"Mom, can you come get me?"
Cocoa paint congealed in my orange plastic tray today, as my seventeen year old son's sick voice continued huskily. "My fever is higher again and I just wanna be home."
"Oh bud, why don't you sleep there tonight and I'll come get you first thing tomorrow morning?"
It was late afternoon, with rush hour starting soon, and his camp was a three hour's drive away. Plus my new trim paint brush dripped freshly-loaded paint, and splashes were already beginning to harden on the wall.
He waited quiet on the phone, breathing hard, and my husband motioned me to go from the background. "Really?" he asked then weakly and the mom in me caved.
"Okay, I'll come get you, bud. That's fine. I'll leave in twenty minutes, okay?"
Interestingly, both my sons struck fevers on the same day – 133 miles apart from each other. Saturday morning, my youngest woke us up at five am, padding in on hot little legs, whimpering. His heart thumped madly in his tiny chest, and we cuddled on the couch as the sun rose. Later that day, while I was on my way to urgent care with flushed little Daniel, we got the call that John, our oldest son, was feverish and ill at camp as well.
Red-cheeked, limp, and vacant-eyed, four year old Daniel slumped against his car-seat Saturday. I maneuvered corners, and scanned the directions. "We're almost there, okay, buddy? How are you doing?"
"Me doing well, Mom," he stated weakly, lapsing into silence. Minutes later, a tiny voice from the back seat broke the quiet. Straining to hear what he was saying, I was amazed to hear him singing, "oh my soul...,” a worship song that he knew.
Cocoa paint congealed in my orange plastic tray today, as my seventeen year old son's sick voice continued huskily. "My fever is higher again and I just wanna be home."
"Oh bud, why don't you sleep there tonight and I'll come get you first thing tomorrow morning?"
It was late afternoon, with rush hour starting soon, and his camp was a three hour's drive away. Plus my new trim paint brush dripped freshly-loaded paint, and splashes were already beginning to harden on the wall.
He waited quiet on the phone, breathing hard, and my husband motioned me to go from the background. "Really?" he asked then weakly and the mom in me caved.
"Okay, I'll come get you, bud. That's fine. I'll leave in twenty minutes, okay?"
Interestingly, both my sons struck fevers on the same day – 133 miles apart from each other. Saturday morning, my youngest woke us up at five am, padding in on hot little legs, whimpering. His heart thumped madly in his tiny chest, and we cuddled on the couch as the sun rose. Later that day, while I was on my way to urgent care with flushed little Daniel, we got the call that John, our oldest son, was feverish and ill at camp as well.
Red-cheeked, limp, and vacant-eyed, four year old Daniel slumped against his car-seat Saturday. I maneuvered corners, and scanned the directions. "We're almost there, okay, buddy? How are you doing?"
"Me doing well, Mom," he stated weakly, lapsing into silence. Minutes later, a tiny voice from the back seat broke the quiet. Straining to hear what he was saying, I was amazed to hear him singing, "oh my soul...,” a worship song that he knew.
An elusive magazine article, that has slipped my brain, promised better health and peace of mind to me this week, all through the power of singing. (When I find it, I'll link it here, okay? Sorry.)
Today, after washing cocoa paint from my fingers, I grabbed the keys and headed
out. Can I admit to you, though, that I was crabby and begrudging the delay in
painting? Rain hit halfway through the trip, and my broken windshield wipers
flopped oddly, smacking rubber against the top of my car and along the passenger
side, smearing my vision as I drove. I grumbled. My paper directions and the
roads didn't coincide. I grumbled, stopped for directions, pulled into some
u-turns, and grumbled again.
He talked to me, then, my Maker; he sent seas of sunflowers to line my highways, and jump-start my sense of humor. I cracked jokes to myself, grinning madly at them, apologizing to him, and choosing joy. Turning on Christian radio, I started to sing along.
At the camp, my car crept along curving, crackling dirt roads. Tracking him down, I found my tall, lanky seventeen year old son in a temporary sick bay, looking gaunt and weak. We loaded him up, hugged the summer staff good bye, and headed home, a three hour trip.
"Mom, I was a little bit angry at God," he admitted ten minutes onto the highway. "I didn't want to be sick anymore, so I decided to sing. I knew that praising and cursing couldn't come out of the same mouth-- not that I was cursing, Mom -- but I chose praise. I couldn't really sing; I didn't have much of a voice." He shared also of playing the guitar and dripping sweat.
"My voice was kind of squeaky," he laughed, trailing off weakly, and he stared slack-jawed out the front.
He talked to me, then, my Maker; he sent seas of sunflowers to line my highways, and jump-start my sense of humor. I cracked jokes to myself, grinning madly at them, apologizing to him, and choosing joy. Turning on Christian radio, I started to sing along.
At the camp, my car crept along curving, crackling dirt roads. Tracking him down, I found my tall, lanky seventeen year old son in a temporary sick bay, looking gaunt and weak. We loaded him up, hugged the summer staff good bye, and headed home, a three hour trip.
"Mom, I was a little bit angry at God," he admitted ten minutes onto the highway. "I didn't want to be sick anymore, so I decided to sing. I knew that praising and cursing couldn't come out of the same mouth-- not that I was cursing, Mom -- but I chose praise. I couldn't really sing; I didn't have much of a voice." He shared also of playing the guitar and dripping sweat.
"My voice was kind of squeaky," he laughed, trailing off weakly, and he stared slack-jawed out the front.
I smiled in silence for a few miles, until I turned on the radio. A worship
song slid through the car. Suddenly I heard raspy whispering beside me.
…Your grace has found me just as I am,
Empty handed but alive in your hands.
Singing Majesty, Majesty.
Forever I am changed by Your love,
In the presence of Your Majesty…
Singing Majesty, Majesty.
Forever I am changed by Your love,
In the presence of Your Majesty…
Humbled, I listened. In their fevers and illness, my sons had
consistently chosen gentleness and worship. In raspy voices with shaky breaths,
on their own in empty cars with me, they taught me lessons on choosing joy,
choosing worship.
I grinned, thankful for them, and so slow in learning this
lesson that God had to show it to me multiple times, I joined in.
…‘Cuz what if Your blessings come through
raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?...
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?...
Mile after mile, we sang.
Worship his holy name
Sing like never before
Oh my soul
I worship your holy name…
Sing like never before
Oh my soul
I worship your holy name…
It was fitting that this one should come on. Oh my soul,
worship his holy name.
Want joy? Need a jolt of energy and well-being? You are five seconds away from it.
What have you been singing this week? What is your go-to worship song lately?
