tucking the covers around the broken-hearted children

a mother is supposed to be a safe place. her arms are supposed to be protective; nuturing. her voice and words soothing in times filled with fear; her presence bringing confidence in times of doubt. every mother fails at some point, at multiple points even, but there is the mother that chooses not to feed or clothe her child. the mother whose hand becomes something that makes a child flinch. the mother whose words are the cause of fear and doubt. becoming a mother is one of the things i most look forward to in this life. honestly, it is the restoration, the redeeming, of the concept of mother to the neglected "little ones" that makes my heart beat wildly.

as i approach the day that officially makes me a year older, i find myself in the midst of a lot of contemplation of life; where i've been; where i thought i would be; where i might be headed. year after year i ask "when, lord?" the answer is often silence to be followed or surrounded by instances the prove he's not saying "no", but rather "not yet."

about a month ago i started asking the question again, and the silence prevailed. initially discouragement began to find it's way into my heart, but then i made an unexpected new friend. i don't know all of his stories, but i know enough to know that he probably quite desperately needed the concept of mother redeemed as a child. his stories are not mine to tell, but i can say that i stand amazed at what he has come through and how it is evident that god was protecting him in every moment, even when the adults in his life were not. every now and then he tells a little story from his past, usually to make a point about the power of the gospel in our lives. the stories are often short, but in the few minutes it takes to tell them, i feel the urgent need to be a source of hope and love.

i love to sing; especially when i am alone and can sing from that place deep within that holds secret desires and tears and words yet to come. in the brief moments my sister graciously lets me have with my nephew before his bedtime, he often asks me to sing to him. there's something about singing a lullaby to a child that feels protective, soothing, loving, hopeful.

last week, i spent a five hour car ride listening to the same album over and over. it was an album new to me, and immediately i was drawn in by a desire to know the words and the melodies. last night, after hearing another of my new friend's childhood stories, i was sorting through the mixture of sadness, marvel at god's goodness and grace, and a little frustration when one of the songs from this album came over my speakers.

the artist is singing from the perspective of god to us (i think), but it really feels like something a mother might sing to a young child as she tenderly tucks the quilt under the child's chin. i'm pretty certain that my new friend, much like the kids i will one day bring into my home, did not have a mother that sang this kind of life and hope over him. yet somehow he became a man truly seeking to be like jesus. what we forget, what i forget, is that god is really the one singing life over these children. god sang life over my new friend as a child, even though my new friend didn't hear, couldn't hear.

he's singing over the child right now that is being neglected by the mother in his life; as she is being lost in a system defined by numbers; as he is trading bicycles for jackets and eating food off the ground out of fear it will be his only nourishment for the day. i am honored that god has seen me fit enough to place the desire in my heart to bring life back to these children. someday i will get to sing his song over them too, as i tuck the covers around the broken-hearted little one.

here's the song on youtube. ignore the video. just listen to the words.
jj heller. keep you safe.