Many Rivers to Cross

When I was little my mom used to say that when she got to heaven all she wanted to do was sit at Jesus' feet and weep. Though I've always had trouble figuring out what I thought I would do when I got there, I've always thought my mom's picture was beautiful...for her.

My mom has a strong spirit and there are times I feel her spirit in me. I felt it last night.

There is pain in this world; this world...version B, the one we don't see. Does a family of 4 brothers really go into town together, each of them, for AIDS testing? It happens, and though we don't see it happen, God does. What does He think as family members and childhoods are ripped from these children leaving them full of fear, loneliness...?

Ten years ago I would lead worship services each week and do my best to drum up some sort of emotion from those sitting in the pews, looking for Jesus. A part of me has always thought they were looking in the wrong place. Most of me still does. "He's not in all your worship songs with key changes and big endings," I'd like to go back and tell them. I'd like to tell them that he is small. That he resides in the tiny piano ballad written after an excursion to see those dying of a disease in a land that remains curable, if only...

When my mom told me about how she couldn't wait to sit at the feet of Jesus, I always pictured Him in a robe, long hair and a beard, taking in my mother's worship and tears; believing her.

Last night I watched Annie Lennox sing these words:

Many rivers to cross
But I can't seem to find my way over

Wandering, I am lost as I travel along

And it's only my will that keeps me alive

I've been licked, washed up for years

And I merely survive

Because of my pride

And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's such a drag to be on your own
Lovers left me
And I don't know the reason why

Well I guess I have to cry

There are many rivers to cross

So many rivers

This was the most beautiful thing I've heard in a long time. And I thought of all those people in all the church services I've led over the years, trying to see Jesus; hoping they'd find Him somewhere in the sanctuary, calling down blessings on them, or sending shivers up their spines. And there I sat in my living room, and I could've swore he was wearing an HIV Postive T-shirt, sitting at a grand piano, wailing the blues of what I've always felt was true; that I've been licked, washed up for years. And that I merely survive because of my pride.

I think when I get to heaven I won't be singing at all. I've always thought I would; hands up, singing my guts out to Jesus. But maybe Jesus will be singing to me. Maybe he'll be sitting at a piano, singing the blues. I wouldn't mind it at all. I'd love to hear him sing and tell me that there are many rivers to cross... but that I've found my way over. And I don't think I'd be surprised if he didn't have a beard at all, but that he looked sort of like Annie Lennox, or at least how she looks when she sings, which to me is absolutely gorgeous, stunning, compassionate, powerful, resolute. All those things I long for in a person, in a Savior. And all the things I need. Especially when there are so many rivers...