Sunday's Hymn

I Know Whom I Have Believed

I know not why God’s wondrous grace
To me He hath made known,
Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love
Redeemed me for His own.

Refrain

But I know Whom I have believèd,
And am persuaded that He is able
To keep that which I’ve committed
Unto Him against that day.

I know not how this saving faith
To me He did impart,
Nor how believing in His Word
Wrought peace within my heart.

I know not how the Spirit moves,
Convincing us of sin,
Revealing Jesus through the Word,
Creating faith in Him.

I know not what of good or ill
May be reserved for me,
Of weary ways or golden days,
Before His face I see.

I know not when my Lord may come,
At night or noonday fair,
Nor if I walk the vale with Him,
Or meet Him in the air.

—Daniel Webster Whittle

I’ve featured quite a bit of choir music lately, so today I’m mixing things up a bit. I grew up in country churches, you know, so this really is down-home music to me.

Other hymns, worship songs, sermons etc. posted today:

• Now the Shades of Night Are Gone at The Happy Wonderer
• Lord’s Day 2, 2010 at The Thirsty Theologian
• Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise at Whatever Is Good
• And Can It Be at Hiraeth
• Heart Aflame - January 10th at The Upward Call
• I Love to Tell the Story at Field Stone Cottage
• Oh How the Grace of God Amazes Me (a hymn written by an African christian and translated into English at Whatever Things

Have you posted a hymn (or sermon, sermon notes, prayer, etc.) today and I missed it? Let me know by leaving a link in the comments or by emailing me at the address in the sidebar and I’ll add your post to the list.

My Desktop Photo 86

Photo by Andrew Stark
(click on photo for larger view)

"I Work for the Military"

Scroll down for the update or conclusion or whatever you call it.

At 6:17 AM I woke from a deep sleep. My first groggy thought was that  the banging sound I heard was the cats knocking something over, but then the doorbell rang. Who could it be but the cops with bad news for me? I went to the front door without my glasses.

Through the door window, I saw, not the cops, but my youngest son. “He’s locked himself out,” I thought. Without turning the porch light on, I opened the door, and it wasn’t my son, but a young man who—even up close—looked like him.

“I work for the military,” he said.

I was confused. “Huh?” 

“I work for the military,” he repeated. “They gave me the wrong drugs and I’m all drugged up. Can you help me?”

What would you have done? Tell me. Later, I’ll tell you what I did.

Update on Friday, January 8, 2010 at 8:40PM by rebecca

Okay, I’m back, and here’s the end of the story.

You’ll remember, I hope, that I was groggy and disoriented. The whole thing seemed not so much frightening as really, really weird.

“Can you help me?” he’d asked

“I’m sorry,” I said and closed the door, watching as he turned and walked down the steps, down the driveway and then down the street. I told myself that he’d rung the doorbell to see if anyone was home. He’d been looking for a house to rob, I thought, but I’d answered the door so he’d seen that someone was here and that was that. 

I went to the bathroom and back to my warm bed, but by this time, I was awake enough to start thinking it through. Who cases houses at 6AM? And what potential thief can’t think of a better cover story than “I work for the military and I’m all drugged up”? Maybe he really needed help. Yep, something had been wrong with him, but I didn’t know what. What if he’d been my son at someone else’s door? What would I want them to do? It’s winter and dark and I live right on the edge of the bush. What if he wandered, confused, away from the safety of the homes?

I decided to call 911, but as I went to the phone, I saw a cop car drive by slowly. I wasn’t, I guessed, the only one he’d approached and someone else had responded better than I did. Let’s hope they found him and sorted everything out.

Later, as I showered, I prayed that he got whatever help he needed. I also asked for forgiveness. I’d been confused in my sleepiness, but that’s not much of an excuse for being so unconcerned for his welfare.

Thinking back on things and discussing it with family and friends, I’ve narrowed the possible story lines to these: he was drugged and delusional; he was mentally ill and delusional; he was sleepwalking. Youngest son suggested this last possibility. His reasoning? It was a school night—and I’d judged the kid to be school-aged—and it was 6AM, so it was not really a party day or time. Plus, “I work for the military” sounds like he had a whole back story going on in his head. The more I go over it, the more likely this scenario seems. 

In the do-over in my imagination, I still close the door, but I also call in the pros immediately and watch (and pray) for them to come. I suppose I’ll never get a do-over in real life. And, except that he wasn’t actually working for the military, I’ll probably never know the true story behind my early morning awakening, either.