As far back as I can remember I have wanted a handful of things with every part of my being. I've wanted to be a mamma. I've wanted to be married (not in that order though). I've wanted to be a missionary. I've wanted to be able to sing.
Music has always been one of those things for me. I was in the first grade, in my first Christmas pageant, and I was the angel who held the star, because as our children's choir director put it, that would be a bigger blessing than my singing. I became very aware of my inability to carry a tune, hit a note or really, even make a joyful noise in that pageant when I was six, turning seven. Being the obstinate, stubborn middle child that I am, though, I sang all the louder, to irritate those naysayers and mean people. Eventually, my desire for acceptance drowned out my own loud voice, but I always, always wanted to be a part. Because music is so much bigger than anything else. Music can transform people, can speak to the soul in ways words never can.
When Todd and I first got married, he asked me what I wanted most to do on a date. For the record, we had zero money. My monthly "allowance" for coffee dates with friends, home decorating, clothing and the likes was $10 (about R100). Monthly, not weekly. Our dates were to Target (say it with a french accent, it sounds so much more sophisticated) to 'dream shop'. He had asked though, so I told him that I desperately missed hearing the symphony.
When I was small, I often went to the opera. My mom's second husband was trying to make it in the classically-trained musical profession and I was enthralled. Not so much with the singers (I'm still not a fan of sopranos, sorry girls), but the costumes, the music, the plush seats and the culture that comes with professional music. As a kid, it felt like the music could become that thick smell of warm deliciousness from the kitchen on a cold day that I could smell and taste and see. I remember sitting in the red crush-velvet seats of some theater in San Francisco and realizing that I wasn't fidgeting, I wasn't having to battle to pay attention because I was simply enthralled. I'm not sure I ever really told any of this to Todd because it simply never really came up when we were dating. So when I answered, he was rather taken aback and I still remember the look of dread on his face, like I was now going to announce he had to get a penguin suit and go be miserable for hours on end after spending copious amounts of money all in the name of love. I briefly explained, but again, we had no money so I thought nothing of it.
Months later, he told me we were going on a date and I found myself being treated to McDonalds for dinner (again, no money so this was big) and then the Chicago Symphony. It just happened that the day Todd picked was the day when Lang Lang was there. Most of you probably don't know who he is, but he's big. Seriously big. Beatles big. President big. Queen of England BIG. And I remember looking over at my husband, who had dragged himself up to the upper balcony and bought expensive tickets for me and me alone, and I watched him fall in love. That's the power of music. That's the power I'd always wished I could at least participate in.
I read this book recently called Wine & Bread and I love how Sauna Niequist, the author, puts it: "I love that we have a steady stream of musicians in our home, a community of people who believe that art and creativity and soul really matter, that making something out of nothing and telling your story- through lyrics or essays or anything at all- is noble work."
There is a nobility in music. A passion and focus that I can only dream of. A friend put this video on Facebook recently. It made me cry. I had just finished putting on the last few touches to our family Advent Calendar. Side note, but totally related, I love Christmas and not in the I-want-to-decorate-before-Thanksgiving kind of way, this is an I-pray-for-Christmas-music-in-May kind of way. Love. For our Advent Calendar, there is a verse and a symbol for each of the 25 days leading up to Christmas. I have put a lot of work into the thing, and each year it's a little different, but it always does what Christmas is supposed to do: shine a spotlight on the Cross, not the baby. The video was so profound for two reasons. First, when I watched it it was THAT day. That day in November that I wait for like I do for the labour pains of each of my babes. The day when the sun hides behind the clouds, the temperature is cold enough to go and dig out a sweater, and it feels like the Christmas of my childhood. This is normally the day when I break out my treasured Yankee Candle Co. Christmas scents, put cinnamon sticks and cloves and oranges and allspice in water to simmer on the stove, and the kids and I decorate. I'd love to say I religiously wait for Todd, but I don't. I get so excited that I can barely wait for the kids to finish school at 12:30.
This year, though, that day fell on the day when my living room looked like the Good Will had vomited on my lounge and my chair-and-a-half and my hutch. Every flat surface was completely covered in stacks of literally every piece of clothing we own. There were piles to be packed into crates and shipped to the States. Piles to be packed and weighed for the airplane. Piles of things that needed to be scrubbed to see if I can get the stains out and save them. Piles of things we've outgrown. Piles of piles of piles. It was not exactly uplifting and it was not exactly encouraging. In fact, it was downright disheartening, and overwhelming and it made me want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.... until I watched the video. If you notice, there's a day stamped in the corner, 19 May. This symphony was preparing in May. And then, there's that beautiful little girl in the red who clamors up the light post that just needs a bit of dusting and it will be exactly out of The Chronicles of Narnia, who starts to participate by conducting. I can participate too. I have been called to enter into the music, taste it, smell it, touch it, sing it. I can be changed forever by the music, brought to tears and embraced by a song written so long ago, and yet is exactly what my heart needed at just this moment. I realize this isn't specifically a Christmas song, but it always has been for me. So on a day of realizing that Christmas as I've known it for the last half-decade will be no more, when I sat and wallowed in a bit of self-pity and overindulged in brownies at 10 o'clock in the morning, I rest in the music.
Mortals, join the mighty chorus
Which the morning stars began;
Love divine is reigning o'er us,
Binding all within its span.
Ever singing, march we onward,
Victors in the midst of strife;
Joyful music leads us Sonward,
In the triumph song of life.
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