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November 20 – Share your favorite hymn. Tell us why it’s your favorite and what it means to you.
Before I share my favorite hymn with you, I feel as if I must share a story with you.
When I was little, Sunday morning meant church. That was just a given.
As soon as 9:15 came around, I’d hear a faint knock on our door. I knew it was Grandma, who lived next door. I already knew she would have her Sunday best on, which included a clutch-bag to match her outfit. Her hair still fancily curled from my Mom setting it the day before. Shiny costume jewelry that I loved to pour over would be hanging around her neck. And a broach always adorned her dress.
My Dad would be in the bathroom, without a doubt combing his hair. He would have on his best suit with a tie to match. His outfit wouldn’t be complete without a fancy little tie-tack that pulled his outfit together.
My Mama was in the kitchen, putting the last touches on our Sunday dinner and getting it in the oven. I don’t know why Sunday dinners after church always tasted so good, but they were my favorite growing up.
We would all load up in my parents car and travel the half-mile to church.
We would all split off in different directions, heading to our Sunday school classrooms. I would find my group of friends and we would run to ours, giggling the entire way.
As soon as Sunday School was over, I’d gather my things together and scurry upstairs. I would slide in the pew and settle in beside my Mama.
The service would begin.
I would sit there, impatiently waiting to sing a hymn. Singing was always my favorite part of the service. The song leader would announce the hymn number and I would quickly grab my hymnal and stand, always being one of the first ones up. As soon as the hymn would start, my Dad’s voice could plainly be heard above the rest of the congregation. When he would start singing, I would stand a little taller. I was so proud of my Dad’s singing voice, his ability to harmonize easily and his knowledge of virtually every verse of every hymn. I was always in awe of his ability to sing notes that weren’t even on the pages.
As I got older, my love of this Sunday morning moment never changed. If there was a Sunday my Dad had to work, I would still stand tall and proud, doing my part. My Dad had taught me how to harmonize, how to pull the melodies from the music and how to hear the piano over everyone’s voices.
I also took piano lessons for many years when I was young. I was lucky enough to have a piano teacher that was not only a Christian but attended the same church I did. Many of my weekly lessons were learning to play hymns. I can assure you there was many a night spent around the piano (not always willingly on my part), playing hymns with my Dad singing melody and me singing harmony. And Sunday mornings when the song leader would call out a hymn that I knew we had practiced at home, I would do a little victory dance inside. I would stand up and sing beside my Dad as loud as I could.
My Dad has aged over the years, not having the best hearing and vision anymore. There were quite a few years where he didn’t attend church because of his health issues. This had never really affected me until Easter a few years ago. The song leader announced the hymn, He Arose. I stood to sing and suddenly my throat was tight, my eyes welled with tears and I was overwhelmed with sadness.
I sang every hymn that Easter Sunday through tears. My husband, bless his sweet heart, saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t even really explain it to him without it coming out all jumbled. I was basically, in that single moment, overwhelmed with the reality that my life is changing. The “old days” were just that, the old days. They weren’t my reality anymore. I thought I would never again stand beside my Dad in church and harmonize. And that broke my heart into a million pieces.
But then, something happened. Something amazing happened. I walked into church one Sunday, and saw my Dad sitting there! The smile on my face couldn’t be hidden. My Dad felt confident, even though he can’t see or hear well, to again attend Sunday morning service. And my heart exploded with joy! That first Sunday when the song leader announced the hymn, I nearly fell over. It was the same hymn that, all those years ago, I played on the piano while my Dad and I harmonized. I stood as quickly as I could, turned to the page, and then I heard that familiar sound. My Dads voice rising above the rest. I could feel the tears welling up, but I had to hold them back. I fell right into my harmony spot. For the remainder of that song, I was just a 10 year old girl standing beside her Dad singing her heart out.
That hymn will be my lifetime favorite for the very reasons I explained above. Standing On The Promises. It holds lifetime significance for me. And the words, oh the precious words.
Standing on the promises of Christ my King
Through eternal ages let his praises ring
Glory in the highest, I will shout and sing
Standing on the promises of God
Throughout every valley in my life, right in the middle of my mess, I’ve clung to those words. We can stand on the many promises of God. Promises that we know, without a doubt, will come true. From a God that doesn’t fail, doesn’t leave us in our mess and will always walk right beside us.
Years ago I found a t-shirt that says “Standing on the Promises” on the front of it. I quickly bought it, and I wear it to the hospital on every surgery day for a reminder.
My Dads health has once again made it to where Sunday mornings are spent at home, not in church. But you will find me there singing a hymn through my tears.
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