Aprons...

Yesterday my theme song was “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”. As I did my stable chores, hauled wagon loads of cow, donkey and horse manure through mud up over my ankles, I sang my solo loudly and not very sweetly. To add insult to injury, it was another grey rainy day. The animals are grumpy and bored with the weather so I am their twice a day entertainment. Junie B pretends to nip me with her ears laid back. Biscuit head butts me. Dixie nips Biscuit. The donkeys kick each other. Only Ferdinand, the gentle bull, seems immune to the vagaries of mood.
The mood swings in weather are producing mood swings in me, too. In the past week, we have gone from snow covered ground with temperatures in the teens to muddy thaw and fifties during the day. Just about the time I adjust to one weather reality, another change comes along.
After a long winter’s nap, my muddy mood lifted as we began to prepare for a farm family covered dish supper. Black and pink eye peas, turnip greens, cornbread, ham with cherry sauce, sauteed Brussel sprouts, dirty rice, stewed tomatoes were accompanied by conversation, laughter, the sound of baby Grayson laughing and trying out his new word, mamama. I was not the only one with post holiday blues. We all needed a lift last night. My solo was transformed from trouble to “I’ve Got The Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart”.
As we stood on the porch seeing everybody off, I remembered Mary Lynn telling me about her grandmother’s apron. Women always wore aprons around the house as they worked. Some aprons were sash tied and others were wrap arounds. Aprons could have pockets to hold treasures and trash. When company drove up, aprons were hurriedly removed unless they were close friends. Aprons dried tears and wiped smudges from faces. And when beloved ones drove away, aprons fluttered in a silent goodbye. Aprons were a useful comfort in times of trouble and in daily life.
I’m going to pull my aprons off the hook in the mud room and move them to the kitchen so I can grab them to wear during the day. It will be my concrete connection to all the women who have gone before, my grandmas, my great aunts, women I never knew and women I knew well. Those women sang the same songs I do and lived their lives with courage and joy. When Biscuit shakes her head at me, I’ll shake my apron at her. When we wash dishes after a shared meal, I’ll wear my apron. When my mood sinks beneath the mud or I celebrate the sunshine, when I cry tears of joy or sadness, I’ll wipe my face with my apron and move on along.
My soul’s apron is music. Whether I sing trouble songs or joy songs, music protects and enlivens my spiritual journey. This morning I will play the piano for worship, accompany one young woman as she sings a solo and another as she plays her clarinet and my apron will flutter in joyful accompaniment. I give thanks for music this morning and will sing “Love Lifted Me” not “I Was Sinking ‘Neath the Waves”. My apron is fluttering in joyful thanksgiving.