Article August 7, 2000 Issue

Sing your way out

When prayer is a song

By Loretta King

Sitting in the middle of our chaotic kitchen, I was carefully wrapping crystal goblets, putting them into yet another carton to add to the scores of boxes stacked everywhere. We were preparing for the movers, who would come the next day. As my husband came into the room, I was ready to complain to him about the endless toil of packing, when suddenly the sound of a tiny musical phrase, no louder than a whisper, came to our ears. We both broke out laughing, and the weariness disappeared instantly.  

"Remember to take our little friend along with us to our new home," my husband said, and I certainly agreed.

"Our little friend" was a tiny rectangular recording of Christmas hymns that had arrived two years earlier in a canister of cookies. Every time we lifted the lid, this merry little voice had greeted us from inside. When the cookies were gone, we had detached this little item from the container and thrown it into the trash.

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