Ever been surprised by tears?

I had one of those moments last week as I drove Maggie to orchestra practice at 7:30 in the morning.  We were both pretty tired.

As I pulled out of the driveway, the tires crackled on the ice and I noticed one of my Christmas presents–the new Jars of Clay album (The Shelter)–was quietly playing on the CD player in the background…

You need all the encouragement you can get on mornings like that– those depressing, gray Chicago mornings.  The song “Call My Name” came on.  I had already taken a liking to this sweet, simple poem from a son to his Father.  So, as Maggie and I listened, I was surprised at the tears welling up in the corner of my eyes.  I wasn’t sure if Maggie noticed me crying or not  (I wouldn’t care if she did–I’m a pretty weepy dad, anyway) but we kept listening; and, as I casually reached up to wipe my eyes, I glanced back at Maggie and saw her eyes all teared-up, too.

I couldn’t have been happier, honestly— to have my ten-year-old daughter’s heart tuned to the sound of her Heavenly Father’s voice.  To know that her young soul resonates with the sound of her “Daddy.”  It gives me great hope that she will indeed grow up into her identity as a dearly loved daughter of God.   “Call My Name” paints a compelling picture of a sweet conversation between the songwriter and His Father in heaven.

I would link the song to this post–but that would cost money.  I’m too cheap for that. But you can hear some of it in the background of this YouTube clip. Here’s a sample of the lyrics:

I’ll go when You call me
I run when You tell me where to go
We are desert walkers under shady clouds
Your fire shows there’s more of You to know

When You call my name
When You call my name
Send me to the edge of the Earth
Show me what our life is worth
When You call my name

My tears stirred by a simple song at 7:30 on a cold winter morning remind me once again of my mortality–that this temporary life of ours simply isn’t home–and never should be.  We were created to long for Home–as C.S. Lewis constantly wrote about–to be back there with our Father Creator in heaven.  I’m reminded of one of Lewis’ beautiful poems (something he’s not often known for.)  He writes in “The Apologist’s Evening Prayer”

Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust,instead of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts,
even from my thoughts of Thee,
O Thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle’s eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got way too much “trumpery” in my own life.  Just let me hear my Father’s voice every day at 7:30 in the morning on the way to orchestra practice with Maggie. That’s enough for me.

And let those Homesick tears flow.

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