Benched

The first thing I reach for in the mornings is my phone. Next up is my coffee, which is bordering on being an idol for me in the summer months. And then if a pocket of downtime happens to present itself as the day goes along, I might read a devotion. Way too often I rely on our schedule, the circumstances, and my own thoughts to get the day going. And by around noon I wonder why I’m in a funk.

But I’ve noticed something lately. Some mornings when the house is quiet and the girls are either at school or entertained elsewhere in the house, I step into the office. It’s usually dark and cool when I first go in, so I turn on the lamps and bring a half-cup of coffee to have beside me at the computer desk. On those days when I don’t have a single good thought to share… with my mouth or my virtual “pen,” I reluctantly move over to the piano in that same room and try to reset my mind and heart from my seat on the bench.

I have never been one to perform on the piano, but knowing how to play just well enough to entertain myself is one of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me. It’s such a good outlet I would almost call it medicinal. And I’m re-discovering it as something of a spiritual discipline.

The 4th Grader is our budding pianist, and she has just started learning to play hymns. She is being raised on worship songs and doesn’t know many of the old hymns, so every time she starts learning a new one she’ll ask, “Do you know this one?” And since I was raised Baptist, I know a good bit of them by heart. I just haven’t thought about them in years.

A few weeks ago she started learning “Blessed Assurance.” I have forgotten some of the verses, but I could still sing the chorus in my sleep:

This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long

I’m not sure this is exactly the “story” I’m telling or the “song” I’m singing. I’m more likely complaining or worrying or just being suburban all the day long. But the more I play it, the more Fanny Crosby’s lyrics get stuck in my head and convict me—in a good way—throughout the day.

Another morning when I was feeling especially grouchy, I sat down at the bench. And the song she was working on that week and had left open on the piano was “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.”

Oh perfect, I thought. This is hardly the soundtrack I would choose for the morning. But with a sigh I started playing and mouthing the words…

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee
God of glory, Lord of love
Hearts unfold like flow’rs before Thee
Op’ning to the Sun above

And then I read the second verse:

Melt the clouds of sin and sadness
Drive the dark of doubt away
Giver of immortal gladness
Fill us with the light of day

There is power in that kind of poetry. And “fill me with the light of day” is a prayer I could stand to start my mornings with everyday.

One other hymn I came across on the piano bench that I haven’t thought about in years is “I Need Thee Every Hour.”

I need thee, O I need thee;
Every hour I need thee;
O bless me now, my Savior,
I come to thee.

What I like about this one isn’t so much the music but the story behind it. It was written by a housewife named Annie Hawks who had three children. Immediately we can all see why she would be saying things like, “Every hour I need thee.” Yes, and amen. Especially in the summer.

And I love this blurb on umcdiscipleship.org about some of the most famous hymns by writers like Fanny Crosby and Annie Hawks:

These personal devotional hymns by 19th-century women have their place. They provide glimpses into the lives of women segregated from the positions of leadership (even in the Church) by gender, leading lives separate from their spouses primarily in domestic settings, and with little or no voice in the public arena. 

Now, the sermons and speeches made by so many men in the public sectors of church and society have long been forgotten, but the songs of these women, whose primary arena was the relative quiet of the home, are still sung. 

Yes, they are. I know of at least one 10-year-old who is learning them now. And I know of a 41-year-old who is revisiting them. So when a certain 7-year-old comes downstairs before 8 AM wearing a backpack and safety goggles asking to do an experiment, I can say:

I need thee, O I need thee. Literally, Lord… Every hour I need thee.

Or… Fill me with the light of day. And a lot of energy!