Lord, Your Love Will Never Fail Me

I don't just appreciate hymns; I also write them.  However, like most great lyrics, they usually come from within the "depths of despair," as Anne Shirley would say.  

This one bears no exception, as a product of the college choir tour where "everybody got sick" (then again, which one doesn't?).  Having returned that May with my vocal chords and general respiratory functions intact, I believed myself to be in the clear.  Not so.  Three days later, said bodily members were hit with the worst kind of flu imaginable for a young woman coming off of a vacation with 90 of her best friends.  My temperature rocketed, my lungs and whole face ached, my voice disappeared, and the pain escalated to such that I slept (or attempted to sleep) propped sitting-up on pillows in hopes that breathing normally would be feasible.  

In that manner, feeling utterly yucky, I laid awake at two a.m. in my shadowy, cold room with my apparently uninhibited mind chasing me.  "Who could love me in this state?"  I kept wondering.  "I feel totally unlovable.  This is what unlovable feels like."  

Then, I answered my question. "God still loves me.  He cares even when I feel and look my absolute worst."  Words shot into my head.  "Lord, Your love will never fail me, though the world's be never sure.  When its threats try to derail me, by Your word I'll sleep secure."  

"I'm writing hymns!  Yeah!" was my first response.  "I'm writing hymns - great..." was the second.  Defying the weakness of the flesh with the willing spirit, I pulled out the nearest source of paper (my planner) and writing utensil (a purple Sharpie).  There, I scribbled out in random order the following verses, along with sketches of melodies in rudimentary noteheads and solfege.  

Lord, Your love will never fail me

Though the world’s be never sure

When its threats try to derail me

By Your word I’ll sleep secure

My mind quakes with doubt and fear

But the Shepherd holds me near

In the fire I am tested

With this hurt that tries my soul

Sickness leaves my heart unrested

Nothing here can make me whole

You alone with grace and might

Can uphold me through the night

Earthly woes may be assailing

But they are Your instrument

More than that, forgive my sins

Which plague my life without relent

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:

You are what I need the most.

God, help me to be now learning

What I am supposed to do

Though Your hand may seem withholding

It is for my blessing, too

What appears to be unjust

Only makes more sure my trust

Many things I now desire

Health, assurance, lasting love

Often I crave gifts here higher

Than Your treasures from above

When these hopes are dashed away

Jesus’ grace alone will stay.

In Your time, my skies will brighten

Healing will replace the pain

You have promised I’m forgiven

Now my soul can sing again

If my worries make me sore,

You are stronger all the more.

(Copyright  herandhymn, 2012)

By morning, I amazingly awoke from sleep (!), and also somehow deciphered my jagged inscription of the late-night inspiration.  In lieu of my traditional sudoku-and-crossword exercises, I proceeded to write out two complete and interchangeable tunes, as well as the four-part harmonization (yes, without the lights on, I did encounter many parallel 5ths).  Needless to say, my family found the whole ordeal quite "puzzling" until I explained the origination.  

Months later, a chamber choir led the new music recital audience in singing it, and it has found its way into some church services.  As with Paul Gerhardt's heaps of illness-related poetry, the Lord used the bleak situation to get another hymn put on paper.  Perhaps I should contract the flu more often?