My daughter loves to sing. 

True, it started with screaming. 

She has been exercising those lungs of hers since she was just a newborn babe.  I can remember being truly concerned about two things when she would throw a fit as a baby.  The first was that she was going to burst a blood vessel if she kept crying the way she was and the second was that she was going to damage her ears with her own mouth. 

She was loud. 

Not vacuum cleaner loud.

Think jet engines firing up in your living room loud.

Her tantrums have eased up a lot since then, although she does still have her moments.   Since she has developed her language skills (which I must say comes a lot sooner for little girls than little boys!) her preferred method of communication is song.

While her made up little ditties about what she ate for lunch or how much she loves me are adorable, I treasure the moments when I can listen in as she worships her Jesus.

Some of her theology may well be a little mish-mashed and her tunes might have an uneven rhythm, but her songs are angelically beautiful.  She knows all she needs to know.  When I hear her soft and lilting voice coming from her room, I tiptoe quietly up to the door and listen as she leads me into the throne room of the Living God.

"Jesus loves me,
God sent Him to die for me,
He lives today,
He is my helper,
I don’t want to sin and make Jesus sad,
I want to live to please my heavenly Father,
Oh, how I love Jesus."

This is how my relationship with Jesus should be.