Yesterday was the definition of a blustery day. It was rainy and windy and COLD. I had spent the day running here and there; I dropped off Lily and Emmy at their respective schools, I went to my MOPS meeting, I ran errands and picked up Emmy from a playdate. When evening finally came and I had made dinner, the girls were settling down for bed. The last thing I wanted to do was go back outside. However, I had one more obligation left.
I rushed to fill the dishwasher, throw the unfolded laundry off my bed and back into a basket in case I got home late, and put pajamas on Emmy. I smoothed out their unmade beds, which in our morning rush we rarely make. I laid out pajamas for Lily, who was reading with her daddy.
Emmy trailed behind me as I gathered together my shoes, purse and coat. “But I don’t want you to go, Mommy!” Deep inside, I didn’t want to go, either. I gave her a big hug and a kiss.
Gently pushing her toward Ed, I said, “Go read a book with Daddy,” and gave Lily her hug and kiss.
I drove toward church, almost hypnotized by the radio and the drizzling rain. I was tired and really didn’t want to be out and about again.
As I opened the door to the back of the building, I could hear the choir rehearsing already. They finished singing the hymn as I sat down in my spot. Our director stood up and taught us a breathing technique he learned at a conference. “Breath down low,” he said. As I drew in a breath, I felt pinpricks of pain all over my upper body from all the stress I was holding in. They made me not want to breath at all.
But slowly, carefully, I began to take slow, deep breaths and the pinpricks slowly started to ease.
We started to rehearse in earnest, first and second sopranos blending together, then adding altos, tenors and basses. The pinpricks were disappearing.
“Take out your Bach books,” our director said.
Bach. I love singing Bach!
Our voices raised, harmonies flowed, and our praises lifted up above us, along with the last of my aches and pains.
When rehearsal was over, the blustery day had turned into a blustery night. As I drove home, pop songs were playing on the radio. After singing such joyous, praise-filled music, the stuff on the radio seemed lifeless and trite. But that didn’t matter. My heart was full and light again, and I was looking forward to coming home to my husband and kissing my children in their beds.