Once in awhile, I listen to a song that I’ve heard a million times and it moves my heart for the first time. Although this song is probably one that makes most think of a love in their life, I think of THE love of my life, Jesus Christ.
Love this song and sometimes a reminder makes you feel better!
I was sent this article written by musician, singer/songwriter, Jason Gray. I thought it was profound and wanted to share it with all of you!
The Sound of Our Breathing
Take a breath and breathe it out. Do it again, slowly, and try to mean it. Breathing – of all things maybe we take it most for granted. Do we ever wonder why we are built this way, this soft machine of ours always pumping oxygen in and out?
In sadness, we breathe heavy sighs. In joy, our lungs feel almost like they will burst. In fear, we hold our breath and have to be told to breathe slowly to help us calm down. When we’re about to do something hard, we take a deep breath to find our courage. When I think about it, breathing looks almost like a kind of praying.
I heard a teaching not long ago about the moment when Moses had the nerve to ask God what His name is. God was gracious enough to answer, and the name He gave is recorded in the original Hebrew as YHWH.
Over time, we’ve arbitrarily added an “a” and an “e” in there to get YaHWeH, presumably because we have a preference for vowels. But scholars have noted that the letters YHWH represent breathing sounds, aspirated consonants that in the Hebrew alphabet would be transliterated like this:
Yod, rhymes with “rode,” which we transliterate “Y” He, rhymes with “say,” which we transliterate “H” Vav, like “lava,” which we transliterate “V” or “W” He rhymes with “say,” which we transliterate “H”.
A wonderful question rises to excite the imagination: what if the name of God is the sound of breathing?
This is a beautiful thought to me, especially considering that for centuries there have been those who have insisted that the name of God is so holy that we dare not speak it because of how unworthy we are. How generous of God to choose to give Himself a name that we can’t help but speak every moment we’re alive. All of us, always, everywhere, waking, sleeping, with the name of God on our lips.
In his Nooma video, Breathe, Rob Bell (a pastor whose obvious gifts of curiosity and a knack for asking provocative questions can get him into trouble) wonders what this means in key moments like when a baby is born – newly arrived on planet Earth, must they take their first breath, or rather speak the name of God, if they are to be alive here? On our deathbed, do we breathe our last breath? Or is it that we cease to be alive when the name of God is no longer on our lips?
The most ironic of his questions is also the most beautiful: he wonders about the moment when an atheist friend looks across the table at you and says, “There. is. no. God.” And of course, what you hear is “Yod. He. Vav. He.”
There are few better illustrations of both God’s largesse as well as his humility, his omnipresence as well as his singular intimate presence within each of us.
Breathe in. Breathe out. “He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs…the word that saves is right here, as near as the tongue in your mouth…” (Romans 8:28, 10:8 The Message)
Sometimes we lose our way. We find that the opinion of man becomes more important than the opinion of God. In those times we need a little reminder! Thanks to Jason Gray for that reminder today.
We need to remember this!
Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer sing a song that makes me laugh. Are we daughters who are just trying to stick it to our mothers as the song suggests? Is it because we are normal girls who were raised to be princesses by the moms who said they wanted equality? Then they figured out that equality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and added burdens to their life?
Nancy White is the original writer and the lyrics to the song are:
Daughters of Feminists
Daughters of feminists love to wear pink and white
Short frilly dresses they speak of successes with boys,
It annoys their mom.
Daughters of feminists won’t put on jeans
Or that precious construction boot Mama found cute,
Ugly shoes they refuse. How come?
Daughters of feminists think they’ll get married
To some wealthy guy who’ll support them forever
Daughters of feminists don’t bother voting at all.
Daughters of feminists beg to wear lipstick
Each day from the age of three.
Daughters of feminists think that a princess is
What they are destined to be.
How do they get so girlie?
How come they want a Barbie?
Why does it start so early?
Why, when we bring her up just like a fella,
Who does she idolize? Cinderella!
(spoken) Honey she’s a doormat. You think when she marries that prince
he’s not going to expect her to run that entire castle? ..
Look at all those rooms. And he’s always on the road
Snow White? Doing all the housework for seven guys?
In return for room and board. This is no deal. Huh!
Daughters of feminists bruise so easily
Daughters of feminists hurt.
Daughters of feminists curtsey and skip
Daughters of feminists flirt.
They say, “Please mommy can I do the dishes?
And let’s make a pie for my brother!”
Are they sincere?
Are they crazy or
Are they just trying to stick it to mother?
How do they get so girlie?
And how come they want a Barbie?
Why does it start so early?
Daughters of feminists just want to play with their toys!
Copyright Nancy White