Leaning Into What You Cannot See

In 1887, a music teacher named Anthony Showalter sat at his desk reading two letters that had arrived the same day. Both were from former students. Both carried the same devastating news — each man had just lost his wife.

Showalter wanted to offer comfort, but what could he possibly say? He turned to Scripture and found Deuteronomy 33:27: "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."

He wrote that verse in both reply letters. But something about those words wouldn't let him go. That evening, he composed a simple chorus — "Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms; leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms." He sent the melody to his friend Elisha Hoffman, who wrote the verses, and Leaning on the Everlasting Arms — one of the church's most beloved hymns — was born from two letters soaked in grief.

What strikes me about this story is where trust begins. It doesn't begin when everything makes sense. It begins in the place where two young men are staring at empty chairs across the dinner table. Trust begins when you lean your full weight on something you cannot see — and discover it holds.

The Almighty doesn't promise to remove the grief. He promises that underneath it — underneath the worst night of your life — His arms are already there.

You don't have to understand the plan. You just have to lean.