I was reading a friend’s blog and praying for a very happy birthday for this sweet old friend, when I came across a link to Pink Saturday at the bottom of her post. So, since I absolutely love all things pink, I thought I’d check it out.
Well, I fell in love.
I loved its pink romantic pictures, and Emily Dickinson poetry.
I loved the name of this blog, “How Sweet the Sound.” It brought back such precious memories of my grandfather bellowing out this beautiful hymn in his deep bass voice in the little country church where I grew up, and which looked very much like this one.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
When we’ve been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun.
While I was searching for a picture reminiscent of this tiny church in which I worshipped my Savior as a child, so many memories that had been hiding just beneath the surface of my contemporary thoughts suddenly flooded my consciousness.
I remembered sitting every Sunday on those hard wooden pews.
All at once, I was a little girl stifling the giggles prompted by my brother and sister, and carefully trying not to crackle the bag of M&M’s my father bought for each of us every Sunday on the way to church.
Then I was a teenager swaying to the rhythm of that old hymn, “Trust and Obey,” with my sister.
Simultaneously, I was a very sick little girl and the minister was anointing me with oil, and asking God to heal me. How desperately I prayed then.
And then, younger still, I was barely six, twirling over the large heater vent in the social hall with my dress billowing.
Such wonderful memories I have of growing up in that country church with my family all around me. My relatives filled eighty percent of the pews. My ancestors worshipped there for years before me.
As I remember this country church of my childhood, I am overwhelmed with feelings of security and an assurance that I was so loved. I remember being filled with pride for being so solidly grounded in a family that loved the LORD, and I recall too, an overwhelming desire and yearning to live my life loving and serving this God I grew to know and love amidst its hallowed halls.
How fitting it is to share these wonderful childhood memories that bless me to this day on this Pink Saturday when blessings are shared.