“And when, in scenes of glory, I sing a new, new song, ’twill be the old, old story.”

We sang this in church today to end to service. I can’t remember when last I sang that old gospel song from my youth but the words came to me instantly, a deep well of memory washed over me and I could hear my mother. I heard her pounding out that bass and could see her in my mind’s eye, full of Spirit and singing over everyone else.

“I love to tell the story, ’twill be my theme in glory, to tell the old, old story of unseen things above.”

I was singing like my mom. I wasn’t even aware of how I was singing over the congregation, driving the pace. I was a little lost in my own world of memory. Then we got to the last verse, “and when in scenes of glory, we’ll sing the new, new song” the old grief of my missing mom washed over me and my voice cracked, she had been with me and then gone in that moment.

Isn’t that just grief though? I don’t love grief but I treasure it. Grief reminds me that my mom is still a part of me, still living because I live. That is the joy and pain of grief.