As a young girl, I can remember standing beside my parents every Sunday in church and waiting impatiently 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.
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 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 also a Christian, so many of my weekly lessons were learning to play hymns. I can assure you there were many a night spent around the piano (not always willingly on my part), playing hymns with my Dad singing melody and me singing harmony. I can remember the neighbors saying how they enjoyed sitting on their porches in the summer listening to us. 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.
Over the years my Dads hearing has decreased to the point now where he watches church services at home and doesn’t attend the Sunday services. This had never really affected me Easter a few years ago. The song leader announced the hymn, He Arose. I stood to sing and suddenly was overwhelmed with sadness.
I sang every hymn that Easter Sunday through tears. My husband saw me crying and asked what was wrong {which only makes me cry harder}. I couldn’t even really explain it to him without it coming out all jumbled. I was basically, in that single moment, slapped in the face with the reality that my life is changing. The “old days” are just that, the old days. They aren’t my reality anymore. I will never again stand beside my Dad in church and harmonize. It’s my time to make those memories with my littles.
It still makes me sad and most Sundays, at one point or another, I’m singing a hymn through my tears.
