A little good news today
I write about politics, current events, pop culture, and other disturbing trends on my website, DoomsDaddy.com. I write about the Dallas Cowboys, the NFL, and other sports topics at Silver and BlueBlood. Frankly, much of what I read and hear and subsequently offer commentary on is negative. It is often disturbing and can even be depressing.
I sure could use a little good news today
Sometimes, I find myself humming a tune that was popular back in 1983, when I was still a young married husband and father, when I was still working in local church ministry, when I had the world by the tail and my whole life ahead of me. I suspect I did not appreciate this song then. But I do now...
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The references in the song are 20 years old, but sound current. Some of them even sound tame by today's standards of debauchery, rebellion, and mayhem.
So, I am singing this song over a cup of coffee this morning when another song, older than that one, but more relevant still, comes to mind.
It is a song about a story. Actually, it is a song about someone who longs to hear a story. The greatest story ever told. It is a song written by someone who felt she really could use a little good news. Her name was Frances J. Crosby. The world came to know her as Fanny Crosby, the blind woman of faith who wrote more than 8,000 hymns. Despite being blinded as a baby by the actions of an incompetent doctor, she wrote songs such as Blessed Assurance, To God be the Glory, and the song I have been singing this morning.
And it goes like this...
Tell me the story of Jesus, Write on my heart every word; Tell me the story most precious, Sweetest that ever was heard.
Yes! Tell me that story again. Remind me that His story makes history make sense. Remind me that His life makes my life worth living. Remind me that his grace is sufficient for my needs, that his mercy is better than my just desserts, that His plans are greater than the plans of men and governments.
Tell me the story of His virgin birth.
Tell how the angels in chorus, Sang as they welcomed His birth, “Glory to God in the highest! Peace and good tidings to earth.”
Tell me the story of His virtuous life.
Fasting alone in the desert, Tell of the days that are past, How for our sins He was tempted, Yet was triumphant at last. Tell of the years of His labor, Tell of the sorrow He bore; He was despised and afflicted, Homeless, rejected and poor.
Tell me the story of His vicarious death.
Tell of the cross where they nailed Him, Writhing in anguish and pain;
Tell me the story of His victorious resurrection!
Tell of the grave where they laid Him, Tell how He liveth again.
I need to hear that good news today.
Tell me the story of Jesus, because there is "love in that story so tender clearer than ever I see."
I am no longer a young man, with a head full of ideas and expectations for a glorious life and ministry. My nerves are no longer steel and my fist no longer iron. I am more human than ever I have been now that I am on the backside of 50, closer to the end of my journey than its beginning. I see the tenderness of that story more clearly. I feel the love in it more powerfully. I siphon the hope from it more vigorously now than ever I did before.
You got a story to tell? You just gotta tell a story? Then...
Stay, let me weep while you whisper, “Love paid the ransom for me.”
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