No children of my own. But, thirty years ago, I was interning as pastor of a small church just above Minnesota in Canada. A local couple, not members of the church, asked me to be present for the home birth of their child. All went well. Within a few minutes after the actual "arrival", someone asked me to step out to their pump and get a bucket of water. I found myself out there singing the old traditional doxology, at about the top of my lungs.

And a small moment, but one that brought tears to my eyes. A lady of mudcat, at the time providing day care for her little niece, told me that, as soon as the child awoke, she was going to start teaching her a little children's song I wrote.