Songs to Believe In {tales of a hometown missionary}

The longer I lived in the little house with the towering lilac bushes, the harder it became to act like all the “things” in life mattered at all. Lost children, without hope, were my heart’s only vision.

After work one day, I walked home and saw Litey sitting on the front porch with a guitar, singing songs of a Savior to wide-eyed children, all a rainbow of colors. It became a tradition that we passed between us.

  • The guitar.
  • The porch or the living room floor or the side lawn.
  • The songs.

Over and over we sang truth into darkness.

Then one night I woke to hear screaming and fighting and watched the arrival of police cars. I pulled myself from sleep to watch out the window as the flashing blue and red lights danced patterns through my white sheer curtains.

I felt sorrow to my bones as my little angels were left sitting and crying on the porch while several adults were taken in for questioning.

I cried, “Now what, God?” What was I to do? I listened hard for His voice.

He was silent and my heart wept.

Then, over the sound of the creek water running, little-girl voices dripped through my open window.

They were singing through tears. There on their porch at one in the morning. Not songs from the radio or from their rough world but my songs.

Lord, I Lift Your Name On High blended into I’ve Got A River Of Life and every song my roommates and I had ever taught them followed as their tears transformed to smiles.

My skin prickled and my breathing shallowed and the worst-street in town turned into a Holy Cathedral for one hour that night.

When I said “yes” to God and moved to that place I had no idea what I was supposed to accomplish. It never occurred to me that my whole job would be to teach little girls songs they could believe in when life crashed out of control.

I can still feel the presence of the King who showed up on a street filled with drug dealers to listen to three little girls sing praises to Him. I feel privileged and honored that God allowed me, young simple me, to be there that night.

I tasted grace and my worship became more real than ever before. It wasn’t just for them, it had never been just for them. God had put me in that place for me. To change the shallow places in my heart and create depths that left me breathless with awe.

Another mountain fell.  One that had taken up residence inside me. And it wasn’t my faith that crumbled it. It was the brilliant, trusting faith of my little girls. 

I went there to share the gospel with them and instead, they demonstrated the true face of Christ to me. My hands still tremble with the wonder. And my lessons were not over… 

Part One: {In Jars of Clay}
Part Two: {Wind and Waves}
Part Three: {Miracles and Mustard Seeds}
Part Four: {Labels and Trust}
Part Five: {To Flourish}
Part Six: {Seeing True}

7 thoughts on “Songs to Believe In {tales of a hometown missionary}

  1. I somehow missed this, Natasha. So grateful I stopped the craziness long enough to absorb it. Breathtakingly beautiful picture of praising through the storms.


  2. Pingback: Apple Pie and Eye Shadow {tales of a hometown missionary} |

  3. Pingback: In Jars of Clay {tales of a hometown missionary} |

  4. Pingback: Broken Stories {tales of a hometown missionary} | Natasha Metzler

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