The one thing I regret never having said to my mother was a question: "Who sang to you?"
She sang to me. To us. From her we were given a deep and abiding love for music.
Where He Leads Me I will Follow. She sang that to me and I cried. Reflecting, I suppose, in some deep, subconscious toddler fashion upon the trials and joys of Christian discipleship. At any rate, she thought it was cute.
I taught my sisters to sing harmony. Three part harmony, because there were three of us and three notes make a chord. Of all the things I miss about making music, singing harmony is the thing I miss most.
The rain sings on my roof, each drop sounding a different note. It is as if God is singing me to sleep in the most soothing voice imaginable. A voice as of many waters and I am reminded what exquisite harmonies there will be in heaven. Isaiah tells us that all creation will sing:
For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace:
And the mountains and the hills before you
Shall break forth into singing,
And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Harmonious singing and rythmic clapping.
Who sang to you?