The Journey Continues: The Word That Dripped Into My Soul

"I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you." — Psalm 119:11, ESV

"Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God." — Colossians 3:16, ESV

I have many memories of my late mother, two of which, at first, seem oddly connected: making coffee and singing hymns and anthems.

When I was young, young enough to still need a nightlight in my bedroom, my mom would sing great hymns of the faith from a worn and tattered hymnal as she put me to sleep. Over the years, those hymns became part of me, their words lodging somewhere deep inside, bolstering me even decades later when life's troubles seemed overwhelming.

It reminds me of one of my other memories of her. Whenever we had company over for dinner she'd set up the Melitta coffee maker, dump the coffee grounds into the filter, and pour hot water over the grounds. I'd watch the coffee slowly drip through the filter and into the glass carafe, filling the kitchen with that delicious aroma.

For four decades I resisted God's Word because of a friend's "conditional" statement that put me off of practices of faith, including a desire to walk with God. Yet God, in His grace, had been finding ways to place His Word in me all along. It was a lifetime of singing. It started with those bedside hymns my late mom sang, with the truths of Scripture woven into their lyrics. But it didn't stop there. It grew into decades of my own life in music—first in youth choirs, then adult choirs, and leading up to my years in a professional chorus. Year after year, performance after performance, God's Word was being revealed to me in the lyrics of those hymns, anthems, and massive choral masterworks. I thought I was just performing music, but a lifelong reservoir of Scripture was quietly filling up.

And now, as I have chosen to make God's Word a daily part of my life, that massive collection of sung words has suddenly seeped into my soul, becoming real, vital, and alive. Words I had sung decades earlier across my entire life suddenly have brand new life:

"How lovely is thy dwelling place, O Lord of Hosts."

"Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God."

"The eyes of all wait upon thee, and thou givest them their meat in due season."

"O, clap your hands, all ye peoples! Shout unto God with a voice of triumph!"

Now, as I read the Word—mostly the Psalms—those passages I sang so many years ago literally leap from the pages. It triggers this overwhelming wave of recognition and pure joy. I can look at a Psalm and say with absolute certainty, "I know this. I sang that at such and so a place and time." The text evokes a lifetime of memories: Sunday mornings in the choir loft, the bright lights of the concert stage, and back to my childhood bedroom with my mom at my bedside.

Just as the coffee slowly dripped through the Melitta filter, a lifetime of sacred music—from her voice to mine—was dripping and seeping into my soul over decades of my own resistance. What I once resisted has become dear and precious to me.

Soli Deo Gloria