Songs for the Heart
Some women may not be quick to reveal that they are in their seventies, but I'm happy to. It is so unusual—even miraculous—that I should be alive, given fifty-five years of quadriplegia. Several people have asked me the secret to my good health and happy spirits.
I could rattle off the many liters of water I drink or that I limit red meat and eat raw, unprocessed bran, but that’s not half of it. I live not only on bread, water, and more, but I live on the songs God puts on my heart. Over the years, I have discovered that singing is not an option for Christ-followers; it’s a command. Whether Colossians 3 or Ephesians 5, we are not merely invited to sing; God tells us to sing.
My tiresome day-to-day disability routines can wear me down, and often, I feel like caving in emotionally. Sitting in a wheelchair or lying in bed in chronic pain? Unable to mentally put two words together in prayer? I can at least sing the hymns I learned as a little girl. The words come easily since I learned them in childhood:
All the way my Savior leads me, cheers each winding path I tread;
Gives me grace for every trial, feeds me on the living Bread.
When my weary soul may falter and my soul a-thirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me, lo, a Spring of joy I see!
A hymn like All the Way My Savior Leads Me is a way of turning my soul Godward, even when my mind is in a brain fog. If I can’t speak my praise? I can sing my praise, expressing my confidence in Christ through hymns I know by heart.
I didn’t pick up my Bible every day in elementary school, but I picked up hymns. It was because my mother and father sang them often, whether hiking as a family, doing chores, or singing to make a long road trip shorter. My favorite memories are harmonizing with my sisters around the fire when we would pitch our tent and beach camp along the Delaware shore. There was no sweeter satisfaction for me—even as a little girl—than to lie back on my blanket, with hands under head, and gaze at the starry dome while singing a hymn.
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff’ring and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
I loved adding harmony, fitting my notes up under my parents’ melody. We’d swell the first part, like the tide flowing, and then sing gently on the last part, like the tide ebbing.
The rest of the family went on to the second verse, but I stopped singing—listening to a larger song coming from the star-splattered heavens.
With knees bent, the front of my legs caught the heat and light, casting over me a deep, cool shadow as I laid face up listening to the universe drift by. Tiny clusters of stars and great constellations spackled the night. I listened to the surf pound. The Atlantic Ocean was another universe of mysterious currents that touched the toes of Ireland and England, places too far away to believe were real. And there we were, huddled around our small fire, a tiny ember on a beach stretching north and south for miles with nary another camp in sight. A point of light among thousands that night on the eastern seaboard. A coast on one of many continents on a planet dwarfed by galaxies spinning above.
I had never felt so small. Yet so safe.
Safe, secure, and significant. I could not imagine a kid anywhere on the planet that night, anywhere among the sand dunes along the Delaware coast, who felt as safe as I. Part of it was simply being in a family that I knew loved me. But most of it was the hymns. When someone started up, “I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses,” I felt as though God himself was among us, illuminated by the flames of the fire and breathing a sigh with each wave.
I look back on those memories and am filled with wonder. The great hymns of the faith provided the musical score for my childhood. The rich doctrine and wealth of wisdom fell upon me almost like sunshine. How could I not be transformed by hymn-singing that came as natural as drinking water?
As a mom, how do you raise a child to appreciate the precepts and principles that are tucked away in old hymns like When I Survey the Wondrous Cross or newer choruses like In Christ Alone? How do we help turn a little girl’s heart or a son’s interest to these songs of worship? There’s only one answer: start singing them. And if you’re not great at following a tune? Find a recording you like or simply memorize and recite them together. You can even make a game of it, rewarding the winner (I don’t mean to brag, but I excelled over my sisters).
Yes, I really am the winner. Many decades have passed, and in my long and difficult paralysis, I can look back to my childhood and see how God ingrained hymns on my heart to help me overcome. I am an audio-visual aide of Psalm 59:16-17: “I will sing of your strength; I will sing aloud of your steadfast love in the morning. For you have been to me a fortress and a refuge in the day of my distress.”
Distressful days will no doubt come for your children as well. They will grow up and face their own sets of trials, and they will need to sing of God’s strength. Hopefully, they will hearken to their own fond memories of family times together. And when they do, I trust they’ll find songs of worship and hymns of the faith to bolster their spirits. Songs they learned while doing chores, picnicking in the backyard, or taking road trips to vacation. It’s why the Psalmist teaches us to say, “For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy” (Psalm 63:7-8).
Yes, no matter what the hardship, your child can learn to sing for joy. So start them early—and thank you for impressing the words of hymns on the tender hearts of your children!
