"We sang this on Sunday," I whispered to my husband as the pianist began playing hymns before the service.

"Ohhhh, this one was in our wedding."

"Ugh. What is this? I know all the words but can't think of the name."

"Oh, S. plays this a lot, it was her mom's favorite."

"I remember how L. would get a tear in her eye whenever we would sing this one, it was her dad's favorite."

"Oh! D. likes this one, they always sing it at the end of the service they go to in Florida."

Though I gave my husband a break and quit elbowing his ribs and whispering in his ear, each new hymn elicited a precious memory. (Yep, she played that one, too, and it lived up to its promise.)

As I sat there, memories wrapped around me like a familiar quilt, I couldn’t help but think about why these hymns matter so much. They aren’t just songs—they are pieces of the congregations I have served, echoes of the relationships that have shaped me and stayed with me. Each melody is like a thread connecting me to people I have loved, prayed with, and walked alongside.

These hymns remind me that worship shapes us over time. It’s not just about the songs themselves, but about how they become part of who we are—rooted in our souls, intertwined with our stories. We sing them not just as individuals, but as a community. In worship, we lift our voices together—sometimes strong and sure, other times shaky and uncertain—but always as one. We share these songs (whether they be hymns or worship music) through joy and heartache, celebration and grief, and somehow, they help us hold on to hope.

The power of a worshipping community is that we don’t sing alone. We carry one another’s burdens through familiar words and melodies, and we remind each other of God’s presence when it feels distant or hard to find. Sometimes, these hymns even surprise us, showing up just when we need them most—like a whisper from God reminding us that we are not alone.

Music has a way of wriggling into our souls and leaving its mark. It carries us through seasons of life, transforming familiar words into markers of God’s presence along the way. And in those moments when the notes play on and the memories surface, I’m reminded that God’s love lingers with us, whether we notice it or not—guiding, comforting, and binding us to one another.

My wish for you this week, Reader, is to find moments of unexpected grace—like a familiar hymn that catches you off guard and wraps you in comfort. I hope you feel the strength of the community around you, whether in song, prayer, or simple presence. May you be surprised by joy in small, ordinary ways, and may God’s love whisper to you in the quiet spaces, reminding you that you are never alone. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa ​