When my father had me listen to Beethoven’s 6th Symphony  for the first of many times, he was undoubtedly trying to impart to me his passion for classical music.

I was only a small child at the time, yet I remember it vividly. The music started off gently depicting a peaceful pastoral scene, as I happily played at my father’s feet. Then a little cloud came, and I started feeling a bit apprehensive and huddled closer to him. Along came a rumble of thunder, then lightning, and it kept building up until the storm got so powerful, so huge, so scary, that I ran to my father’s arms. He whispered comforting words, “Don’t worry, my child. The storm will pass. See? It’s already going away. The music is changing.”

Every so often we would listen to it again—eventually, I was the one asking for it. We would smile and laugh together when the tranquil tune came back after the climax—the peace and calm after the storm.

Many years passed, that little girl grew up, and Beethoven’s 6th Symphony was forgotten, replaced by many other soundtracks.

But eventually, the real storms of life arrived. During one particularly troubling time, someone gave me a CD of that symphony, and it happened all over again. I was moved to tears, realizing that my father had known all along what life would hold for me: peaceful days, heavy storms, and then peace again. It was as though he had wanted to prepare me in advance.

My heavenly Father’s arms have always been so comforting, reassuring, and present, even when my earthly father wasn’t around. They’ve helped me to hold on and keep up hope when all around me was chaos and turmoil, because eventually every storm ceases, and all is calm again, and often even more beautiful and sparkling clear than before.

To this day, whenever I listen to that particular piece of music, I shed a few tears. I can’t help it, really; it’s my life’s theme song.