He sings off key, he would never admit it but he does, and the girls and I glance at each other and giggle when he gets to the chorus. He is a confident man, I wish I had a dose of it to share with you all, it’s a gift really…to think you are good at well, everything and yet still remain a humble human being.
He works hard, day in and day out and on Sunday that alarm still goes off well before the sun has peeked over the mountain. He leads us well…by serving. We want to be near him, the strong man who sings slightly out of tune.
He’s the traditional type but he knows his wife connects with the Holy Spirit best when loud electric guitars and a solid set of drums are pounding out the Gospel. So he gives up his staccato How Great Thou Art for the free spirit who needs to take off her shoes to feel the Holy Ground while she sways to the beat of band.
Mostly, he likes it. To him God isn’t so much a *feeling* but a fact, a Truth that Is. The music doesn’t so much take him anywhere...funny how two worshipers of the same God can tick so differently. He patiently waits for the sermon and to me, by the time the preaching has begun my heart is already full.
It was a Sunday like all the others, the lights dimmed and the worship leader, began by reading his Bible from an iphone, the other hand making the beginnings of a song and I stood to my feet and closed my eyes…
He leaned over and whispered “Allison he’s here.” I opened my eyes and replied “Who Chad? Who’s here? Jesus? I know.” He laughed and said “The drummer... My drummer. Watch him during the song. I promise you won’t regret it.” I agreed by nodding my head and keeping my eyes open, which is a huge risk for me because I am distracted so easily.
I watched as this young brown shaggy haired boy effortlessly ruled those drums. His arms did their own thing while his body was fully engaged in something that can only be described as his private worship to his living,listening God… His head would throw back at just the right time and he was leading my tired man into the presence of Jesus Christ by his unique and authentic instrumental praise.
He compelled our feet to start tapping and before I knew what was going on my husband was singing, loudly…in public.
The girls leaned over to see their quiet father lose himself with this "leader behind the drums." I didn’t want the song to end, but it did and we were called to a time of prayer. I remember thanking God for creating us all so differently and then laughing at the wonder of a man in a business suit feeling so connected to this drummer boy in a plaid shirt with jeans.
Only You Jesus. Only You.
I grew quite fond of this drummer who transformed my man on Sunday mornings. He wasn’t there every week which was probably a blessing in disguise for the innocent bystanders witnessing our jam.
I would get a nudge; an elbow to the ribs, when he was there…it was my cue to worship with my eyes open. To fully engage. What a treat. What a gift. What an experience I think will be close to what worshiping in Heaven must be like.
I never thanked him. I wanted too; it crossed my mind more than a dozen times. And now, it’s too late. Our drummer boy, who we found out was named Wade, tragically went home to be with Jesus this week. I sobbed. Selfishly weeping. Grief grips us all the same, fingers around the throat. Jesus I asked you for a miracle...I believed You would give us one. Your will not ours was done, and now the suffering for those left behind.
You lead me right up to The Throne of Jesus Christ, to the Holy place I couldn’t find on my own. You found a way to free my husband’s hands from his pockets and clap to the rhythm you provided him with your sticks on the cymbal. You allowed us to come with you on your journey of worship from the first note to the last. Thank you for not hiding your talent. Thank you for sharing your gifts. How robbed we all feel that you went home before we thought it was time…how sorry I am for not expressing my gratitude when I had the chance. When I get to heaven, will you lead us again? Will you play for your Father and can I watch? In the waiting, when I hear the drums…I will whisper a prayer of thanksgiving and another pleading comfort for your bride.
Christ Alone, Cornerstone…