He Will Hold Me Fast

In the fall of last year, going to church felt like dying every Sunday. The empty chairs. The marathon effort to occupy my children during the service after our children's ministry dissolved. The weekly conversations about the past and about the uncertain future. My husband was in the middle of a severe struggle with depression, and I had only recently emerged from a very dark place myself.

When I fear my faith will fail,

Christ will hold me fast.

When the tempter would prevail,

He will hold me fast.

I could never keep my hold

Through life’s fearful path,

For my love is often cold;

He must hold me fast.

When we would sing this song in church, it was not a confident song of triumph. It was a trembling prayer, a hope that the words were true, that even as I felt I was losing hold and that my faith was failing, the story was not over.

Those He saves are His delight;

Christ will hold me fast.

Precious in His holy sight,

He will hold me fast.

He’ll not let my soul be lost;

His promises shall last.

Bought by Him at such a cost,

He will hold me fast.

There were more times than I could count where I felt like I was not being saved. At the worst of it, I felt like I had been completely deserted by the Lord. What had been the point of the 18 months we spent at this little church plant? Why would he take us there only to have it all end so traumatically and terribly? What kind of bow could someone put on the top of this thing that I could never possibly call a gift? I had no concept of how I could ever find joy in that trial.

For my life He bled and died;

Christ will hold me fast.

Justice has been satisfied;

He will hold me fast.

Raised with Him to endless life,

He will hold me fast;

Till our faith is turned to sight

When he comes at last.

This morning when we got out of the car to go into our new church at which the Lord has placed us, our 6-year-old said, "I miss Grace Fellowship. I liked it there. I was sad when... when it stopped." Even he didn't really have words to describe how it had all ended.

"It makes me sad, too, buddy," I said. "It still makes me sad to think about it. But I'm also thankful that the Lord didn't leave us alone, that he brought us to this new church, where there are people who love him and where we have a family."

"Yeah, and we didn't know Grayson there, remember, Stephen?" piped up our younger son, referring to one of their good friends.

And so we went inside and said hello to these new friends, this new family, these precious people who have done so much to help ease the pain of what we lost.

One of the last songs we sang was this one. I still can't sing it without crying, and I'm not sure I ever will be able to.

He will hold me fast;

He will hold me fast.

For my Savior loves me so;

He will hold me fast.

It's not a song that I can sing casually. I feel the cost of the words now—the knowledge that Christ holding us fast doesn't mean that the things we experience will hurt less than they do for people who don't know Jesus. I trembled still as I sang it, but out of gratitude to our gracious Savior. He has held us fast. It has been messy and traumatic and there are wounds inside me that are still a long way from being fully healed. He has kept hold of us as we have walked a very fearful and painful path, and in his great mercy he has given us a place to rest at our new church. Through a local congregation of his people he is providing for us financially, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It has been a safe place to mourn and grieve and begin to heal. He has and is holding us fast.