Tribute to a Musical Mother
This is a little postscript to last week's thoughts (find those here) on tuning my heart.
In another aft deck phone conversation, I realized my mother deserves a tribute for my enjoyment of music. As I was sitting on the tow bitts, in the winter sun slanting across the Juan de Fuca, she and I were talking memories. Of all her children, Mom says I was most active. In the womb I would wake her up at night with my movement. The only thing that made my little feet and fists stop was when she picked up her violin to play. (Not much has changed, except now it's not my movement but her prayers for me that keep her up at night).
As a little girl, I listened to Mom play her guitar and sing. I loved her mellow voice at bedtime. One song, "Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod," always made me cry, but I liked that. Mom would wipe the tears off my cheek as she tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. And then as a school-age child, Mom insisted on piano lessons because she never had the opportunity herself. She sacrificed financially to give me the language of music. As a teen when I wanted to learn the violin, she encouraged me, finding the best teacher and letting me have the best violin, Great-Grandpa Warren's.
Now as an adult I cannot help but notice that when Mom sings, she does not just follow the notes. She sings with joy that lights up her face from the inside out. I have an idea this has a lot to do with her own heart being tuned to sing God's praise.
Thank you, Mom, for sharing this joy with me from the start.
