Locked up in a room. I seek to be with my father, God…and so I begin to sing. At first I sing words that other men have written, but then, my spirit speaks:
If I could have my way, I’d dress up in a gown; flowing white and gold. I’d walk up to you and take my place in front of your throne. And then…I’d dance my worship to you. In the midst of my dancing, I’d look at your face. I’d look for your smile, just to be sure that you are pleased. This is the place I imagine me to be. Just me, on this platform in front of you. And you’d look at me, pleased with every bit of me because you designed it. This is the place I imagine me to be. Right in front of you and your son, dancing my worship to you. Right in front of the elders, right amidst the angels. In a place sooooo intimate, no one wants to leave. Do you enjoy my worship…to you? Do you enjoy my worship?
If I could play a harp, I’d lay it on my lap. Then I’d strum songs in your ear, right over your head. I’d play my music and I’d sing my songs for you. To you, they are honey, they are milk. They are the dew of the morning, falling softly on your hair. Do you enjoy my worship? I laugh to myself. Because I’m playing music to you, but indeed, you are playing me as your instument; Strumming me and pulling out the beauty in me. I laugh again. Your presence is so dear to me; then I realize…my presence so dear to you. You died to get it. You wanted me near to you. Simply put, you wanted me. I wanted to be wanted, but you had always wanted me. Now you have me. Do you enjoy my worship?
I laugh to myself. Every time I stand to worship, you hasten to my voice. I imagine you sit straight up in your seat, and you listen with an eager ear. You anticipate my sounds. Ha! I realize why the Devil hates me so much. Heaven used to anticipate his sounds. Heaven used to hasten to his music. Now, I’ve taken his place. You look at me eagerly. You anticipate my music. Do you enjoy my worship…to you?