It’s in the small hours that you hear the best. When the tiredness of your mind and body opens your ears and your heart. You hear him through the song that always plays in your head that suddenly gets a little louder.
You hear holy
and not only is it easier to hear, but easier to worship. His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade as the small soft breaths of your son are warm on your bare chest, close to your heart.
You know and feel and know and feel that someday all of this will be over and all that’s left will be you and him and that will be your time to curl in his lap or fall at his feet or maybe dance before him to the song that always plays in your head that you can suddenly hear a little better.
You realize that what matters most and is most real is the love you show people–all people. Even if, especially if they haven’t done
to deserve it.
You realize through and at your core the height and depth and width of the love that brought you to this place and you throw your head back and say
oh my God
Because you can’t kneel or do anything else because you’re holding thirty-odd pounds of toddler, even though the song that always plays in your head suddenly gets louder still.
Conviction comes that the love you’ve shown people has been feeble compared to the love shown you and suddenly it crashes into your heart anew and you feel the very hands of
He who was and is and is to come.
Your thumb is flying across the small keyboard because you don’t want to miss anything, even though you know your words can’t do the feeling any sort of justice.
You really just want people to know what it feels like.
You realize you have to tell them, no matter what.
And the song that always plays in your head quiets a little. It’s time to sleep once again, and you want to return to the warmth of your bed and the arms of your wife.
There is so much to do, and so very little time. The soft music in your head leads you down the hall as you deposit your son in his Angry Bird sheets. You see a light under the door of his big brother and realize he probably fell asleep with a book or video game control in his hand again. You remember yourself at almost 9.
You open your bedroom door and see her with an arm thrown over onto your side of the bed and you think that of all the things you’ve done in your life, it’s hard to find something on this earth that compares to laying next to this woman who loves you even though so much about you is wrong.
It occurs to you as you lay down next to her how much you’ve learned and changed and grown since meeting her. You can hear your song now, where before it was only an occasional note on a gentle breeze.
She’s had a rough night with a bad cold and you wish you could take her sickness away, but you can’t so you just pray for her as the song that always plays in your head becomes a lullaby, and you slowly drift back to sleep.