That Awkward Moment When Your Life is in a Song

You’re listening to the radio. You’ve surrendered your senses to be soothed by familiar sounds coming over the static, ignoring the world and its nonstop wahala. At once you jerk upright, your eyelids flying apart. The song—the very one playing on the radio—is a direct reflection of part—or all—of your own life!

This has definitely happened to you before. If it hasn’t, it’s because of one of three reasons: 1. You don’t listen to music. 2. You don’t listen to good music. 3. You don’t have a life (in which case I recommend Circle. They sell everything.).

Me, I’ve experienced it saa. Christina Aguilera’s Reflection cut me to slices with just how it reflected me; I put up fronts so much sometimes, like when I say an automatic ‘I’m fine’ anytime they ask ‘How are you?’ And Unwritten, by Natasha Bedingfield, for when I’m skeptical of testing the ‘nothing ventured nothing gained’ theory. And Wordplay, by [my dearest] Jason Mraz, when I feel very wordsmith-y and a little crazy. But this is about Love Pursuit, by V. Rose and John Katina, and I daresay it’s the most reflective of me from all songs I’ve heard. It’s a gospel song, unlike the title may initially suggest (Shame!), and plays out like a conversation between God and a Christian/ me, showing plenty personas.

The Procrastinator: The starting notes (killer, those notes!) fade into ‘God’s’ intro, about how He always wanted ‘us’—God and his child[ren]—to be together always. And then Christian sings, ‘I know with You I really wanna change/…but I don’t have the time now…’

You know, growing up I had the notion (haha. See me talking like I’m sixty) that the now, the present, was mine. It was my time to play, and indulge, unbarred, in the pleasures of youth and childishness. I could become a serious Christian when I got older. Now that I’m older (and still very shy of sixty), while I’m not exactly jumping from shisha bar to someone’s bed, there’s still pressure from family and society to make something of myself. And it takes time to build a relationship with God, a conscious concentration of thought and effort to make it work. But there’s school. And work. And my own plans. And I’ve got just one brain. So, God, later.

The Weightlifter: the chorus unveils this one: ‘Sometimes I cry/ No matter how hard I try/ I just can’t seem to love You right…’ No matter how hard I try, she sang. I. Me. It’s all on me. Most of us are like that. This is about me trying, doing my work and Jesus’s; it’s all dependent on my strength alone. I get like that sometimes. I don’t work too good in a group; I’m almost always worried when the work is out of my sight because I feel the guy handling it will mess it up. I’d rather just do it all than share responsibility.

But in Christianity, it’s hardest when you try. ‘God’ sings, ‘That’s why I gave you My life…’ Just lean on Me, God’s saying. Don’t try. I should listen more.

The Guilty: ‘So even though you are unworthy/ You can still come to Me,’ sings ‘God,’ but she replies, ‘But how could You still love me after all that I’ve done to You?’ Wordy, if I got (permit me to be clichéd here) a dollar for each time I thought that…can’t even quantify how rich I’d be. That question is like a measure of my guilt, a weapon the devil’s used over me—and many others—since ever. It’s simple. I sin. I want to ask God’s forgiveness. Voice says, ‘Ha! Think God will listen? You just sinned! Your heart’s as black as the devil’s own briefcase now!’ I hide. Then God says, ‘I love you.’ And I think, ‘How? After all I’ve done?’

‘God’ answers, ‘That’s why I sent my Son for you.’ That’s it. That’s what Christianity is built on, Jesus, the Son sent to take away the sins of evil man with his blood. It’s the classic case of getting answered even before you ask. ‘How can you—’ ‘I sent my son for you.’ Period. No condemnation for them that are in Christ. No room for guilt.

The Broken: The song goes on, and Christian’s vulnerability starts to show, cracking her exterior. She ‘keep[s] falling down…over and over’ even though she really wants to please God. And then this convo happens:

God: Sometimes you cry / But if you give Me your life / I’ll never leave from by your side

Christian: I can’t believe You love me so right / This kind of mercy is so good to me

God: Now tell Me I am your God

Christian: Jesus You are my God

God: Do you believe that I rose again?

Christian: Yes with all power in Your hand!

God: So now will you live by Me?

Christian: Lord I promise with every breath I breathe… / Oh, But what if my heart should stray?

And God delivers possibly the neatest line in lyric history, ‘Then I pursue you with love and grace.’

Got goose pimples just typing that.

I love this song. It’s sincere. Christians aren’t perfect. They struggle. They stumble. They fall. (God bless V. Rose and John Katina for capturing it the way they did!) The diff between Christians and non-Christians is, when Christians fall, Christ is there to catch them and put them back on their feet again. (Anybody feel like a Michael Bolton song now? Nobody? Ok.) And He can catch you too, if you’ll invite Him into your heart and acknowledge His Lordship. Normally they prescribe a prayer, but I feel you should just talk to Him with your own words, right out of your heart. The sincerity is freeing.

If you’ve already got Him, lean on Him and don’t give up. Even though we’ve made—and might still make—a million mistakes, we’ll get better if we stop trying and follow His leading.

A million blessings on Adelina Ofori-Ani, one of the most photogenic persons I’ve had the pleasure of worrying—and being worried by—for sharing this song with me, from back in our non-school days. Trust, when I get my second Nobel Peace Prize, I’ll dedicate it to you. If I remember.