Children of the Heavenly Father

Just put my son, Eli, to bed. He had a nap on the way home (he, his mom, and two sisters came to get me at work), so he had a tough time getting to sleep.

He's also got a big bump on his forehead, courtesy of a nosedive on to the sidewalk at the park. I'm starting to get a matching one--from laying on the floor by his bed when he decided to take a flying leap on to my head.

Ever had a 35 pound kid land on your nose? It smarts (in case you haven't had the pleasure.)

I try to get home before he goes to sleep, but more often than not he's conked out just before I roll into the driveway. Sometimes I go and watch him for a while, but not too long. Kathy's had him all day and he's a handful, so she's glad that he's out. And if I wake him up, he's my problem, not hers. That's for sure.

When I do have a chance to put him to bed, he always wants the same song; Children of the Heavenly Father, a old Swedish lullaby. I'd sing a Polish or Portuguese one, but I don't know any, so the Swedish one has to do.

Here's my favorite verse:

Neither life nor death shall ever,
From the Lord his children sever,
Unto them his grace he showeth,
And their sorrows all he knoweth.

Just about everything I know about God is bound up in those four lines. So even though he wants me to sing "Take me out to the ballgame"(and root, root, root for the Red Sox--no matter what his Cub fan mother says)--it's this song I want write in his heart.

He'll need it.

I know I do.


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