Song of Truth

My earliest memories from childhood are that of my Dad rocking and singing to me, with his warm “fuzzy” baritone. All the tones weren’t even and smooth, but they sure were comforting. Our song was an old hymn entitled, “Child of the King.”  

Adopted at 3 months of age, both my parents were committed to my sense of safety, security, belonging and identity. They both had enough God given insight to know how important a sense of identity was for a child. They had already had experience trying to provide a solid grounding for my non-biological brother, Daryl. He came into their home at almost 5 yrs old, with parental abandonment of him at age 2, along with 4 other siblings and multi-foster home history. Our nightly ritual was our bedtime story of how they had prayed for 17 years for a family and how we came to be in their home. This was followed by the rocking in the cream-colored leather rocker and the song. The words of that song implanted the message and assured me that I belonged to God and was His Royal child. 

Looking back, I can see how those lyrics helped develop my sense of myself and how it has and would serve me well throughout life. My dad wanted us to digest that everything about ourselves that would sustain us in this life came from being made in the image of God. He wanted us to remember that a relationship with Jesus would far outlast any earthly sense of family. As I buried my brother, then my mother, then dad in the course of 4 years (between 2006-2010) this pervading truth would resonate deep within me and carry me through some pretty sad and dark days.

As I child I was quite inquisitive and asked many questions as opposed to conversing.  After raising two children of my own, I struggle with how my father coped with the onslaught of inquiries. From the “what ifs and how comes?” he continued to patiently respond the best he could.

My mom, bless her heart, said what all-resourceful parents say, “ask your father.”  I was more than happy to oblige. One day in the garden I asked my Dad who I looked like. My Dad was French, English and part Native American with black hair. On the other hand my mom was 100% Scotch Irish with mostly red hair. Due to the laws governing closed adoptions, my folks had no information on either of our backgrounds. I was a sandy haired child with a permanent suntan. 

So in the garden exchange, I pressed Edison (my Dad) for the mystery of who I might resemble. Seeing my commitment to the issue, he laid aside the garden tools and said, “Sharon, you look like God.” Amazed into silence for once, he took me by the hand and told me he could prove it. We went into the house, he opened his bible to Genesis 1:26. This scripture reveals Gods plan for making us in His image and after His likeness. I can still remember my dad’s smile as I entered into childhood delight over such a discovery.

From that first song, we would move on to great hymns of faith and Appalachian spirituals. I would begin playing the piano at 3, imitating my older brother’s lessons by ear, demonstrating to my parents music comes from a place inside us that God ordains. Vocal lessons and ear training would follow me intermittently through my years and eventually manifest itself as a strong characteristic of my identity.  In the clinic, I was often referred to as the singing therapist and have serenaded more than a few at bedside in their infirmities. I laugh now and say it’s a great advantage to have so many hymns committed to memory since its tough to put them on the big screen. Most hymns contain scripture and deep truth, especially those songs taken from the Psalms themselves. 

It would be much later when I faced a long season of loss, in both my family and ministries where thinking would take a turn. There was tremendous upheaval and change, much like the times we are currently living in. I would begin to question, ‘did I really believe the truth I could sing from memory or was it just mere words to familiar tunes?’ Bearing as much comfort and weight as the alphabet or nursery rhymes, I never stopped believing that God saved my soul, but I doubted whether he could save my hide. I knew that God had me, but in the daily, did He have my back? All the while, I kept singing those Psalms.

During that time, I came across the scripture from Isaiah where God was speaking to the Israelites and said, “You say you belong to me, my praise is on your lips but your heart is far away…” (Isaiah 29:13). I actually laughed at the irony because no one knew the depth of my despair and doubt but God —from His lips to my ear. He called me out and said, “Sharon, you have been taught the scripture and truth from an early age, you know all the words to the songs, they cross your lips but your heart is far away from me.” It was then that I thought of all those hymns like “Great is Thy Faithfulness” where my version was more like” Mostly great is Your Faithfulness.” The song “Sweet Hour of Prayer” had turned to “Sweet Hour of Distraction.” I was a spiritual Israelite. I was a doubting Psalmist.

Maybe you are like me, a church kid who lost his or her peace and in these turbulent times, it’s hard to hang onto. Or maybe you have never really examined that there could be an identity that can ground you that no virus, no loss, no force can rob you of.  Anchoring our identity in Christ can assure us that we belong to Him. I am His in all my victories and failures, all of my sicknesses and wellness, all my convictions and my doubts. I am a member of His family. The song of truth ringing in my ears…”I am a Child of the King.”

The next time we come into the vineyard, I will share how the Lord took me through the 23rd Psalm, and showed me it was a Psalm of life. Not just the token Psalm we quote at funerals or recite by heart. I confess, some days I am still a doubting Psalmist, but I learned to confess my doubt to God.

Right now in these days, I am confessing about my fear. I’m giving God the statistics on the virus and letting Him have the rule and say in my life. I can be informed, but God doesn’t get His news from the media. I am confessing that I’m frustrated with the limitations placed on my life by Covid 19 but trusting He can make use of this situation for my good and His glory. I confess that I am spoiled and inconvenienced and ask Him to help me gain perspective on what hard really is and trust His strength for coping with it. When I find myself rendered speechless by the monumental loss around me, I read the words of David, the original Psalmist, and let his words speak on my behalf. I find through the practice of this confession, my heart and mouth are more in sync and stay near to God. 

–Sharon, The 5 o’clock Worker