Sing Your Way Home

I've always known my mother is a pretty smart lady, but like almost all daughters, I haven't always seen eye to eye with her about everything. One time I thought she was particularly crazy. I was a young mother, and my little sisters were teenagers, going through typically tough times. Every time my mother expressed her concerns for them to me, she would say, "Would you please just encourage them to take singing lessons?"

Singing lessons? They needed help with clothes, friends, confidence, more sleep, scripture reading, homework, gas for their cars, money for college, good boys to date, and my mom was thinking about music?

Nothing makes a child appreciate a parent more than parenting, though, and now I realize that my mother wasn't just pretty smart. She was genius smart. She knew that music, and particularly singing, directs all of the essence of humanity into one potent experience: physically, singing is an aerobic activity that increases the flow of oxygen to vital organs and releases endorphins, creating pleasure; emotionally, singing allows the expression of a reservoir of raw feelings as the singer interprets the meaning of the song; socially, music is almost always a shared modality, as it is practiced and performed with coaching, accompaniment and an audience; mentally, music stretches the mind as new lyrics and musical phrases are mastered; spiritually, because well-written music comes as close to communion with God as does prayer. Singing is a complete body-mind-soul activity that overpowers worry and pain, sorrow and fear. Music, particularly singing, is the answer to life's heartache and the incarnation of life's joy. My mother knew all of this.

My childhood was filled with singing. Like the VonTrapp family, we sang on family road trips, at home, and at church. My first experience singing harmony in public was when my brother, age three and I, age four, sang "I Wonder When He Comes Again" in Sacrament Meeting. (Years later, when we moved to Salt Lake City, kids taunted my brother and me, calling us "Donny and Marie". What they didn't know was their words didn't hurt my feelings all that much. I kind of liked the comparison.) As the number of children grew, so did the complexity of our songs. We sang our favorite, "Rain", at our parents' 50th wedding anniversary celebration last August. My brothers' soprano voices disappeared a quarter of a century ago, but the song was just as beautiful sung with the maturity and tenor of men. All seven of us sang together, and it was a tender, sacred moment.

Singing fills my home now, and singing lessons are alongside my 403b plan as investment money well spent. These are the results:

Aubrey received a superior rating at the Federation competition yesterday. Three notes into her first song, her accompanist was in tears. Everything they have worked for the past five years is happening with Aubrey's voice. She sang clearly, with strength and volume. Those who know Aubrey well, knows she has a piece of a chromosome missing, and the missing genes have affected her speech. Singing has been therapeutic for her, and her spirit has triumphed. Her disability is nearly gone, and her singing voice is exquisitely beautiful. Aubrey, I love you! Sue, Shelley, and Smith--thank you!

Daniel has joined the ranks and sang in his first Federation competition yesterday. His best friends are part of our music circle and his life is happier for music all around him. He has the grace to not complain when I am practicing my songs for the 100th time, just to learn the words, when he could memorize them instantly. Daniel, thanks for your patience.

Rachel just joined the Portland Mormon Choir. She has the voice of an angel. One of these days, soon, I will fly there just to hear her perform.

A few years ago, my children's voice teacher offered to teach me too. I hadn't had voice lessons in many years, and I was rusty and creaky. I tremble just like the teenagers when it's time to sing at a recital or competition. But the effect on my soul is remarkable! Sue (our teacher), and Shelley and Shauna (accompanists) have become my dearest friends. And when I am singing, everything painful in my life is gloriously still.

Last week we sang at a recital, and my mother came to hear us. I was last on the program. I stepped up on stage, took the microphone into my hands, and walked over to the piano. Three notes into my first song, my mother burst into tears. She loved listening to me, and I loved watching her. Thank you, Mother, for music, for singing. You always knew it was the solution. "Singing my way home" is my resolution.