Let Everything That Breathes Say Thank You

Do you know what a song is for?

A song is for when your heart is so full it spills over, the way water brims and runs down the sides of a fountain that cannot hold any more.

This is that kind of song.

Praise God in his holy place!
Praise him up in the wide, bright sky!
Praise him for the strong, good things he does.
Praise him, for he is greater than anything you could ever dream.

And then the song calls for music. All of it.

Blow the trumpet, loud and golden!
Strum the harp and pluck the strings!
Take the drum and let it thunder.
Bring the cymbals, the clashing, shining cymbals, and crash them together till the whole room rings!

This is no tiptoe praise. It is a party, with dancing, with every instrument waking up at once to say the same glad thing.

And the song does not stop with the people inside the holy place. It throws the doors wide open.

Let everything that breathes praise the Lord.

Everything. One little word, big enough to hold the world.

The lion, breathing in his cave. The whale, breathing at the top of the sea. The baby, breathing soft and warm in the night. The grandmother whose hands have grown slow. The boy who feels too small for anyone to notice.

You.

Every single thing that takes a breath is invited, even the littlest one, even the one hiding at the very back of the crowd.

Maybe you have stood outside a window once, watching a party glow inside, all warm light and laughing, and wished, oh, I wish I were in there too.

This song is God leaning out the door and calling your name. Come in. Come in. There is a place for you. The music is not finished until everyone is here.

Every breath you have ever taken was a gift, given to you on purpose. Long before, when God made the very first man out of the dust of the ground, he bent close and breathed the breath of life into him. He has been giving breath away ever since. He gave you the air. He gave you your lungs. And one day, every breath of every living thing will sing together to the One the whole song is really for.

His name is Jesus. The Lamb, who breathed his last upon the cross and then breathed again on Easter morning, so the song could never, ever end.

And the singing has already begun. It started the day you first loved him. You can hear it even now, faint and lovely, like a tune you are only just learning to hum.

But oh, there is more coming. A day when the doors swing all the way open and the whole family is finally inside, not one of them missing, and every breathing thing lifts its voice at once.

And you will be there.

Singing.