Thursday, October 9, 2014
G-Nan, Sing Me Your Song
All children know how to do it: extend bedtime.
"Can I have a drink of water?"
"I didn't kiss daddy goodnight."
"I have to go potty."
And so when my grandson was with me a few weeks ago, his method of "extension" didn't take this grandmother by surprise.
"G-Nan, will you rock me?"
Our bedtime ritual is quite a lengthy one. First there's the bath (complete with bubbles and monster trucks), followed by a naked run to the den to see his Geezer before the Batman pajamas are donned. After which, he climbs up into the lap of his granddaddy where they share some chips and dip. From there, it's back to the bathroom to brush the teeth with the Spiderman toothbrush before heading to the bedroom for bedtime stories and prayers. I allow 4 books of choice before the lights go out. Lately it has been The Little Red Caboose, Casey the Cowboy, a selected story from his Bible, and always ending with Night Night Blessings. Then the little fellow is tucked into his junior bed (that his great-grandfather made), the night light turtle is turned on transforming the ceiling into a night sky, prayers are said, and I stand to leave the room ... when I hear, "G-Nan, will you rock me?"
Ah, it may be a ploy to stay up later, but what grandmother in her rightful mind could turn down such a request? Rock her baby one more time? Especially one that is growing up right before her eyes? And so, off come the covers, out of the bed and into my lap he climbs with ALL of his "lovies." And then in that starlit ceiling darkness, he looks up at me with those big brown eyes and says, "G-Nan, sing me your song."
And so I begin, "Jesus loves me, this I know; for the Bible tells me so."
"No, no," he says, as he sits up straight and looks at me. "That's my song. Sing me your song." And then he nestles back into my lap holding tightly to his lovies waiting for me to begin anew.
I have to admit, it takes me a little by surprise. I have never given much thought to what my song might be. And so I begin singing what I consider a favorite of mine.
My Jesus I love Thee; I know Thou art mine.
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign...
My gracious Redeemer, My Savior art Thou,
If ever I loved Thee, My Jesus, 'tis now.
He seems content with that. And then asks for another.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God, my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thou compassions they fail not;
As Thou has been Thou forever wilt be.
And as long as he is willing to rock and listen, I am willing to rock and sing.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound...
O Lord, My God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds Thy hands have made...
I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses...
Holy Spirit, living breath of God, breathe new life into this willing soul...
Every now and again, I try to throw in Jesus Loves Me or Jesus Loves the Little Children, but it is always the same thing, "No, no. That's MY song. Sing YOUR song."
Here's the truth in my grandson's request: our lives sing. Whether we are participating in a church choir, feeding the poor, sitting in front of a computer screen, washing dishes or rocking a grand baby, our lives sing something that is unique and individual to each of us. The question is, what kind of song is it? Do our lives sing songs of joy or sorrow? Of faith or fear? Of praise or complaint? Of life or lament?
One thing I noticed while rocking and singing to my grandson was that he was humming while I softly sang. My song was pouring over into him and he, too, was singing. He took up my song.
Yes, every life has a song. Every life sings. And regardless of what it is, it's a catchy tune. The question is, what is YOUR life singing? What is MY life singing? And is it worth another's humming it?
"G-Nan, sing me your song." Oh, yes, my little boy. Indeed I will.
Just an ordinary moment...