The Singer

It’s a balmy summer’s evening in the little lakeside town. And although the restaurant is busy, I still hear her voice as she sings the lullaby.

The singer is hidden from view, but her notes dance in the air between her alcove and mine. I don’t remember the words she sings, but I do remember the conversation she had on the phone just prior to it.

Grandma, is he in bed?

Silence.

Okay, I’m ready. Can you pass him the phone?

Then she starts to sing. Her voice is soft, yet strong; a quiet little melody that floats above the partition and makes me wonder…

Who is she singing to?

I’m glad when the waitress comes to tell us our table is ready. It means I can get a glimpse of our mysterious singer as we pass by.

It’s just as I thought. She’s only ten or twelve years old; long, dark hair; eyes down; the phone held close; a sweet little voice that finishes its song as I glance quizzically at her mom.

We’re on vacation, she explains…. just for the weekend. She’s singing to her younger brother who has to stay at home. He has special needs and gets too upset when his routine is altered. She sings him a lullaby every night before he goes to sleep….

she wanted him to know that he’s not been forgotten.

I smile and nod before the singer pauses and I bend down to the girl to tell her,

You’re a good sister.

And I think about that little boy; tucked up in bed somewhere; waiting for his song; quieted by his goodnight lullaby; knowing he is not forgotten.

And how we all need to be sung over; how love can be quietly wrapped in the notes of a lullaby.

And like that good shepherd who rejoices over his lamb, there is One who holds me close and sings over me; whose wonderful voice is the very same voice that first hovered over the darkness of the deep;