by Robin Kaufmann
When they were younger, each of my children had a song. I’m not sure how I assigned each song to each child, but the lyrics of each suited the child who heard them most often. Sophie, for example, my youngest, was my sunshine:
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are gray.” (1)
My dear girl heard “You are My Sunshine” since infancy, and it became a language that was understood between us. Most often, I sang Sophie’s song to her while I cuddled her. Occasionally, I even sang the first few notes when she was less-than-cuddly (read: crabby), and my song would bring a (reluctant) smile to her face. Now, mind you, I’m not much of a singer, so maybe Sophie smiled because my singing is so terribly funny, but I’d rather believe the song pulled her out of even her crabbiest moments.
By the time my oldest child reached his teen years, on the other hand, Gabe wished I wouldn’t sing to him anymore, but I usually did so when I was imploring him to drive safely. Gabe was my “Sonny Boy,” so I’d sing despite his protests:
“You’ve no way of knowing
There’s no way of showing
What you mean to me Sonny Boy.” (2)
Then, there was my elegant, amiable Ella, my middle child. She’s always been “My Girl”:
“I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day
When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May. . .
What can make me feel this way? My girl.” (3)
Ella was cheerful and kind, and there are still few I’d rather spend time with than my “lovely month of May.”
Typing the words of those songs that were so familiar in our family still brings a lump to my throat. They were words to communicate the deep, abiding, unconditional love I had for my children. Every now and then, I think the message got through to them. Now that my kids are young adults, I get a hint on occasion that those familiar songs make them remember how very much they are loved.
We all need to be reminded that we are loved. That surely has been my need of late.
It has been a difficult past 15 months in my life, a period in which I and others I love have experienced all manner of loss and suffering. Death, divorce, disease…these are some of the heartaches that have touched me and my immediate circle of family and friends. Oh my, the pain is raw and real and. . . painful. . .like pain tends to be. Life has hurt and left some of us crabby. . . less-than-cuddly, even.
Actually, “crabby” would be a step up. Discouraged. Devastated. Despairing. That’s more like it.
I and my people have needed a song.
I realized this when, late one night, one of my sisters called from the depth of loneliness for my mom, who had passed unexpectedly a few months before. As she wept, I cried with her, then, with nothing else to offer, I opened my Bible and began to read her a song.
One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in his temple.
For he will hide me in his shelter
in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
he will lift me high upon a rock.[…]
I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!
Psalm 27
“Yes,” my sister whispered, “Praise Jesus.”
I don’t know why I was stunned by her response. My sister is a new Christian, but even so, her tears, subjected to the Word of God, were turned to praise in the darkest of nights. The psalm gave her something to grab onto…a certainty …a truth that transcended the devastation that gripped us both. King David’s ancient song, an expression of comfort in the face of his own pain, found its way 3000 years later into my sister’s heart, where it directed her mind––and then mine––to praise.
As I love my children, so does the Lord love me, my sister… you. His love is deep, abiding, unconditional. His love, even in our spiritually dead and devastated state, gave us Jesus.
This is the story of Scripture, and in the Psalms––the Bible’s ancient hymnbook––this story is poetically rendered. In ancient Israel, the psalms were individually composed but corporately shared, set to music by David, himself, or by temple worship leaders who led the nation’s people in the praise or petition of Yahweh, their covenant God.
The Psalms are a collection of ancient praises, prayers, laments, and wisdom for finding the way of righteousness…and they are all, every last one, about and for Jesus.
Praise Jesus, indeed.
To start a year of Bible study this fall, the women of Wednesday evening and Thursday morning Renovaré will spend just four weeks studying eight of ancient Israel’s songs from the book of Psalms. We’ll together do a close reading of the two introductory psalms and two each of Messianic psalms, laments, and praises.
We’ll collectively consider these ancient songs, and we’ll see… God’s song is Jesus.
Join us in Renovaré this year. We’ll hope. We’ll trust. And, praise be to God, we’ll sing…about and for Jesus.
Who knows. It might just bring you out of your crabbiness. You might even crack a smile.
May Jesus be your song today.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Psalm 40:2-3.
- Davis, Jimmie. “You Are My Sunshine.”
- Jolson, Al. “Sonny Boy.”
- The Temptations. “My Girl.”
Robin Kaufmann is wife to Tim and mom to three young adults and a daughter-in-law, who are all scattered about the Midwest for various educational and professional endeavors. After elementary and college-level teaching, Robin spent many years serving in development and as a marketing/communications director for Rochester’s private schools. In between graduations and college move-ins (and outs), she now freelances as a communications consultant. She is not a fan of winter but Robin has been happy to call Rochester “home” for 21 years, nonetheless.