"Heil (phtttt), Heil (phtttt), Right in Der Führer's Face!" Three knobby-kneed kids—my brother, Orville; my sister, Luci; and me—stood in a row on the marble counter of a little pharmacy and entertained the lunch crowd in our hometown of El Campo, Texas. We weren't exactly the Von Trapp family, but we became quite an attraction at that spot on Saturday afternoons, singing patriotic songs as World War II simmered to a boil. We took requests, sang our songs, posed for pictures, and then received our pay for the homespun concert: one double-dip ice cream cone each.
The owner and our dad were friends, so he knew we were a singing family. Dad played a harmonica, Mom and Orville played the piano and sang, and Luci sang alto; the tenor parts were mine. On a Christmas Eve several years later, we were singing carols so loudly that the pictures shook on the walls of our small home in Houston. My mother worried that we might disturb the neighbors, so she pulled the windows down. Not five minutes passed before our phone rang. It was the kids next door. "Mrs. Swindoll, would you please pull the windows back up? That’s the prettiest music we've ever heard."
We threw the windows open and belted out "Joy to the World!" Throughout our carol sing that night, we saw the neighbor kids across the driveway, all four of them, lined up with their chins on their hands, listening. They'd call out a carol and we'd sing it.
As I recall that particular Christmas Eve, it occurs to me that the contrast between the family next door and ours was pretty stark. A family-owned shipyard provided them with lots of money—and many of the toys money can buy. We, on the other hand, had just enough. Their skirt-chasing father and alcoholic mother left those kids to fend for themselves most weekends. We, however, never had to question the stability or faithfulness of our parents. The Swindolls were far from perfect—ideal families don't exist—but we had something they didn't. Something that, unfortunately, most homes lack today: a genuine sense of harmony and great family fun.
Our lunch-counter concerts and Christmas Eve carols gave us far more than something to occupy the hours. They bonded us. The winsome, carefree decision to have fun gave us a spirit of unity as a family. The harmony we experienced taught us that, despite the tough times, the inevitable conflicts, and typical misunderstandings, we were a part of something bigger and more important than ourselves—and that we were completely accepted. Though very different as individuals, each of us knew that no one had to change, no one had to be perfect, no one had to be anything other than a Swindoll to enjoy a secure place at our home.
That's grace, plain and simple. Even today, when I think of grace, I think of laughter, singing, and the freedom to have fun without worry of rejection or fear of condemnation. My family taught me that. Not coincidentally, this understanding of grace has shaped my relationship with God.
You and your family may not sing together . . . but how's the harmony? Does a spirit of fun and mutual acceptance characterize your home? Invest some time in reading the articles that follow, and determine now that your home will teach grace like no devotional or Bible lesson can. Start by making time for fun. Keep life simple. Choose activities that will appeal to everyone, and don't be discouraged if things don't go well at first. The key is to decide to have fun yourself and then invite others to join you. Guaranteed: it will transform your family's view of God's grace.
