Forever Beloved

Today I am thankful for being a country girl. For dirt roads and corn fields. For chicken raising and garden growing. For the ability to change my own oil, bake up a cake from scratch and put shingles on the roof. For learning to drive a 1946 John Deere H when I was 11. For cowboy boots, t-shirts and jeans. For loving to get muddy and spinning out every chance I get. For not being afraid to tackle any task while my husband is at work…whether it’s putting new plumbing in the toilet or replacing the thermocoupler on my furnace.  For my Mama showing me how to grow and can my own food. For my Dad teaching me dirt washes off, how to replace a universal joint, how to mix bondo {which I love the smell of…is that weird?} and how to weld and braze. For being country since the first breath I took, even when it wasn’t cool. There is no place else I’d rather be than in my little Small Town, USA.

I am so completely thankful for music. It’s such a HUGE part of our lives in this household. With one note it can take you soaring back to a moment in time. It can lift your soul. It can make you shed tears of grief. And it can make laugh. Music is a universal language, you don’t even have to understand the words if the artist is pouring their soul into the song.

Just as books have always always always been a huge part of my life, so has music. I can remember singing along with my Dad to a Statler Brothers record when I was just a wee one. He gave me my love of southern gospel quartets. Every summer, we would pack up the car and head an hour away to the Gospel Singing Convention. It was always one of my favorite days!

As a young girl, I can remember standing beside my parents every Sunday in church and waiting impatiently to sing a hymn. Singing was always my favorite part of the service. The song leader would announce the hymn number and I would quickly grab my hymnal and stand, always being one of the first ones up. As soon as the hymn would start, my Dad’s voice could plainly be heard above the rest of the congregation. When he would start singing, I would stand a little taller. I was so proud of my Dad’s singing voice, his ability to harmonize easily and his knowledge of virtually every verse of every hymn.

As I grew up, my love of music transpired into learning to play the piano, clarinet and bass clarinet. I was lucky enough to have a piano teacher that was also a Christian and attended the same church we did, so many of my weekly lessons were learning to play hymns. I can assure you there were many a night spent around the piano (not always willingly on my part), playing hymns with my Dad singing melody and me singing harmony. I can remember the neighbors saying how they enjoyed sitting on their porches in the summer listening to us. And Sunday mornings when the song leader would call out a hymn that I KNEW we had practiced at home, I would do a little victory dance inside. I would stand up and sing beside my Dad as loud as I could.

Music for me was always a way to let my emotions out. There are songs to this day that still invoke the memories of what it meant to me years ago. Hold on by Wilson Philips takes me back to my freshman trip. To be with you by Mr. Big takes me to a dance after a wrestling match one cold, winter Friday night. And we can’t forget Friends by Michael W. Smith. Oh, so so many tears were shed at church camp while singing that song around the fire. Funny, years later (we won’t discuss just how many years it’s been, please.and.thank.you) I still get teary when I hear that song come on.

I am so super thankful for music and all the memories it has given me over the years and the way it has left mile markers along my journey.