Sandi Patty - We Shall Behold Him Lyrics

Video

Bill & Gloria Gaither - We Shall Behold Him [Live] ft. Sandi Patty

Meaning & Inspiration

My knuckles are swollen these days, and my eyes have grown dim enough that I mostly listen to the old hymns now, feeling the worn edges of the pages I haven't turned in years. When Sandi Patty sings "We Shall Behold Him," she’s reaching for a scale that feels almost too large for a human throat.

There is a line in there—the sleeping shall rise, from their slumbering place—that used to sound like a pageantry of victory to me when I was younger. Back then, it was all trumpets and gold, the kind of grand finale you expect when you’re still full of vigor. But now that I’ve buried a husband and more friends than I care to count, that line hits me differently. It isn’t just a prophecy; it’s a promise to the tired. It’s the hope that the groaning of these arthritic bones isn't the final word.

Paul wrote to the Thessalonians about the dead in Christ rising first, and I find myself clinging to that like a railing on a steep set of stairs. I wonder, sometimes, if the "sleeping" is a mercy. When the lights go out in the house and the quiet gets heavy, I ask myself if I’m ready to be changed in a moment. That suddenness—in a moment—is terrifying and beautiful all at once. It suggests that our transition into His presence isn't a struggle, but a sudden clearing of the fog.

Then there is that phrase: face to face.

It’s easy to sing that when you’re standing in a congregation with a full voice, but it’s harder when you’re staring at a blank wall at three in the morning. To see Him face to face means to stop hiding. I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting the art of keeping my messes out of sight, of keeping my Sunday face on even when the fire was burning my boots right off my feet. The idea of being fully known—no more secrets, no more distance—is a daunting thing. Does He really want to see me, the version that’s frayed and worn thin by forty years of trying to get it right?

Sandi sings it with such clarity, almost as if she’s already standing on that threshold. I don't have that clarity yet. I still have doubts that creep in like damp air. I’m still working through the grief of things lost and the regret of words unsaid. But when that chorus kicks in, I find myself quieted. It’s not "young man’s noise." It’s an anchor. Even if I don't have the answers, even if the "glory" she describes is still a bit too bright for my tired eyes to fully grasp, I keep listening. I keep hoping that when the sky finally unfolds, the first thing I’ll see isn't the weight of my life, but the light in His eyes.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe, in the end, that’s all that's left. Just Him, looking back.