If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about January 11, 2015 in my life, I would tell you it was the day I discovered a way to do something about the goosebumps I felt the other day reading Psalm 33: get out the new Kala KA-T] ukulele my mother gave me for Christmas and start making music to God, learning the instrument as I go.
I discovered this as a I sat on the love-seat in our living room this evening, clumsily strumming along with the chord sheet for “Jesus Is Yours” up on my computer, which sat on the seat of the rocking chair across from me while the kids drifted off to sleep in their bunk bed and Carla watched a television program on her computer from the living room sofa.
In time, I hope to write my own songs and perhaps sing-pray with this uke.
I would also tell you that today was the day I was proud of Éa and Carla for working hard enough on learning to read to be able to read the words “creek,” “shrug,” “wreck,” and “recent,” which my dad spelled in bathtub letters perched on a wooden rack and displayed to her via Skype.
I would also tell you that through the same exercise with Sullivan, the kids learned what the word “conscience” means—a word Carla had suggested my dad spell to try to stump Sullivan, and incidentally the word that got me booted from my fifth-grade spelling bee.
Finally, I would also tell you that I enjoyed a game of hide-and-seek with Sullivan and Éa at the Peters’ house—an excellent house for the game—after house church today. I would tell you about the inviting peace I sensed upon entering the Peters’ den, where a wood stove roared, and the joy I felt by hiding from the kids by sitting under Carla on a recliner in the middle of the Peters’ living room.