“He touched me, Oh He touched me
And, oh, the joy that floods my soul
Something happened and now I know
He touched me and made me whole.”
When I lived in a remote forest location of Southeast Alaska, we made the big trip into town one day to watch an Easter play performed by a Sunday School class. It was the most moving rendition of the Resurrection account I have ever seen.
I recorded it on my big ol’ VHS camcorder.
My oldest two children, all I had at the time, then aged two and three, were so impressed by one part of the show that they used to imitate it.
They’d stand there in the little terrycloth bathrobes I’d made for them, hoods over their heads, swaying a little bit, as they sang a capella just like the girl in the show, “He touched me, Oh He touched me, and oh the joy that floods my soul…”
I’ve got video of that, too. It’s always a treat to haul out one of the old tapes to bring back the memories afresh.
But today, that song came to mind, and these memories accompanied it even without the videos.