Most nights it is my privilege to tuck my boys into bed, read them a story from the Bible, pray with them, and give them hugs and kisses. Sometimes, I’m watching a particular television show, or reading a book and I rush through the whole “tucking-in” task, checking off the list before turning out the lights and closing them into their bedroom for the night. But mostly it is a half-hour of father-and-son togetherness.
When sensing that I am not in a rush my Oldest will ask me to tell a story about my life growing up or about his Papa or Grandma but my Youngest will nearly always ask me to sing a song. We always begin singing with something goofy, normally something I invent on the spot, something to get him giggling. Then we sing songs he learns on Sesame Street, Dora the Explorer, or (Gasp!) Barnie. And we always, always finish with “Jesus Loves Me,” (not because I’m spiritual but because that’s his favorite song).
But here’s the thing: I’m not very creative, my on-the-spot songs don’t rhyme very well, and they probably are off-pitch and off-key. It wouldn’t be music to any one’s ear, except my son’s. Somehow, such moments comfort him, soothe him, protect him, and endear me to him. They are almost like a prayer language between father and son; an expression of affection, of unity, of loyalty, of togetherness. Maybe that’s why, so often, I hear my son say, “Sing a Song, Daddy!” (Or maybe it’s just a ploy to delay bedtime.)
We need to understand that God offers the same sort of moments to us. He wants us to sing to Him, yes, but more profoundly He wants to sing to us, to comfort us, to soothe us, to protect us, and to endear Himself to us. He has offered us an expression of affection, of unity, of loyalty, of togetherness. He is God, but He is not to busy to tuck us in at night. No, it seems that we are the ones who are too busy.
Zephaniah 3:17 says, “The Lord God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”
[The inspiration for these thoughts were unashamedly ripped from Vince Antonucci's book "I Became a Christian and All I Got was this Lousy T-Shirt," (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books) p. 88-90; and from Richard Foster's "Prayer," p. 3-4.]
