The following is an excerpt from Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends – Musings on Life, Scripture and the Hymns by Marty Magee. If you like what you read you can order the book or read more sample chapters.
Isaiah 12
I SING, FOR I CANNOT BE SILENT
I sing, for I cannot be silent, His love is the theme of my song.
Redeemed, How I love to Proclaim It, Fanny J. Crosby, 1882
I’m a singer—not a professional singer, not even a good singer—just a singer. That’s what I do. I’m an Evans—We’re Welsh. Welsh people sing. We sing in the shower, in the kitchen, in the car. We sing at church, at work, at the market. We must make music. A fellow worker once told me I was the only one she knew who could type, whistle and tap her foot at the same time.
My father sang to me when I was a small child—“Tennessee Waltz,” “ Little Gray Home in the West,” “The Ninety and Nine,” and the list goes on. He waved my hands and said, “Look at Martha, she’s directing the choir.”
Being an Evans probably has something to do with my love for music. I’ve known the words to many songs since I was tiny. In our country church, my mother ran her finger like a bouncing ball along the lyrics. She held the hymnbook where I could see it (even before I could read).
On a spring day in 1963, this music within me came alive. I was born into another family of singers. This family has been singing redemption songs since long before songwriter Fanny Crosby was born.
Yes, it’s in the blood—not only my Welsh blood. It’s in the blood of my new birth in Christ.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Psalm 40:3
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