As the blended notes of instruments moved our voices along, I stood on the platform anticipating the key change. And then the moment I'd been waiting for arrived. "I sing for joy at the work of Your hands."

As I sang those words, I raised my hand as a sign that this was real for me. I was singing for joy. And as I sang, I couldn't help but think of how much harder this moment could be if I hadn't started the day with at least "a little talk with Jesus."

It had been a stressful morning, but what I'd read about God that morning and the words the two of us exchanged through prayer allowed me to believe what I was singing—so much so that I didn't want to stop. If I'd had my way, we would have sung the whole song again, a cappella, carefully listening to each other praise God. There's no one quite like Him.

I wake up fully aware of my need for God—most days. Frustrated by the jarring sound of an alarm, I rely on God to end my slumber. To the right of my bed sits a Bible, pages interrupted by sermon notes and potential essay topics. I glance at the leather-bound book, wondering if reading it a bit later in the day would really be less effective than reading it immediately. And I'm quickly reminded that yes, now is the right time. So I open it up and try, between yawns, to listen.

God speaks in a variety of ways. The last thing I want to do is limit my ability to hear Him. So aside from reading my Bible and talking to God soon after waking, I have no strict traditions.

I'm currently reading the Psalms. I practiced the "Psalm-a-day" method a long while back, focusing more on getting through them than on taking them in. These days I sometimes get stuck on a sentence like "establish the work of our hands" from Psalm 90 or a word like help.

The Psalms don't always reflect my current murmurings, but they always remind me of our human condition—we need a Savior. This is why I worship. This is why I ask God to be Lord of my life and I try to live as though I mean it.

The more clearly I recognize my need for God, the more challenging worship becomes, because I like my independence. I'm almost addicted to a DIY (Do It Yourself) way of life. From repairing an appliance to refinishing a table, there's a warm, satisfying calm that comes over me when I look at the finished product and bless it with my pride. Yes, I did that. Yes, it took skill. Yes, it looks wonderfully unique.

The crazy thing is, very few projects actually receive such praise because very few are thoroughly completed. There's never enough time in a day or money in my pocket to do all that I want to do all by myself. The unfinished pieces around me serve as reminders that I wasn't made an island; I was made a human being in need of community, in need of help, especially in need of God. None of my efforts will save me.

Worship is apparently a verb. Whether kneeling for prayer or being kind to a neighbor, action must be present for worship to be anything more than intellectual assent. And yet action sometimes gets the best of us.

I'll admit that leading a congregation in singing can give me a high, not because I think I'm the best voice out there, but because the experience has a strong emotional dimension. To not only sing a song but to hear a crowd sing out with me is beyond exciting. It gives some credence to what I do and energizes me to continue. I walk away believing that something really good just happened, and I'll do it again as soon as I can.

But the high only lasts so long. I must come down to reflect on the experience, confess that I'm never enough, and thank God for being there. I rest in His presence.

Just this morning I got another reminder of God's presence as my friend, Jody, and I went running. We have a particular meeting area and I was late; so as soon as I got out the door and down the staircase I began to run. The air was cold but not as cold as it had been other days—three layers weren't necessary. Such relief.

I ran along the path counting my blessings and finally met up with Jody. As usual, we began swapping stories of how God's been good to us. It's a double blessing: it reminds us of God's faithfulness and makes the run fly by. And when we get to the end, we catch our breath and then we pray. I look forward to that time. We always thank God for running with us, praying as if He's standing right there, because He is.

I wish all worship experiences were so beautifully simple, but worship is typically a challenge, and it is seldom flawless. The submission of my will to God's doesn't always happen as soon as it should, so I mess up along the way.

It would be no big deal if I served some distant being that I couldn't talk to or expect to hear from. But God is so close. He's my Creator and He made me so that I could worship Him, because in worshiping Him, I take part in His big salvation plan. It's so big that I can't afford to live a compartmentalized life: a religion box, a school box, a work box, a health box.

Everything has to work together so that who I am on Sabbaths actually directly relates to who I am on Tuesdays. With this unified approach, my life should reflect a desire to be obedient to what Jesus says. Obedience is worship.

And I don't want to follow that up with "oh, what better way to live!" because that sounds so trite. I want worship to be much more than a slogan, strewn across virtual realities and disconnected from the everyday journey. Worship is essential. I want to keep it alive and dynamic, and I want to help others do the same.

So I sing. I use music to talk about God, optimistically believing that God wants us to worship Him using the things we enjoy. Why give them to us otherwise?

I often second-guess my optimism, however, supposing that selfishness has gotten the best of me. After all, how can sacrifice and enjoyment coexist?

Thankfully, experience has taught me that sacrifice is in the surrender of my singing to the will of God. Instead of putting all my energy into fun and easy performances, I have to be available for the less predictable, the opportunities that grow my skills and challenge my faith in God.

I have to sing and mean what I sing, even when I'm tired and I don't think people are listening. In these times, God is somehow able to speak to me and I am able to listen. I take my gift and give it back through praise, and then, the Almighty talks to me. Me! He takes the time to let me know that He's glad I'm worshiping Him.

But He also reminds me that this is not about me or my good intentions. The Holy Spirit is in charge. I've done my best to prepare, but God's running this. So I've got to let it go, stop clinging to my labor, stop hedging in the blessing.

Planning well and then surrendering all my plans to God is extremely difficult. Just imagine organizing a workshop and then giving it to someone else to lead. No matter how clear your instructions, you know the workshop won't go exactly the way you planned. Even if the participants learn the material, a part of you wants them to have the experience you had in mind—the one that only you could provide. But the point is that they learn, not that they experience you.

It's the same in worship. Even though I've spent time intentionally preparing a music set, once I get up to sing the attention shouldn't be on me. When I act as though it should be, God doesn't sit still. He interrupts my day and says, "Allow Me to introduce Myself to you once again. Perhaps you've forgotten that I am the object of your worship. You worship Me because I made you and take care of you. You worship Me because others need to know that I am their God, too."

Okay. But what does that mean Lord? Really. It sounds difficult, like that whole "faith without works is dead" concept John talks about. How do I make You the object of worship? What is it You really want from me? Questions pour out of an honest search for understanding.

I don't always feel comfortable raising my hands, and I don't always want to kneel. I don't always know what the physical manifestation of my spiritual experience should be. But that's not what matters most. Somehow I must allow God all the time He needs to reveal Himself to me as Creator, because then I'll better understand Him as Savior.

There's a time to sing and a time to sit still—a time to do and a time to simply be. And in each, God just wants to speak. I will listen. I will worship.

Michaela V. Lawrence is a student at the Seventh-day Adventist Theological Seminary at Andrews University and a member of the Pioneer Memorial Church worship team.