On Sunday evening, our church hosted a musical event – kind of a “talent show” of our musicians. I was blessed to be able to accompany my twelve-year-old daughter, who sang a couple of songs. One of them was a song that I had prayed at my keyboard nearly five years ago, the night before the funeral of an eleven-year-old boy. I truly believe that God gave us music to help us pray.
Trent was a normal fifth-grade boy, doing normal fifth-grade boy things. When he got sick with the flu, his mother took him to the doctor. They watched his symptoms for a few days, and they seemed to get worse instead of better before he was admitted to the hospital. Both his mother and father are colleagues of mine, and I was shocked when Melissa told me that the doctors were concerned that Trent might not live. I prayed hard, and believed that God would save this boy – I mean, what perfectly healthy boy dies of the flu, right?
Sadly, Trent died a short time later. I know that God is not obligated to answer our prayers the way we want Him to, and that He ultimately has a plan for all of our lives, but I will tell you this was a hard pill to swallow. His parents were devastated. Our co-workers were despondent. I was crushed.
I sat at my keyboard, very, very late the night before the funeral and wept. My heart was broken for them. I knew that their lives would never be the same – that they would need each other more than ever, and that they would need God to get through. I thought, too, about all of the other people who have experienced such loss and sadness, and how they, too, needed God to help them get through.
As I sat and played notes, eventually the notes turned into a tune, and words began to fill my mind. The result was the song that we shared on Sunday. I had played it instrumentally during communion several times, but it had never been sung. When I asked my daughter if she would sing it for me, her willing heart immediately said, “yes”. When we sat down to rehearse it for the first time, I handed her the words (no music, for I’ve never actually written it out), she sang it absolutely perfectly, as if she knew the tune already. Dumbfounded, I asked her how she knew it. She said, “I’ve heard you play it lots of times here in the house”. Although that may be true, I never even told her it had words, yet she was able to hear the exact timing of every word as God had written them on my heart several years before.
My Everything
Sometimes the road seems empty
Sometimes the road seems long
I have to keep believing in what keeps us strong.
At times the path is crooked
At times the world is cruel
All I can do is hold on to Truth
You’re my everything…. My everything
You’re the strength that carries me when I can’t go on.
You’re my everything…. My everything
You’re love keeps me strong
When our hearts are heavy,
And we just don’t understand,
God still holds us firmly in the palm of His hand
When our hearts are troubled,
And everything seems wrong
He heals the brokenhearted and He brings a new song
He’s my everything…. my everything
He’s the strength that carries me when I can’t go on.
He’s my everything…. my everything
Gets me through night til dawn.
Holding on when I can’t let go, carrying me,
He breaks the chains that bind me and sets me free
Everything…. my everything
He’s the strength that carries me when I can’t go on.
He’s my everything…. my everything
His love keeps me strong.
This is the message the book Masquerade attempts to share with its readers. Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted, and He binds up their wounds” (NIV). I cannot pretend to understand why God took Trent home. I only know the experience in my own life is this: God will never waste a hurt. He will use every tear and every sorrow to mold and shape us into who He wants us to be.
He’s my everything.
Blessings,
SB
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