Glorious Day

The pianist knew one speed: fast.

She knew one volume: loud.

Loud benefited one member

of that tiny country church.

Miss Rae was about a hundred years old

(at least she seemed so to me, a child still in the single digits),

and deaf as a doorknob.

That didn’t stop her.

As the pianist pounded away at selections from the Baptist Hymnal,

Miss Rae could hear just enough to pick out the words

but not the tune.

In a voice I’m not sure was ever melodious,

she warbled along at top volume

about two measures behind the rest of us.

“Living He loved me;

Dying He saved me;

Buried, He carried my sins far away.

Rising, He justified freely forever;

One day He’s coming

Oh, glorious day!”

Every hymn was an off-key round, with Miss Rae taking up the rear.

Stifling giggles or (later) rolling our eyes,

my sister and I made fun of her

unmercifully

(at home, and in private, of course; our mother would have killed us otherwise).

When Casting Crowns recorded their new arrangement of this old song,

Miss Rae’s face (and voice)

returned unbidden to my memory.

I hadn’t thought of her in years.

Now, looking back,

I see sunlight streaming through windows

of that little church and hear her singing

and realize

how infinitely tender

those inharmonious songs

were to her Savior.

How precious

was her unashamed praise!

It was a sweet, sweet sound in His ears.

Be blessed,

Ginger