"How can I keep from singing"

My life flows on in endless song,
above earth’s lamentation.
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

When Larry Kooi, my brother-in-law, was killed in an accident on a Wisconsin interstate, I was scared--I’ll admit--for my sister, his bride of 47 years, scared because I thought I knew her well enough to think she might just fall apart. I really did. And even though I was and am her younger brother, I felt unable to be much of a help to her, living a day's travel away.

The two of them were going to their daughter's house in the Twin Cities, when, near Mauston, Wisconsin, something brought traffic flow to a close. He stopped, but the driver behind him didn't. Both cars were totaled, my sister was banged up enough to spend a couple of days in the hospital in Mauston, but her husband, Larry, was killed.

Larry was a man the world can't afford to lose, a leader, strong and committed. He was retired but continued to work for the cause that gave him spirted strength throughout his life, Christian education, not the kind that runs from the world but instead barrels in.

Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

I had no reason to believe their marriage was anything but alive-and-well when Larry died, so the I couldn't help but feel that my sister's spirit and strength wouldn't be enough, on her own. She'd feel the loss so deeply that she'd need help to stay afloat..

About that, I was wrong. The first time we made it to Georgia, she took us out to eat somewhere in a new little SUV, a sporty little thing that, well, you might not think was being piloted by a widow.

At the funeral, however, I was fearful.

What though my joys and comforts die,
I know my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth.

For reasons that I don't remember, her brother-in-law and his family--that's us--were to be helpful in creating a funeral, especially music. Not long before, the school's choral program included a hymn that was new to me, "How Can I Keep from Singing." That first hearing, long before the funeral, said plainly that this hymn these kids were singing belonged to my sister. I don't know if she'd ever heard it, but it was my sister's own, my sister who has her mother’s heart, can’t, blessedly, keep from singing. 

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
All things are mine since I am his!
How can I keep from singing?

We arranged for two kids to sing that hymn with piano accompaniment, one of them, my grandson, the other, a granddaughter of good friends. It was, to me, just plain beautiful.

To this day, I have no idea if that quiet, reassuring hymn hit home with my sister, but it most certainly did with me, so much so that every time we sing it in worship--like last Sunday--I'm back in the funeral with tightened lips, hoping and praying that my sister will sustain the horrific loss of her husband, the father of her kids.

That refrain, in my mind, will forever belong to her, to my sister, even if she doesn't know it.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

https://youtu.be/VLPP3XmYxXg?si=NAz5fVyjRUT0Ir5W