Angels Unaware

Yesterday at the eleven o’clock church service I sat sandwiched between my two eldest daughters.  It was lovely.  Emma’s arm was linked through mine as we sang the processional hymn, Onward Christian Soldiers, together.  My heart filled with mirth as the little girl to my right sang out so loudly and joyfully even though the tune of this song was lost on her.  Standing there listening to Emma sing took me back to other occasions when I’ve stood beside a beautifully off-key singing loved one.  My late grandfather Lewis’s hymn singing resembled the sounds a tortured cat might make, but I always smiled inside when I stood next to him in church.  Even though the music was like an unknown foreign language to him, the lyrics were stitched into his heart.  Any person who stood by his side while he softly squealed along with How Great Thou Art could clearly discern the depth of his sentiment.

I have equally fond memories of listening to my late grandmother Adeline sing “...And he walks with me and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own…” in the kitchen when she thought no one was taking any notice.  Her voice had a sweet, trembling and slightly disharmonious quality, but it was indeed music to my young ears because it carried with it such faith and longing.

My oldest daughter’s singing reveals her exuberant spirit as well.  Her voice is untrained, but her heart is wise and her joy shameless.  Forget about any sermon.  I was being led by the example of the completely unaware angel who was hanging onto the crook of my arm, belting out the lyrics.  What a gift!

Sweet Sophia sat to my left.  She also sang along softly while following along in the hymnal with her finger, but after the hymn was finished, she became engrossed in a prayer request card which she found in the pew in front of her.  She scribbled furiously inside as I listened to the morning’s announcements and as Emma rested her head on my shoulder.

When the minster called for all of the children to come forward for Children’s Time and Sunday school, the prayer request card was left lying carelessly on the pew.  Out of curiosity, I picked it up and had a look inside.  This is what I saw…

I felt so proud that Sophie found the compassion in her heart to pray for dying werewolves.  I was so moved that I almost placed the card in the offering plate as it passed.  I feared, however, that the intercessor might not appreciate the sincerity of this prayer request.  So I folded the card and brought it home in my purse.  In all seriousness... I am glad that she feels "at home" enough in church to draw silly pictures of werewolves inside the prayer request cards.  We should all be the same in church as we are elsewhere.  Another lesson taught by an unknowing cherub (who pals around with werewolves).

"And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."  (Matthew 18:2-3 ESV)