In the stillness of the midnight…
My maternal grandmother took piano lessons when she was a young girl, and by the age of twelve, she played the pump organ at her church in the Collettsville community (Western NC) for the Sunday worship services.
I have wonderful memories of Grandma Thompson singing old hymns as she played the piano in the living room of my childhood home.
“Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” “Rock of Ages.” “Amazing Grace.” “Precious Mem’ries.”
If you’ve been reading my 2026 website blogs, you’ve come to expect the letters, s-t-i-l-l, to appear in some form or fashion in each of these monthly writings. September’s blog is no exception.
Wait for it…
Precious father, loving mother,
Fly across the lonely years;
And old home scenes of my childhood,
In fond memory appear.
Precious mem'ries, how they linger,
How they ever flood my soul;
In the stillness of the midnight,
Precious, sacred scenes unfold.
Lyricists: J.B.F. Wright & Lonnie B. Combs
Copyright: Public Domain
And there it is—stillness.
In the stillness of my midnights, I can hear Grandma Thompson’s sweet soprano voice singing the words of this beloved hymn. Press memories, indeed.
Occasionally, I have insomnia at bedtime. If this happens while John and I are in Richmond, sadly, there’s not a lot of stillness to be found—even at midnight.
Sirens blaring. The roar of jet engines at full throttle during climb outs. Train whistles sounding their familiar TOOT, TOOT, toot-TOOT. Neighbors talking too loudly.
Whew! What’s a wide-awake girl to do?
First, let me share what I don’t do. I don’t toss and turn in the bed for hours! (What a waste of time.)
Instead, I get up, pour myself a glass of cold milk, read the Bible, and talk to God. If I’m still (there’s that root word again) not sleepy, I quietly open the back door, step out onto a small balcony, and gaze at the night sky. From this elevated spot, I count stars—not sheep.
While looking up at the heavens, I can’t help but think of loved ones who have passed on to their eternal home. I also reflect on how blessed I was as a child to have been reared by God-fearing parents and grandparents.
Standing here, some 300 miles from my childhood home, “precious, sacred scenes unfold.” These visages serve as reminders that neither time nor great distances can sever the love between family members.
Thank you, Lord, for Your gracious gift of the sustaining memories that ‘ever flood my soul.’ Amen.