Happy After All These Years

 Happy Sunday!  It is a nice, cool morning here at the moment.  I hope we won't get any of the predicted dry lightning storms between now and Monday evening.  Climate change is not for sissies, is it.

I have been remembering the good times from when I was little.  Being four years old and Aunt Wanda making fun of me because I was "pretending" to read.  Actually reading, though it was difficult to puzzle out how to pronounce in my head the word "laughing."  I somehow thought there was an "n" in the word, and it worried me

Monthly "potluck dinners" when everyone brought a covered dish to share and a "party piece" to perform.  Sometimes a poem to recite, or a song to sing, or an instrument to play.  Didn't matter how good you were, only that you were willing to share.  We rolled back the carpet and everyone danced.  Men, women, together, alone, even the children dancing to the music of the fiddle, the piano, the guitar, whatever had been brought.  Some who were especially good taking a solo turn to dance or sing or whatever while everyone clapped along, smiling and encouraging and laughing.

Mama, never able to stay on the beat.  She could read music and play beautiful pieces, though not by ear, as she was fairly tone-deaf.  Meeting my sister's eyes and grinning as we sang along, or just swayed to the music.  It was hysterically funny, but she got her feelings hurt easily and we loved her so much and appreciated her gifts.

Dad playing the guitar by ear.  How he loved Hank Williams!  "Do you hear that lonesome whippoorwill"  She sounds too blue to fly.  The midnight train is whining low. I'm so lonesome I could die."  His blue eyes sparkling, loving being the center of attention.  He could play for hours.  When he wasn't scaring the crap out of us with his selfish temper and dangerous, wounding words.  

Grandpa Lake (Laken Watson), who was once a Texas Ranger, fiddling so hard and grinning so wide that his dentures fell out of his mouth and bounced across the floor..  

Aunt Jeannie, who could play any piece of music, by sight or by ear.  She was the most talented pianist we had, and served as Uncle Adren''s church musician.  I listened to her playing "The Fight Is On" as a slow, theatrical postlude to a wedding where I had gone to sing something the happy couple had requested.  Trying not to laugh, bending over with tears running down my face, glad she had waited until after the ceremony!

Uncle Adren, who had a voice like Michael the Archangel, and could make you weep just from the strong glory of the sound.  

God gives us so much.  Someone once said, "Time works so hard for us."  Let's never be afraid to share ourselves with one another while there is still time to do so face to face.  Let's take our courage in both hands and put it all out there.  Maybe it will give even one person the guts to share or to smile or dance, or to live just one more day.

May God give us all courage and deep peace.  May God remind us that we were bornto do this.  Amen.