Singing in the Night
March 31, 2022 — Laura House
Growing up with a mom who sang, played the piano, and could make sounds come from an organ that would stir your heart, I learned from an early age about the incredible impact of music. I have fond memories of playing piano duets with my sister, singing in musicals, and accompanying our sanctuary choir at church.
Amidst the memories of fairly well-performed songs are a few funny moments too, like the time that Leah and I sang a duet in church. She was the soprano, leading the melody, and I was the alto, adding harmony. What happened next depends on who is telling the story, but as I remember it, Leah slurred one of the words of the song in a way that tickled me. I inadvertently made an unassuming yet uncontrollable snicker that only she could hear. Apparently, my snort tickled her to the point that she could no longer sing, yet for some reason, I continued to belt out the harmony, which made no sense at all. From the serious looks on our faces, the audience simply assumed that we were overcome with emotion and struggling to finish. The “struggling to finish” part was certainly accurate! After we sat back down in the choir loft out of view of the congregation, we spent the entire sermon laughing hysterically. I think it was quite awhile before we had the courage to sing together again.
When I was in high school, Mom, Leah, and I went on a road trip to Florida. Hours of trio-singing passed the driving time, and we perfected our rendition of the “Mr. Bubble” commercial song that became a fun favorite of ours. After arriving at the beach, we continued the trios, usually while standing at the water’s edge in the moonlight. The song that I still sing every time I go to the beach is a tune set to the beautiful promises found in Psalm 63. The lyrics are as follows:
Oh God, you are my Father. Each morning I seek your face. My soul cries out for your mercy; I long for a touch of your grace. Though I am often surrounded by a dry and desolate land, I behold your power and glory, and I know that I’m safe in your hand. Your love is better than life; and my heart longs to offer you praise. So I’ll lift up my eyes and I’ll worship you; and be satisfied all of my days. When I make my bed in the darkness, with joy I’ll sing a new song. And recall all the times that you’ve rescued me; and be satisfied all my life long.
By far, the most vivid memory I have of our trios took place just a few nights before Mom went to Heaven. It was in the wee hours of the morning and Dad was sitting beside the couch where Mom was lying. Leah was in the room next door, ready to help with anything if needed. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but somehow Leah sensed that Mom wanted music. She asked, “Mom, would you like us to sing? Want me to get our trio buddy?” She nodded yes, and Leah woke me.
With Dad standing nearby watching the scene unfold, we knelt by the couch and began to sing. Mom joined in and the weak voice that had become so silent over the last few days was strong again as she sang her favorite hymns — “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” “Gentle Shepherd,” “There’s Something About that Name,” and so on. Oh, how I wish that one of us had thought to turn on the record button on our phones; but the moment felt “holy” and we just soaked it in.
I was grateful for Leah’s strength in leading the melody and found that I couldn’t look directly at Mom during that precious time or I’d become too choked up to sing. I wanted to do it well for her. We’d suggest another title, or she’d start the next one on her own and we’d jump in. It went on for twenty minutes or more. Then in the midst of the timeless hymns, so full of hope and comfort, she quietly began another tune. “Bu, bu, bu, bubble.” It was the Mr. Bubble song. We joined in, cherishing her grin. Mom’s sense of humor was a joy to all who knew her.
After Mom passed into the presence of Jesus, family and friends came together to celebrate her life, and once again, we sang her favorite hymns. Then gathering at the gravesite, we sang more hymns, lingering there, not wanting the goodbye to end. I remember Nathan standing at the back of the tent wearing sunglasses, so his tears wouldn’t be obvious. Never in a million years would I have thought then, that only eighteen months later, he would join Mom in Heaven.
In the midst of grief, I have found encouragement, hope, and comfort in so many hymns borne from hardship and suffering. Have you read the story of Fanny Crosby who, at six months of age, became blind for life from a treatment put in her eyes? She wrote more than eight thousand hymns such as “Blessed Assurance,” “He Hideth My Soul,” and “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior.”
Perhaps you are familiar with the unbelievable losses of Horatio Spafford, a prominent attorney in the late 1800s. In some ways, his story reminds me of Job. Spafford lost a young son to scarlet fever, then lost most of his investments in the great Chicago fire, and tragically, lost all four of his little daughters when the ship they were traveling on with their mother, collided with another ship. His wife was found unconscious, floating on a piece of wood, and she survived. Horatio boarded a ship to go to his grieving wife and when the ship passed over the site of the shipwreck, he penned the words to the familiar song, “It is Well with My Soul.”
When a hymn has been written by someone in the midst of grief, the words seem to resonate with our own situations. Filled with theological truths, we are pointed back to the reality of who God is and of His promise to hold us through our suffering. Although I hope you might take time to read all of the stanzas, I want to leave you today with a verse from another one of my favorite hymns, “Be Still My Soul.”
Be still, my soul, the hour is hastening on; when we shall be forever with the Lord. When disappointment, grief and fear are gone; sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored. Be still, my soul when change and tears are past. All safe and blessèd, we shall meet at last.
I look forward with eager anticipation to experiencing the joy of being with Jesus, Nathan, my mom, and so many others who have gone before me.
Until that time, “...let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus…”
