At our house, we have an annual rush to hear Christmas music.
Usually I make myself wait until November 1, and then I bring out my favorite recordings with great relish. I’d be hard pressed to choose my very favorite carol, but every year “The Drummer Boy” makes me cry again.
Its plaintive tune is partly why I find it so moving. But more than the music, the boy’s words echo my heart and I hear my own little worried voice:
I am a poor boy too:I have no gift to bring
That’s fit to give a King.
Shall I play for You on my drum?”
The fanciful song says Mary nodded, and the ox and ass kept time. I can hear the drumming fade as the drummer boy walks away.
“I played my drum for Him,
I played my best for Him;
Then He smiled at me—
Me and my drum.”
When I recognize Him as the love of my life and the King of the whole world, what can I give to Him? Can I give Him some pleasure with my drum? Or with any other thing I find in my hand? I would be so glad to please Him and see His smile.
But sometimes I don’t feel worthy of His smile. I don’t deserve His approval, and can’t imagine that I ever will.
Designed for Approval and Delight
Maybe because we are single, we have swallowed a lie that makes us feel permanently unchosen and under-valued. When we’re lonely, we can easily adopt the idea that we’re not charming enough, slender enough, friendly enough, too something, or not enough something else to be chosen and approved and delighted in.
Wanting approval and wanting to be enjoyed are not just fanciful ideas women dream up. These longings are a core part of us women. (We certainly didn’t concoct it because life would be easier without it.)
Since God put these deep desires in us, wouldn’t it stand to reason that He also designs whatever it is that satisfies those hungers? The truth is: God thinks you’re beautiful! Check out Ezekiel 16:14 again if you’ve forgotten what He says about you.
When I berate myself for making mistakes or reprimand my heart for being too passionate, I’m indirectly scolding God for making me as He did. Although some factories sell seconds, surely the Master Designer didn’t make a “second” when He made me. At those critical times of self-contempt I need to run to