celebrating with all their might before
God, with songs and with harps, lyres,
timbrels, cymbals and trumpets.
(1 Chronicles 13:8) NIV
I’m taking a diversion from my regular bloggy-type posts today to confess there’s a song that plays in my head constantly…actually, it rattles my fillings. You wouldn't recognize it. It has no real name, yet it flows on jagged sound waves from my dining room each morning at …sharp.
From the well-worn pages of the beloved Arban’s rigorous workout for trumpets, my husband serenades each new dawn with my personal favorite, exercise #15, before moving on to Haydn’s Concerto. He throws in a taste of Bolero, some “…doggy in the window…” (for our two fur-bearing buddies) or maybe even a little mariachi tune, depending on his mood, and likes to wrap things up with either The Old Rugged Cross or My Tribute.
Various guitars, banjos, a piano, trumpets and more trumpets, even a flute, saxophone and baritone have become as cherished family members over the years. They each serve a purpose in our home. They all bring joy (even when they’re safely tucked away in their cases).
Actually, I’m very thankful for the gift of music; the way it reaches in and soothes the soul…or injects a burst of John Philip Sousa into a perfectly nice morning as I inch my coffee cup closer to my lips.
I’m grateful for a husband who has shared his love of music and his abilities with our children since they were old enough to hold an instrument. Way back then, I had no idea we would be a band-geek family, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I’ve probably complained more than necessary over the years about the lack of peace and quiet in my home (hence, the blog), especially now that our parrot has also joined in our “family band” with some random opera song that smacks of Ethel Merman on steroids! Please, stop the madness!
Honestly, I love my band-geek, drum-corps loving, marching band family and the music that fills our lives. My mom-heart overflows each time my kids take the field, suited up, shined up and confident. With pride, I watched my son receive the Louis Armstrong Award for his trumpet abilities last year. I’ve smiled with pride each Sunday for the past 9 years as he has sat next to my husband in church playing with our worship team. And I love that my daughter can switch from mellophone to flute to saxophone depending on the season. But the best instrument of all? The one that plays in my mind that reminds me of the bonds, the friendships and the memories created and bound together by the love of music.
Check out my original version/venting session in “Confessions of a Trumpet-Player’s Wife” at Halftime Magazine…