The Peak of Inspiration

    

…Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night;  Job 35:10

There’s a place in Northwestern Oklahoma called Alabaster Caverns State Park.  I haven’t been there for about 25 years so don’t expect me to get all the facts right.  It’s a natural gypsum cave that you can tour.  The last time I was there was before marriage, with the youth group.  I don’t remember why we went, what we did before or after, who I rode with, what the weather was like, or what we ate for supper.   And of the 45 minutes we spent in the cave, I remember just 3 of them.

As is the case in probably all the caves that you can tour, lights had been installed to mark the path and keep everyone safe and happy.  There was a circular area near the bottom of the cave that the tour guide would collect us in and give us a demonstration of total darkness.  The guide would cut the power to all those nice lights.  If I remember correctly, it was something like 99.6% dark.  About as dark as you can get anywhere on this old earth.  Very, very dark.

As this wasn’t the first time we had been there and knowing what to expect, someone suggested that we would sing a memory song down there in the darkness.  Before we left on the tour someone talked to the guide and asked if that would be ok.  She said sure no problem.  We got down there, the lights went out, and we tuned up to sing “His Great Plan”.  In a cave, in total darkness, and I wish you could have been there. 

There is something special about listening to singing when everything is dark.  There is nobody to watch, and nobody to watch you.  Expression and posture and eye contact mean nothing.  Hair styles and fashions and everything visual just disappear.  You don’t hear the song as much as you feel it.  Every note, every chord is experienced on a level that it usually isn’t.  In the dark, the heart of the song is uncovered.  Songs take on a meaning and fill a purpose that is often missed. 

I’ve listened to a lot of songs.  I have little memory of most of them.  Many of them have been very beautiful.  Full of natural talent and perfect execution.  Choirs and family songs and ladies trios and men’s quartets.

But there are a few songs that I have listened to that I will never forget.  Songs that I listened to in the dark. 

I think something happens to our heart when we’re in the dark.  It swells up and gets a little like a soft sponge.  It put out these little feelers that are searching for hope and light and comfort and companionship.  And when a song falls on that heart, it stays there.  It sticks to those feelers.  Soaks in.  Makes a difference. 

Some years ago I was discouraged with my financial situation.  I suppose we all cycle through that, and this was by no means the first, but this time was more acute than the usual.  Someone called an informal singing evening at the school.  We gathered around the projector, turn off the lights and started in.  I didn’t feel like singing.  Wanted to go to the corner and pout a little.  But I put on a game face and managed a few notes.  About the third song we sang was “Heaven’s Choo-Choo”.   Midway through the song came the words “The tickets they are free for you, so get on board this Choo-Choo-Choo”.  I couldn’t sing after that.  I cried instead.  I didn’t have a lot of money, but I didn’t need it.  Everything I needed was free.  I remember that song because its still there, right where it landed.

A day after Dad passed, a friend gathered his family around, sang a song, and pressed “Send”.  I could take you to the spot where I was when my phone dinged and I pressed “Play”.  That song is still there too. 

A lot of songs are sung for the ears.  Maybe there is some value in that.  And maybe that has as much to do with the listener as it does the singer.  Some songs are sung from the heart, but they stop at my ears.  There are a lot of reasons that happens. 

But sometimes, the lights go out.  It gets really dark.  I grope around.  I try to see the hand in front of my face, and I can’t.  My voice echos off the cave walls, my steps become short and uncertain.  My heart begins its search for something, anything that could help and bring light.  And then a song comes.  It comes from the hearts of those around me.  It fills the air and drowns out the echos of my worry, doubt and discouragement.  It goes in my ears and down to my heart.  It rains down and soaks it.  And it stays.  Songs can do that.  Let them in.