I was in Hobby Lobby, last week, shopping for spring cemetery flowers. Hobby Lobby is known for their Christian values and so they're always playing instrumental Christian music for their customers. An old hymn, "Abide with Me", came on and, as I shopped, I sang the entire hymn in my head. Word for word. Every single verse. I knew them all. We still sing hymns at our church, but I hadn't sung that particular hymn in many years. Even so, its words were still branded into the deep crevices of the mind of a woman, who can't remember why she came into a room, most days. Two or three older hymns followed that song and the words just kept coming; bubbling up to the top from the dark caverns of my memory. I knew that I could recite a lot of verses of many of the hymns, but, that day, I was particularly aware that my memory had held onto those precious words for such a long time.

My point is not to brag about my steel trap photographic memory or my most impressive religious background, but, growing up in a Southern Baptist church, the hymnal is just part of who I am. And, as a kid, when you were there every single time the doors were swung open, well, there was bound to be some lyric retention. Like many of you, since I was tall enough to prop my hymnal on the back of the pew in front of me and read the words, I've been singing the beautiful poetry found in the hymnal's pages......which are all bound together in a leather-ish cover, whose color is usually a perfect match to the sanctuary carpet. Carpet/hymnal coordination requirements are spelled out in the Baptist by-laws, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, I've always loved music and I will give my Daddy 90% of the credit for that. Our mother has a beautiful soprano voice and she was always singing to us when we were little. She taught us a lot of songs that I can still sing to this day like "Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree" and "There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea" and "Jesus in the Morning". But, it was my Daddy, who kept music playing all the time. He either had his turntable going or a PBS musical special on TV or just the weekly Lawrence Welk Show blaring. In the car, the radio was always set on public radio or something light or even his practice cassette for the next church choir program. Neil Diamond, Roger Miller, Abba, classical piano, Glen Campbell, Mahalia Jackson. We listened to it all. All the time. And, day after day, we slowly learned to value it.

Daddy had a pretty stressful job that required him to sit at a drawing board for hours and hours, each day. He was self-employed and had a small office building in our backyard, where he'd go to work. He was always staring a deadline in the face. Always getting a lot of calls from people, who needed to ask him questions. I don't think it's bragging when it's your Daddy, but he was a very gifted, intelligent man, whose opinions were highly regarded and sought after in his field. The way he performed under pressure could've made the difference between a building standing or a bridge collapsing. What he did was important and very stressful. But, no matter what time, day or night, if you went to visit him in his office, he had on his music. Mostly classical. Sometimes, something else. I think music, in some way, helped take some of the weight off of his shoulders as he leaned over that drawing board. Somehow, it took him away from his work, even while he was in the throes of it.

All of that to say, because of my parents, I can't remember a single day of my growing up that wasn't doused and saturated with music. I'm sure it wasn't always my favorite music, especially in the teen years, but, every day, I was exposed to the beautiful places that music could take me. The emotions it could stir. The different moods it could create. And, each day, I grew to love and appreciate the gift of music a little bit more.

I suppose the hymn thing in Hobby Lobby just made me realize how deeply music touches and just how long it lingers with us. It's been by my side throughout my entire life. There are vivid memories of particular songs that I will never forget. Like listening to "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" in our blue Ford as my legs stuck to the white vinyl backseat. I can still sing all the words to "Bicycle Built for Two", which I sang while dressed as a daisy in my 3rd grade play. I can recall every word of "There's a Hole in the Bucket" from watching Sesame Street all those years. I remember my heart beating in my throat as I sat on the piano bench, praying my memory wouldn't fail me as I began "Fur Elise" at my piano recital. Music helped me learn my ABCs and the books of the Bible. I was so proud when I learned to play "See the Bear", my very first piano piece. Hearing Michael Jackson, Duran Duran, or The Police still makes me feel 17. Theme songs to Dallas, Happy Days, The Love Boat, and The Jeffersons would always call me to the television set. I remember an emotional "God Bless America" being sung on the Capitol steps on 9/11. There were lullaby tapes I played as I rocked my babies, which I can still sing, word for word, even though they've long since outgrown my lap. There were Barney songs I couldn't get out of my head and Bob the Builder. As a 50 year old, I can recite the lyrics I sang in children's choir. "Fairest Lord Jesus" was the first piece I played in church as an offertory hymn. I will always remember I walked the aisle to join the church as a new Christian to "Jesus is Tenderly Calling". "Pomp and Circumstance" put a lump in my throat when I watched my son walk across the football field in his cap and gown. And when the strings commenced their playing and I turned to see my daughter in white on her Daddy's arm, it completely took my breath away. Music goes to our deepest parts and leaves indelible marks there.

Nothing could ever herald the Christmas season like music does. No one feels more special than when their name is inserted into a rendition of "Happy Birthday". "The Star Spangled Banner" always makes us stand a little straighter and "Taps" will always invoke a sense of reverence and gratitude. Music can take us back in time. To another place and a different time. It can stir emotions we thought were dead. It understands our sadness and has just the words we need to hear. It takes us closer to the throne of God than any other format or spoken word ever could. It articulates when we are at a loss. It celebrates with us and breathes new life into our steps. It understands when we want to be alone or don't have an appetite for words. It is always appropriate for the occasion. In sadness and elation, it is there. A friend for all seasons.

My phone is full of music with even more on my computer. All different kinds. All different genres. From all across the years. Songs that remind me of childhood to new songs I heard last week. But, I've noticed that, if I'm just mindlessly humming, my mind's playlist always defaults to those old hymns from those hymnals that rested in the pews of Highland Baptist Church. They are forever etched into my memory. And when my days are cold or my nights are fearful, without even realizing it, I go to that mental file of scripture put to melodies and something timely will rise to the top to warm me, calm me, and remind me who God is.

Some of my favorite hymn reminders.....
"Let Thy grace, Lord, like a fetter, bind my wand'ring soul to Thee"
"O, cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to hide from Thee"
"Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?"
"He hideth my soul in the depths of His love and covers me there with His hand"
"He whose heart is kind beyond all measure, gives unto each day what He deems best"
"Just one glimpse of Him in glory, will the toils of life repay"
"When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay"

I think I've told you before that I gave my Daddy an iPod when he was sick with cancer. I loaded it with all kinds of music. I had a lot of music in my iTunes library that I knew he liked and I purchased more. I even transferred some of his favorite CDs onto it. When I had, what I thought was a really good collection of his favorite music, I gave it to him. He was amazed that new technology could hold all of his music on one little device, which could be taken anywhere.

I remember sitting at the hospital with him, one day, when my Mama had gone home to get some rest. I had some paperwork I needed to do, so he put his earbuds in and laid back in his bed. The pain that was etched so deeply in his face seemed to melt away as he closed his eyes and enjoyed his music. I think I even detected the slightest hint of a smile on his face. I'm not sure where the music had taken him, that day, but it was somewhere away from that hospital room. His pain was lost someplace in the harmony of the notes and the lines and the words. I have no idea what he was listening to, but it was ministering to him. Maybe it had transported him to another time in his life when he was young and strong and healthy. Maybe it had taken him to the throne of Jesus, the giver of his hope. Maybe it was warming him with memories of what a good life he'd had and how much he was loved. Wherever he was in that moment, it was a better place. And that's what music has the power to do.


He told me, before he died, that the iPod was the most wonderful material gift he'd ever received. He said it brought him more joy than any other material possession he'd ever owned. Not that it was the most expensive or the most impressive, but I think, in his physical decline, it took him to the places, where He could no longer go and I imagine to a place where He was looking to soon go. 

In two weeks, it will be 10 years since my father died. He was a good, good Daddy. The least I could do was reconnect him with his old friend, music, in his last days.

Thank you, God, for the gift of beautiful music and the people who share it with us.


Hope you have a song in your heart today.