In the shower this morning, my mom’s voice got stuck in my head. I’m not sure how I transitioned from shaving my legs to sitting near her knee, but I was there. Her nylon string acoustic guitar resting on her thigh, and a group of us around singing “If I were a butterfly, I’d thank you Lord for giving me wings…” She had a way of singing the end of the chorus and thumping twice on the hollow body of the guitar.
Last Sunday in church, my mom and dad sang with me in church… even though they are 1154.3 miles away. I started singing the final hymn with the good and friendly folk at St. Giles. But about halfway through my parents voices filled my ears. My Dad’s tenor, my mom’s … she can sing a big range and she would pick what she was in the mood for – soprano or alto. They both would sometimes sing melody and other times harmony – always perfectly, always clear, always like they meant what they were singing.
A few days ago, I heard my girls laughing in their bedroom. And then I heard my sister join in the laughter. And my brother. Only it was my one daughter who sounds so much like Lisa that I was really hearing. But for a minute I was many years and many miles away with their voices.
This is my Cloud of Witnesses. Or part of it anyway.