Picking up on Five Minute Friday’s prompt word (a day late), thinking maybe it’ll help jump start my blogging, I see the cue is “sing”…
I don’t stand beside him in church very often any more, so I don’t know. Maybe he’s finally started to sing again. Our lives cross more in emails and phone calls and visits to “the farm.” He, my son, brings his daughter, my granddaughter, and she runs free and muddy for a weekend before returning to a proper world on Sunday night. And she does sing. Still.
But he doesn’t.
I remember my first memory of her singing in my house. She was still a baby, in for her nap, the intercom on. And I heard soulful singing coming over it. “Deep and wide, Deep and wide,” her little voice crooning, pitch perfect!
But Daddy doesn’t sing.
He used to. When he was little we sang together, he and I, often. Even silly made-up songs. But then we became part of a family where the male persona was connected with not-singing, with claiming not to be able to carry a tune, and all that. Was singing a female realm only? It seemed so, there and then.
So he stopped singing. Lost his confidence in belting out a tune, joining in the hymns at church, laughing songs together.
What a loss, I have often thought. To be free to sing, not just silently mouth words, totally unconcerned about having to produce a certain quality outcome or protect an image, is to my mind one of God’s beautiful gifts to mankind. What better way is there to lift up one’s soul, let it pour out one’s heart and fly free? What better way to praise God with the whole being?
I hope he sings now, if only in secret.
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