I used to be such a stiff when it came to worship. Lifting my hands felt so awkward. I found it so hard to let go of wondering what people might be thinking of me.
Then one May evening in 2009, everything changed. I was at a concert for one of my favorite bands, an indie group from Kansas City called The Get Up Kids. When the band had broken up in 2005, my brother and I had gone all the way to Kansas City to catch their last show. Now that the band was back together – I was there.
When the band came on I was ecstatic. I started dancing and throwing my hands in the air. I sang every word at the top of my lungs. I felt so free. I couldn’t care less what people thought of me.
Then, right in the middle of losing myself in the song, I felt God say to me, “You’re having so much fun. Why can’t you worship me this way?”
It was a turning point for me. It liberated me from the prison I had placed myself in on a Sunday morning. If I didn’t worry about what I looked like at a concert, why should I worry about it at church? Why would I celebrate a band getting back together more than the One who sacrificed everything to give me life? And if the person next to me isn’t throwing up their hands, that’s cool, but it’s not going to stop me from celebrating with everything I have.
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