You Will Know Him (Josiah’s Song)

The story

Dear Josiah,

How could I have known that I would be telling the story of this song in this way? How could I have known that the lyrics I meticulously crafted for six hours straight one Tuesday in March would be more of a prophecy than a promise?  

I’ve tried to tell my readers this story — this story of this song that was written to you. I’ve tried for six months to put it just right, but everything I’ve contrived is incomplete, just like the unexpected ending to your life.

When it comes down to it, this song was in response to a bit of a discussion you and I had about how God keeps His promises and what His promises are and if they’re actually meant for us. You felt that a lot of “promises” we hold to in the scriptures are taken completely out of context. As for me, I knew my position but had a hard time finding words for it as I huddled in front of the heater that Monday night, phone at my ear, trying to keep warm in the travel trailer I was staying in. 1,793 miles away, I could hear the pain in your voice.

Later that night you sent me a text about some of your fears over moving to Alaska after you graduated from high school. A very small portion of what you sent me was this: “If the path be lonely, His presence will be all the sweeter, and if the path be dark, His light all the dearer… If I go through drought, it will be enough to know that He has withheld the rain.”   

And after my student teaching the next day (when I was supposed to be doing Hebrew homework) I spent six hours straight writing the lyrics for this song, unsure if I’d ever actually send them to you.   

And even when I did send the song to you, I sent it without a word of explanation. Evidently you didn’t need one — you knew I had written it and you knew I had written it to you.   

A few months later, after your move to Alaska “You Will Know Him” took on a new significance for you. You texted me one long day in July saying you’d listened to the voice memo version (the only recorded version at the time) 7 or 8 times that day.  

How could I forget that last night — that last night we sat across my parent’s living room from each other and had our final face-to-face conversation, which, as usual, turned into a bit of a discussion? For the last time (and who knows how many times we’d debated this point), we discussed when all would be well in your spirit. I tenaciously held to my belief that your healing would come in this life, soon maybe. The healing needn’t be long in coming. And you were unwavering in your belief that you wouldn’t be whole and complete until you reached Heaven.   

Sand from the shores of the river where we hiked in May 2018.

How could I have missed it? How could I have so dogmatically held to my conviction that your healing would come the way I envisioned it? A young 17-year-old heart in need of healing would surely be restored by a wounded, restoring Jesus.  

I don’t know how I missed it, how you were so right and I was so wrong, Josiah. All I know is that less than two months after that last face-to-face argument, less than ten months after I wrote the song, you were whole and well and complete and that healing didn’t look like I’d envisioned it. But it looked terribly close to how I depicted it in the song I wrote for you.  

“You don’t expect for him to come
Remove the shards and pour the Balm
Of Gilead, the tonic to
The bane within you
But even now I see him lean
Over your lifeless form and weep
And wound to wound he lays his own
Red stripes upon you 
As healing rushes, rises high
Life quickens hope that death held tight
And breath returns to lungs that long
Were still within you
And eyes, once dark and empty, peer
Into the Eyes of One Whose tears
Have cleansed their own, removing all
That once had blinded you”  

And that night, that night at 12:11 am when my mind wouldn’t let me read the 153-word announcement from your mom that sprawled out in front of me — only “Sheriff just left our house… Josiah… dead….” I shook uncontrollably for hours and off and on for days and weeks and months. That night I reminded your mom of the words to this song. Looking back it seems an inappropriate response. But then again, we were all grasping for words and responses and trying to make sense of the senseless.  

And I’m sure you never imagined I’d break down and sob when I tried to record this song. You would have been proud, I’m sure. 

Here I end this letter to you. I have left much out, as you know. A history can’t be told in a day. A lifetime can’t be condensed to a moment. 

Looking forward to the day when we will all “Know Him for Who He is.”

The song

The path you’re on bends just ahead
You fear the night and cold and dread
The loneliness and terror that
The dark will bring you
You question faith and Who is good
The promises you one time proved
Seem fairy tales and childish dreams
Of hopes that haunt you

You thought Him kind, but far too soon
Where you were strong He left deep wounds
And scars and hurts enough to kill
The faith within you
You fail to see what He intends
By tearing wounds so He can cleanse
Away what you hold closest to
The heart inside you

But, friend, could I speak
A word to your wounds
He will not break
Beyond what can be used
The places where
You once were wronged
Will be restored
Will be made strong
The weakest reed He soon will mend
The flickering wick will blaze again
And you will know Him,
Oh, you will know Him
For Who He Is

You don’t expect for Him to come
Remove the shards and pour the Balm
Of Gilead, the tonic to
The bane within you
But even now I see Him lean
Over your lifeless form and weep
And wound to wound He lays His own
Red stripes upon you 

As healing rushes, rises high
Life quickens hope that death held tight
And breath returns to lungs that long
Were still within you
And eyes, once dark and empty, peer
Into the Eyes of One Whose tears
Have cleansed their own, removing all
That once had blinded you

Words & music by Merilee Barnard © March 6, 2018.