singing through the night

I had something else in mind for today's post, but then this appeared in my inbox with the daily reading from Spurgeon's Morning and Evening, and I changed my mind.

See excerpts and personal reflection below:

"God, my maker, who giveth songs in the night." Job 35:10

It is easy to sing when we can read the notes by daylight; but he is skilful who sings when there is not a ray of light to read by -- who sings from his heart. No man can make a song in the night of himself; he may attempt it, but he will find that a song in the night must be divinely inspired. Let all things go well, I can weave songs, fashioning them wherever I go out of the flowers that grow upon my path; but put me in a desert, where no green thing grows, and wherewith shall I frame a hymn of praise to God?

This part resonates with me because of my experience during my mom's funeral.

Mom loved to praise God in song. For many years, she took part in the praise and worship team at our church. Since she had a lot of time to think about her own funeral, she insisted that there be lots of singing. Joyful singing. Happy singing. Jubilant songs of praise.

Just before our extended family formed a procession to enter the sanctuary for her funeral, our pastor said, "Okay, here we go. And I want you to sing these songs with gusto! She would've wanted that!"

It sounded like a good idea, but there was just one minor problem: in my past experiences at funerals, I have found the lump in my throat too restricting to get any sound to come out. I anticipated the same to happen that day, even more so than on other occasions.


But to my great surprise, th e Lord again gave grace, and when the drums started beating and the bass guitar resonated in my chest, I stood there in the front row, looked straight up at the huge cross hanging in the front of our church, and I sang. I even smiled while I sang. It was a smile on a tear-stained face, but it was a genuine smile, as I thought about the infinite joy my mom must be experiencing now, doing what she loved best for all eternity.

Let but this voice be clear, and this body full of health, and I can sing God's praise: silence my tongue, lay me upon the bed of languishing, and how shall I then chant God's high praises, unless he himself give me the song? No, it is not in man's power to sing when all is adverse, unless an altar-coal shall touch his lip. It was a divine song, which Habakkuk sang, when in the night he said, "Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation."

This portion of Spurgeon's contribution illustrated my mom's last weeks on earth, even her last hours. Even as she was confined to her bed, a terminally ill patient, she herself ministered to the staff at the Hospice House. There were two female workers in particular who were going through tough times in their lives, and my mom made a point to pray with them in her room every evening. Here she was, in desperate need herself, yet pointedly reaching out to be a blessing to others.

I am told that in her final hour, the nurses on duty played praise music in mom's room -- it was playing as she crossed into eternity. How this fills my heart with gratitude.

As an epitaph for our mom's gravestone, my sister and I chose the verse, "Rejoice in the Lord always." In sickness and in health, in the light of day and the dark of night, Mom had a song to sing. She rejoiced in the Lord ... always.

Then, since our Maker gives songs in the night, let us wait upon him for the music. O thou chief musician, let us not remain songless because affliction is upon us, but tune thou our lips to the melody of thanksgiving.