My Dad is generally a beacon of reasonableness and a rock of good sense. But during my early adolescence, he briefly went through a phase that made my Mom and I question his sanity. When I was growing up, we typically listened to cassette tapes (and later CDs) of Petra, Steven Curtis Chapman, and Third Day, but for about a month, my Dad became obsessed with CHRISTIAN REGGAE. Every song had identical syncopation, an obnoxiously repetitive beat, unintelligible lyrics, and random “aye aye ayes” interspersed throughout each track. Since “Jesus” was apparently too much of a mouthful for this band, they shortened it to “Ja,” thus providing more opportunities for “aye aye ayes” and Charismatic Calypso. Not only was my father enthusiastically singing along, he began intermittently inserting “mon” into everyday conversations. My mother and I were forced to apply James 1 as we endured that trial with joy and perseverance.

And after that proverbial Wilderness Wandering, I appreciated non-reggae Christian bands like Third Day even more…and I really came to enjoy their song, “Show Me Your Glory.”

And the longer I walk with God, the more I, like Moses, want to see God’s glory. I want to move past my self-doubt and leave any armies of anxiety buried beneath waves of mercy. I want to speak with Him as I would with a friend. And every time I catch a glimpse of His majesty, it leaves me longing for more.

And one day, that veil will be lifted and I will join the celestial choir singing Holy, Holy, Holy. I doubt our praise will be set to a reggae beat…but then again, in Heaven, even reggae could be made glorious