Kneeling on the floor beside Hugo’s bed, I rubbed his arm with the tips of my fingers. He’d told me it would help him fall back to sleep. Oh how like his mommy.
As much as I’d tried to shield him from the story of the girls in Birmingham, he’d heard someone talking about it at school. And, as children have often been known to do, they created a mythology around the facts. They inflated it, made it personal, turned an already horrific evil into nothing short of a ghost story.
Every night that week, Hugo had woken several times, sweating and crying and certain that the bad men would come for him, despite my promises that he was safe there with me.
It was Thursday, and I wondered how long we could go on with such disturbed sleep. All I could think of to do was tell him stories every night—some of my own, some borrowed from the Bible.
“There was once a king named Jehoshaphat,” I began. “Isn’t that a funny name?”
Hugo’s smile told me he thought so.
“Jehoshaphat was the king over a land called Judah a very long time ago.” I pushed myself up and sat beside him on the bed. “One day he heard that three whole nations wanted to go to war with his country. Do you think one army could survive if three attacked it?”
“No, ma’am,” Hugo answered.
“Jehoshaphat didn’t think so either. He was very afraid.”
“Did he hide?”
Shaking my head, I raised my eyebrows. “Nope. Even though I think he might have wanted to. Instead, he told everyone in Judah to stop eating.”
Hugo pulled his chin down and scowled.
“It sounds funny, doesn’t it?” I pinched a bit of the fabric of my nightie, rubbing it between my finger and thumb. “He did that so that the people would pray.”
I told Hugo about how every person in Judah prayed, calling out for God’s help. The king beckoned them all together, and he put his hands in the air, asking for help.
“Jehoshaphat reminded all of his people about how God had helped them before,” I said. “He asked God to take care of them again.”
I imagined the crowds in front of the king, all of them with heads bowed and lips begging God to save them.
We don’t know what to do, Jehoshaphat had cried out. But our eyes are on you.
“Everyone in Judah was quiet, waiting to hear what God would say,” I went on. “All the men and women and children listened as closely as they could.”
Closing my lips and putting a shushing finger in front of them, I moved my eyes from one side to the other. Hugo giggled at this, and I gave a quick “shh,” making him giggle even more.
“Eventually, a man put his hand up, just like he wanted to be called on at school.” I lifted my right. “He said, ‘God gave me an idea!’”
“What was his name?” Hugo asked.
“Well, I don’t remember.” I put my hand down. “That’s what a normal, everyday guy he was.”
The everyday guy went in front of the whole nation, standing right beside the king, and told them God’s plan.
“What was the plan?” Hugo asked. “Were there cannons?”
“There weren’t,” I answered. “In fact, God told them that they wouldn’t have to fight at all.”
“Then they would lose.” Forehead wrinkled, Hugo shook his head. “That’s not smart.”
“Oh, but wait.” I rubbed the pad of my thumb between his eyebrows, hoping to ease the creases bunched up there. “God made them a promise that he would be with them the whole way. He told them they didn’t need to be afraid.”
As I told Hugo about the nation of Judah assembling to go to the battlefield, I thought of how quiet it must have been. How difficult it would have been for me to swallow past the lump of fear in my throat, had I been there. I imagined standing shoulder to shoulder with the people I’d known all of my life, hoping that God’s promise would hold true.
Praying that I’d have the faith to believe that the Lord would be with us all the way.
“Jehoshaphat sent the singers to the very front,” I said.
“Singers?” Hugo narrowed one eye. “Why did they need singers?”
“You’ll see.” I leaned forward. “As the nation marched to the place where the battle would start, the choir began to sing.”
Give thanks to the Lord. His love endures forever.
The army walked behind them, their song going before them.
Give thanks to the Lord. His love endures forever.
But in front of the song was God. I imagined him moving ahead of them, arms splayed, so big and so wide and so tall that nothing created could ever get past him to hurt his children.
Give thanks to the Lord. His love endures forever.
With each step, with each singing of the phrase—Give thanks to the Lord. His love endures forever—the children of God would hope more, fear less, wonder at the goodness of their Father.
“They sang the whole way,” I said, surprised at the tears in my eyes. “And God heard them. He was pleased with their song.”
“He likes it when we sing to him, doesn’t he?”
“Oh yes. I believe it’s his favorite thing to hear.” My heart beat a little faster, my smile grew a little wider. “He heard them and protected them because he cared for them.”
“Then what happened?” Hugo asked.
“When the army of Judah got to the battlefield, do you know what they saw?” I asked.
“Is it scary?”
“I don’t think so.” I took his hand between both of mine. “When they looked down at the field, they saw that the battle was already over. God set the three nations against themselves and they fought each other instead of the people of Judah.”
“Who won?”
“No one,” I said. But then, thinking it over again, “God won.”
“The end?”
“Yes.” I leaned over and kissed Hugo’s cheek. “Now, fall back to sleep fast if you can. You have school in the morning.”
“Aunt Betty?” he said just as I stood up. “Do you think they were scared?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Even when they were singing?”
“Yes, even then,” I answered. “But they kept singing anyway.”
I left his room, pulling the door half closed behind me.
When I got to the middle stair, I paused and listened.
Hugo was singing.