{Izzy and her husband}
Psalm 77:6-8 reads, “I said, ‘Let me remember my song in the night; let me meditate in my heart.’ Then my soul made a diligent search: ‘Will the LORD spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love forever ceased? Are his promises at an end for all time?’”
I’m fascinated by the phrase “song in the night.” You can find it a few times in the Psalms, and Charles Spurgeon wrote a sermon on the same phrase found in Job. It resonated with me during a “night” of my own five years ago, when my dad was diagnosed with cancer and died seven months later. I had little ability or desire to sing in that season, and I was baffled by how the psalmist could remember his song of praise to God in the midst of his night.
Then my soul made a diligent search. I needed an anchor for my faith strong enough to weather this storm. I prayed for this and asked others to pray for me. My ”song” at first was more of a cry, as many lament psalms are. And like those laments, I went looking for instances of God’s love in my life and in his Word. Here’s some of what I found:
I met my husband, Hank, nine months after my dad’s passing. I was still processing the grief, but he graciously walked with me in my valley. He embodied God’s comfort through his listening ear and encouraging words. God provided a faithful life companion for me in Hank; we now have a baby boy, Gideon, who brings us redeeming joy. Hank also introduced me to Covenant Fellowship Church, which provided much-needed community after my recent move to the Philly area. The genuine friendships we continue to make in congregational worship, community group, Bible studies, and GriefShare are a tangible sign of God’s abundant love for me in the midst of loss.
God’s promises have also been a balm for my soul. Isaiah 54:10-11 is a new favorite. “‘For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,’ says the LORD, who has compassion on you. ‘O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted, behold, I will set your stones in antimony, and lay your foundations with sapphires.’”
From this passage, I extract the following truths:
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- God’s love and peace are always with me, even when loss suppresses my own feeling of nearness to him.
- God has compassion on me even in my affliction. He acknowledges my lack of comfort in loss.
- God sees my whole self in my grief: the visible “stones” seen by others and the hidden “foundations” I have underneath the surface.
- God sets my stones and lays my foundations. He is still sovereign over my life, even in loss.
- God takes pleasure and glory in adorning both the seen and unseen parts of me and my grief (who else lays foundations with precious stones?!). He promises to set all of me in his love and compassion, even in loss.
These glimpses of God’s grace helped me remember my song of praise in the night of my dad’s passing and led me through the valley of the shadow of death into the morning light of eternal hope. Right now, I’m faced with another night (there’s a cyclical pattern on this side of heaven, isn’t there?). After two years with leiomyosarcoma, my mom died in January. I thought my song was written, put to music, and ready to be published in the hymnal of faith. Yet here I find myself pulling it out again, as God helps me write more verses. He’s still perfecting my testimony of his love in ways that are beyond my comprehension. But this I know with full conviction: God didn’t leave my side in past valleys; he is with me now. He has given me the strength to walk (even sing) in dark valleys before, and he is giving me the strength now. His steadfast love never ceases. His promises are sure. I can grieve deeply, with hope. I have a song.
LORD, help me sing your love to others through faltering voice at night,
Until I sing it to you in fullest joy on that day when faith becomes sight.
