Is Anyone Happy?

I’m heading to Nashville, Tennessee today. Or since Nashville is my destination, maybe I should write: “I’m fixin’ to be in Nashville, y’all.” Unfortunately, I am not going to Nashville to launch my country music career as a banjo picker, nor am I going to be the next owner of the NHL Predators, but rather there is a little denominational gathering that I was asked to attend. (Fellow Centralite and all round good guy, Mike Stipp will also be there). It’s a short meeting and I’ll be home in plenty of time to enjoy a house and pool full of Mid-Highers on Saturday.

You know, I always thought that if I ever ventured to the Country Music Capital and the land of the Grand Ol’ Opry that it would be to fulfill the dream of becoming the next Johnny Cash. You may not know this about me, but I like to sing. I’m not good at it, mind you. In fact, some would say that I border on awful. I can carry a bucket and sometimes carry a heavy load, but I can not carry a tune. No one will mistake me for Pastor Kevin, Pastor Joe, or Conway Twitty. Still, I like to sing.

I like singing the National Anthem before the Royals lose another baseball game, and I like singing “Take me out to the Ball Game” during the seventh inning stretch. (Forgive me, but I still sing “Root, Root, Root for the Tigers!” as part of that song.) I’ve been known to burst into song doing my best Gene Kelley rendition of “Singing in the Rain” when liquid sunshine is falling from the sky. And while walking in the mall, I’ll sing holiday classics, TV commercial jingles, or any other songs I’ve learned over the years, much to the chagrin of my boys. I can assure you that they are more brutal than Simon on American Idol when critiquing their father’s singing aptitude. But I’ll tell you this: Nothing gets them out of American Eagle or the Foot Locker quicker than my singing a few bars of “I’m Dreaming of A White Christmas” in the month of May.

My repertoire is not limited to already written lyrics, either. I’m no Bill Gaither; still I frequently will make up songs. Pastor Cory likes to laugh at the words that I sing on Sunday Morning which usually are nothing close to the words projected on the screens. And when Karla is not home when I think she should be, I’ve been known to sing into the answering machine my own little ditty called “Where’s my Honey.” I’ve made up silly little songs for Alex, Ben and practically everything else under the sun.

Why tell you this? I am a big believer in James 5:13. It says: “Is anyone happy? Let him (or her) sing songs of praise.” I think we should be singing more; praising the Lord more; and enjoying life more. There are too many grumpy, non-singing folks around. Don’t they know that Jesus can make you glad? You don’t need a record label contract or even a good voice. Maybe you’ll never make the cut on American Idol or even Hee Haw, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t burst into song every now and then. Is anybody happy? Let him sing songs of praise!