Serenade
I sang for you tonight.
And yes, I know you couldn't hear me, since you're miles away and probably not even thinking about me. Still, I sang every hymn that made me think of you, and I sang them as if you were in the room, listening.
I could have prayed, maybe asked God one more time to give you peace and comfort and joy. I could have fallen to my knees and talked to our Father about how I don't understand why you have to go through all of this right now. The words, "This isn't fair" could have come out of my mouth the way they always do when I think about this darkness you are facing.
Instead, I sang for you.
I sang about God's faithfulness, His truth, and and His love. I sang about leaning on Him, about living day by day, and trusting Him "what e'er betide." I sang about the love that has no limit and the grace that has no measure. I sang as if you were right across from me, and every melody was a balm to ease your pain.
It was really hard. Singing for you meant I did not skim over the parts about death, sorrow, and "troubles meeting." Singing Children of the Heavenly Father was one of the most difficult. There's a line that reads:
"God his own doth tend and nourish; In His holy courts they flourish;
From all evil things He spares them; In His mighty arms He bears them."
Honestly, it was a few moments before I could play that line, let alone sing it. It doesn't seem right to say God spares you or me from anything here on earth, not after all the life that has happened to us and our friends. I contented myself with rewriting the hymn to read:
"From sorrow He does not spare them; Yet in His mighty arms He bears them."
If nothing else about this event can cheer you, realize this: I rewrote a hymn for you.
I sang about God's perfect peace, like a river glorious, which increases and conquers everything in its path. I sang about going into a garden alone with God, and listening to Him. I sang so many songs that I can't remember them all. For that hour, I said everything I have wanted to say to you and to myself and to God. A lot of it wasn't pretty. And yet, when the words rhymed instead of colliding and the notes resolved in proper cadences, the result was this: hope filled the space between us, somehow making the vast distance small.
I know my singing didn't change the facts: life is still hard.
I know you could not hear me.
But God did, and I believe He cares even more about you than I do. And I believe He can make music out of what you are going through.
And yes, I know you couldn't hear me, since you're miles away and probably not even thinking about me. Still, I sang every hymn that made me think of you, and I sang them as if you were in the room, listening.
I could have prayed, maybe asked God one more time to give you peace and comfort and joy. I could have fallen to my knees and talked to our Father about how I don't understand why you have to go through all of this right now. The words, "This isn't fair" could have come out of my mouth the way they always do when I think about this darkness you are facing.
Instead, I sang for you.
I sang about God's faithfulness, His truth, and and His love. I sang about leaning on Him, about living day by day, and trusting Him "what e'er betide." I sang about the love that has no limit and the grace that has no measure. I sang as if you were right across from me, and every melody was a balm to ease your pain.
It was really hard. Singing for you meant I did not skim over the parts about death, sorrow, and "troubles meeting." Singing Children of the Heavenly Father was one of the most difficult. There's a line that reads:
"God his own doth tend and nourish; In His holy courts they flourish;
From all evil things He spares them; In His mighty arms He bears them."
Honestly, it was a few moments before I could play that line, let alone sing it. It doesn't seem right to say God spares you or me from anything here on earth, not after all the life that has happened to us and our friends. I contented myself with rewriting the hymn to read:
"From sorrow He does not spare them; Yet in His mighty arms He bears them."
If nothing else about this event can cheer you, realize this: I rewrote a hymn for you.
I sang about God's perfect peace, like a river glorious, which increases and conquers everything in its path. I sang about going into a garden alone with God, and listening to Him. I sang so many songs that I can't remember them all. For that hour, I said everything I have wanted to say to you and to myself and to God. A lot of it wasn't pretty. And yet, when the words rhymed instead of colliding and the notes resolved in proper cadences, the result was this: hope filled the space between us, somehow making the vast distance small.
I know my singing didn't change the facts: life is still hard.
I know you could not hear me.
But God did, and I believe He cares even more about you than I do. And I believe He can make music out of what you are going through.
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