My Father Sang to Me

By S. R. Morris

There are lots of educators who will stress the importance for parents to read to their children. My own life experience has convinced me of the importance to sing to your child as well.

My father died March 9, 2010 at the age of 94. Last year, I had to undergo a very serious surgery, in which there was no guarantee I would survive. It is at times like that a person reviews his own life. The verse below from Genesis 47 came to my mind. It was Jacob’s response when Pharoah asked him how old he was.

And Jacob said to Pharoah, “The years of my pilgrimage are a hundred and thirty. My years have been few and difficult, and they do not equal the years of the pilgrimage of my fathers” (Genesis 47:9 NIV).

My own thought at that time was that I was nowhere near the age of my father when he died, but I also realized that the years (or quality) of my pilgrimage did equal that of my father. My other thought was that, compared to my father’s life, I had not accomplished the things my father had. Yes, I had graduated from high school and even went to college and received a bachelor’s degree. (My father didn’t get past eighth grade.) But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the really important things of life.

My father was committed to provide for his family. He got up early each morning and trudged into a dirty, noisy factory because he loved his family. Sometimes he worked a second job at a local grocery store stocking shelves; all because he had his priorities right.

Dad was a committed Christian. Even though he woke up early each morning to get to his job, he always had time to read his Bible and spend time in prayer with the Lord Jesus Christ. People who worked with him recognized that he was a committed Christian and that he exhibited Christian values.

He was especially committed to his children. Many times he didn’t get off from his second job until 9 or 10 p.m., and my brother and I would stay awake just so we could see him. He would kneel by our bed and pray for us. We were supposed to be asleep, but many times we weren’t. If we were still awake, he would sing to us. If he didn’t, we would beg him to sing to us. He had a beautiful deep voice and we loved hearing it. Many times it helped us to fall asleep.

There were 3 or 4 hymns that he always sang to us. I think they were his favorites, but it would be hard for me to say which was his most favorite because he loved them all and he loved to sing those old hymns. I think it was because somewhere in his mind he could remember singing them when he was younger in church with his brother and sister and his parents. One of his favorites was “In the Garden” and as he sang it, you felt like you were there with him in a beautiful garden walking with him and Jesus.

“In the Garden”

I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses,
And He walks with me, and he talks to me, and he tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.

Another of his favorites was “What a Friend We have in Jesus” and he wasn’t just singing to rhyme the words. His heart was opened when he sang the verses of that hymn. You could tell he was singing about his experience with Jesus, his friend.

“What a Friend We Have in Jesus”

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!
Oh, what peace we often forfeit. Oh, what needless pain we bear.
All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.

My dad sang each of his favorites by memory and he knew each verse of each stanza. When he sang “Softly and Tenderly” and came to the end of the last verse of the first stanza�"“calling, O sinner, come home” he was really singing his experience with the Lord. Even as a young child, I knew that my father had heard the call of Jesus saying “O sinner, come home.” I knew that he had invited Jesus to rule his heart and I wanted that same experience.

“Softly and Tenderly”

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me;
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching,
Watching for you and for me.
Come home, come home, ye who are weary, come home;
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling O sinner, come home!

I guess if I had to name one as my Dad’s favorite hymn, it was “The Old Rugged Cross.” Whenever he sang that hymn, you could feel it in his voice and heart. There were tears in his voice as he sang about Jesus being nailed to the cross. I can remember having tears in my eyes when I heard him sing that song to me as a child. Even now I have a hard time not tearing up whenever I hear that hymn sung.

“The Old Rugged Cross”

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

As I mentioned before, my Dad passed away about two and a half years ago. I was staying with my son (out-of-state) when I heard in February that Dad had a brain tumor and that it was inoperable. Initially, we had been told that he would probably live 6 months to a year. However, after only a short time later, my sister called again and advised me to come quickly because the tumor was very aggressive. She said if I didn’t come quickly, I would not see him alive.

On a Monday morning I boarded a plane and, after changing planes, I arrived in Phoenix around noon. Dad slept a lot, but he recognized me and he gripped my hand. When everyone else left that evening, I stayed so I could stay with him a little longer. I knew I had been the problem child of the four children he and my mother had raised. I talked to him and told him what a difference his prayers for me had made in my life.

I also told him that I always remembered the hymns he sang to us when we were kids. Then I told him that, although I did not have a great voice like his, I wanted to sing to him. Before he slipped into his final sleep that very night, I sang to him the songs he sang to me as a boy. I know the last thing he heard was my singing to him and the next thing he will see is his blessed Savior.

God is good! I am thankful to God I was able to see him and talk to him before he passed away. I am thankful also that I was able to sing him to sleep. But most of all I am thankful that my father sang to me as a child.

Copyright 2011 by S. R. Morris