Lord, I need you now. Savior, show your face. Come, [music] Jesus.
Come into this place. Lord, I need you now. >> Hi, good evening.
My name is Elijah and I am 92 years old. Tonight, I am standing here with a voice that has lived almost a century. My knees are a little shaky [music] and my hands tremble more than they used to, but my heart my heart is steady.
I started singing [music] gospel music when I was only 9 years old. Back then, our little wooden church had no air conditioning, no fancy sound system, just a [music] room full of people who believed singing could carry you through anything. I stood [music] on a crate so they could see me.
And I remember people wiping tears from their eyes. I didn't understand [music] why at the time, but now I know that sometimes a voice carries more than a melody. Sometimes it carries a story.
I didn't have an easy life. I worked hard, jobs, fields, factories, construction sites, whatever it took to feed my family. My hands toughened, my back weakened.
But every Sunday morning, no matter how tired I was, I stood in that choir and sang. [music] Music wasn't something I did. It was something that kept me together.
And then one day, I met the woman who became my wife. She had a voice softer than the morning. [music] When she sang beside me, it felt like heaven was sitting in the front pew listening.
We sang for more than [music] 60 years. In church, at home, while cooking, even while praying for answers we didn't have. Her voice could calm storms inside me.
But time has a way of taking the people you love. One by one, people close to me started leaving this world. And then it was her turn.
I held her hand as she took her final breath. After that, the house felt too quiet. The chair she always sat in felt like a museum piece.
Her Bible stayed open on the same page for weeks, and I found myself talking into empty rooms just to pretend [music] she was still there. At 92, I have buried more people than I can count. My parents, all my brothers and [music] sisters, nearly every friend I grew up with, and one of my children, too.
No parent should ever have to bury their child. There were nights I sat at the edge of my bed asking, "Lord, why am I still here? What purpose [music] do I have left?
" But every time I felt lost, a small voice inside me said, "Sing. " Even when [music] my voice cracked, even when my heart hurt, even when tears came before the words, singing kept me breathing when grief wanted to silence me. There is a song I want to share tonight.
A song that has been my prayer on the hardest nights. It's called Come Jesus, Come. This song is a way of saying, "Lord, I'm tired, but I trust you still.
" I want to sing it for my wife, for my child who went before me, for the friends I miss every day, and for anyone watching who feels alone right now. If this is the last big stage I ever stand on, I want my final song to be one of hope. So with all the strength an old man has left, I will sing my prayer now.
When the night grows [music and singing] heavy and the daylight dies and I'm sitting with the memories [music and singing] that never say goodbye. When the world feels [music] colder than [singing] these old bones have known, I whisper to the silence, "Come, [music] Jesus, come. " [music] I've walked through [singing] valleys where the shadows stayed.
I've stood beside [singing] the graves that took my joy away. And when my trembling [singing] hands can't lift the weight alone, I lean [singing] on the promise. Come Jesus, [music] come.
Come Jesus, come. [music] When my [singing] strength is gone, when the nights [music] feel endless and the pain [singing] runs long, I'm holding to a hope that [music] time can't steal. I feel you [singing] in the places where my heart can heal.
[music] Her pillow [singing] still empty on the other side. Her favorite sweater [singing] hangs where she left [music] it behind. Her Bible [singing] still open to the verse she loved.
I touch [music and singing] every margin like I'm touching her. I sit [singing] in her chair [music] when the day feels wrong. Talking to the air [music] like she'll answer before long.
[singing] And when the quiet cuts deeper than any stone, I close my eyes and whisper, "Take [music] me home. Come [singing] Jesus, come. " [music] When my race is run, [singing] when the last song is over and my work is done, you were [singing] there in the fire.
You were there [music] in the flood. You were there at the grave [singing] when I [music] buried my love. Come Jesus, come.
Come [music and singing] Jesus come. [music] >> For the lonely [singing] mother with an aching bed. For the tired [singing] father with a bow down head.
For the frightened child when the night won't end. Let this little prayer become [singing and music] their friend. Come Jesus.
[music and singing] Come till the fear is gone. Till the tears dry up and the weak [music and singing] grows strong. Till the sky breaks open and [music] you call us home.
Come Jesus [music] come. Come Jesus [singing] come. [music] Come Jesus.
Come. [music] Come Jesus. [music and singing] Come.
Thank you. Truly at my age. Every breath I take is a blessing.
Every note I sing is a reminder that God isn't done with me yet. My voice shakes now. But that's not weakness.
That's proof that this old heart has lived long enough to let emotion do the singing. If you're watching this and you feel forgotten, you're not. If you feel broken, you can still be healed.
If you feel alone, you are more loved than you know. If this is my last performance, then my heart is full because I got to stand here and share a prayer that carried me through 92 years. May peace find you.
May hope lift you. And may you know that even in the darkest night, light is coming. Thank you from the bottom of an old man's heart.
