A couple days ago a friend asked me to play a few hymns at her father's funeral which took place this afternoon in a beautiful, small, old Presbyterian church. I sat up front on an oak chair with arms, resting the guitar on my too-big boots during the service, popping up to sing "The Love of God" and "Be Thou My Vision." at the appropriate times. This kind of thing is scary for me, such a different context, but sad and beautiful and hopeful too, which is what I'm driving at most of the time with the songs I write.
I grew up with these hymns. They stayed and stay with. I am deeply thankful for them, as were a gaggle of parishioners, most of them well past their 60's, who came up afterwards to thank me and reminisce about the songs. It's a gift to know and share music that crosses generational lines.