A seven-year-old boy stands in the center of the stage. Thousands of eyes are glued to this young boy as the uncomfortable murmur begins. There’s supposed to be music playing for the introduction to the song he's supposed to be singing. The track should be starting now. Thousands of eyes glare as the boy stands frozen, mind racing, trying to figure out what to do next, front and center, in this gigantic auditorium.
A polished gentleman sits calmly in the front row dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His gold-framed glasses magnify the most important eyes in the room to the seven-year-old boy on the stage. The man gives an affirming nod as if to say, go ahead, you got this, and with no music, piano, or musician to support, the young boy clears his throat and begins to sing.
“I hear the sound of a mighty rushing wind…”
The young boy’s voice quivers as he navigates through the song's first lines. He’s forgotten about the thousands of eyes and turns his attention to the one set that matters. The gentleman in the front row nods in approval, encouraging the young boy to continue. The young boy's knees are knocking, but the gentleman continues to nod his head in approval, encouraging the young boy to go on.
“At the midnight cry, when Jesus comes again.” the young boy’s legs are no longer shaking as he makes it out of verse one. He’s confident in the chorus, so he closes his eyes and projects the words. With every phrase, he peaks through his eyelids to see if the gentleman is still smiling, And sure enough, he is.
Verse two and the chorus are in the rearview mirror as the seven-year-old boy croons toward the key change.
“When Jesus steps out, on a cloud, to call his children. The dead in Christ shall rise to meet him in the air.” the young boy removes one hand from his vice grip on the microphone and lifts his hand, emphasizing the lyrical description of a Savior coming in the sky.
“At the midnight cry, when Jesus comes again.”
The seven-year-old boy hits the last note and holds it out with every last breath in his body. He hears the thunderous hand claps and the rustling of chairs as people stand to their feet, but all he sees is the gentleman in the front row black suit, white shirt, and black tie, with the gold-framed glasses, smiling at him. He sees Daddy.
At that moment, things didn’t go how they were supposed to, but having Daddy there gave me the confidence and courage to sing. In a room filled with thousands, I was singing for an audience of one. I was singing for my father. Often, we get distracted by the eyes, faces, noises, and distractions in the room of life, but what got me through that day was understanding that the most important person in the room was my father, and if I would only focus on him, everything would be all right.
Daddy left the room, but my Father is always here.
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