The Song That Knew Her Name

Every evening at 7:15, Frank Hensley pulled his chair to the edge of his wife's hospital bed at Meadowbrook Memory Care in Tulsa. Margaret hadn't recognized him in three years. She couldn't recall their wedding day, their children's names, or the house on Elm Street where they'd raised a family. Most evenings she was restless — pulling at her blankets, calling out for people long gone.

But when Frank began to sing, something shifted.

He'd start low, almost under his breath — "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," the same hymn they'd sung at their wedding in 1961. Margaret's hands would still. Her breathing would slow. Sometimes her eyes would find his face with a flicker of something the nurses couldn't explain. She couldn't name him, but something deeper than memory responded to his voice.

Frank never missed an evening. Ice storms, his own knee surgery, the night his truck broke down on I-44 — he came. "She may not know who I am," he told his daughter once, "but I know who she is. And I'm not going anywhere."

Zephaniah 3:17 tells us that the Lord our God is in our midst — not distant, not distracted, but present and mighty to save. And this God does something staggering: He quiets us with His love and rejoices over us with singing. Even when we forget Him, even when we cannot find the words to pray, He pulls His chair close and sings over us — because He has always known exactly who we are.