(#31Days) The Music of the Spheres aka HAHAHAHAHA!

Our Beloved Country Church

Our Beloved Country Church

We’ve got 4 kids ages 8 and under. (Actually I’m sure my son would prefer I say he’s 8.5!) Also, I’m not a morning person.

Connected? Yes, very much yes.

The first things I hear every morning range from crying (the toddler has his leg stuck in the crib AGAIN?!?) to loud humming (usually Star Wars) to the ever popular arguing (‘No it’s MY turn to brush my teeth). Add in my sluggish morning pace where it takes me several hours to trade my pj’s for a shower and real clothes and we’ve got ourselves a circus!

And somewhere in our small country church one morning we sing…

All nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres

And I laugh. Yep, I giggled in church. Who wrote this song? Did they have children? Was it a monk? Do they know the only ‘music of the spheres’ I’m hearing is my toddler banging the wooden maracas on the kitchen floor???

Yet I am struck by the words that shape this particular hymn:

“This is my Father’s world…”

Sometimes when sung within the wooden steeple of this 100 year old church the hymns sound so romantic. The peace and beauty of their words rush over you. Only to be immediately brought back to reality when your first child elbows your second child behind you as you sing.

Even when I step out on my back deck with a warm cup of coffee and big trees I hear the roaring of kids going to school and the construction trucks pouring a new driveway next door.

The immediate world around me is less a reflection of the peaceful nature of creation and more a reflection of the chaos leading up to creation itself.

While the loud of our family entices me to seek asylum in a foreign land some days, today I stop and think.

This home really is a reflection of the music of the spheres. Multiple generations, ages and stages all under the same roof.

We all entered this world the same way, as helpless children. Yet here we are. We are talking and laughing and learning and loving. We are growing and changing and becoming.

This is indeed the world the Father has given me, could there be a more beautiful reflection?


This Is My Father’s World
By Maltbie D. Babcock

1.      This is my Father’s world,
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
his hand the wonders wrought.

2.      This is my Father’s world,
the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white,
declare their maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world:
he shines in all that’s fair;
in the rustling grass I hear him pass;
he speaks to me everywhere.

3.      This is my Father’s world.
O let me ne’er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!


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