Next time won't you sing with me . . .

This morning I was sitting out by the pool, soaking in some Vitamin D & some Frederick Buechner, when my bliss was interrupted by an awful cracking noise. A child too young to read the "NO RUNNING!" signs had slipped on the wet cement and skinned her knee. I held my breath and waited for her shock to wear off, which was followed by the heartbreaking wailing only a child's lungs can produce.

As my fellow sunbathers and I stirred uncomfortably, I glanced around for the girl's mother and expected one of two things to happen: 1) the mom would rush in, sweep the little girl up in her arms and start gently cooing into her ear to soothe her pain, or 2) the mom would rush in and scold the child for running, causing her to cry even more loudly.

Instead, I heard a woman start gently singing the ABCs. By the time she got to "L M N O P . . .," the girl had stopped crying. At "W" the girl had started singing along.

I glanced at the guy next to me and he muttered, "Wow. I can't believe that worked."

What was it about that song that made the child stop crying? Was she just distracted by something more "fun" than her pain? Sure, but I think this song was particularly effective because subconsciously the girl knows she's supposed to sing it, too. The song is a lesson that all kids have to learn at some point, so it's repeated over and over again until they can sing it backwards and forwards (which usually earns them a lot of stickers). While it seems like singing the ABCs was just a vehicle for distraction, it's actually the opposite - singing the ABCs is part of what it means to be a kid, and skinning her knee (though inevitable) was the distraction.

I think this is actually how God deals with me a lot. When I'm hurt, I tend to brace myself for God's wrath (because He is just, after all), though what I really long for is some gentle, immediate soothing. When neither of those things happen, I get confused by God's silence. Does He not see that I skinned my metaphorical knee over here? 

But instead, He covers the noise of my tears with the voice of truth. "Keep going, child. Remember your lessons, and you'll be all right."