Earlier this week I got a phone call from my cousin, Joy. She and I have one of those relationships that runs deep. Very deep. I remember writing her a letter when I was in the second grade. My dad was pastoring a church in PA and it was my first experience with real snow and 3 foot icicles. (There wasn't snow like that where we were from.) Joy lived in the South, the Deep South. She still does.
Because my dad was a “church planter,” we lived all over the map. Joy was a constant in my life. She still is.
When she called me the other day, she reminded of the song I have sung many times, “His Eye Is On The Sparrow” (written by Mrs. Civilla D. Martin in 1905). The version I sing combines parts of the second and third verses. Joy’s church sang the full version last Sunday.
She shared this line (unfamiliar to me) from the third verse, “When songs give place to sighing…”
Joy said when she saw that phrase she thought of me. She has never had a child pass from earth to Heaven, although the shadow of death came close to her first born a few years ago. She and her family have seen more than their portion of hardship. To protect her privacy, I will not be more specific.
Last Sunday Joy united with me in grief when she sang, “When songs give place to sighing…” because she has experienced the sound of her own sighing in a sorrowful place.
The Psalmist, David, writes, “I am feeble and severely broken; I groan because of the turmoil of my heart. Lord, all my desire is before You; And my sighing is not hidden from You. My heart pants, my strength fails me; As for the light of my eyes, it also has gone from me” Psalm 38:8-10.
Every night I sleep with Andrew’s fleece robe in my arms, holding the sleeve in my hand. Every morning, I kiss my son’s picture and I tell him, “Good Morning, Son. I miss you and I will see you soon. Very soon, I hope.” When that day comes my sighing will turn to singing. The refrain from
“Oh, I Want To See Him,” comes to mind this morning.
“Oh I want to see HIM, Look upon His face, there to sing forever of His saving grace. On the streets of Glory, let me lift my voice. Cares all past. Home at last. EVER TO REJOICE” (written by R.H. Cornelius in 1916).
Thank you for praying for my family...my son Avery (15) and my daughter, Audra (20). Thank you for praying for my husband and me. I am having a hard time with the images of Andrew in the last 24 hours of his life. They are very painful. I would ask that you pray specifically that I would not recall those sights. It breaks my broken heart all over again.