Or if I have misunderstood the rules:
The Lullaby’s Not For Who You Think
When I was little and had bad dreams Mum would stroke my forehead and sing. Not children’s songs but songs we sang at the meetings we went to, songs about the things we believed in.
When my babies have cried and I am too tired in my body, brain and heart to feel, I want to run into the kitchen and force food into my mouth, cramming in everything there is, as if it would stop my ears too. But when I sing to them about God, love, patience and hope, even if they don’t calm down, I do.