Future Book Title: Then Sings My Soul
Prologue
I grew up in a family of six kids. That’s right, you read correctly. That would be one more than five, and one less than seven, and it equaled chaos. Life was never quiet with six of us running around our house and yard screaming and playing like a bunch of banshees. My poor parents – Lord only knows what the neighbors thought of them. Even with the perpetual zoo atmosphere, my childhood had a peaceful quality to it that few people I’ve ever met have experienced. I never doubted that I was loved or cared for, not once in my life. As far back as I remember, I felt precious and loved. That love was most commonly demonstrated in the arms of my parents. Their arms were open, and I knew I could count on their love and support no matter what life had for me. As a child, my family was my world, and my world was everything I could’ve wanted.
Some of my earliest memories of childhood include the hustle and bustle of the Sunday morning church routine. Dozing in and out of sleep to the smell of Dad’s coffee percolating on the stove, and Mom singing hymns in the shower, I knew my day was about to start. A little while later Mom would open my bedroom door and flip on the light switch in the room I shared with my three sisters. Quickly, we’d throw our blankets over our heads trying to halt the blinding brightness from those obnoxious light bulbs. Even with Mom’s mild threats to remove our warm covers, we still found it hard to get motivated. After all, it was our duty as children to wait to obey her until the very moment we knew her voice changed from patient Mom to feisty landlord bent on evicting some lazy tennants. We’d get her right to that teetering balance, and – Super Dad to her rescue.
Up and already doing his morning devotions, Dad would usually chuckle to himself as he got his coffee and turned on the house radio. Turning it up loud enough for us to hear, he would go back to his devotions at the kitchen table as the radio chimed the familiar opening tunes of “Adventures in Odyssey”. It was all over, and we all knew it. The parental unit had won, and we the children were defeated again. Could it be that those story writers knew just how to manipulate our imaginations into a state where the newest adventure of Mr. Whittaker and the gang was more important than another half hour of sleep? It was a conspiracy between the writers and our parents – we were sure of it. It wasn’t long after that, though, and we’d be brushing our teeth around the radio, not wanting to miss a single word.
Being a kid, you don’t realize how things as simple as the Sunday morning routine shape you for the future, or what priceless lessons you are being taught. Through the years, I remember running to Mom with countless sibling rivalries and hearing her say, “ask her into your room.” That was just short for “I’m not getting involved, so you’re going to have to work this one out between the two of you.” All we wanted was for her to tell us which was right, and which was wrong, but when she said that, we would eye each other in dread at the upcoming debate. In our frustration we would argue our different sides of the issue until we were so exhausted we’d pretend to “make up” just to end the conversation. Walking out of the room, we’d find Mom ready with her next question. “Have you forgiven each other?” How did she always know? We’d look at each other, and yet again attitudes would flare as we were ushered back to a private place to resolve things with – hopefully -more maturity the second time around. It didn’t always work, but she gave it her all and that’s what counts.
As an adult I often think of my childhood and the moments that shaped me into the woman I am today. The lessons I learned and the biblical foundations that my parents built in my heart at a young age, have spurred me towards a God whom I trust desires only the best for his children. To see evidence of his provision and grace at work in my life and my relationships has brought me more happiness than I can ever express, as well as a sincere appreciation for my parents’ desire to cultivate in each of their children a hunger for a relationship with Christ. As I share with you some of my stories, and hopefully some useful insight, I pray that I could accurately – and at times, humorously - convey a glimpse of a Savior who I believe has proven himself to be infinitely loving, and extravagantly gracious to all who call him Lord.
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