The oldie, but obviously not a goodie, “Talk Dirty to Me” by Poison hums along in my mind reminding me of days gone by. Don’t you hate when a song enters in, and takes residence in between the left and right hemisphere of the brain as if it is entitled to squatter’s rights?
Don’t you hate it when the lyrics enter within the left and right ventricle of the heart and reek havoc on your emotional health?
Enough already. I am not dirty. I am clean. I am forgiven. I have been redeemed by the blood of Jesus.
“Quiet!” I cry out to the internal sabotage.
She continues on as if she cannot not hear my pleas to stop.
I’ll show you. I’ll take a bath. Because, logic says if I clean myself up until I’m squeaky clean, the condescending criticism will go down the drain.
Instead, my value circles and circles downward until an unhealthy residue leaves a circle of shame at the bottom of my self-worth.
Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll show you who’s in charge. I’ll buy a new outfit to cover up those filthy feelings. After all, reason says that when I look good, I cannot help but feel good. Right?
But the material makes my skin crawl. I wonder if I am allergic to the fabric of freedom in Christ? Where is the burlap?
A thought occurs which surpasses the fingers-on-a-chalkboard condemnation–
It is time for a new song. I cannot think of a better voice to whisper to me the truth of the situation but David Crowder. I am looking forward to hear this anointed fellow with the ZZ Top beard and worn out baseball hat sing live in a couple weeks.
Until then, the song which I hit the play button on a continuous basis, to permeate deep within with the light of Jesus to where residual guilt and shame still linger in dark corners of brokenness, is “Here’s My Heart.”
Here’s my heart, Lord
Speak what is true
I am found, I am Yours
I am loved, I’m made pure
I have life, I can breathe
I am healed, I am free