I took my daughters to the nursing home (“nursery” home according to London) across the street from our house last week. I’d been wanting to do it for months, feeling guilty about not doing it. So, finally, we did it. London drew pictures of people (she’s very Tim Burton right now) and Eve drew circles which she told me were fish in the sea. We made six or seven pictures, tucked them under our arms, and took a walk.
When we arrived, we were directed to the common area and encouraged to talk to whomever we’d like. I told the girls to pick someone they thought might like a picture. “Pick someone you’d like to make happy,” I whispered.
Eve quickly delivered her art and ran to an empty couch where she sat for the next fifteen minutes sniffing the air and frowning—she is a certifiable smell snob.
London, however, took the task very, very seriously. After a thorough assessment of the room she chose a woman sitting alone by a window eating lunch. London, smiling widely, walked directly up to the woman’s wheel chair, offering her drawing. The woman, hair in a sloppy bun, probably in her late eighties, looked toward London surprised. Receiving her gift, she lit up, thanking London profusely, reaching toward her; she couldn’t stop talking. Now engaged in a conversation with the woman (her name was Thalia) myself, I looked down expecting to find London ready to walk away. But London didn’t want to walk away. Instead, she looked Thalia in the eyes and started singing. She sang this:
"Where do I find help
Help, to see me through?
Father in You, Oh Lord,
My help comes from You.”
During the song Thalia began to cry. “She’s so beautiful, so beautiful,” Thalia said again and again, unable to say much more.
Upon finishing her song, London put her hand on Thalia’s arm, and said “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you and give you peace.”
Here’s the deal: I know this all sounds like bragging from a proud mom, sentimental bragging at that, but I want to be clear that I had nothing at all to do with this moment. Neither did London for that matter. From my front row seat it was perfectly clear that God’s child Thalia needed His comfort, and that in that moment, as she cried to London’s melody, she was seeing her God’s face. That my daughter got to be His channel, at three years old, is astounding and exciting and, really, the stuff of everyday life.