by Ginny Owens
Maybe you’ve always liked the idea of memorizing what the Bible says but you’ve got it filed away as an interesting idea to consider someday when life slows down. But we are all memorizing every day. Movie lines. Song lyrics. The images and words we find on social media. The ideas our culture says are important, especially the negative things people say. I’ve read that our brains hold on most tightly to the things that have brought a negative emotional reaction.7 It seems to me, then, that the only way to counteract all the negative noise trapped inside us is to take Paul’s advice by memorizing what’s lovely until that’s the song on repeat in our brains.
I recently heard a story from some missionaries who serve in a country where witch doctors and sorcerers are prevalent. One day, two malnourished young brothers were brought to the orphanage the missionaries run, clinging to each other and petrified of everything. They had been rescued from a witch doctor’s property and were clearly traumatized. The caregivers would go in at night to find the boys huddled together in the far corner under their bed, shaken from visions they had seen.
Fast-forward several years: the boys are strong, well adjusted, successful at school, and devout Christ followers. The key to this change? Memorizing verse upon verse of Scripture. As soon as the boys began learning the Word, they began praying it in every moment of fear, and it gave them peace. It took root in their lives and profoundly changed them. If the Word has the power to change those who have been to hell and back, doesn’t it also hold power for you and me?
Paul made Christ’s love the song on repeat in his mind. He promised the Philippians that if they followed suit, the God of peace would be with them (Phil. 4:9). What Paul was saying here is the thing that is riveting about the Christian faith: It is not a formula we follow but a person. It is God with us—and an invitation to hear His voice and to know and be with Him.
As we pray, as His truths become more beautiful to us, and as we reach for connection with others, we get a deeper sense of Him. His peace becomes louder than our worry. His rest replaces our discontentment. As we set our eyes on Him, we see that He is with us in every situation.
The Bigger Story: Don’t Box Jesus In
One thing that has clicked for me since understanding Paul better is that I have often put Jesus in a box. I am thankful for salvation and knowing that the best days are yet to come. But what I often forget is that Christ died not only to save us when we die but also to bring us joy and contentment today. Here on this planet.
When we are brought from death to life, God implants the hope of heaven in us. That hope—of seeing Jesus face to face and of worshipping God endlessly—should pour out of our lives as believers now.8 This hopeful, joyful inner peace is meant to free us from our time-wasting worry.
The result of Paul’s song of contentment was a balanced perspective on his circumstances. No matter how bad things got, he was centered, joyfully and fearlessly pursuing the next thing. His trials were miniscule compared to the trial Christ had gone through for him. Paul remained content, despite what he had or didn’t have, as he trusted what was true, surrounded himself with community that helped him stand in the truth, and sang songs of thankful praise.
We can do what Paul did: breathe in God’s faithful promises and breathe out prayers of praise and thanksgiving, because we can face any suffering through Christ, who gives us strength (Phil. 4:13). When we follow Paul’s practices, contentment and peace grow louder and a deep truth resonates: “The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances.”9
I’m learning how different a day looks when the love of Christ is the loudest song—the one on repeat—in my mind. When it is, I’m more courageous in loving and pursuing people. I’m quicker to meet their needs instead of being wrapped up in my own. I’m more forgetful of the wrongs done to me, knowing I’m perfectly loved and understood by the One whose mind thought up all of us. And no matter what’s going on outside of me, calm reverberates inside.
Your Song of Inner Peace
Consider where Paul’s story intersects yours. Are you singing a song of peace and contentment? If not, do you want to be?
Write your song below. Perhaps you need to lay down the things that keep you from being content. Or you could ask God to help you truly believe that He is faithful and good, even when you can’t see it. To help inspire you, here are some words from one of my favorite old hymns:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sov’reign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.10
Hearing God’s Song
Let’s memorize and practice Paul’s words of truth this week until calm reverberates in our minds: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:6–7 NIV).
Let’s also memorize Jesus’ words of comfort to us: “Don’t let your heart be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me” (John 14:1).
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. I also saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared like a bride adorned for her husband.
Then I heard a loud voice from the throne: Look, God’s dwelling is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and will be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away.
Then the one seated on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new.” He also said, “Write, because these words are faithful and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will freely give to the thirsty from the spring of the water of life.…”
He then carried me away in the Spirit to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city, Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, arrayed with God’s glory.…
I did not see a temple in it, because the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, because the glory of God illuminates it, and its lamp is the Lamb.
Revelation 21:1–6, 10–11, 22–23
Chapter 10
Singing in the Light
Our Dreams, God’s Dreams
As a kid, I had endless dreams for the future. Among them, living and songwriting in LA, being crowned Miss America, and becoming a professional Girl Scout—whatever that is. By the time I got to high school, however, my dreams had shrunk significantly. I imagined staying close to home or skipping off to college after whichever boy I happened to have a crush on at the moment. Between my freshman and senior years, many of my songs reflected this focus on the moment rather than the bigger things of life.
When my youth pastor told me about Belmont University in Nashville and their spectacular music program, I thought it sounded interesting, but I had little expectation of ending up there. However, within a week of applying, I had a full scholarship and the prospect of a season of my life I could never have imagined. This was one small hint that God’s big picture looked nothing like mine.
As I tried to find my way into Belmont’s ensembles and pop music scene, I discovered there was no place for me. But as I talked about in an earlier chapter, I grew more excited by the prospect of a career as a high school choral director, and I poured myself into that work. Dead-end interviews led to a season of wai
ting—and then to an open door to write and share the music that I had thought would forever stay between me, my inner circle, and God. Again I heard the resounding truth that the Lord’s plans looked nothing like mine.
A year or so into my music career, the world moved at breakneck speed every hour of the day, and I began to dream of doing something different. I declared to a friend that though this new life had some cool elements, I would be changing course soon. I definitely didn’t want to do it for more than another year or so.
My fantasy at that point was to become a travel agent. I found the hunt for great deals on flights and hotels a rejuvenating part of my work, so I thought maybe I would take a step back from being onstage every night and book trips for other people’s leisure, or perhaps to get them to their evenings onstage. Amid the noise of that hectic life, I was still trying to plan a path I could manage by myself—I was still dreaming small, my calling drowned out by the chaos of that season. But in His grace, the Lord did not give up on me. When I tried to give in to the things I could imagine, He moved me forward.
After finishing my record deal, after my mom’s cancer, and after several years of teaching songwriting at Belmont and leading worship at a Nashville church while treading water with my own music, a close friend challenged me to consider what it exactly was that God had called me to. “Your plate is always full with things to do, Ginny,” he said. “But have you stopped to pray and listen and allow God to speak to you about what direction He’s leading you?”
As you’ve heard, by that point my various life seasons had led me to sing a deeper, richer song of hope. My friend’s words led me to my next season. As I began to ask God to open my eyes to what work I should focus my energy on, my work life did a 180. The change was imperceptible at first, but with time came momentum. A couple of years later, I was back to full-time writing, singing, and speaking, and I would soon be pursuing seminary.
In this last chapter, I would like you to consider a question: How are you singing in the dark—in the haze of uncertainty or in the clouds of sadness and separation from God?
It seems to me there are really only a couple of choices for how to navigate this dark world. Without God, either we grumble and muddle our way through or we’re intentional about trying to cultivate inner positivity or peace. Either way, we are solely responsible for creating our song.
When we know God, we still have a couple of choices. We can muddle through with a “sometimes song,” asking God to help us when we’re facing difficult times and occasionally singing in half-hearted praise when the mood strikes us. Or we can turn our hearts to Him and live in a state of singing His song. When we do so, our songs are not only praises for the good and beautiful but also lament for the dark, difficult, and unfair. But always in this song there is hope. Hope that we can, even now, find joy in sorrow. Hope that our brightest days are ahead. Hope that our “momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory” (2 Cor. 4:17).
Thinking Big
These days, I love writing and singing more than I ever have, because I am no longer at the center of the work. Pursuing creative work is not for the faint of heart, but I am content and confident that it is the right path for me, at least in this season. The biggest change has been that my hope and worth are no longer wrapped up in my calling but in the One who has given it to me.
Though there would have been nothing wrong with staying near home, becoming a travel agent, or teaching, my dreams were always what was within reach. They were what I could imagine. But in His grace, God gave me a heart for the things He wanted me to do and the strength to do them.
All of us are called to live connected to God’s plans—not only the ones for this life but also the plans for beyond this life, the plans that are truly beyond our comprehension. We tend to dream small. As C. S. Lewis so eloquently stated,
It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.1
We’ve spent a lot of time talking about how to sing in the darkness of this life, how God empowers our songs with His hope for each day we’re alive. But in this last chapter, we must discuss the most important part of our song—the hook.
The hook is the melodic and lyrical focal point of a song, the part you repeat again and again. If the hook is written well, you won’t be able to get it out of your head. You’ll never forget it.
The hook of our song in the dark is simply “the best is yet to come.”
But how can we sing about what we can barely imagine? How can we yearn for eternity when our dreams for this life are too small? How can we ache for forever when we are far too easily pleased in the here and now?
I’m more convinced than ever that living out our calling to the glory of God gives our lives the deepest delight. But meditating on and singing about what’s ahead is the core of our song of hope. God wants our minds fixed on Him and what it will be like to be with Him all day, every day.
Destined for a Greater Glory
I’ve had a lot of really fabulous life experiences—things I never thought I’d do as I sat at the out-of-tune reddish-oak upright piano all those years ago. I’m now friends with some of the folks whose music inspired me growing up. I’ve even met a couple of presidents, gotten a few number-one songs, won a few awards, and connected with people all over the world.
I haven’t had much time to consider the magnitude of those adventures until recent years. Instead, like most self-employed songwriters, I’ve spent every day asking, “How can we build on this thing? How can we get it right?” With every new music release comes months of planning—choosing marketing strategies and creating images. I’ve lived my adult life plotting the next move and pivoting again and again.
These days, however, what I mostly ask myself is, Am I useful yet? Does my life sing to others of the light that is to come?
I don’t think this way because I’ve reached some pinnacle of spirituality. Far from it. But life has taught me that my plans are always too simple. My dreams are too small, always based on what I can do, not on what God can do. Not only that, but nothing I manage to accomplish on this planet will ever be enough to satisfy me or those who might be watching. Pursuing glory here is a silly waste of time. What’s important today is to love and serve in anticipation of that coming glory.
The glory of Christ, the glory to which we are being transformed, will be fully realized in eternity. There will be no need to plan, project an image, and pivot then. Instead, our new, glorious selves will do meaningful work, find great delight in caring for one another, and sing with full hearts to the God of all, the One who has given us Himself.
In Revelation 21, we get a taste of that coming glory. John showed us that our next life won’t be lived in some ethereal land where we sit around on pillowy clouds, singing all day long with choirs of angels. We will sing, of course, but the picture is of infinitely more. Let’s consider the hope that comprises the hook of our song in the dark.
The tenderhearted apostle John sang his unshakable song of the coming glory in his final years of life, in exile on an island. John knew something of earthly glory, at least among the members of the early church. When he was young, he spent his days as one of Jesus’ twelve disciples. He had affectionately leaned against Him at the Last Supper and witnessed both His crucifixion and the awesome miracle of His resurrection. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, John—along with Peter, Paul, and the other apostles—had performed signs and wonders and had spent his life shepherding the early church.
In Revelation, his final work, John wrote to seven churches, encouraging them in their faith and sharing all that God had shown him about the glory yet to come. As some of them faced seemingly endless persecution, he remind
ed them that this world was not their home. He exhorted them to hold on. Chapter 21 offers us a glimpse of the glory, beauty, and wonder that is promised to those who believe.
As we live in the “already” and the “not yet” tension of the Christian life, it’s hard for us to imagine what this will be like. But when it comes to the age of forever, John gave us several concrete truths we can hold on to with hope.
The New City and the New Choir
John saw the new Jerusalem, “prepared like a bride,” coming down from the new heaven to the new earth (Rev. 21:1–2). The new Jerusalem is the unified church in its “perfected and eternal state.”2 It is the bride of Christ. It is all the saints from all the ages coming together.
The prophet Isaiah began singing of this glorious time back when Israel was being exiled: “The redeemed of the LORD will return and come to Zion with singing, crowned with unending joy. Joy and gladness will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee” (35:10 HCSB).
All those years later, Isaiah’s song was taken up by John. And just like in Isaiah’s day, John sang in the midst of much darkness. Isaiah had laid out for God’s people the darkness of uncertainty, fear, and suffering they would face in their years of exile. John was writing to churches who lived amid the darkness of persecution and powerlessness in their own society. The song in the hearts of the Israelites and the young church was largely the same: “Where is the Lord? When will He come to rescue us?” Both John and Isaiah sang to the people of the day of infinite hope—the day when we, all the saints from all the ages, will sing together in light.