Soul's playlist

He had been sick for 3 days.

For 3 days my oldest who is full of jokes, imagination, and "curiosity" (which let's be completely honest, often leads to time-outs) had been a shell of himself.  Eyes sunken in, barely enough energy to look around for more than a few minutes before cocooning himself again with sleep, to allow his immunity to continue its long-battle.

On the third night, I tucked this sick one back in bed for the night, and while I quietly began singing to him, a song that I hadn't sung in awhile came to voice.

I lift my eyes up,
up to the mountains,
where does my help come from?


My help comes from you,
Maker of Heaven,
Creator of the earth.


Oh how I need you, Lord,
you are my only hope,
you are my only prayer,
and so I wait for you,
to come and answer me,
to come and give me life.


As I sung, he, who could barely even lift up his head, took out his hands from the warm covers, and motioned the song.  He lifted his hands to the heavens and sang from his soul.

Not even 5 yet, and he gets it.
Where true help comes, where true hope is found, where true life is born.

His soul sang out, without a word even crossing his lips.

May my 32 year-old soul, who has been around along enough to forget from time to time--
compromised and lured by the glitz and glamour,
the to-do lists,
and hyper-viligance thinking I am really in control---
become again like this babe,
fresh from the heart of God,
who knows,
who truly knows,
who holds all things together.

But you know, the more I think about it...
my soul,
deep down,
deep, deep down,
also knows.

Because it remembered the song.
Without me even being conscious of it.
It came just at the right time.
Thank God for our soul's playlist.