Some songs keep singing long after the baton is back in its sleeve.
In one, my heart strains after more perfect service, and my lips silent form the morning’s plea.
In the other, the lyrics to my all-time favorite choral anthem run over and over; warm, fill.
I roll out of bed.
My thoughts merge on the 8th Psalm. I play the words of the incredulous poet over in my head.
What’s the word?
Neato (the iPad) comes into service. I memorized the 8th Psalm as a boy, but perhaps it was a different version.
Hey, were did my praise word go?
I switch to Strongs.
The word is Strength. The word is also Praise.
I squint at the screen, thinking, not seeing. My finger dances at the edge of discovery.
Strength and song go together.
Wait… Give Him strength? Make that praise.
I lean back in the futon, satisfied.
Praise is strength. Song is strength.
It “stills the enemy and the avenger.” (Ps. 8)
That’s perfect service.
Both trains of thought are satisfied.
To praise Him perfectly is to serve Him perfectly.