Where His Grace Begins (And Where I Get Crazy Brave and Share a Song With You)

It was eleven o’clock at night. My husband was at work. My son was still awake, and since my daughter and son shared a room, my daughter was also awake.

It was one of those tough momma nights. You know how when the gas meter in your car gets right to that empty line and then starts to dip just below the line, and you start getting super spiritual about your gas level and praying you have enough to get the station??  Yeah, that’s exactly where my energy level was on that night. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired, and worried that at any given moment, I might just completely give out.

My son wouldn’t go to sleep. I mean, he downright refused. He wasn't subtly refusing to sleep by reading stories in his bed or talking to his stuffed animals. No, he was outrightly and demonstratively refusing to sleep. With the will of a warrior, he had battled me for a good two hours. I had tried everything. Calm words, loud words, bribery, coercion… I reached for any and all parenting wisdom I had ever read or been offered.  Jed just refused to bend.

Finally, after sputtering words that were jagged at the edges from a heart that seemed to be breaking, I did the only thing I had left to do. I cried.

I felt desperate, like a complete failure. I was sure I was a terrible mom. For a half-minute I sat slumped in the hallway, defeated, hoping against hope that somehow if I just sat there and did nothing, my two year old would put himself in his bed, calm himself down, and go to sleep […and all the mommas laugh at how realistic that is]. I glanced up and saw my guitar tucked between the end of my cabinet and the wall. My thumb felt the ends of my fingers, remembering where my callouses once were—the way my fingertips used to feel tough and almost numb. I hadn’t played in months—no, it had been years.

Somehow, I had let myself forget how much I loved to play, how that in the space between my two hands turning out rhythm and sound on the guitar, my soul could breathe. I had forgotten how to worship, and I am not just talking about music.

At that moment, my son was crying. The edges of my frail momma-sanity were frayed. It was almost midnight. But I picked up that guitar and began to play.

Salve to my soul and sand on my children’s eyelids.

I was a desperate mom, a desperate woman, and the picking up of that guitar was my white flag. As I played, I began to let go, let the words form, made the cry of this momma heart known.
And God met me there.  

Because even though it is so damaging to our pride to be desperate, when we reach out, God always reaches back. It's that place where you feel clueless and like a complete failure that you find just how sufficient God's Grace is. And it.is.sufficient.  

I was worshiping in the hallway, pressing my fingertips into the fretboard. It took pressing in and pressing through, but worship created a sacred space--a healing place--a callous between life's struggles and my heart's deepest longing to know God.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something like restoration. Also, I slept good that night. :)

I wanted to share the song that came out of that moment…

But before I share it with you, can I just tell you that I have no desire to perform for you (not to mention the fact that I am not a professional youtuber, singer, song-writer or guitar player)? Could we just say that this is me inviting you, friend, into my living room to worship with me? I remember being in college, the zeal for the Lord, and how me and my friends would grab our guitars, shakers, and just worship--talent optional. We had no audience other than the God we sought to bring delight to. Could this be something like that? 

(Lyrics are below the video.)
(If you are reading from your email box, you can click here to see the video.)

Where Your Grace Begins

Verse 1

I think I know what it’s like to be the woman pushing through the crowd

Deep issues have haunted for years, and I just want to be found

I think I know what it’s like to be Zacchaeus climbing a tree

Drowning in vices but nothing seems to satisfy me

Chorus

It’s called desperate, it’s called empty

It’s called I’ve reached the end of me

It’s called broken, it’s called messy

It’s called I need You to find me (It’s called You are all that I need)

It’s called desperate (I’m desperate for You)

Verse 2

I think I know what it’s like to be Mary sitting at Your feet

One million things to do, but only thing I need

Bridge

When I reach out, You reach back

And I find myself undone

I’d do anything, make a fool out of me

Just for a touch from Your Son

I’m finding that where my sufficiency ends

That’s where Your Grace begins

Let Your Grace begin

Whew. We can do brave things together. (Because, like seriously, putting that out there... pretty scary stuff.)


I don't want to miss the opportunity to ask (and I'd love to know), have you ever felt that desperate? How do you worship in those really tough moments?


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers