I love music. As I
grew up, most of my mom’s family gatherings wound up around a piano or guitar
singing and playing. Some of my most treasured memories are singing
in old farm house that served as a church where my grandfather pastored. Before services it was not unusual for
strings and voices to usher us into the presence of God. When the service officially started, the
piano and voices joined in singing as only those down home folks could. The music transported me. That place was safe and full of joy. I always thought that perhaps the heavenly
choir sounded something like a good old fashioned songfest.
We sang from memory in addition to using worn hymnals. Some
songs came from a series of song books with Jesus on the cover. All of the music plays in my heart and soul
every day. I picture my grandfather play
the acoustic guitar. Mom, sometimes
grandma or others, played the piano, a mandolin often joined in as we
celebrated the Jesus and our salvation.
I knew the words to almost every tune we sang before I could
read. For years I never looked in a hymnal since I
already knew the words. At some point, I
began to think about some of the words I sang. Some were so beautiful. Some told stories. Others I just did not understand.
One song in particular always puzzled me: “Praise Him!
Praise Him!” I puzzled over that song
until one service, my ten year old self wanted to look like an adult. So, I opened the hymnal to the announced number
and began to follow the words. The
familiar words “Praise Him! Praise Him!” danced below the music graph. I dutifully sang/read through the first
verse. Then we began the chorus, “Praise
Him, praise Him, tell of His excellent greatness…” What?
Greatness? All these years (which
were many in my little mind) I sang “tell of His excellent grape nuts.” I reasoned early on that whoever wrote the
song really like cereal. How
embarrassing, yet no one noticed.
I think of that revelation often and smile. I wonder if Jesus laughed every time the
chubby, curly headed little girl in thick glasses stood on the seat and belted
out “tell of His excellent grape nuts.” I think so.
I think the angels He sent to guard me probably melted into fits of
giggles at the sincere, but sincerely clueless child who praised God for
breakfast cereal. And then I think,
“Well, why not? Didn’t Paul say to
rejoice in all things? Didn’t Jesus say,
‘suffer the little children to come unto me?’
Didn’t He also say unless you become like a child we can’t enter the
kingdom of heaven?’”
So Jesus, thank you for your music that carried me through
childhood and the prodigal years. Thank
you for calling me back to You through your melodies of love. Thank you for musicians who open the flood
gates of heaven with worship music.
Thank you for a voice to sing your praises. Thank you for vivid memories of Your
presence surrounded by joyful song. Thank you that you inhabit the praises of
your people. And, oh yes, Jesus you did
teach someone how to make cereal. I will
always sing of Your excellent grape nuts.
“While I live, I will
praise the Lord; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.” Psalm 146: NIV
