A Life Of Praise

I sometimes ask myself if true praise should not be expressed more sincerely and frequently in our daily lives. In our cynical, cold, crass and critical word, could it be that we have lost the true art of praise and worship? So many times it seems so difficult for the people of God to come together and worship and praise Him just for worship's sake. For that matter, it seems nearly impossible to persuade His people not to forsake the assembling of themselves together in these last days.

Oh yes. We too can still mouth the proper words, but some attempts at true worship and praise seem to be increasingly elusive, empty and void. Other attempts seem to have become more crass entertainment than reverent and respectful worship. Could it be because we have forgotten our real purpose in life? The very essence and rationale for our continued existence? Have we forgotten and abandoned the principle voiced by the prophet Isaiah when he said, "Even everyone that is called by My name: for I have created him for My glory.” Have we forgotten that we are created for the praise and glory of God day by day? Some of our ancestors said it like this, "The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever."

If this is the case, then the Christian's life should be one long never ending song of praise to God. Whatever he does or wherever he goes and in whatever circumstance he finds himself, he is to praise God with his life and being. Just what part of our life should be praise? A small part? A significant part? A large part? No! Praise is to be our life. In the praise life, there is no room for carping, complaining or criticism. Any expressed dissatisfaction with the life God has given us is an indictment of God's provision for us. In whatever state we are in we are to be content. In everything we are to give thanks for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning us. An unknown author grandly caught the attitude and philosophy of the life of praise with the following versem:

The Divine Weaver

My life is but a weaving, Between my Lord and me;

I cannot choose the colors, He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, And I in foolish pride,

Forget that He seeth the upper, and I the under side.

Not till the loom is silent. And the shuttles cease to fly,

Shall God unroll the canvass, And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful, In the Weaver's skilful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver, In the pattern He has planned.

- Author Unknown