"You will see your Lord a-coming, You will see your Lord a-coming. You will see your Lord a-coming, In a few more days!”

J.C. sang often, loud, and well. He sang while chopping tall healthy weeds from among the pinto beans. He sang on his old Ford tractor. He sang while chopping wood. Sometimes he would sing Fanny Crosby to the crows; sometimes he would croon Bing Crosby to the cows.

And he sang in church. The center aisle was his favorite choir loft. He would arrive, sing through the door, sing down the aisle, and sing to his place on the platform. If there was a song about Heaven, he sang it. If there was a song about hope, peace, faith, trust, or Jesus, he sang it. And he taught all of us to sing along.

Saturday nights we’d get in the wagon and trundle over to J.C.’s place and sing. When television came to El Morro, we’d walk through the corn to Elmer’s and sing along with American Bandstand. Somehow, he knew all the songs, and often sang them better than the singers on the flickering tube.

Grandpa J.C.’s life was powered by song. “Pure, clear water,” his baritone would flow, “we would recommend pure water.”

The tempo of each song was matched to the task. Chopping wood required a march tempo. Weeding the beans worked well with a waltz. Evening prayers went best with soft promise songs, like “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” or “In the Garden.” I learned to love them all, and sang along gustily.

I’m not sure if J.C.’s theology came from the songs, or if he chose the songs to match what he read from his Bible. I seldom got up early enough to see him reading in the morning, but Grandma said he always hummed along with God before sunrise. However, I was there in the evening when “The Good Book,” and “God’s hymns,” voiced our thanks for today and our hopes for tomorrow.

I have a couple of his hymnals—dusty, worn, dog-eared, and wept-on. When Grandpa J.C. sang, he sang with a weeping heart, as if sorrow and confession, forgiveness and celebration, were all one emotion. There is a long-faded note next to one hymn, “A Song of Heaven and Homeland.” The chorus is underlined.

“O sweet, celestial music,

Heard from a land afar—

The song of Heav’n and Homeland,

Thro’ doors God leaves ajar!”

It sounded best in Grandpa J.C.’s baritone, like he had learned it from singing along with angels.

Dick Duerksen is an assistant vice president for mission development at Florida Hospital.