He Will Hold Me Fast

When my oldest was a baby, I paced the floors for hours while trying to soothe him. In darkened rooms before the sun rose, in the living room where dust danced like fairies in the light that stretched between the curtains, and in the church basement as the congregation sang and listened above me. He had reflux and didn’t sleep well, and I was a first time mom with barely a clue of what she was doing. 

As my arms ached and exhaustion made my eyes burn as if sand had been thrown in them, my shaky voice put itself into a hymn.

When I fear my faith will fail

Christ will hold me fast

When the tempter would prevail

He will hold me fast

As I paced over creaky, uneven floorboards, my soul clung to the truth I needed most: That Christ will hold me fast through it all. I feared for my mind that seemed to become more and more clouded with darkness each day—intrusive thoughts I didn’t understand, fears of inadequacy, and a cloak of sadness that weighed on me—and my physical health that was beginning to feel all the ramifications of lack of sleep, lack of food, and fluctuating hormones. 

In the midst of it all, my faith appeared as a fraying thread. I could barely catch five minutes to read my Bible and most Sundays I spent either wandering the church basement or curled up in a chair in another room breastfeeding. 

But as I paced, I reached out to get my hands around the one thing I knew I could: a beloved hymn that I could sing to my crying babe. Some days I cried with him as I sang the words. Some days my foggy brain couldn’t remember all the lines, so I hummed where memory fell short. And Christ carried me through, like the lost sheep, and didn’t let me go. 

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