Choosing Christ

When I returned home for the summer holidays, I became a voracious reader of the Bible. I was really curious and wanted to learn more. My father would never have approved of me going to Church but I was desperate to know more. This was in the days before Nigeria had access to the internet so hearing the gospel preached was not as simple as tuning in to YouTube.

I kept reading the bible but had so many questions. One Sunday, I knew my parents were going out for the day, so I decided to sneak out to attend a Church service. Having lived a sheltered, upper middle class life, I had never taken a bus or any form of public transport before in my life. I was always driven everywhere in an airconditioned car by my father’s driver.

The details are hazy now, but I think I took a bus across town for the first time, but ended up hailing a yellow taxi when I could not figure out the route. I left home in time to attend the church service but got hopelessly lost and arrived as the service was ending. I was so upset with myself! I didn’t know who to speak to so I headed to the media desk where books, bibles and recordings of the day’s sermon were sold. I asked for the recording of the day’s service but was told it wasn’t ready and I would have to wait. I told the man behind the desk that I could not wait as I had snuck out to Church, and had a taxi waiting outside to take me home before my parents returned from their event.

The young man was very empathetic and he gave me a bootlegged copy of one of Carman’s albums, “Comin on Strong”. Carman’s voice would be the only Christian voice I heard that summer. Up until then, I thought Christian music was just hymns so this modern, relatable, even danceable expression was quite a revelation to me. I loved it and I learned pretty much every song off by heart. I loved the way Carman dramatised the scriptures through song. As a lover of literature, theater and music, this creative approach to songwriting had me hooked. The God of Jesus Christ didn’t seem aloof and far removed from my world. He was actively interested in what I was interested in and He spoke to me in ways that I understood. I felt so close to Him, and so loved by Him.

One night, I had a vivid dream. It was a dark gloomy, moonlit night and it looked as if a catastrophe had happened on earth. Like an apocalypse. I saw people dressed in white, floating towards the sky. I felt like I was witnessing the rapture. But I wasn’t one of the chosen. All I could do was watch as others were taken and I was left behind.

I woke up devastated and terrified. In the preceding days, I had been wrestling with this verse of scripture:

“But whosoever shall deny me before men,
him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven”
Matthew 10:33, KJV

I felt I could no longer keep my faith a secret between God and I. I had to let my parents know that I had decided to follow Jesus.

I went into my parent’s room. My dad was sat on the edge of his bed. I went up to him and told him I had decided I wanted to be a Christian. He was generous in his response. He said he had no objection – I was elated! – then he said, as long as I became a Methodist like my mum, and not a loony “born again” Christian.

When he realised that I meant I had chosen to be “born again”, he became furious.

“Who brainwashed you?” he roared. He feared that I would adopt the ultra conservative version of Christianity, exemplified by the Deeper Life Church at the time, where women were forbidden from wearing makeup and jewellery and always had to have their hair covered.

He raged at my mum for allowing this to happen, and sent me off to his sister’s house – a devout muslim – to get a talking to. He made it clear that he and I could not live under the same roof if I chose this path.

My dear aunt was as surprised as dad. She knew of the time I had become an increasingly devout muslim, reading the Qur’an and praying five times a day and was surprised at my decision to follow Christ. I don’t remember all that was said, but I do remember her pulling out a box of audio cassette tapes, containing recitations of the Quran. I remember her asking if Christians had anything like this, and that in her view, Christians were backward, poor, and unsophisticated compared to muslims and why in the world would I want to be a Christian?

I don’t recall how long I was away from home, but when I got back, I was emotionally drained. I knelt down before my dad as a sign of respect and told him I was sorry for the upset I had caused. I was careful not to apologise for choosing to become a Christian. I was mindful of the scriptures and did not want to deny Christ. So I found a way of words with which I could express remorse for the upset caused but not for the choice I made. I had no doubt in my mind, despite the outrage that I would continue to follow Christ.

Dad was satisfied with my response and he reiterated that he has no objection to me becoming a Christian as long as it was in the Methodist tradition.

My walk with Christ went “underground” as it were. I kept on reading my bible and listening to Carman, but did so when no one could see or hear me. I kept my bible and Carman’s cassette tape under my mattress, hidden from view.

He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live

Concerning Spiritual Gifts by Kenneth Hagin

My journey to faith in Christ was not smooth sailing. After being confronted on TV with a picture of what an intimate relationship with God could look like, I began to dig into both the Qur’an and the bible. I was trying to prove to myself that the Father-God can be found in the Qur’an and that the bible was an inferior text to the true word of God – full of lies and deceit.

That quest led me to an unexpected place. My heart softened towards Christ. and I began to love His word. I was struck by the similarities of the ancient texts – especially the Abrahamic stories – and slowly found myself reading more of the bible and less of the Qu’ran. The bible had a ring of truth about it that I could not deny.

This was in the Easter holidays of 1988. I went back to boarding school, where I discovered little booklets by American preacher, Kenneth Hagin. Each mini booklet taught on a topic regarding the Christian faith and the work of redemption that Christ did on the cross. I became convicted of my sin and my need for salvation and eventually began saying the sinners prayer at the back of the booklets. I did so every time I read one of the booklets. Until I read another booklet which said one only needed to accept Christ once to be saved. I stopped saying the sinners’ prayer after that and turned my attention to growing in my faith. This must have been sometime between May – June of 1988.

Not long after I found another booklet lying around, this time on the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and the gift of speaking in tongues. I think the booklet was called “Concerning Spiritual Gifts”. I found it on the Internet Archive here. Same as all the previous booklets, I never actually knew who this booklet belonged to. I would just see them lying on a desk or on a bed and because they were so small, I could read and return them in a matter of minutes. This was a private, personal quest with no external protagonists that I was aware of. Nobody gave me the books, nobody discussed their contents with me, nobody knew about my internal journey to faith. This fact was to become very important later on in my journey of faith.

So I read this booklet on why the baptism of the Holy Spirit was an essential gift for anyone who wanted to go deeper in their walk with Christ and that the in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit is evidenced by the gift of tongues. He also said this gift is freely available to anyone who asked God for it in prayer and no special priest or rites were needed.

So, desirous of a deeper walk with God, I took Kenneth Hagin at his word and found a quiet spot – a walk-in storage cupboard in my classroom – to pray and ask God for this gift.

And I encountered God for the first time. As I was praying and thanking God for this gift, I felt a warmth envelope wrap itself around me. I felt surrounded by a bright light and I began to cry uncontrollably as I felt weights of sin and oppression fall off me. And as I prayed and thanked God for the gift, I felt my tongue begin to change – first slowly and only a few words, and then a torrent. A flood of words in another language came tumbling out of my mouth like a torrent. It wasn’t a language that I was familiar with, neither did I understand what I was saying, but it felt ferocious and spiritual and I wept and wept and wept as I prayed in the spirit for things I did not know about in the flesh, things my mind did not comprehend, but which felt weighty and impactful.

When I was done praying and crying, I came out of the cupboard back into my classroom where evening prep was going on and I recollect one of my classmates asking where had I been and she remarked that my face was “glowing”. This made me smile inwardly as I remembered that Moses’ face glowed when he came down from the mountain, having met with God and collected the ten commandments. I didn’t say anything to her or to anyone else about my spiritual encounter with God, as like I said earlier, I didn’t know who the books belonged to and who was a born-again Christian. I was on my personal journey with Christ.

Later that year, when I went home for the summer holidays, I understood why it was essential that my journey to faith in Christ had to be a solo experience, born entirely out of personal conviction and devoid of influence from anyone.

Lazarus, Come Forth!

I am the resurrection and the Life
He that believeth in me
Though he were dead
Yet shall he live

A certain man had died
In the town of Bethany
And Lazarus was his name

The Bible says he was
A man that Jesus loved
And his sisters thought
It was a shame

Mary and Martha longed
For Jesus’ healing touch
To come and raise their brother
Cause they loved that boy so much

But Jesus had a plan not known to any man
That would soon take away their pain
They was waiting for Jesus
To come and say

Lazarus, Lazarus, Lazarus Come Forth

When he died he went to where
The saints of God did stay
In the holding place
They lived beyond the tomb

And there he saw Elijah, Moses, Samuel, even Ruth
And all the others jammed up in a room

He turned around and saw
Ol’ Gideon standin’ by the door
He walked up and said hey brother
Tell me, what’s this group here for?

Well Giddie said
Well alright this is testimony night
Have a seat man cause
The meeting’s starting soon

While Mary and Martha
Just wanted to see their
Lazarus, Lazarus,
When will their Lazarus Come Forth

Moses shook his stick
Said now this meeting come to order
Can I get a witness
For the Lord tonight

Abraham kicked it off
Said I want y’all know
That I knew him
He gave a child to my barren wife

Isaac waved his hand said
Hey daddy I knew him too!
Jacob jumped up says
Amen Grandpa, preach it!

Old dignified Solomon
He adjusted his robe, said
I knew Him, He made me so smart
I started to teach it

Ezekiel said I knew him
As a wheel within a wheel
Job said man he healed me
When I was almost dead

Samson said I knew him
When some Philistines tried to jump me
I took a donkey jawbone and busted a few heads

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said
We knew him in the fiery furnace
Jonah said man he gave me a second chance

Daniel cried out I knew him
in a hungry den of lions
The Holy Ghost hit King David
He just started to dance

Lazarus got so excited
He shouted Hey, I knew him too!
Moses put down his stick
Said hey who’s the new kid?

Needless to say the room got real quiet
When Lazarus said
But I knew Him,
In a way y’all never did

You see man I walked with him and talked with him
I saw how his teachings awed the crowds
Those famous tears of compassion
I could actually see ‘em

Man, he used to come over to my house after church
And my sisters would make him dinner
Every month I even supported his ministry

You see man I watched him confront the Pharisees
I was there when he fed the five thousand
I heard the people gasp when he healed the lame

You see man, I even remember the littlest things
The things most folks would forget
Like the simple, loving way He’d just call my name

Up at the grave, stone rolled away
With a loud voice Jesus started to say,
Lazarus

You see it just seems like yesterday
I could hear that man saying my name
Lazarus

As a matter of a fact it seemed like today, I don’t
Lazarus
Excuse me brothers I think I hear him calling me now, what?

Lazarus
Jesus?
Lazarus……….Jesus?
Lazarus……….Jesus?
Lazarus……….Jesus?
Lazarus……….Hey Jesus?

Lazarus, Come Forth!
Come Forth!
I command you,
Come Forth!

Lazarus, hey Lazarus,
Woah Lazarus, come forth!

Like Jesus was saying
Sickness be healed
Mountains be moved
When he said, Lazarus Come Forth

Mary don’t weep Martha don’t moan
Here come your boy comin’ forth

He that believeth in me
Though he were dead
Yet shall he live

When I gave my life to Jesus, age 16, I wasn’t able to go to Church because my father was a muslim and he would never have allowed it. Gospel singer, Carman’s voice, was the only Christian voice I knew and listened to for several months.

His dramatisation of Lazarus’s resurrection story spoke deep into my soul. The personable way in which Lazarus describes and even boasts about his relationship with Christ was what I longed for, and was the very reason I came to faith. I wanted an intimate, loving relationship with my God and Father and I knew such a relationship was not possible with Allah who I had been worshipping diligently for about a year.

I was about 15 years old when I first started to be conscious of a void in my heart. I longed for an intimacy with God. I was dissatisfied and hollow inside and I decided I would take my faith more seriously and become more devout. I started to cover up and dress modestly, and I started to read an English translation of the Qur’an. I wanted to be approved of God.

From my limited study of the Quran, there was never going to be a Father-Daughter relationship with Allah. At best, I would be Allah’s loyal servant and he can only be my Master. I wasn’t guaranteed Heaven but I was guaranteed some form of purgatory before possibly making Heaven. Heaven was contingent on how well I adhered to multiple codes of conduct, some of which, as a woman, I struggled to accept.

Nevertheless, I persevered trying, in my own strength to achieve piety. The strict penal codes and lack of mercy for wrong doing or for innocently breaking one of the many rules of conduct unsettled me.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came in my boarding school’s dining room, when, after giving thanks for our food, I made the sign of the cross and my muslim girlfriends who I sat with made fun of me and said why would I do that? That good muslims do not believe in Jesus.

Why not? I remember thinking to myself. Jesus was a good person! Why can’t we pray in His name? I remember feeling indignant on Jesus’ behalf and a little perplexed. Was Jesus not the prophet Isa according to the Qur’an?

My friends’ hostility to the person of Christ did not sit well with me and I resolved to study the Qur’an more.

It wasn’t until many months later when I stumbled upon an old report card from Nursery school that I caught a glimpse into a possible reason why I was so unsettled by my friends’ reaction to Christ. The report card said how much I loved the nursery rhymes and songs about Jesus. Apparently the seed had been sowed years before in my heart that Jesus was my friend and that He loved me. Even though this seed was not actively watered as we didn’t go to Church growing up, out of respect for my muslim dad, it had taken root and must have been one of the reasons why I instinctively felt uncomfortable with my muslim friends’ characterisation of Christ.

Fast forward to the summer of 1988. It was around Easter time and I was sat alone in our living room, watching TV. I had somehow stumbled on the screening of the epic 1977 television mini series, Jesus of Nazareth and started watching it. Maybe I was still wrestling with trying to find out why Jesus was so offensive to my friends, but something drew me into the movie and I watched it all, uninterrupted for several hours.

I know now that the entire series was 6 hours and 22 minutes long and I cannot recall how long I watched it for, on my own, uninterrupted by my boisterous brothers….but a scene from that movie was the catalyst that eventually led me to Christ.

JESUS OF NAZARETH — Pictured: Lorenzo Monet as Jesus aged 12 years — Photo by: NBC/NBCU Photo Bank

In that scene, the little boy who played Jesus, who I later learned was Italian child actor, Lorenzo Monet, climbed up a ladder, after being told by his dad that a ladder is from God and can sometimes reach from earth to Heaven. No words were spoken in that scene but the little boy wanted what I wanted, to be close to God. I burst into tears, alone in that living room, wondering how come such a little child could have such an intimate connection with God and I didn’t. Later in the movie, Lorenzo Monet, the young Italian actor, chosen for his blond hair and piercing blue eyes, who played 12 year old Jesus, was being told off by Mary for going missing. And he replied “Why were you looking for me everywhere? Did you not know that you would find me in my Father’s house?”. I was struck by how someone so young could know God as His Father. At that moment, I realised that this was what I had been longing for. I needed a Father. I didn’t have a close relationship with my biological Father and I longed for one. A Father God. And I knew Allah had ruled himself out as he could only ever be my master. My journey towards my Father-God started that day. Jesus was calling me, and I started to come forth.

Jesus is better than an Uber Driver

My Dream Car – Just Add Yellow Trimmings! 😄

If I could own any car in the world, it would be a sparkly, brand new, purple Mercedes Vito with yellow mirrors and trimmings. This is the most irrational and senseless car for me to desire as I don’t have little children anymore, and the costs of fueling such a mahoosive car would be prohibitive.

Nevertheless, if money was no object, this would be my car. As irrational and pointless as that might be!

If your life were a car, what would it be? Now imagine handing Jesus the keys to your car and asking Him to drive you to your life’s destination.

Even now, the thought of handing anyone the keys to my beautiful, purple Vito gives me anxiety. It’s my baby, and I couldn’t bear the thought of letting anyone drive it!

But Jesus isn’t just anyone. For one, unlike most Uber drivers (or any ride hailing app drivers for that matter), Jesus doesn’t need a SatNav. He not only knows the destination, He knows the best and most scenic route, that would leave your soul satisfied and happy.

Many of us claim we have given over the keys to our life-cars to Jesus. Now imagine yourself in the passenger seat. What sort of passenger are you?

Are you barking commands at Jesus, telling him where to turn to and which route to take? Do you argue with him? Are you impatient if the journey is too slow, too fast, or you find yourself in traffic? Worse still do you try to wrestle the wheel off him, or do you even stop the car and ask Him to trade places with you as you consider yourself to be the better driver?

In my Vito, is Jesus in the driving seat, the passenger seat, the first row, the second row, or even in the boot? 🫣

Who holds the keys to the car of your life? 🚗

Loneliness

Loneliness is one of the biggest killers of a loving relationship or marriage. It’s possible to be lonely when you are together as well as when you are apart.

We have experienced both types of loneliness in our marriage and the effects have been devastating both times.

Our first experience of loneliness came during our courtship years. We had enjoyed an intense year at University, spending lots of time in one another’s company, talking endlessly, getting to know one another’s convictions, beliefs, ambitions…. It was a beautiful season of close friendship and fellowship. And then, abruptly, there was an uprising on campus, with students protesting against the brutal military regime of General Sanni Abachi. The campus was shut down and everyone dispersed home for an unspecified period of time. Unknown to me at the time, that was to be my last time schooling in Nigeria.

In October of that year, I arrived at cold, wet, Manchester University, my father’s Alma Matta, as a second year transfer student from Obafemi Awolowo university.

The love of my life was several miles away and in the days before mobile phones (yes, those days really did exist), we had no easy way of communicating. We relied on snail mail, and whenever I was able to rustle up some change, long distance phone calls from a coin operated telephone booth.

I missed my soul mate terribly. And he me. Desperately lonely, we both soon found solace in other people’s company, forming unhealthy relationships that threatened to destroy our bond.

Yet, despite the mutual betrayal of our promise to be faithful to one another, we were held together by a bond that was greater than our frailties. The relationships we formed with others did not have the same degree of soul connection that we shared. While those relationships were precious in their own way, they were fundamentally unfulfilling and a counterfeit to the real thing.

By God’s grace and mercy alone, we found our way back to one another, we did the hard work of forgiveness and reconciliation and a few years later, we were happily married.

We resumed our intense love for one another’s company in the first few years of our marriage. It was beautiful. Just like the old days. We went on silly adventures together and we talked and laughed a lot. We had very little financially, but that didn’t bother either of us much. We were happy and carefree.

Then children started to come along, and the demands of family life and the necessities of needing to pay our bills and put food on the table began to take its toll.

We needed to build our careers and fast if we were not going to drown in debt. We lost our joy in one another, and spent more time in strained silence or senseless bickering.

We stopped being a team and didn’t enjoy being in one another’s company. We started to drift apart. This time, the loneliness persisted despite the fact that we shared a home and a bed. These dark times lasted for several years and took its toll on us and on our children also.

Then COVID came. And it became impossible to avoid one another. I started to go on long prayer walks like the one I am on right now and the fog on my heart began to lift. I listened to different sermons by a preacher that I loved and respected and I began to notice the log in my eye. The unfair and unloving ways in which I was treating my husband, the deep disrespect that I showed him through my words and actions. And I began to repent. I knew we needed help but hubby was resistant to having outsiders meddling in our business. He was of the opinion that we would only end up hurting each other more with unguarded and unfiltered comments in front of a stranger. So I had to find us help some other way.

I scoured the internet for marriage courses and stumbled upon a book called His Needs, Her Needs that seemed to have good reviews. I bought the book for myself and started to read it. It was an eye opener, going into greater depth than the sermons I was listening to. I found so much understanding of why we were the way we were. And how some things won’t ever change and that was ok. I made peace in my heart with my forever friend and my attitude towards him began to soften.

I affirmed him, I trusted him more, I challenged his decisions less. And I found so much freedom and peace.

I bought the workbook that accompanied the book and tried to get hubby to read the book. This was first met with the usual resistance but from time to time, I would share a paragraph from the book with him and it would resonate with him. I don’t know what made him pick up the book but eventually he did. And he read it all. We had turned a corner.

From a place of deeper understanding of our individual needs, we were able to let go of long held resentments and expectations. Our friendship was rekindled. We started to laugh again, we started to date again. We had found each other once more.

So now we are in phase 3 of our relationship. The children are grown up now, and grand-patenthood is around the corner. New realities await us. We are shaping a new normal.

Today we share an office, we work on each other’s businesses, and we are excited to hang out together – just like the good old days.

We still spend periods of time apart and while physical distance is unavoidable, we are not lonely anymore. Thanks to tech, even when we are not in close physical proximity, we are in touch multiple times a day, our heartbeats remaining in sync.

I don’t know who I am writing this for. But if loneliness is plaguing your relationship, do the hard work of finding yourselves again. For us, we were able to achieve this through the pages of an old fashioned book written by an elderly couple. For you, it might be something else. But if you can weather the lonely years and rediscover yourselves, you will realise, as we did, that we always had what we were looking for all along. The treasure we sought was right there, waiting to be rediscovered.

I don’t believe that our journey towards one another would have been possible without our shared faith in God. Ultimately, I believe He orchestrated the circumstances that led to our reconciliation to one another. But, as always, He shows the way but the decision as to whether or not we take the path remains ours to make.

Here is a link to His Needs, Her Needs on Amazon (not an affiliate link): https://amzn.eu/d/0e5fK7o3. It’s available on Kindle also.

Ditch the goals….build the systems

Whenever we enter a new year, the air is thick with talk of new year resolutions. What you should have in your resolutions. How you should go about deciding what makes the list etc etc.

Rarely do we hear talk about what systems need to be in place to make the achievement of those resolutions remotely possible. No wonder that before the end of January, most people become disillusioned and give up on their resolutions for that year.

I’ll give you an example. As a music educator, I have the privilege of interacting with many amazing families from all over the world, many of who, mostly, want the same thing. Well rounded children who excel in the arts as well as the sciences. They want to give their children as many skills as possible so they have options in life.

I fully understand that sentiment as a mother of three, now grown children.

What is often missing though is the parent’s understanding of how to sustain that dream over a long period of time.

The most successful music parents that I see are those who integrate the child’s music education as a lifestyle choice for the entire family. Not just for the child.

They are often within earshot of the lesson and / or practice. They regularly listen to the child’s practice and offer their suggestions or words of encouragement – you don’t have to be a trained muscian to be able to share a helpful comment!

The musical instrument is positioned in the heart of the home. Not in a dingy, underused and uderloved space which subconsciously communicates the idea that learning to play an instrument is a form of punishment.

I go into a lot more depth in this webinar – Successful Music Parenting.

In a nutshell, the less you focus on goals, and the more you focus on the systems and processes that are required for success, the more likely you will see the success you seek.

So parents, ditch the goals. Build the systems. And watch your babies soar!

My name is Kunbi Osinoiki, wife, mother, daughter and CEO of Kunbi’s Music Company.

No Resolutions This Year

It’s day 7 of 2024, and the only resolution I have made this year is to make none. I think New Year resolutions are overrated. Why wait 365 days to resolve to make a change when you can do that every minute of every day? This year, I resolve to be strong. To do many hard things – and win. That’s my anti-resolution in a nutshell.

What’s yours?

Transitioning…

All glory to God! Yesterday marked the end of our last Christmas term as parents of a school age child.

In 2023, we will slowly but surely experience more “last ofs” as we march inexorably towards the end of our daughter’s final year of secondary (high) schooling. How time flies. Exactly 25 years of nursery, primary and secondary schooling is coming to an end. A phase of life that was incredibly intense and exhausting, physically, emotionally and financially.

As we slowly emerge out of this phase of life, I am grateful to have done so with my hubby and closest friend still by my side. At one point in our lives, we didn’t think we would get through this phase of our parenting journey with our relationship intact. The fact that we will and that we eagerly anticipate doing life together as empty nesters is a testament to the grace, kindness and patience of God. He saw us through and He continues to be the anchor for our souls and our relationship.

Underneath all of who we are and who we are becoming are indeed the Everlasting Arms. ❤

Please help me buy a Soundbeam!

Dear friends and followers,

I would be so very grateful if you could please help me raise the funds needed to purchase a Soundbeam 6 musical instrument for our work with children living with disabilities in Lagos Nigeria.

Please watch the video and donate whatever you can towards the €3,500 goal. God bless you as you do. Please share with your network and acquaintances also.

Here is the link to donate: https://gofund.me/898250ce

Thank you.
Kx

The fleeting gift of childhood is gone in a heartbeat.

It’s hard to believe that this gorgeous photo of my daughter was taken 18 years ago. We were at her baby music class and the professional photographer that was hired for the day perfectly captured the concentration on her face as she listened in rapt attention to instructions for the next activity.

Memories from the years that I took my three children to baby and toddler music classes will be with me forever. Those days are a precious, everlasting gift to me in particular because the children do not remember them as vividly as I do. Nevertheless, they associate their fleeting memories of those sessions with great fondness and happiness. And that matters. A lot.

The American Psychological Association is the largest scientific and professional organization representing psychology in the United States. In a paper published in November 2018, they found that people who have fond memories of childhood, specifically their relationships with their parents, tend to have better health, less depression and fewer chronic illnesses as adults – and that this remained true even for people in middle and older adulthood.

It turns out that being intentional about building loving relationships with your children pays off in the long run, and like all relationships, the more time you spend having quality shared experiences, the stronger the bond. Think of how much time you spent wooing your crush for instance. The same way, your baby or toddler needs your undivided attention on a regular basis.

When my children were younger, our weekly music playdates gave me both an opportunity and an excuse to bond with each of them in a distraction-free environment. The classes were away from home so I could not be tempted by never ending chores. I also scheduled them in my diary, so I could legitimately decline meetings or engagements that fell in that time slot.

In those sessions, I caught glimpses into each child’s character in ways that I would have missed at home, as they interacted with other children and adults in the room. I was able to gently coach them on how to behave in a structured, public environment; to patiently wait their turn to be given the next musical instrument or prop. To learn to respect and follow instructions from another person of authority outside our home. To be proud of themselves when they were able to tap that rhythm or sing that new song (almost) word perfect. To negotiate with a fellow toddler who wanted the same toy without hitting, biting, spitting or crying. All of these dynamics were happening even while we were singing “The Wheels on the Bus” for the hundreth time. It was a chaotic, yet beautiful and magical experience all at once.

In whichever way you choose to bond with your baby, protect it. Ring-fence it. Schedule it to happen as frequently as possible. And when it does, be fully present. Turn off your phone or leave it in another room or in your car. Because before long, you too will be sharing your children’s photo, like the one above, reminiscing about the days gone by, never to return, when they were still small enough to sit in your lap.

Childhood is a gift, not so much to the children, but to the adults in their lives. Cherish it.