The Composer Who Almost Quit

In the summer of 1741, George Frideric Handel was a broken man. At fifty-six, the once-celebrated composer was drowning in debt, partially paralyzed from a stroke, and widely dismissed as yesterday's genius. London's music scene had moved on. His operas flopped. Creditors circled. By every measure that mattered to the world, Handel's purpose had expired.

Then a libretto arrived from Charles Jennens — a collection of scripture passages tracing the story of the Messiah. Something ignited in Handel. He locked himself in his London apartment and began to write. For twenty-four days he barely ate or slept, filling page after page with music that seemed to pour through him rather than from him. When his servant brought meals, he often found Handel weeping over the manuscript. After completing the Hallelujah Chorus, Handel reportedly told a friend, "I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself."

Nearly three centuries later, that music still fills concert halls every Christmas and Easter, still moves people to stand in reverence, still declares the sovereignty of the Almighty.

Handel thought his story was over. God was just getting to the chorus.

The Apostle Paul wrote, "We are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do" (Ephesians 2:10). Your sense of purpose doesn't expire when the world stops applauding. El Shaddai, the God of more than enough, has compositions He still wants to play through your life. The question isn't whether your best days are behind you — it's whether you're still listening for the music.