didn’t even get an ‘I believe in you’ from you on Wednesday night. And I really could have used that I believe in you.”
My response was, “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I didn’t believe in you. I always believe in you. I just wasn’t sure that I could believe in the preschooler’s program.”
“I love you, (friend), regardless of how well you (or your preschoolers) are performing.”
[Which, by the way, they performed—or worshipped—very well. It’s amazing what morning-time, a large congregation, a lot of prayer, age-appropriate content, and duct-taped picture place-cards will do for the kiddos.]…
God,
help me to see people for who they really are
instead of who I want them to be.
And help me daily to
remember, say, and believe,
in all its many forms,
I love you
Regardless of how well you’re performing,
until I truly believe it and live it
in all that I say and do.
Amen.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
That's Alright
I went to my nephew’s first home basketball game today. He’s one of the few seventh graders on the team. I’m not proud or anything.
The bleachers were crowded. My family and I sat in the only seats we could find, uncertain as to whether we were on the home or visitor’s side. We were on the visitor’s side.
As the man beside me became increasingly angry at the referees for what he deemed unfair calling, I became increasingly uncomfortable in my seat. I wanted the game to be over. Or else I wanted to be surrounded by like-minded fans.
Like-minded fans make tense situations feel a bit less intense.
But I stayed on enemy turf and listened to the man’s yelling—which I suppose wasn’t even that bad in the scheme of things—and I thought to myself, “Competitive sporting events give people permission to yell out their anger in a socially acceptable way. Maybe that’s what they’re good for. Because they’re certainly not good for nerves.”
And then I looked at the cheerleaders and chuckled. The head cheerleader would give a command and all the rest of the cheerleaders would chime in. Loud. In rhythm. Extremely positive.
My favorite of the cheers was the free throw cheer. After some positive words that I never quite understood, the cheerleaders would hold their hands up—one over their heads, one in line with their wastes—and do jazz hands until the free throw was released. If the ball went in the hoop, they’d chant a celebration. If the ball missed—which it did more often than not—they’d respond, “That’s alright.” Loud. In rhythm. Extremely positive.
I thought to myself, “Maybe we each need a group of cheerleaders to follow us around and affirm, ‘That’s alright,’ when we mess up.” Spilled coffee? That’s alright. Misplaced keys? That’s alright. Exploding moment of frustration? That’s alright. Really bad lesson? That’s alright.
Or if it’s not alright now,
Then it will be…
Even in enemy territory.
The bleachers were crowded. My family and I sat in the only seats we could find, uncertain as to whether we were on the home or visitor’s side. We were on the visitor’s side.
As the man beside me became increasingly angry at the referees for what he deemed unfair calling, I became increasingly uncomfortable in my seat. I wanted the game to be over. Or else I wanted to be surrounded by like-minded fans.
Like-minded fans make tense situations feel a bit less intense.
But I stayed on enemy turf and listened to the man’s yelling—which I suppose wasn’t even that bad in the scheme of things—and I thought to myself, “Competitive sporting events give people permission to yell out their anger in a socially acceptable way. Maybe that’s what they’re good for. Because they’re certainly not good for nerves.”
And then I looked at the cheerleaders and chuckled. The head cheerleader would give a command and all the rest of the cheerleaders would chime in. Loud. In rhythm. Extremely positive.
My favorite of the cheers was the free throw cheer. After some positive words that I never quite understood, the cheerleaders would hold their hands up—one over their heads, one in line with their wastes—and do jazz hands until the free throw was released. If the ball went in the hoop, they’d chant a celebration. If the ball missed—which it did more often than not—they’d respond, “That’s alright.” Loud. In rhythm. Extremely positive.
I thought to myself, “Maybe we each need a group of cheerleaders to follow us around and affirm, ‘That’s alright,’ when we mess up.” Spilled coffee? That’s alright. Misplaced keys? That’s alright. Exploding moment of frustration? That’s alright. Really bad lesson? That’s alright.
Or if it’s not alright now,
Then it will be…
Even in enemy territory.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Yes, I Have Faith In You
Yesterday was our annual Christmas cantata at church. The choir and I had been preparing for the morning’s service for the past couple of months and we’d been praying that the hour would be a meaningful worship experience for everyone involved.
Some songs were more difficult than others. Some motifs were quite challenging. Some beginnings were sloppy. Some endings were rough. The cantata was far from perfect. The choir was a bit worried about their ability to pull it off. And yet…I was never concerned.
As I held the door for my choir to enter the sanctuary yesterday—yes, I called them my choir because I love them—I smiled at them and offered words of encouragement. As one of my men walked by, he said something about hoping that they did okay.
I said, “You will. I have no doubt.”
He said, “You sure do have a lot more faith in us than we do in ourselves.”
“Yes, I do,” I thought. “Yes, yes I do.”
One of my friends once told me that even I knew there wasn’t a God, then I’d believe in God anyway.
Another friend once told me that I wear my heart on my sleeve and everything I own.
Both of those statements are very true.
And my choir member just added another one: I sure do have a lot more faith in people than they do in themselves.
On my tombstone or whatever else is put in place to remember my life, I want some variation of the phrase, “I believe in you,” written near my name—because if nothing else in this life, I believe in the good in people. I don’t live life with blinders. I know that there is a lot of evil in this world and that each of us battles our own demons. And I know that sometimes I struggle to believe in the good of some people. But the deeper the humanity that is seeking to grow, the more beautiful I find the person as he/she is being redeemed…and I am daily being redeemed as well.
So, yes, dear choir, I do probably have more faith in you than you have in yourselves…and the same goes for you, too, dear readers.
And for the record: Just as I predicted, the cantata was great.
Some songs were more difficult than others. Some motifs were quite challenging. Some beginnings were sloppy. Some endings were rough. The cantata was far from perfect. The choir was a bit worried about their ability to pull it off. And yet…I was never concerned.
As I held the door for my choir to enter the sanctuary yesterday—yes, I called them my choir because I love them—I smiled at them and offered words of encouragement. As one of my men walked by, he said something about hoping that they did okay.
I said, “You will. I have no doubt.”
He said, “You sure do have a lot more faith in us than we do in ourselves.”
“Yes, I do,” I thought. “Yes, yes I do.”
One of my friends once told me that even I knew there wasn’t a God, then I’d believe in God anyway.
Another friend once told me that I wear my heart on my sleeve and everything I own.
Both of those statements are very true.
And my choir member just added another one: I sure do have a lot more faith in people than they do in themselves.
On my tombstone or whatever else is put in place to remember my life, I want some variation of the phrase, “I believe in you,” written near my name—because if nothing else in this life, I believe in the good in people. I don’t live life with blinders. I know that there is a lot of evil in this world and that each of us battles our own demons. And I know that sometimes I struggle to believe in the good of some people. But the deeper the humanity that is seeking to grow, the more beautiful I find the person as he/she is being redeemed…and I am daily being redeemed as well.
So, yes, dear choir, I do probably have more faith in you than you have in yourselves…and the same goes for you, too, dear readers.
And for the record: Just as I predicted, the cantata was great.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Defining Moments: That Which We Cannot Control
I knew I was in trouble when I caught myself thinking, “I want to go to church tomorrow. I don’t want to miss the pastor’s sermon.”
Confession: Sometimes minister’s kids and/or ministers themselves—or at least this one—find themselves at church more out of obligation, expectation, or guilt than true desire. After working in full-time ministry in SC for a couple of years, I found myself somewhat burned out on church—or at least the Baptist church—and I was quietly determined to spend my Sundays elsewhere.
Then Patrick showed up. And more than once his words moved me to tears. And more than once I came home from church feeling as if God had spoken directly to me. And more than once I was curious to know what he would say next…until, all of a sudden, though I guess it wasn’t so sudden at all, I caught myself wanting to go to church—looking forward to it even—and I realized that my plan to jump Baptist ship had been sunk.
During Sunday’s sermon, Patrick presented the idea that fear comes from that which we cannot control. As such, the older we get and the more we realize just how much we are not in control, the more fear seems to paralyze us.
I’ve been thinking about that idea all week.
And I wanted to write it down tonight.
And I needed to further confess that while there is much that I fear in life,
I am learning to say,
Just as Mary once said,
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord;
let it be with me according to your word...”
Even if it means that I’m not in control.
Confession: Sometimes minister’s kids and/or ministers themselves—or at least this one—find themselves at church more out of obligation, expectation, or guilt than true desire. After working in full-time ministry in SC for a couple of years, I found myself somewhat burned out on church—or at least the Baptist church—and I was quietly determined to spend my Sundays elsewhere.
Then Patrick showed up. And more than once his words moved me to tears. And more than once I came home from church feeling as if God had spoken directly to me. And more than once I was curious to know what he would say next…until, all of a sudden, though I guess it wasn’t so sudden at all, I caught myself wanting to go to church—looking forward to it even—and I realized that my plan to jump Baptist ship had been sunk.
During Sunday’s sermon, Patrick presented the idea that fear comes from that which we cannot control. As such, the older we get and the more we realize just how much we are not in control, the more fear seems to paralyze us.
I’ve been thinking about that idea all week.
And I wanted to write it down tonight.
And I needed to further confess that while there is much that I fear in life,
I am learning to say,
Just as Mary once said,
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord;
let it be with me according to your word...”
Even if it means that I’m not in control.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Defining Moments: Maybe I'm Wrong
The weeks leading up to spring break of my junior year were not very pleasant. The fact that I remember those weeks seventeen and a half years later goes to show just how miserable they were.
I was blessed to be a NC Teaching Fellow and I was blessed to be in the Meredith Chorale, but I was not blessed that both organizations demanded my attention over spring break. I needed both to observe in a school system for a week and to go on tour with chorale for part of the week. The next-to-last stop on tour was in the county where I wanted to do my observations, so it seemed to me that I should be able to miss the final night of tour to complete my scholarship’s requirement. I was wrong.
“When you joined chorale,” my chorale director said, “you made an obligation to be a full and active part of the group. The group depends on you for every performance, so you need to be there for every performance.” And no matter how much I reasoned with her. No matter what my Teaching Fellows Director said. No matter how frustrated I became or how many tears I cried, my chorale director would not budge in her stance: I had to be at all performances on tour or else my grade would suffer. And she knew that I wouldn’t let my grade suffer.
I was not a happy chorale member on that tour. I felt disrespected, unappreciated, and uncared for by someone whom I deeply respected and those feelings colored my attitude about the whole trip. I guess maybe that’s why I don’t remember a lot of the trip—just the night that I’d wanted to leave and the beautiful church in which we were singing in Asheville—and the night that I had one of the biggest realizations of my life…
Fast forward to just before my senior year. When thinking about going to my student teaching placement, I felt sick. I’d worked with a middle school band director the year before, and I was scheduled to work with her for my student teaching placement, but I hated it. I hated it to the point that I thought maybe I’d chosen the wrong career. As I hoped that maybe it was the band director and her teaching style that I didn’t like and as I tried to figure out a way to switch schools without hurting the director’s feelings, my mom said, “Have you ever considered teaching elementary music, Dee?” Then that realization of a few months before came right back…
Sometimes I am just plain wrong.
Not just an I’ve made an error in my checkbook wrong. Or an I’ve misspoken a fact or mispronounced a name wrong. But a way-deep-down-in-the-core-of-my-being-albeit-with-really-good-intentions wrong.
It’s a wrong that comes from realizing that I’ve been so focused on what I think is right that I can’t step back and see the bigger picture of what is best.
I was so totally focused on doing my Teaching Fellows observation during spring break that I couldn’t see another way. I was so totally focused on being a band director in the public schools that I couldn’t see another way.
Yet my professor forced me to step back and see another way. And my mom’s simple question gently nudged me to do the same.
So because I didn’t do my Teaching Fellows observation during spring break, I got to spend a week with my sister before going to the mountains to do summer missions that summer. And because I didn’t stick with band, I got to do my student teaching with a woman who helped me realize that everything in my life had been pointing not to band but to general elementary music.
Sometimes, dear friends, when everything seems frustratingly hopeless, maybe we are wrong. Not deliberately or intentionally or even stubbornly. But narrowly and exhaustingly. So sometimes, dear friends, maybe we need to step back and reexamine things with a fresh set of eyes and ears.
Will it always be that easy? Of course not. But may it sometimes be? Maybe. Because sometimes, maybe we are wrong. And sometimes maybe just admitting that fact is the first step toward making things right.
So many thoughts inside my mind
So many doubts inside my heart
I want to believe
But I don't understand your plan
I ask but it's not given to me
I seek but I do not find
The answer that I'm looking for
Must be behind the closed door
With my heart's desire
But maybe I'm wrong
Maybe I'm looking at the wrong door
Maybe I'm wrong
Maybe your will is not mine
So not my will but yours be done
I'm laying my life down on the line
The weight of the world has paralyzed me
So Lord I give it to you
There's nothing more I can do
Lord take my life from me
I'm down on bended knee
Oh Lord
I was blessed to be a NC Teaching Fellow and I was blessed to be in the Meredith Chorale, but I was not blessed that both organizations demanded my attention over spring break. I needed both to observe in a school system for a week and to go on tour with chorale for part of the week. The next-to-last stop on tour was in the county where I wanted to do my observations, so it seemed to me that I should be able to miss the final night of tour to complete my scholarship’s requirement. I was wrong.
“When you joined chorale,” my chorale director said, “you made an obligation to be a full and active part of the group. The group depends on you for every performance, so you need to be there for every performance.” And no matter how much I reasoned with her. No matter what my Teaching Fellows Director said. No matter how frustrated I became or how many tears I cried, my chorale director would not budge in her stance: I had to be at all performances on tour or else my grade would suffer. And she knew that I wouldn’t let my grade suffer.
I was not a happy chorale member on that tour. I felt disrespected, unappreciated, and uncared for by someone whom I deeply respected and those feelings colored my attitude about the whole trip. I guess maybe that’s why I don’t remember a lot of the trip—just the night that I’d wanted to leave and the beautiful church in which we were singing in Asheville—and the night that I had one of the biggest realizations of my life…
Fast forward to just before my senior year. When thinking about going to my student teaching placement, I felt sick. I’d worked with a middle school band director the year before, and I was scheduled to work with her for my student teaching placement, but I hated it. I hated it to the point that I thought maybe I’d chosen the wrong career. As I hoped that maybe it was the band director and her teaching style that I didn’t like and as I tried to figure out a way to switch schools without hurting the director’s feelings, my mom said, “Have you ever considered teaching elementary music, Dee?” Then that realization of a few months before came right back…
Sometimes I am just plain wrong.
Not just an I’ve made an error in my checkbook wrong. Or an I’ve misspoken a fact or mispronounced a name wrong. But a way-deep-down-in-the-core-of-my-being-albeit-with-really-good-intentions wrong.
It’s a wrong that comes from realizing that I’ve been so focused on what I think is right that I can’t step back and see the bigger picture of what is best.
I was so totally focused on doing my Teaching Fellows observation during spring break that I couldn’t see another way. I was so totally focused on being a band director in the public schools that I couldn’t see another way.
Yet my professor forced me to step back and see another way. And my mom’s simple question gently nudged me to do the same.
So because I didn’t do my Teaching Fellows observation during spring break, I got to spend a week with my sister before going to the mountains to do summer missions that summer. And because I didn’t stick with band, I got to do my student teaching with a woman who helped me realize that everything in my life had been pointing not to band but to general elementary music.
Sometimes, dear friends, when everything seems frustratingly hopeless, maybe we are wrong. Not deliberately or intentionally or even stubbornly. But narrowly and exhaustingly. So sometimes, dear friends, maybe we need to step back and reexamine things with a fresh set of eyes and ears.
Will it always be that easy? Of course not. But may it sometimes be? Maybe. Because sometimes, maybe we are wrong. And sometimes maybe just admitting that fact is the first step toward making things right.
So many thoughts inside my mind
So many doubts inside my heart
I want to believe
But I don't understand your plan
I ask but it's not given to me
I seek but I do not find
The answer that I'm looking for
Must be behind the closed door
With my heart's desire
But maybe I'm wrong
Maybe I'm looking at the wrong door
Maybe I'm wrong
Maybe your will is not mine
So not my will but yours be done
I'm laying my life down on the line
The weight of the world has paralyzed me
So Lord I give it to you
There's nothing more I can do
Lord take my life from me
I'm down on bended knee
Oh Lord
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