Sitting behind the set this Sunday, my heart still beating quickly, rhythmically although my drumsticks were now still, I listened to the words above which were a part of our Sunday worship.
But most often I am thinking about both my heavenly Dad and my earthly Dad.
My dad played the drums at our church.
I close my eyes and feel the music and I think about the time one of my teenage friends said: "When your dad closes his eyes and plays, it's like he is worshiping God while he is drumming."
That is what I want each tap of the high hat, each boom of the bass, each hit of the snare, and brush of the cymbal to be, a worshipful act.
I want my life to be music that evokes a sweet longing in others and a smile on God's face.
Music, for me, is the handiwork of God. Creative genius that He has given someone whether they know it or not. It flows throughout me, I cannot help but dance, whether the action is visible to anyone else I do not know.
Music is constantly in my head whether there is any outside of it. I've embarrassed friends by breaking into song in public places. I skip and I sing, I smile and twirl. My son and I throw rhymes back and forth on a regular basis. I often accompany words with a beat and a jig when talking to him.
In Heaven no restraint will be needed.
I will burst into song when I get there and my feet will continually dance along the streets of gold.
And God will say: "Emily, your life was beautiful music.I'm glad to have you home."