Raise a Hallelujah

I have this idea that one day I’ll write cheerful words of happy encouragement. I’ll be in a place of peace and contentment and roses and sunshine.  I imagine it will also be warm there with a beach nearby.

Truth be told – I am finding myself more content and peaceful these days.  I’m not positive it will last, but I’m enjoying it for the present.

But even in my current *tranquility* – I am acutely aware that we are in a season of chaos in our lives. As I stare at this chaos, the mystery and anticipation and uncertainty and fear, I am listening on repeat to a song from Bethel Music that I heard in church just this week. I try to let it permeate my soul and remind me to keep singing.  To keep my Hope in Him.

I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, heaven comes to fight for me

I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!

I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me!

 

I will raise a hallelujah even in the darkness.  Even when the chaos descends.  Even if my peace gives way to my anxiety.  I will raise a hallelujah.

He is with me.  He’s got this. I will keep singing.  Hallelujah.

My youngest, my son is growing with every moment.  Smart and creative and competitive.  My house is covered with his creations and every cardboard box and scrap of glue is commandeered for the building of traps and toys and swords.  The seats bought for use at the craft table are covered with blankets and pillows in a complicated fort that meanders the width of the spare room making it an obstacle course for the rest of the family.  He hates his homework but loves to read.  He fights me every morning when it’s time to get up, fights me again each evening when it is time for bath and bed.

Hallelujah.

My house is in full-on project mode.  The garage full of table saws and buckets of paint.  My clothes are in the basement where the functioning shower is.  My bed is on the main floor where the floors have been replaced but the walls still need paint.  A fine layer of drywall dust coats everything no matter how often I dust.  Our weekends are spent attempting to make progress and not neglect our children.  Weighing the hours of screen time against the grouting of tiles.

Hallelujah.

My middle daughter is leaving middle school this year, and headed to high school with it’s new schedules and fears and intensity. She is keeping us running with her beautiful love of dance and song.  She is busy with friends and school trips and juggling her schedule requires its own spreadsheet.  She is growing up and becoming her own person and force in this world.  Parenting a new teen, freshman year upcoming, girl drama and exhaustion and fear.

Hallelujah.

I consider if I should go back to work.  My children all in school, my husband burdened with the entirety of our financial situation.  I look at the calendar of orthodontic appointments and well-checks and trips to grab food for this event and volunteers needed in a classroom and “mom I need a poster board by tomorrow”.  I know it can be done with both of us working – we have done it before.  I fight to see the value in the daily grind, of what I bring to the table besides crisis management.  Maybe crisis management is enough.

Hallelujah.

My oldest is waiting with bated breath for the mail each day as we anticipate scholarship awards.  She will choose a college based on these documents and we will begin a whirlwind of planning and researching and packing and celebrating.  I will look up from my to-do list of a million things and find her standing in her cap and gown, her high school days completed, her big adventure awaiting.  I will hold on to every possible moment with her for the summer, while she makes plans with friends and works and saves and travels.  And I will drive her to her campus, and unload her boxes, and she will hug me while I cry and try to tell her all the things she needs to know in the span of the 5 minutes she will tolerate my blubbering.  And I will get into my car without her.  And drive home through the tears.

Hallelujah.

Hallelujah.  Hallelujah.  Hallelujah.

I will raise a hallelujah even in the darkness.  Even when the chaos descends.  Even if my peace gives way to my anxiety.  I will raise a hallelujah.

He is with me.  He’s got this. I will keep singing.  Hallelujah.