Category: Life

    Have you ever watched someone come alive while listening to music? I have, just the other day …

    For the second time in a week our community chorus sang at a local retirement and assisted-living facility. Just the week before we had presented our two annual Christmas concerts. to appreciative audiences. But it always feels a bit anti-climactic to work on music for months, then finally perform it, and poof! it's over. So when we do appearances like this we enjoy the opportunity to sing again the music we love doing.

   It's always a treat to watch the faces of audience members, but especially this last time. Most came with their walkers or canes. Some showed up looking bored, but friendly. Some individuals sat there, listless and glum or staring vacantly, due to memory problems. And frankly, some came only because lunchtime was nearing.

    Then we began to sing and the transformation began. Faces brightened, lit by smiles. When our director asked them to sing along on familiar Christmas songs, they did. Even the ones from the memory care unit who had been sitting there silently, oblivious to those around them, began to sing with us. At first they were timid, but their enthusiasm grew and their body language changed. Dull eyes took on a sparkle. Looking around the room it seemed everyone had perked up noticeably. Some clapped in time. Some swayed to the music, not always with the rhythms.

   After we finished, we went around the room, introducing ourselves and wishing each resident a Merry Christmas. They thanked us for coming, but really, we got the biggest blessing. We were privileged to watch as music touched something deep within and truly lit them up from the inside.

    As I drove home I thought about God's good gift of music. A child banging a wooden spoon on a kettle has a drum and often can find a rhythm. So can an eighty-something like the one we sang to last year. She joyfully played her spoons–and played them in time–whenever we sang something with a beat. I remembered a friend telling how his wife, an Alzheimer's victim, nevertheless remembered the old hymns. Each day when he visited, they would hold hands and sing them together. "Those were the only times I felt as if she came back to me," he said, smiling through his tears.

    So feed that memory bank! Encourage your children or grandchildren to try out different kinds of music-making. Playing in the band. Singing in the chorus. Piano. Guitar. Let them try different things. If you're part of a church family, that's the perfect place for kids to learn and grow. Even very young children can recite their lines or sing off-key with great gusto. Nobody minds. They're family, after all, so they cheer them on. Love takes over and gives the embarrassed one a hug and a, "Don't fret. You'll do better next time."

    Through all the squeaks and squawks, patiently laugh and clap noisily. Give yourself a pat on the back for going the extra mile, too. Kids and teenagers gain poise as they make music, whether alone or in a group. When you expose your children to music, you give them a gift that's guaranteed to pay rich dividends every day of their lives. If you doubt that, just start singing or playing around an older person who seems to have lost that old-time spark. Then watch it flare again. It casts a lovely glow, even if it lasts just a little while.

    How about you? Wha Christmas music most touches your heart? Your comments welcomed!

    May you (and I) stay calm as we check off our To Do lists. Let's remember we're preparing to celebrate once again Christ-mas, the night when Hope was born.

    Lenore

Music wakes up the spirit

December 13, 2008
     Fall is in the air, even here in northern California. Mornings come with a chill, even though a few hours later everyone peels off layers. I, for one, am not ready for long pants and sleeves, for jackets and real shoes.

    No matter. Soon it will be October, and tomorrow we'll be hanging Christmas wreaths.

    Isn't that just like life? Days and months gallop by while we're not looking. Then we notice … the toddler is a high school freshman. That letter we never got around to writing? Too late now.

    Sorry if I sound like a nag, but I'm nagging myself. You see, I'm one of those "busy" people, and I love it. Who wants to sit around wondering what to do with oneself? But once in awhile I realize with fresh clarity how easy it is to miss what matters most.

    So here's the word for today, a gentle reminder for us all. Let's pay attention to the day we're living and revel in it. Let's look around at the people in our lives and ponder what they mean to us. Let's open our eyes and really see.

    No matter who we are, our lives consist of the sum total of those small moments. Each one counts. Sometimes we're captivated by the rich and famous in the media, but they really don't affect any of our lives. Come to think of it, that's a relief. Now we don't have to invest so much energy in trying to be "memorable." We already are.

    Let's savor the joy … while it's here.

    Lenore

    What do you think? Your comments welcomed!

As leaves start falling …

September 20, 2008
    The rose. Did God ever make a more perfect flower? I've loved them ever since I was a child walking along country roadsides in Minnesota and stopping to inhale the wild pink roses that grew so freely.

    (Are they still allowed to grow there? Or have they been sprayed out of existence because they were somebody's weed? I do not know the answer.)

    So it's logical that from the beginning of our marriage we've had rosebushes. We're centered on a few for now and my husband tends them with loving care. Every now and then he comes in with an armload of gorgeous roses, which are growing in wooden half-barrels on our patio. (Yes, it works just fine.) Many named varieties have come and gone, for one reason or another. This one is a Grandiflora named "Gemini," which we both love. It's beautiful, healthy and reliable. Perfect form, strong stems, shiny leaves. Pleasing fragrance and lovely in all seasons. Long-lasting in a vase.

This would be the perfect rose if … if it just didn't come equipped with those pesky thorns! Long, spiky thorns that easily pierce through skin. Short, fine thorns you don't even notice, but they embed themselves in finger tips.

    Ah, but this Gemini probably is our favorite rose of all the roses we've grown. We've decided its beauty makes up for the nuisance factor. Isn't that a perfect analogy for life?

    Long ago I came across a quote that stopped me in my tracks. It still does. Maybe you, too, will find yourself mulling this over for awhile. Sorry, I don't know who said it, but the calligraphy was set up just this way.

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or

Rejoice

because thorn bushes have roses.

    Whatever may be going on in our lives, here's to focusing on our "roses" and overlooking the "thorns."

    Lenore

    Your comments welcomed!

Ever said, “This would be perfect if?” I have. …

September 18, 2008
    I don't know about you, but some of the mood from the commemorations of 9/11 still echo with me. Newscasters talked about the new memorial to be built, probably before next year's anniversary. I actually think they should leave it as it is. The vast emptiness of Ground Zero fittingly commemorates what happened that day: loss. Loss of so many, many lives. Loss of our naive assumption that within the shores of the U.S.A., somehow we were guaranteed safety. That false security can't be recaptured, any more than those who died so tragically can rise from the dead.

    Emptiness is what overwhelms us in the face of loss … and that doesn't go away. Nobody ever "gets over it" when a loved one dies. When that individual's physical presence is gone, something precious is gone from our lives. In the beginning, aching grief deafens us with its roar. Eventually it may settle into a sort of background noise, but it remains with us.

    Really, that's appropriate. Our remembering and missing those individuals demonstrates the lasting memorial in our hearts. When we remember, we celebrate their life and how they enriched our own.

   I probably think of my mom and dad more often now than I did when they were alive. Before, we were separated by miles, but they were there. As the years go on, more and more I appreciate who they were. I realize how much of who I am is because of who they were. I wish I could tell them that. …

    Today I attended the 90th birthday celebration of a friend. She's a writer, too, and still writing, still having her poetry published. About one hundred friends and relatives came from far and near to celebrate this smiling, gracious woman of deep faith. I thought how wonderful it was that she was alive to hear and be blessed by our words of love and praise.

    For not one of us knows whether we'll make it through the day … any day. Neither can we predict how long our spouses or our children will live. Even if we live alone there's someone we would miss if they were gone, someone who makes us smile and go on in a happier mood.

    Are we telling them so? Do they know they matter to us?

    When we think it, we need to say it. Believe me, I know the truth of those words. Several times I've postponed doing just that. To this day I regret that I didn't simply say the words. While I was waiting for the "right time" and the "right words," friends and family members died. I know now I didn't need eloquence or perfect timing. Those dear ones would have loved to hear my awkward stammering, because–and this is the point–they were alive to hear it.

    Right now I can think of a couple of folks like that who would be blessed by my words or by a note from me. How about you? The good news is that so long as we–and they–keep breathing, it's not too late.

    We may not have another chance. Tomorrow may never come. …

    Here's to saying it now!

    Lenore

Your comments welcomed!

How about lighting up someone’s life?

September 14, 2008
    Today is the anniversary of 9/11, that unbelievable day in our Nation's history. On this day television newscasts and talk shows replay the images and sounds of our national anguish. We're drawn to them, as we were on September 11, 2001, and through the sorrowful days that followed.

    What good does it do to remember? After all, no one has the power to rewrite one second of that day. But I for one, can't help feeling as if had dodged a bullet.

    That's a bit over-dramatic, of course. But only a few weeks earlier a friend and I sat on the top floor of one of those Twin Towers, in the glass-walled Observation Tower. It was my first time in Manhattan. Our choral group (Bravo! Vancouver) had traveled from Washington state across the country to give a couple of concerts. New York City was our second stop.

    The first was Washington, D.C., where we sang for a large conference. Toward sunset we sat on the Capitol steps, in the balmy breezes of early evening, poised to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. No barriers. No fenced-off areas. If there were armed guards they were so unobtrusive we never noticed. There we were, thousands of us, prowling the grounds of the U.S. Capitol Building. Adults of all ages and economic levels, infants and children, and teens. Our complexions came in every hue, with accents to match. We mingled peaceably, smiling. By the time the serious fireworks were underway the predicted rains had begun. In minutes we were drenched, but we stayed, laughing, loving every minute of what we had viewed so often on TV.

    Next day we were off to New York, where we were to give another performance. My friend had been to New York many times because her son worked in New York. Nevertheless, during our free time she insisted we go to the Twin Towers, because "everyone needs to go up on top and just look out at least once."

   There we sat, knees pressed against the glass walls of the Observation floor at the very top of one of the Towers. A couple of smiling security guards quietly observed us. I walked around the roomy space, looking out in awe at the beauty of land and sea and sky. That impressed me far more than all the gleaming skyscrapers that crowded New York City's skyline. I flew home brimming over with thanks that I had the opportunity to be part of that trip.

    Who could have guessed we were nearing the end of life as we knew it? For days, weeks, months after 9/11, we Americans were watchful, fearful, as if waiting for "next time" to drop. Yet today is the seventh anniversary and nothing has. Think about that.

    How have we come safely through these past seven years? We may credit the Administration, or the learn-as-you-go Department of Homeland Security and all that came with it. We may reel off a long list of agencies and personnel and give credit where it's due. Yet every expert in every field tells us the best efforts by the best people remain insufficient. No agency, no amount of armed guards, can guarantee the safety of this Nation … nor of us as individuals.

    Experts remain confounded. For me, there's only one explanation. It is "'Not by might, not by power, but by my Spirit,"says the LORD of hosts."    (Zechariah 4:6)

    We could not be in better hands. Let's breathe a sigh of thanks.

    Here's to remembering what it means that we're Americans!

    Lenore

    Your comments welcomed!

Living in the aftermath of 9/11

September 11, 2008
    These past weeks I've been brain-weary, trying to put together this blog.It's been one trial-and-error after another, which seems to be my style. Of course, I made it more complicated by choosing to personalize the look of it rather than just use one of the excellent pre-designed banner templates. One of my husband's photos would be just the thing, I thought, which turned out (for this rookie) to take awhile. But finally, finally, here we are.

      The photo you see across the top gives you a sense of what we see from our back deck. We delight in watching this ever-changing panorama of sky, as well as looking over a bit of open space. My favorite trees, the huge, gnarled old oaks that drag the ground, stand sentinal, as they have for a century or more. Picture a walking trail winding through this. Occasionally small flocks of wild turkeys gobble their way across, sometimes invading backyards and strutting down the sidewalks of our little community. In the cool of the morning and at dusk our resident trio of deer may stroll the open space, enjoying nibbles of the now-dry grass. Morning to night we hear birdsong, everything from Mockingbirds to Mourning Doves.

      As we look beyond our "wildlife preserve" we see hundreds of roofs and treetops. The busy street running through guarantees background traffic noise, but we ignore that and look to the grassy hills beyond, where more ancient oaks punctuate the terrain. Off in the distance–on a clear day–we glimpse the Sutter Buttes, known as the world's smallest mountain range. If you've been to northern California, you know the look of our area.

     Each day ends with a sunset. Some sunsets, like the one you see at the top of this page, make us gasp with awe. We stand transfixed and silently watch the incredible kaleidescope shimmering before us, often forgetting to grab the camera. Always, one verse comes to mind, the only one that fits: <blockquote

"Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)

    Do we know we're blessed to live here, and are we thankful? Yes. But do we always stop to drink it in? Sadly, no.

    I think that's how most of us are with life, too. We're often as blind to the wonder of our lives as to the magnificence of another sunset … or another dawn.

   Each sunrise officially signals the new day. Maybe yesterday we messed up royally, but today the slate is clean and we get a fresh, new beginning. Once more we can choose how we'll live the unsullied twenty-four hours before us.

    Some days our hearts brim with joy, while others leave us weeping. Most days we label, "just routine." Truth is, no day is routine. Like every sunrise and every sunset, each day is one-of-a-kind, with no instant replays to be had.

    That's true with the people in our lives, too. We so easily take them for granted, especially the ones we know we can count on. We forget to say, "thank you," and sometimes we forget that love takes care and feeding, like a delicate plant that can wither and die.

    As for mothering–or any kind of working with kids, well, you know how it goes. We get caught up in all the "doing" and forget to just pause and marvel at the mystery unfolding before us. Each child is a unique creation, an individual, like no other human being on earth. Yet somehow God trusts us with this child's care and shaping and guiding, day after challenging–and rewarding–day. We're allowed to be on the scene for the miracle.

   Whatever age we are, it's worth remembering that tomorrow may never arrive. That sets the true value on today: precious. Irreplaceable. A time to savor and cherish. Something to live, not just get through.

    For me, at least, mastering this skill looks to be the work of a lifetime. But I am learning, and I'm praying for eyes to see the beauty of each day and each person in my life. I don't want to miss any part of it.

    So here's to 20/20 vision of the heart!

    Lenore Buth

Looking out on the world

August 13, 2008