Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.
O to grace how great a debtor
daily I’m constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.
The wind rustles golden grain, swaying so it sounds like tinkling bells. Tiny cymbals. I roll down the window as I drive up the lane just to stop for a spell and listen in on nature’s symphony. The air laden with the smell of dust and a dry grassy scent. The clouds are piled high and fluffy. Beauty surrounds every angle from which I gaze.
My heart is part wonder, part sorrow. There is always beauty in sorrow. And it takes every effort to tune into the grace we have been afforded when our minds so easily slip, so quickly bend toward the stress. Our hearts must be trained to see more than meets the eye. We must look with discernment for what lies beyond. What we see is not all there truly is.
There is so very much more.
I walk into the barn and take in the musty smell of manure and hay and dust and years worth of sweat and hard labour. I follow him as he paces the length of the barn and back again. We lean into one another. I wrap my arms around his chest and feel his beating heart. What is our life work worth at the end of the day? What legacy do we leave to those following in our footsteps?
How will we be remembered?
I step back, standing just upon the threshold of this doorway leading to another life and take in one last view before I turn away toward the sunlight and warmth of the day.
How is it that we are able to tune our hearts to sing grace even when the cords of those same hearts wring with pain? Daily, we must train our minds to think on these eternal graces: love, joy peace.
Grace sustains in the midst of trouble. Holding us, enabling us, propelling us forward.
There are streams of mercy, never ceasing at every vantage point. Our lives a song- only we can decide how that tune will be sung.
May our songs of praise be ever heard, our lives a melodious hymn of gratitude. For our blessings outnumber even our wildest dreams, our greatest aspirations.