On summer Sundays in the small country church where I worshiped as a 12-year-old girl, someone would open the windows before the service. Without air conditioning, we welcomed any available breeze and plucked vintage fans from behind the pews—fans made of stiff cardboard that unfolded to reveal da Vinci’s Last Supper on one side and an ad for a funeral parlor on the other.
The church shared a fence with Mr. Bowman’s field, where he grew corn, soybeans, and hay. One summer in particular I remember gazing through those windows at the hay field, its grasses growing higher and higher from week to week.
In the stifling summer heat, we juggled worn fans and frayed hymnals that flopped open to this congregation’s favorites: “Trust and Obey,” “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” “It Is Well with My Soul,” “Wonderful Words of Life,” and “Blessed Assurance.”
During these songs, I sensed a surge of something flow through the congregation—it may have been as simple as familiarity that inspired robust participation, or as profound as a movement of God’s presence in our midst. Whatever it was, I loved hearing the volume rise at the chorus as farmers belted out truths of the Savior and their wives reached for those high notes with joy.
I stood in the midst of the music, searching for a note that my low voice could handle, longing to harmonize with this family of faith.
Sometimes I dropped out and simply listened, staring at the bucolic scene framed for me by the tall church windows. Wind swept over the hay field that undulated and shimmered in the Sabbath’s morning sun. The uncluttered view offered visual space for me to think, to pray, and the hymns served as a soundtrack to my silent questions, their lyrics sinking deep into my soul.
Mr. Bowman cut the hay one summer day, leaving it in the field to dry before baling. On a Sunday, that smell drifted through the open windows, earthy sweetness filling the sanctuary.
At some point that summer, whether on that summer-sweet day or a week later when the hay was baled, I tasted the sweetness of eternity. Like the breeze that slipped through those windows to be stirred by fans and praise, the Holy Spirit entered in. In that church, I found Christ Jesus; or, I should say, He found me.
And that was the start of my song.
(Many thanks to my church for including “Blessed Assurance” in the worship music this past Sunday, one of many hymns that I associate with my spiritual roots.)
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Ann, this immediately reminded me of a poem I wrote with a similar title to your post, “This Is My Song and I Sing”: http://virginiaknowles.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-is-my-song-and-i-sing.html
Beautiful. You sing strong and clear for all to hear!
Ann, this post is lovely. The combination of the songs and the sight/smell of the grass show the love of a God who was willing to engage all your senses to bring you to Himself. Thank you for joining in with Mercy Mondays today!
Thank you for stopping by to visit, Jenn. I’m so glad you took time to read this story and hear a few lines of my “song.”
The old hymns have so much meaning and I love to sing them over and over again. Our church mixes the old hymns, with some that are from another group denomination and have nice words, and mean something to the other members. Once in a while the choir will sing one of the new chorus that are popular in some churches. All in all, Jesus is Lord!
Our church mixes old hymns with newer choruses too, Hazel, and I’m so glad. They happened to choose two hymns this week that were part of the repertoire of my childhood church. And then the new choruses are full of energy and joy and expression–those will be the soundtrack of my children’s spiritual roots. 🙂
I love those old songs too, for they tell my own faith story.
And your post brought back a rush of emotions for me….
David, we share this, do we? I didn’t say so in the text, but I did not attend that church with my own family. Mom dropped me off, and I sat with the youth group. Eventually, I sat with the girl who would become my best friend. Her mom played the organ. And those songs never seemed old or boring, and the lyrics sank in deep so that when we started singing “Blessed Assurance” on Sunday, I wept.
Shepherd Me O God beyond my wants, beyond my fears from death into life. Thank you for taking me back Ann. I feel like I sat down, and opened a book I could not put down. Please continue!
Isn’t it amazing how music makes these connections? Powerful stuff. You can click on the link on the words “I found Christ Jesus; or, I should say, He found me.” It will take you to a longer explanation of my actual conversion–that moment of prayer and yielding to Christ Jesus. I wrote it so that a young girl would understand, a girl who wrote to me asking about becoming a Christian. I simply told my story.
Trish, just wanted to say thanks for the “Shepherd me, O God” reference. Now, the song is stuck in my head, just when I needed it.
love how the Spirit blows in and touches our hearts while also touching our other senses…you’ve listed some of my favorite hymns…like you, I search for the lower notes.. Thanks, Ann 🙂
Thank you, Dolly, for stopping by and sharing your own experience!
Finding those notes–it’s harder, now that I attend a church that simply projects the words onto the wall. No hymnals means no notes on the page for me to follow.
Oh I remember too, “this is my story this is my song…praising my savior all the day long” wow…LOVE the old hymns. Always.
Sharon, I love how the hymns are pulling up so much in people–different hymns and songs from all different backgrounds. It’s so powerful, music, the lyrics.
Love having you stop by!
Oh, Annie – this is just breathtakingly beautiful. Maybe my favorite thing ever in this place. Thank you, thank you for this lovely invitation to sit in the warm sanctuary, to hear the old songs, to smell the new earth. Now I’m going to click over to the other story – this should not be over yet. Sigh.
Diana…wow…thank you. I’m so grateful God brought us together. You bless me.
Hey – is there a way to subscribe to your comments? I had to hunt to see if you had replied – seems like it should be easier somehow…
Diana, I asked Chris about this and I will e-mail you details. Thanks for asking!
Oh what memories…country church,those fans with the advertising on one side and something spititual on the other….The windows open letting in that warm air and hoping for a breeze on those very hot Summer mornings..
All the old hymns mentioned are great and I still love along with the new ones..Beautiful post.
Caryl, it’s so true. Songs both new and old have their place, and as I speculated in another comment a little farther up, my kids will have these waves of nostalgia hit when they hear what I might consider a NEW song! 🙂
But our church mixes in all kinds, so maybe they will think fondly of Blessed Assurance, too. I heard my son humming it the other day. It’s possible.
Have you heard country singer Alan Jackson’s hymn CD? The first time I heard it, I clapped out loud and sang along for all I was worth. All these great hymns of the faith are there.
Many times, since middle-aged sleeplessness has become part of my routine, I return to these dear old hymns in the wee small hours. They are like old friends, and are rich with comfort and praise and hope. Oh what a foretaste, of glory divine!
Beautiful post, Ann.
I’ve heard of that singer, but not that hymn CD. Are you saying I should look it up? I’m not a big country music fan, but maybe Alan would take me back to that sanctuary over and over and over?
Your comment about returning to the hymns…I find that fascinating, how they sort of sink into some spot deep inside of us that we can access quite readily.
Ann, these words dance. No clumsy boots here :). I love the way you can weave a story and take me right there where I can smell that scent of hay drifting through the window. What a beautiful memory. What a beautiful picture of how God comes to us.
Thank you for taking time to visit and encourage me. I do clomp around a bit most days. Then, something hits, and out stuff flows. I guess I’m a little unpredictable that way. Most of the time, I’m not this…lyrical. Most of the time, it’s just chit-chat.
Ann…wow…
🙂
Even though I didn’t grow up in the church, whenever we sing those old hymns I feel a different, and almost tangible, electricity in the air.
Thank you for sharing this story.
Blessings.
How fascinating!
Thank you for reading my story, Darlene. I grew up going to a church in town with my parents until I was about eight years old. We moved to a farm about 10 minutes from town and it was just enough of a hassle to motivate everyone that church attendance grew spotty. By the time I was 12, we were rarely attending, so I had the opportunity to go to this tiny church about a mile from the farm. Mom dropped me off and I sat with the youth group until it sort of shrank down to nothing. Then I sat with the girl who would become my best friend.
You’ve hit on one of the reasons people love Laity–we sing old, familiar hymns.
My favorite sentence? “Whatever it was, I loved hearing the volume rise at the chorus as farmers belted out truths of the Savior and their wives reached for those high notes with joy.” Like you, I can’t do high notes. I used to, but no more. Now, I’m with those farmers (literally, at my church).
I’ve only been twice, so I don’t have that long history you have. But now I will listen for that!
I sing sort of low and try to sing high, and the final product is just a mess. People sittin in the row ahead of me sometimes turn around when they are getting ready to sit down, to figure out what strange sounding person is seated behind them.
I’ve been there Ann – not that particular church but one so similar I could swear they were one and the same. All of those things seeped into my soul, especially the hymns. On Sunday evenings our Pastor’s wife would sit at the piano while her husband called on members of the congregation with hands raised high – calling out their favorite hymn. And off we’d go. Like heaven.
So sweet. Like heaven.
Ann – This is beautiful. Our spiritual past really can fan the flame of our souls even now as we remember the sweetness of the early days after meeting Jesus. I love the details you have remembered and reconstructed.
Thank you for joining me here, friend.