Empty

Our house has empty rooms. Waiting. At times filled temporarily with guests. One person, then another, finding transient rest in one of the empty bedrooms. I close the doors compulsively as I walk by after tidying up the central room, putting away folded clothes -- perhaps if the doors are closed the empty rooms will be forgotten, set aside, put on the back burner.

But ignored rooms don't go away. And emptiness rings hollow. Like a dull gong sounding deep in the recesses of the heart. Empty. Barren. The symbolism cannot be ignored. And the words echo relentlessly: Empty...  Empty ...  Empty...

Then, like a whisper in my soul, the dull echo begins to sing. Quietly at first, the lyrics turn the gong into a song:  "Empty hands held high. Such small sacrifice..." 

    Lord I give my life

A living sacrifice

  To reach a world in need

    To be Your hands and feet...

And I know it's true -- if my hands are empty, it's to raise them as an offering to my King.  The wracking of my brain to figure out what to do with the emptiness is answered in these simple lyrics -- offer the emptiness to Him.  A small sacrifice in light of Calvary. My life, my dreams, in exchange for Him. 

So with joyful, painful relief, my soul bursts into full song: 

Let my lifesong sing to You!

I want to sign Your name to the end of this day

Knowing that my heart was true

Let my lifesong sing to You.

(Lyrics by Casting Crowns)