Some time ago, a friend and I were discussing the sufferings of a mutual acquaintance, which include a major car wreck that occurred several years ... Read More
I’ll never forget the call. I was being asked to join Andrew Peterson’s Behold the Lamb of God tour as their special guest. Did they have the right number? I had seen the show for the first time the year before and was so encouraged and inspired by the evening that I told my husband I’d found our family Christmas tradition, so the invitation to actually be a part of the show seemed surreal and too good to be true.
I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve never intentionally read through anything for Advent, but as I listened through the Behold the Lamb of God record to prepare for the tour, I was swept up into the “old, old story.” I have Andrew to thank for introducing me to the joy of remembering well the story of our savior. I was totally that girl on the bus who fell asleep listening to the Behold the Lamb record every night and who was reading Russ Ramsey’s Behold the Lamb book in the mornings. I was captured again by the story of our Rescuer.
I also found myself caught up into a beautiful community of story-tellers. These people love well. They seek each other out. They listen. They pray. They laugh—a lot. They play spike ball and catch phrase. They say, “I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?” They gather each night to eat a meal together. They bear with each other. They craft songs that carry the ache and joy and hope and wandering our souls experience, and they welcomed me as one of their own.
Night after night, I would cry standing side stage, hands raised in the air, as Andrew sang the truth to every crowd.
Behold the Lamb of God who takes away our sin
Behold the Lamb of God, the life and light of men
Behold the Lamb of God who died and rose again
Behold the Lamb of God who comes to take away our sin
Oh to get to sing the gladdest of tidings to a different city each night. To get to sing the story of Emmanuel, God With Us, to our own souls. Remember! “The power of death undone.” Remember! “Son of God. Son of Man.” And then we would walk off the stage every night as our own voices mingled with the voices of brothers and sisters who came to the show to remember with us.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
Praise Him indeed.