Finding our voices

Grant and Kelsi please the crowd

Grant never sings anymore. The truth is I don’t remember him singing an entire song audibly since he was about five years old. Back then, I actually had to shush him once because he was belting out the music above all the rest of the children. But since then he’s refused to sing in church. In fact, he'll rarely even pick up a hymnbook. 

So, you can imagine my shock the other night when I saw him on stage, cool as could be, singing a duet with his friend Kelsi whom he’s known forever. While she played the guitar, the two of them sang away as if they’d been doing it every day since they were kids. They’re no rock stars, I realize, but their voices blended well and they sounded great to me. Where had Grant been hiding that voice? 

Singing voices are a breed of their own, I suppose, but this experience made us wonder just what helps people find their own voices.

Remembering the elderly and being a grandma

Good grandmas come in all kinds of packages

My good friend of 20 years or more moved away and is now living in an old folks’ home halfway across the country. I miss her very much and told her so at Christmastime in a Facebook message, even though accessing such technology is challenging for her. Yesterday she sent me a letter in the mail—yes, the kind that comes with a stamp and a handwritten signature. I cried when I read her words, “For sure I didn’t intend to live this long. It takes lots of effort to fight depression, but I’m doing just fine.” Evidently, her children and grandchildren visit when they can, but, as she says, “Everyone is busy.”

Back in the day

Letters can capture inescapable truths about our lives

Back in the day (before emails, text messages, Skype, blogs, instant messages, Facebook, and inexpensive phone calls), my family of origin used to write letters to stay connected. Each of the 13 children would contribute a monthly update, and one person would mail copies to everyone. (Yes, we actually used "snail mail" - stamps and all.) Recently, while cleaning out her garage, my sister-in-law found those letters and sent me the ones I’d written. One of them from 18 years ago helped me remember what parenting was like back in the day of tight budgets, toddlers, and tension. Here’s a portion of it: