Missing the Music

Sunday afternoon I was privileged to hear 85 fine men in concert, and even more proud that my very talented husband was one of them.  These men have been singing together for over 20 years, and have a camaraderie that makes their music all the sweeter. Their director is a young man I can only call genius. He stands tall and slender, directs without ever looking at a piece of music, and his fluid motion calls forth such excellence and beauty that it's nothing short of a miracle.

As much as I enjoyed Sunday's concert, it left me wanting more.

More music in my life.

Ten years ago, my life was filled with musical activity. There were times when I would have said overfilled - too much of a good thing. I accompanied a very active high school choral program, played in a very active professional handbell ensemble, sang and rang bells in my church choirs.

When I started my office job, I had to pare down all those musical activities. The school job went first, then the handbell group. Over the past couple of years I've opted out of church choirs, too. I've been accompanying for a middle school choral program, but this year their concert coincided with the time I was in Texas, so I wasn't able to do that either.

I was oddly surprised to realize that this Christmas season I am doing absolutely nothing musical.

Zip. Nada.

It's so easy to let things slip out of our lives, little by little, until before we know it they're gone. We quickly cover the chasm with other activities and sometimes don't even realize it's there.

Until we fall in it.

I fell in it Sunday afternoon, listening to those glorious voices raised in song, cheering with the hundreds of other people on their feet at the end of the program. Wow, I thought. I used to do things like that. I used to make music happen.

Where did it go?

In the way of fate or serendipity, the director of my handbell choir was in the audience last Sunday. As we talked about the program and how uplifting it had been, she said this:

"I'm really glad I ran into you. The group is going to Bronzefest in February and I could really use another ringer. It's just a six week commitment. Would you be interested?"

My first impulse was to say no.  I've gotten into the habit of turning down musical activity because I didn't have time, or didn't want to have too many commitments during the time my grandson was expected to be born.

But those things no longer apply. So why not?

"Let me think about it for a few days," I answered, still cautious. "I'll let you know by Tuesday."

Friends, I'm sure you've guessed my final answer.

It will be good to step back into the musical waters again. I've been missing it more than I realized.

How about you? Is there an activity that you've let slip out of your life and now find yourself missing?

Jump On In

Did you ever skip rope when you were little? I wasn't a very athletic child, but I was a good rope skipper. I started out as a solo skipper, using a white rope with red wooden handles. Then I learned to "jump in," on a bigger rope that two friends would twirl on either end. I remember hot summer days on the driveway of my house, Cathy and Lisa on each end of the rope using their whole 10-year-old bodies to send it looping into the air.

"Come on, Beck!" they'd taunt. "Jump in, NOW! We'll count you in...one, two, three, and go!"

The first few times I faltered and the rope fell unceremoniously on my head, puddling in soggy loops at my feet.

"Go again," they said, encouraging me.

I watched, waited, bided my time, aiming to run under the rope the precise minute it hit it's apex and be ready to jump! as soon as it brushed the ground.

What a thrill that first time I made it in! It was so exciting that I almost stopped, but remembered in time and made it through a dozen or so jumps before I lost my momentum.

The first time is always the hardest and after that initiation I became fearless, jumping in with barely a moment's hesitation. Soon, I could jump simultaneously with one or even two others, as the twirlers chanted favorite skipping songs to cheer us on.

As the new year approaches, I need to gear up my courage and get ready to jump into some things that won't always be easy, but will ultimately be the best thing for me and my family. You all know I'm not a big risk taker, not one to plunge headfirst into challenge. I tend to wait a long time, watching the rope go round and round, trying to judge the safest moment to make my move.

I could use some cheerleaders on the sidelines, advising me to "Jump in now!" and encouraging me to "Go again!" if I miss.

Can I count on you to count me in?

Benediction

My favorite part of a church service is the Benediction. (And no, not because it means the service is over.) The Benediction is at once a charge and a reassurance. It tells me to go back into the world, a world that is scary and dangerous and sometimes mean- spirited. A world where bad things can happen and we often don't get what we need or want. The Benediction tells me to gather up my courage and step out because the love of God covers me like the biggest and strongest of all umbrellas. This is the most classic of all benedictions:

May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face to shine upon you. May the Lord be gracious unto you and give you peace.

Our church service often ends with some version of this Benediction, although sometimes our ministers will add their own spin, taking ideas from their sermon and expanding them into words of dismissal. As I stand in the choir loft after the closing hymn while these final words are bestowed upon the congregation, it's as if a large, comforting hand has been placed over our collective heads. The idea of being "blessed and kept" under the gracious and shining favor of God is a balm to the soul.

One of the hardest things about being an adult (and an "older" adult at that) is the feeling that there's no one left to protect you. If your parents are still living, they most likely need your protection and care, instead of the other way round. If you're married, you might feel slightly less alone, because hopefully your partner has your back to some degree at least. But being a grown up means being ultimately responsible for yourself, and if you're an über responsible person anyway, it's a huge never-ending burden.

I guess that's why I love the Benediction so much. For at least those few seconds, I'm reminded of the possibility that Someone is looking out for me, Someone will keep me from harm, will smile down upon me and give me peace.

One of my favorite musical settings of my favorite Benediction is this one, by the British composer John Rutter. If you need a moment of reassurance before you go out into the world today, close your eyes and listen to this.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZN1mryHEnQ]

The Perfect Subject

My little grandson is three weeks old today, and I consider myself amazingly lucky to have spent these first three weeks of his life on earth here with him. He is growing so beautifully, and settling into his little family here, with parents who love him to pieces. I'm going back to Michigan later this week, so my further adventures in grandparenting will be from a distance. This idea of a long-distance relationship has been on my mind a lot, so when my friend, Andi, the amazing writer, teacher, and blogger, offered me an opportunity to guest post at her new blog, Gray Hair and Acne, this seemed like the perfect subject.

I hope you'll hop over there and read my thoughts, and then add Gray Hair and Acne to your reading list.

Alternate Universe

I've been living in the baby bubble for almost three weeks now, this alternate universe where the world revolves around a tiny bundle of eat, cry, cuddle, and sleep. We snatch meals when we can, grab showers between feedings, and do laundry a lot. I've been wearing the same easy clothes for days - jeans and sweats which are very forgiving when it comes to spit-up and lint from baby blankets. I run a brush through my hair, and wash it every two or three days (which would only be possible in a climate as dry as it is here in Dallas). Though I brought my makeup bag with me, I never removed it from the suitcase.

It's easy to forget that December is here and there are holiday plans swirling in the air, necessitating things like shopping and socializing. But at the end of next week, I'll be going back to Michigan, re-entering normality's orbit, and I'm a teensy bit nervous about it. Being in this insular world of life with newborn is safe and cozy. Our only objective is to make sure the baby is fed, clean, happy, and adored.

That's easy.

At least in comparison to life at home where the demands of the normal universe can be so intrusive. There are bills to pay, houses to clean, appointments to keep. Friends wills be calling, as will the thousand and one responsibilities that await me in that other life I've been living for the past 55 years, the one I call "real." Here, no one expects me to do anything but grandmothering and it's a nice relief to have only one job to do, and a completely satisfying one at that.

So next week I'll be preparing myself (at least mentally) for re-entry into life outside the baby bubble. I expect it might take a little time to decompress, to absorb all the changes that have occurred in my life and heart during the preceding 30 days.

But I'm sure real life will wait for me.

It always does.