“When Pharaoh’s horses, chariots and horsemenwent into the sea, the Lord brought the waters of the sea back over them, but the Israelites walked through the sea on dry ground. 20 Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women followed her, with timbrels and dancing. 21 Miriam sang to them: “Sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted. Both horse and driver he has hurled into the sea.” (Exodus 15 v 19-21)
Miriam didn’t wait to see how the wilderness would treat them. The sea had barely closed before she picked up her timbrel. “Sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted” — sung on the far shore, with the whole future still unknown.
That’s the pattern all through Scripture. David sang in the cave before Saul stopped hunting him. Habakkuk sang when the fig tree hadn’t budded, and the fields were empty. Paul and Silas sang in a Philippian jail with their feet still in stocks. None of them waited for the circumstances to justify the song. The song came first and made room for what God was about to do.
That’s because singing isn’t just an emotional overflow. It’s a decision. A weapon. A way of declaring what’s true. God doesn’t only do something around us; he does something in us first, and the song is often how it starts.
Missions Paul 