What is worship that has not first endured days and nights of long suffering? I'm beginning to question if I really knew what I was talking about when I sang songs of worship before I saw testing. How did I know that God was faithful when I hadn't endured anything that would direly necessitate His conferred strength and grace? I hope this does not discourage any new believers to put off worship until they've been through something... but I hope it encourages believers not to shy away from pain, loneliness and drudgery when it comes. It's through times of terrible testing and long droughts where I feel like I am doing nothing for God that my song of worship finally begins to make sense. For how can I believe what I sing about God's grace being completely free, about how I don't-- can't-- earn God's favor when I've never been at the place where I know I am completely incapable of pleasing God with my efforts? What does it mean for me to thank God that He is always there when I've never known the overbearing loneliness of having no one else around?

I can't help but imagine that at one point I probably prayed for God to give me a song of praise like that of David. In fact, I have complained inwardly that my testimony was not dramatic enough... that it didn't fully embody the grace that God affords us. I'm beginning to realize that it's not just by redemption from flagrant and egregious sin; for that is only the beginning. There, I suppose the melody and lyrics are written. But the enduring power of the Spirit is given when the honeymoon fervor dies out... and my devotion is really tested for what it is. Can I endure at once long periods of what feels like my utter uselessness to God and His seeming absence? For any uselessness I had before might have been covered up by the passion which He so often endows at the initial homecoming of His newly adopted son. But now that is gone...and what's left but a child stricken with his ineptitude, and who looks around and sees his Father less and less? But the believer who makes it through trials such as this (for it isn't a singular occurrence in a believer's walk) is the one who knows what he sings about when he worships. For in that place of loneliness and despair, the believer realizes it is his inability to repay God in any way that makes the all-knowing love of Christ so much more divine, so much more beautiful, so impossibly supernatural and inescapably arresting.

The pain is so great, though, and quite honestly I don't want to deal with it any longer... yet one quote comes to mind, from The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew:

"My son, my son," said Aslan. "I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another."