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The Central Message of My Book, The Singing God

For as long as he can remember, the little boy had heard people talking about the Great King. Everywhere he went, he listened with rapt attention as they spoke of how big he was and how beautiful and strong. The mere thought of meeting the King would set his heart pounding within his chest. His mouth would dry up and his palms became sweaty. Still, he knew that if he could only see this Great King, his questions would all be answered, his fears forever relieved and his life made full. But he didn't know where to look.

Then one day, quite without warning, the little boy's eyes were opened. It was light, brilliant, effulgent light. At first, he recoiled in fear. Yet, he felt irresistibly drawn forward, ever closer to the light. He had never before seen such a scintillating blaze. The sun was a filthy blotch of black coal compared to this glorious beam.

Something inside said it was the light of the Great King, the light of his eyes and of his countenance. Cautiously, but determined, he followed the light to its source. There, upon a throne, sat the Great King. It was a throne of such grandeur and glory that the little boy stood stunned and speechless. He was not alone. At its base had gathered a multitude of others who had also seen the light. They, too, were in awe of this Great and Mighty King.

Driven by childlike curiosity, he extended his hand and touched the throne. Just as he thought, it was gold. Yet somehow, for all its wealth and worth, it still seemed beneath the dignity of the One who sat upon it.

Peals of lightning and claps of thunder sounded forth, filling the air with the echo of his commands. The little boy had never heard such sounds, nor seen such a sight.

From the throne the Great King ruled the worlds. His word stood fast. None dared speak against him. None dared challenge his decrees. Neither a hand was raised to thwart his will nor a word spoken to question his purpose.

What a Great and Powerful King this was! Majesty enthroned! From the first instant his eyes fixed on the Great King, he wanted nothing more than to obey Him. He was determined to learn all of him that he could. He studied the King, hoping to measure the dimensions of him whose length is boundless, whose depth is unfathomable, whose height not even the stars can reach.

The little boy would read what others had said of the King. He often committed to memory their descriptions of his brightness and portrayals of his beauty.

Each day the little boy learned something new. His knowledge of the King steadily increased. Others were in awe of the depth of his insight. When they had questions, they ran to the little boy for the answer.

The little boy's appetite for information was insatiable. More of the Great King was never enough. With each bit of insight, each item of understanding, his grasp of the King grew. But the King was inexhaustible. After years of looking at the King, listening to the King, reading about the King, and memorizing all that his mind could retain, the little boy began to grow tired.

He had seen the King at work, and was amazed. He had stood in awe as the King displayed his power in the stars, in the seas, in the souls of men. He had proclaimed to others the majesty and incomparable greatness of the King. But he was tired.

On occasion he had even spoken to the King. He told him how thankful he was for having been brought to the throne and given the privilege of standing in the presence of so grand a Sovereign. But he was tired.

He wondered silently, "Is he only a King?" He never questioned the King's right to rule. Nor did he doubt the King's power to enforce his mighty will. Still, though, there was an indefinable hollowness in his heart. Again, he wondered, "Is he only a King?"

Then quite unexpectedly, without a word or warning, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He felt himself being lifted from the ground, higher, and higher. The world swirled beneath him as he reached out to grasp something, anything to hold. But he was only to be held.

Then he realized that it was the King who had taken hold of him, drawing him close. The little boy was frightened. He had never been so close to the King. He had been told that the light of the Great King would incinerate and consume him. Yet he felt only quiet warmth, not at all the burning heat of which he had been warned.

There he was, where he never thought he'd be. "Could it really be happening to me? Am I really where I think I am, or is it a dream?" It was no dream, no fantasy. Nothing in his life had ever been so real.

The Great King had stooped and picked up the little boy in his arms, placing him firmly on his lap. And there he sat. The fear was gone. The doubts disappeared.

He felt the arms of tender omnipotence embrace his tiny body, holding him close. He tensed. Would he be crushed? He had seen the King destroy those who turned their backs on the light. Would he soon be among them? No. The embrace was not of judgment, but love. The King squeezed the little boy, and he felt himself relax. He knew he was safe. He knew it was o.k.

The Great King caressed his forehead and tenderly kissed his cheek. The little boy turned his head, looked up, and gazed into the face of who he thought was the Sovereign. Instead, his eyes fixed on a Father. Was it not the Great King? Yes. And then he knew . . . the Great King was his Father, his Daddy!

Never before had he known such joy. Not during all the years that he studied about the Great King and talked about him had he so much as dreamed the King could be so loving. He had always thought of the King in terms of strength and authority. This new experience seemed so out of character. But it wasn't.

He felt the hands of his Father draw him closer still, until his face rested on the breast of this One seated upon the throne. Then he heard it . . . the heartbeat of the Father. The pace quickened. Such throbbing! Such intensity! The little boy feared the Father's chest would burst!

The little boy had heard the rumbling din of volcanic eruptions. He knew the deafening roar of the awesome cataract. But such sounds were a faint and distant whisper when compared with the loving heartbeat of his Heavenly Father!

Then he gazed into the Father's face, only to see what was to his tiny mind a paradox. Tears poured from the Father's eyes and streamed down across a beaming smile! "How can this be," he wondered, "that my Father should seem to groan and yet grin at the same time? Why, of course," said the little boy to himself, "they are tears of joy!"

As he nestled down into his Father's lap, relaxed in the firm embrace that he knew would never let go, he heard yet another sound. At first it seemed like humming, soft and slow. Then words . . . the echo of which is now indelibly fixed in his heart. It was the Father singing, yes, the Great King. Oh, what a voice! So full, so rich, so pure. But what was his song? The little boy listened ever more intently to hear what his Father would sing.

What? Had he heard it correctly? Surely not. But, then, there it was again. The same gentle words. The same sweet melody. The same reassuring voice. His Father was singing, over and again, over and again, "My child, I love you!"

The little boy had been stunned by the brilliance of the light. He had stood in awed amazement of the majestic sweep of the King's sovereign power. But nothing could compare with the joy that rushed gently through his heart when the Father sang once more, "Oh, precious child, how I love you!"

And with that, the little boy fell soundly and safely asleep in his Daddy's arms.

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing” (Zeph. 3:17).

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