The Power of Praise

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth (Psalm 34:1).

The rhythmic thump of the drum reverberated off the dehydrated African hills, beckoning the children to come. I stood under an acacia tree, one hand beating the cowhide surface with a homemade stick tipped in old tire rubber, the other crested over my eyes searching the horizon.

Like ladybugs the boys and girls clustered, scrambling down dusty footpaths and emerging from cornfields. Palm trees sagely rustled with approval and applause as children ran from every direction.

Drums were traditionally used in our village to summon the spirits of dead ancestors in an attempt to appease them and gain power over fear. But for some who had made the brave and counter-cultural decision to follow the Messiah Jesus, the drums had been reclaimed and repurposed. A gentle pastor had shown up at my door one day with the gift-drum I was now beating.

Made of a section of steel barrel carefully covered with cowhide and painstakingly stitched together, the drum was gigantic. The longer it sat in the burning hot sun, the better it sounded. 

I named it Chikwakwara, or Thunder Drum. It sounded like all of heaven thundering across the hills. No one could hear its mighty pounding without snapping to attention, immediately aware that something magnificent was occurring, something more important than anything one might have been doing moments before. 

Today the children gathered around Thunder Drum with makeshift drumsticks, creating their own praise-rhythm. We sang to Jesus, and we lifted Him as high as our voices and the instrument could reach. Then the glory of God came down, and our hearts were filled as deeply as the Father could reach with His delight. 

Praise rising up, love pouring down. The pattern continued until we were hoarse.

The Bible was just beginning to be translated into the local language, and because so many of my little friends were illiterate, we sang the Word of God and committed it to our hearts with a melody.

Each week, I would get on my knees, bring a new verse to the Lord, and ask for a new melody. Specifically, a cultural melody, in the musical style of our tribe. I wanted one that would catch fire among the children as they carried water and lift the hearts of their mothers while they pounded maize into meal. 

To my astonishment (for though I ask Him for great things, it never fails to amaze me when my God gladly gives them), every single week God gave me a new, original tribal melody.

And every Saturday we learned it together around Thunder Drum, sending our praise to the heavens with all our hearts.

That was more than 20 years ago. 

One day recently I saw a new friend request on Facebook from an African man. As I peered at his face, my heart almost stopped.

He looked an awful lot like little Rumba, the boy I had carried on my back while his mother and I worked in the gardens. The boy who hid under his bed the day the elephant came through the village. The child who arrived before all the others to beat the drum and smile at me, his big eyes shining with a light I can never forget. The last time I saw him, he was smiling at me from behind his mother’s legs, little hand waving goodbye.

Is that you, my sweet boy? I asked. 

Yes, it is your son, Mama. And we are still singing. We are teaching our children. The songs are still living here.

The songs are still living here.

His words filled my heart and spilled over as tears gushed down my cheeks. I needed to be reminded of the power of praise this day.

I no longer live in an African village, where illiteracy compels me to seek new songs. Although I am surrounded by spiritual and religious literacy, rich resources at my fingertips, my heart is much like the droughted hills of Africa.

I confess I am a poor praiser. I have not done it well, nor consistently. But when I have, it has brought indescribable power and beauty into my life. #praise #worship Click To Tweet

I hear a roaring, a thundering. My heart is snapping to attention, sure that something magnificent is about to happen. As I crest my hand over my eyes searching the horizon of my life, I see a River surging over the dehydrated hills of my circumstances, bringing new life.

The landscape that was only moments ago brittle and brown is suddenly immersed in a power greater than me and my fears. Obstacles are swept aside and the way is made clear for hope again.

We are still singing. We are teaching our children. The songs are still living here. 

I will continue to praise the Lord as long as I live. I will praise Him in the savanna, I will praise Him in the desert. I will praise Him in the lush oasis. #praise #worship  Click To Tweet

Lord, give me a new melody today. One that will rush over my circumstances and remove every obstacle. Amen.