One of the songs I sing in the preschool is just plain silly. It names a job, starting with a sailor, and describes what that person wears, which includes a hat, raincoat, and shoes. I invite the kids to tell us what one of their parents does so that they can be included in the verses. 

 

Sometimes kids know. Other times the details are fuzzy. Years ago one girl announced that her dad sold pearls. I was dubious but sang it anyway. Turns out, he did. 

 

Last week a girl proudly told us that her dad is a soccer coach. I smiled to realize that he is actually an academic professor, but for her, those words are empty. It happens in a building she never goes to, talking about ideas she can neither see nor spell. What matters is watching him at her brother's games, shouting names, and sprinting down the field to cheer on the players. She is proud of him, all sweaty and hot. Then they eat oranges.

 

Easter is around the corner. It is a time when I glimpse what God does. Job titles like Redeemer seem vague, since I am not currently in trouble. Father of Eternity taxes my attention span, which is mostly focused on this week or, on occasion, this year. Rock is a forceful image, but not one I feel comforted by. 

 

Jesus came to earth to because it was easier than bringing me to His lofty halls, where I wouldn't understand anything anyway. 

 

But He bent the heavens and came down to run beside me in this game. He sweat great drops of blood while praying for His children. God calls my name, and invites me to break bread. 

 

Plus He gives me pearls of great price.