Recently I have reconnected with an old friend. I am unsure of the reason I had for purposely ignoring her for so long. Perhaps I could not bear to express the words I knew she would hear from me. Perhaps I could not find the strength to pick her up and listen to her song. I knew she would not sing if I did not ask her to and although I did not mind her silence, I very much missed her sound.

There was a sound inside of me that I missed. To this day I cannot decide if it was misplaced pride or an overwhelming weakness that kept me from the song I longed to sing. Truthfully, both of these reasons are really one and the same. The first day I picked up my guitar I tried to remember where it was that I had left off. I tried to pick through old songs, I tried to strum. I tried to remember the emotion and the desire. The second day I attempted to discipline myself again to the technicalities of the instrument. I read notes, played scales, memorized extra chords. By the third day I was tired of trying to achieve some sort of excellence. I realized that I could not play alone.

Worship. The definition of this word has changed for me over the past year; or rather my practice of the definition. I cannot play the songs I used to play. I cannot even stir the desire of what used to be there. There is a new song to sing and I am crying out to know His heart. A new season has finally come. As I sit in the secret place, I am training my hands for war.