I Long To Complete the Song

I Long To Complete the Song

In all creation, there is song.

The waters roar and burble and tumble and they make a flowing harmony.

The birds sing, trill, chirp and tweet, and the melody, sweet and true goes on.

The leaves tremble in the breeze and great trees fall, providing the crash of percussion.

The earth’s cacophony sometimes resembles the discord of a

symphony as it warms up, the prelude to the beauty of the song to come.

             The ages pass, and from time to time the song becomes quiet, almost non-existent, seemingly hushed. Sometimes it plays softly, and only in hearts willing and able to hear.

But the song cannot be silenced; it continues. It must build and rebuild and rush toward           

                                                                                                           completion. 

            For Jesus is the Song, began before time was born. The Angels sang it as He created earth and life, and their voices filled the heavens at His birth.

           

The Song grew and became even more beautiful when He walked in the world. It thrived and flourished and there was

power in the Song.

Until a day, a terrible day came, when in one magnificent burst of evil, the Song was slain. Its beauty lay cold and silent and                   dead.

The Angel’s songs of joy turned to dissonant wails of mourning.  A cloak of darkness fell upon the earth and tried to bury the Song.

All music vanished. In its place, the screech of demons reigned in a VIle            

         parody of the Song.

For three dreadful days, the Song stayed silent and unheard drowned out by the shrieks and obscene rejoicing of the
evil
ones.

And then, almost imperceptibly, a few soft notes arose. The Song, the very

essence of earth’s melody, created by God Himself,  began to ascend.

The Song, with sweet and ethereal sounds, slowly, but triumphantly took up a new melody, and the power of that Song was stronger than ever imagined.

the Song demanded completion.

It pushed the demonic cries into oblivion. It grew and resonated with new

harmonies and new sounds.  

And now the Song races on, toward the crescendo that God has heard

from eternity’s reaches.

For at the very moment He thought me into being, He placed his Song inside me.

The Song weaves in and out of my life, as I learn it, sing it and make it

my

own life’s melody.

                     Then someday, some glorious day, as I stand in front of the Great Composer, my soul will cry out, trying to form the notes and words and harmonies that are too difficult for my lips to shape. Lest I lose myself in the despair of unworthiness, the Song Himself will take my hand and will sing it with me, and

IT WILL BE FINISHED.

How I long to complete the Song. . . . .