Yesterday morning Kim chose to stay home with our youngest two, in order to wipe the flow from their noses in the privacy of our home, so our eldest two and I headed off to worship with the feel of a “daddy daughter date.” By 10:15 we were seated in the nether-regions of our congregation (I let the girls pick our seats), and though I would have chosen to be more integrated and up close, the margins do have their advantages, especially for a parent with young children.
The time to stand and sing began on cue, which for us meant that I stood and my daughters chose to psuedo-stand by sitting on the top part of the upfolded theater seats. The independence, playfulness, and arguable defiance of this moment, reminded me of the myraid challenges of being a dad, but it’s not so much the decision about the appropriate posture for my children in worship that I want to remember. It’s what happened next that I don’t want to lose. In the midst of these swirling thoughts, my oldest daughter began to sing. Perched like sparrow in her makeshift nest, from a place within her that at times feels impossible for me to touch, the words rose strong and clear…
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see