It was the hectic post dinner dash. Each of us scurried to complete the routine tasks that signaled dinnertime over and bedtime approaching.
I wash the plates and cast iron pans while the boys wipe down tables and sweep up the ridiculous amounts of dinner remnants dropped on floor during the lively joke telling and general hilarity that is our normal dinner conversation.
While my arms are covered in dirty dishwater up to my elbows, Harrison announces he has written a new song and would like to sing it right now. He says he calls it "Your Demands".
Before he begins singing over the loud kitchen chaos, my mind has already started a fast paced processing that would rival most search engines. "Your Demands"?!? Is it about me? Do I put too much on him?
Is it about God? Do I need to have a deep theological discussion about demand vs. command? Where is he lyrically headed? Has Washington escaped his high chair with messy hands again? No, focus, Harrison is singing now.
And then I get it. And then I'm convicted. His artistic angle was speaking to the listener/singer/self. "Your demands for your life and the way you want it. Your demands for happiness and wealth. Your demands will leave you wasted and empty. You will strive and try and fail and fall empty on your demands. Leave them all and fall before God. Loose your demands and you will find what you've been looking for but never finding, when you leave your demands before God."
There's still calamity happening somewhere over by the dining room table, the leftovers are still out on the counter and my hands are dripping dishwater but I'm staring speechless at my eyes closed, worshiping in the kitchen, still holding a spoon, nine year old. The demands of the post dinner time rush were thrown aside as I wrapped my son in my arms and thanked him for sharing his heart, his song, his gift of listening to the Spirit.