With one voice...

I woke up suddenly to the sound of Barney’s song in the wee hours of the morning. He began his solo under our bedroom window and progressed around the house. I got up, went out on the porch and called him to me. The night was beautiful with clear skies and starlight so I sat awhile in silence with Barney beside me as we listened to the canine chorus singing. I could hear Leisa’s dogs, dogs from the next road over, dogs from the hills and valleys all around the farm, each singing their part in the Night Time Song of Dog. After awhile I went in and lay in bed slipstream thinking about voices and song.
Three grandsons were with us this weekend while their mother attended a high school reunion. Their voices began at 6:30 in the morning and stopped at bedtime. Sometimes they spoke separately but often, like Barney, they sang along with the chorus. A statement by one of them would lead to an accompanying riff from the other two. The ripple effect could be soothing if the decibel level was low or startling if there was disagreement or excitement in the choir.
Sunday morning I was called up to play the piano for worship. Miss Winnie, our 87 year old pianist, is ill and unable to play. The first hymn was “Soon and Very Soon” by Andrae Crouch, a hymn I love to sing but had never played before. It became apparent that what was written in the hymnal was not the way the congregation was used to singing it. We made it through somehow and I threw up my arms in relief to the laughter of the congregation. Thank God for the voices that knew the way it was supposed to be sung, who carried me along even when I played the wrong notes.
Morning time is quieter now as the birds are leaving for warmer winter homes. We wake to quiet stillness broken by the hum of crickets, not birdsong. There is a change in the choir loft as the season of autumn approaches. Different voices have begun to sing as another great cycle of change comes to Sabbath Rest Farm.
I reflect on the different voices I have had during my life... the voice of a daughter, a wife, a mother’s voice, a grandmother’s voice, the descant of a teacher, singing the song of a farmer or a deacon. Whatever the shape of the notes or the words, my prayer is that my voice will honor the One who gave me songs to sing. And if I stumble through an unfamiliar rhythm or my voice cracks on the high notes, I want to be fully present to the moment and belting it out.
Today I will sing the song of the farmer as I spray the cows for flies and feed them hay. When mama and I go to visit Margaret in the hospital, I will be singing as a friend and neighbor. As I pick up the truck from the repair shop, I will sing the song of the helper. In my heart I am singing a lullaby for Rowan and his parents, a lullaby of joy and thanksgiving as well as a prayer for sleep for them all. None of these songs are solos. Like Barney, I sing along with a choir. And I am grateful for all the voices and songs that lift me up. Thanks be to God.