I grew up singing from a book.
I loved those gospel hymns.
Like “What a Friend” and “Jesus Saves”
and “Marching to Zion.”

With dad and mother by my side
we’d sing in harmony.
The lyrics to “Amazing Grace”
would always comfort me.

That hymnal came to represent
sweet memories of past days.
Its pages like old photographs
were more than songs of praise.

I don’t recall just when it was,
it all began to change.
I just remember what we sang
was fast and loud and strange.

I didn’t know these choruses.
I missed the good old songs.
And though the church began to grow,
I doubted I belonged.

But then one day I looked around
and saw my daughter’s face.
I wept to see her worshiping;
eyes closed and hands upraised.

That Sunday changed my attitude.
I started to rejoice.
I asked the Lord to help me sing
what I’d considered noise.

Through “Awesome God” and Famous One,”
He changed my heart, I guess.
I now can worship joyfully.
But may I still confess?

I still would rather hold a book
and sing hymns I recall
than stand for nearly half an hour
singing off the wall.