Rain on a Metal Roof and Other Sounds

The rain has been pouring this evening. Plunk, plunk, plunk… as the rain lands on the metal tub sitting on the porch. It reminds me of the soothing sound of rain on a metal roof. 

Sitting on a front porch and listening to a summer rain plunk on a metal roof. The porch swing chains creak as they carry it back and forth slowly, one foot lightly keeping the momentum going as the other leg is tucked underneath me. I can practically smell the purple in the vetch on the hill. Frogs near the pond jump from logs, land with a splash and add their own songs to the rain. I feel the bulk of my book; there is the weight of the actual bound print and the heft of the words resting in my hands. The words pull me in slowly, sinking me into the moment and bringing the lyrics of my book alive. The sounds of the rain bring backs lovely memories and I think of how our senses can be such a gift. 

That is Not Your Toilet Paper ~ and Other Sounds of Home

You never know what you will hear in my house.  Laughter is heard often, music, and then something like “That is not your toilet paper.”  The last is spoken to the puppy who thinks that toilet paper looks like a party streamer on a cardboard roll.   A home can hold many different sounds; kitchen sounds of meals being prepared and shared, favorite games and television shows, pets, getting ready to leave for the day, and coming home.  Getting along sounds and disagreement sounds. 

There are sounds that should never find themselves in a home, the sounds of terror, abuse, and infliction of harm.  We will be participating in a pay-it-forward project June 8 to help a place that changes the sounds from harm to home for young boys, the Miracles Can Happen Boys Ranch.  Whether the harm is from familial hurts or self-inflicted, this is a place where boys are taken into a loving home and brought up with a sense of worth and Christian values. 

What is a pay-it-forward project?  Well, seed money is received to go toward something that will help raise additional funds.  Then, the monies raised are donated to the boys ranch.  My mom was so excited when this opportunity came up, and went up with the idea of a concert where donations are taken for the ranch. 

Now that the date and time and location are set, all that is left is the music, right?  Well, there is a little more to it than that – and I’ll keep adding some updates from time to time here.  In the meanwhile, check out the flyer, add the event to your calendar, and we hope to see you there. 

The Day After Independence Day

   Last night I just couldn’t stay up to watch the fireworks.  So, I opted for an early bed time, knee propped up, book in hand, and sleep sitting heavy on my eyes.  I couldn’t see the fireworks, but I could hear the booms and sizzles as I lay there.  With the patriotic themes, music, and thoughts of the day, my mind turned to those who heard different booms on the nights in the days when the Declaration of Independence was written, adopted, and presented to the people.  As the word spread, battles had already been occurring.  Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Boston, and Montreal – many heard the boom of cannons and rifles. 

   I wondered about how they felt when they were hearing these booms, not the joy of fireworks and their beauty.  But, the sound of gunpowder launching an arsenal of bullets towards the enemy; there must have been many frayed nerves, stomachs upset with tension, the pounding of hearts.  The sound of hooves as horses and oxen moved men and artillery from place to place, the sound of feet moving together in marches across dirt roads.  The sounds of booms.

   And I also thought of different booms that occurred there shortly after attacks, after the war was over.  These were the booms of hammers, tools rebuilding and fixing up of homes and cities.  There were sounds of a new capital being built, saws moving through new wood, and celebrations that occurred. 

   Independence Day is a good day to celebrate with the boom of fireworks, so long as we don’t forget the booms that went into it.

The Choir Loft

   Sunday mornings I can be found sitting up in the choir loft of our local church.  I enjoy our slightly rambunctious, at times off key, normally enthusiastic singing.  In two rows, we divide into our parts, soprano, alto, tenor, and bass.  I am an alto and I’m used to hearing my part and the tenors behind me.  But, I know that what I hear is completely different from what our audience hears.  When we sing, the music travels out and it blends differently that if you are right there in the mix.

  A little girl joined us last Sunday, one of the choir members was helping to look after her.  Standing on the pew with her blond hair in two braids and silver bows, I saw little childish hands pull out a hymnal and flip through the pages.  We were all holding our choir books, she was simply modeling what we were doing.  But, how precious it was to see her flipping through the book and I watched her and recognized the titles of the songs that she was staring blankly at.  Then, the singing started.  The jaw in that round face dropped. “It sounds different up here?”  Big eyes looked at me and her head nodded.  She stood there turning round and round, taking it all in.

   I had two thoughts standing there, with a big grin plastered on my face.  Who could help it, she was so cute!  One thought was I wonder if that will be me one day.  Standing there, every tongue confessing that Christ is Lord, worshipping with the family of God – how it will sound when I am in the midst of the crowd!  My other thought was how quickly this little girl was modeling our behavior.  What a reminder that even without any formal lessons, we need to be cognizant of our behaviors with these children around us. 

   I hope one day to see her singing with great praise. 

The Sounds of the Day

   It’s Good Friday and I have been thinking about the sounds that would have comprised this day in Jerusalem. It is obviously a day that focuses on Jesus, and the sacrifice He made for us. However, I wonder what the sounds were like that day.
   It’s been like living in a rain forest here, a cold damp wet rain forest, which creates lovely sounds on the roof as I settle in to sleep. The sounds of the birds outside, the dogs as they bark their hellos, the television, the wind in the pines… there are just so many sounds surrounding me today.
   I wonder what the sounds were on that day in Jerusalem. After Christ died, after his body was removed from the cross. The heckling sounds, the feet on the roads, and the sound of the hammer and nails have all faded. Now, it is the sounds of soldiers and the sigh of wood as it is relieved of its weight. The night sounds could have occurred. People would have returned to their homes, I wonder what that sound was. Doors opened and closed, and what were the conversations that occurred? Had the fever of the day been broken with the realization of the actions of the day and its consequences? Were voices lowered in fear or raised in irritation? Did children sense the tension and rev up their little motors to pitches normally only reached during full moons? Were there the sounds of sobs in the streets or laughter?
  Today we remember. Today we think back and remember the actions, sights, and sounds of that day.

Music

   The last vestiges of a cold is hanging on stubbornly, so I want to pencil these words (metaphorically) before the cold meds kick in and kick me out. Friday evening found me, sniffles and all, in the sanctuary of a local church listening to the Moody Bible Institute Women’s Concert Choir and Hand Bell Ensemble. The music was beautiful, every word and phrase carefully planned. The attention to the details, the endings of the words, the focus on the director, it led to a wonderful overall creation of sound. But, in the midst of that beautiful collection of music, it was something else that struck me. The presence of the choir was like a sweet wind that cleared out the cobwebs of a musty place. You know that feeling when spring first has a nice warm day and you open the windows, the winter air is finally blown away and the spring smells and freshness comes in. This was the impression I had watching this choir as they performed their pieces.

   The musicians, they have held a special place throughout time. They have heralded eternal moments with angelic songs, marched with trumpets, made the processional way with harps, lyres, and cymbals. Psalms 81 spoke of the song, “Sing for joy to God our strength; shout aloud to the God of Jacob! Begin the music, strike the timbrel, play the melodious harp and lyre.” Sing, shout, strike, play – these onomatopoeia type words can also be heard in laughter, prayer, and praise. It is not always the beautiful concert music that is so carefully planned and expressed that praise can be found. It can be in the coo of a baby, the sigh of a sleeper, the long smell at a fresh baked pie, the ummmmm of a savory bite enjoyed. These are all praise, they praise the Maker, the Provider.
   Make music, sing a song.

In Tune

   I grew up singing by ear, where written music was optional and the harmony just came naturally. Some songs the parts were and are so distinct in my mind that I didn’t even need to have someone sing lead out loud, I could just hear it. Now, I love for people to sing and be comfortable with joining in no matter what their voice is like. It’s really all about making a joyful noise and not all about the beauty of a particular voice. But, if I’m listening to someone perform, yeah, I’ll admit that I prefer that the singer be on key. There was someone singing the 1938 hit “I’ll Be Seeing You,” and as she hit the words her voice slide off the tone into a misplaced flat. Wow, my entire focus of the beauty of the tune and the farewell in the words shifted to the notes. Being in tune can be so important or the entire focus will be lost.

   Life can be much the same way. Our choices are the notes on the page. We decide where the pitch will land. When we slide off of our notes, we find the joy slipping and growing ragged. We have to pitch back up or down to find the correct note. In the meanwhile, we can forget the words and be drawn into the sourness of the tones. Pitch back up and remember the words, keep your heart and choices in tune with God’s love. Let your song be a beautiful one.

Wind Chimes

   I was walking down the side walk and heard wind chimes making sound in the breeze. A soft striking sound followed a beautiful tone ringing out that seemed to just float in the breeze. As I enjoyed the sound, I thought about how wind chimes work. There are these tubes that just hang there. They don’t really make any beautiful sounds until struck, moved by a breeze.

   We often are just like the wind chime tubes. We would just hang there and not make any beautiful sounds, until we are struck by the movement in the wind. Our interactions with others, our movements and conversations can act like the wind. They move the striker along, sometimes softly and sometimes with great force. Without the movement, the sound would not occur. Without the sound, the chime is without purpose.
   Sometimes, we resist the movement, but let’s make music instead.

Dear Autumn,

   I walked out the door this morning, and you were here! I’m so excited to see you. Once again, your arrival is first rate. The leaves are just at a wonderful hue of color, and when the morning sun shines against them they are little lamps of tint and dyes. They crunch under foot and make beautiful waterfall sounds falling from the eaves. You have perfumed the air with the late blooming flowers, sweet and fragrant against the cooling earth. I look forward to the smooth feel of the pumpkins, the taste of the first cider, and the feel of cool wind and warm sun.

   Oh Autumn, I’m so glad you have come. I hope you can stay for a long while.

Bathroom Acoustics

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, I was going to be a band director or music teacher. If you ever have the chance to spend time in a music conservatory, you will find at least one section of hallway lined with tiny little rooms. In each room you will hear different musical sounds coming out, someone banging on a piano a few doors down, a vocalist trying out a new aria, a cellist or flautist running through scales. These little practice rooms do a fairly decent job of keeping the majority of the volume within their walls, though it does leak out in tiny tides of sound into the hallway and the neighboring areas.

The thing about the tiny little practice rooms, is that the acoustics are often really interesting. With so much very close wall space, the sounds will bounce around. So, materials may be added to the wall to flatten the sound back out. What fun is that? If you really want to have a great spot to sing and hear what it sounds like, go find a bathroom.
A cement block bathroom is the best, all that sound and it just is like a ping pong ball from side to side. A timid voice will sound full, a full voice will sound orchestrated. I tend to sing quietly most places, not even thinking about it. But, when I walk into a bathroom that has great acoustics, it’s hard not to just let go and sing loudly. If you ever walk into a bathroom and hear someone singing, don’t be alarmed – they may just be trying out the acoustics.

Tree Songs and Goose Honking

I can’t say I try to be normal, it’s not that I usually try to go out of my way to be different, I just am. How are you different you might ask? Well, I find myself signing just about everywhere I go. Yes, I know that I am not living in a musical, but there is just so much music around us.


Again, that may be a bit different, but not really strange – I mean other people may sing too. Then, I find myself at the park, singing to the goose. Let me back up and describe the scene. It was a late winter snow, thick and beautiful. A frost had settled onto the branches and each little stub of tree that is now starting to hold leaves. Coming down the hill, I stopped at the pond. Ice coated part of the pond, creating a small patch of water where the geese were gathering. They paddles around a bit, rather lazily, occasionally flapping wing and diving under the water in search of fish. Getting out of my car, I noticed how quiet it was. I just love that about snow. And in me, a song welled up, “Great is thy faithfulness….” Standing alone on the deck, watching the geese watch me, I sang (loudly) to the geese and the trees and anyone else listening. Frankly, most of the geese didn’t seem to care. But, one honked back at me. It wasn’t the evil goose honk that geese can do when they are in an attitude mood. Instead, it was more benign, more like it was joining in. Behind me, I could hear the branches creaking on the trees, ever so slightly moving. It felt like I was in the middle of a symphony of sound, a praise of God from many species of life.


I was reminded of this last night when reading in my devotions, Isaiah referred to the trees clapping their hands. I love that! That jogged the memory of reading how the stones would have cried out if the people had not as Jesus entered Jerusalem. What beautiful symphony is around us, tree songs and goose honkings, that we miss out on by not paying attention? As spring is here, sounds of the earth coming back to wakefulness abound – I want to take time to enjoy them and to remember, that great indeed is God’s faithfulness. Maybe they will even let me sing along.