When I was growing up, my mom often made meals out of leftovers—not just leftovers from the night before, but from a few different meals. My dad, a lover of acronyms, called these meals LBOT2, meaning “Little Bit Of This, Little Bit of That.” That’s what this blog post is tonight—a little bit of this, and a little bit of that—a hodgepodge of thoughts and reflections.
Every morning, Monty does his “outdoor chores,” as he calls them. One of these chores is to fill our birdfeeders and squirrel feeders. This morning, he’s out there for so long that I go to the window to see what he’s doing. He’s wandering in and out of the garage, going into the backyard, then back to the garage. Finally, he comes inside and says, “I can’t find my nut bag.” He stands there thinking, then says, “I wonder if a squirrel stole my nuts.” He goes back outside and comes right back in, laughing. “I just realized how that sounded,” he says. Still laughing, he goes back outside. My heart feels like it’s stretching itself into a smiling emoji, and I think, Oh, God, thank You for that man!
I’m going through videos on my phone, trying to find one I took of the boys so I can show it to Monty. I find a video of Monty’s birthday dinner. We all sing “Happy Birthday” to him, and he blows out the candles. The video ends, and I have a thought—people are at their most beautiful right before they blow out their birthday candles. They’re surrounded by love and being celebrated for the purest reason—the fact that they were born and exist in this world. The candlelight adds to the glow on their faces as they look around and take in all the love they hear in the familiar tune of “Happy Birthday.” Just before they blow out the candles, they pause to make a wish, and there it is—that moment of pure beauty.
At choir practice, I sit next to my brother, who runs sound for the choir. Mom directs the choir, my dad sings in it, and so does Monty. I’m here to spend some time with my brother and to listen to the choir as they work on their Easter cantata. I watch Mom as she directs. The movement of her arms is so familiar to me; I’ve seen her direct choirs countless times. I watch Monty singing, his eyes on Mom. And I think about the first time he sang in a choir directed by Mom—thirty-five years ago, when Mom was our school music teacher. Monty fell in love with music then, and that love has always been one of my most favorite things about him. I wonder, as I watch him singing, how many other kids fell in love with music because of my mom? How many other lives were changed because of her upbeat encouragement and special way of nurturing the gifts of the people in her choirs? How many timid singers became confident soloists? How many singers and listeners had transformative moments because of the music that Mom chose—music that spoke of God’s love? I can’t fathom it, but I’m so inspired by it.
Mom directing the elementary school choir, 1984.
Mom directing the Haxtun Community Choir, 2019.
If there were an Olympic event for tossing cat treats, I’d medal in it. When I toss treats to Mackin, I have to land them right in front of his face or he can’t find them. Seamus would never lower himself to fetch treats, so I only have to put them in a neat pile in front of him. But Carrick loves a challenge. So I toss his treats clear across the room, making them bounce, first off the coffee table then from the carpet to our tiled entryway. I watch Carrick tonight after he gets his treats and starts his nightly playtime. He reminds me of a pirate whose ship is our house. He runs around the ship, fur bushy and eyes dilated, looking for a fight. He skids around corners, flying right into his brothers’ faces. He feints right and left in a little gallop as if he’s saying, “Ahoy, matey! Let’s fight!” After starting a few fights that I have to break up, he goes on his nightly treasure hunt, raiding trash cans and cupboards, looking for things to steal—ponytail holders, gum wrappers, rolls of toilet paper—if he can carry it, he’ll steal it. He runs off with his treasures and hides them, then comes back, ready to collapse into an exhausted sleep with Mackin. Seamus watches these goings-on with disdain, interested only when it’s time to box Carrick’s ears and send him flying. Mackin watches, fascinated, waiting for Carrick to get tired. And I watch, thinking, Thank you, God, for these three boys You chose just for us.
I’m standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window at the first hint of green in our yard. I’m thinking about the next season of my life, wondering what it will hold. I have music on, as usual, and a song comes on. Its simple melody hooks me, and I listen closely to the words. I start to cry, my heart beating with the certainty that God chose this song for me. This is His serenade, reminding me that His relentless love will carry me through the next season—no matter what bits of this and bits of that it might hold. God speaks to me through the song lyrics, saying, “I’m giving you all My love.” And my heart responds, “I feel it. I see it! I’m still looking up.”
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Renee, sometimes it is the special little moments in life that keep us going some times, l love watching our two puppies play in the front room or playing with the dogs out side, spending time with one my grand kids or trying to find the humor in what seems an impossible situation.
Great blog hope all is well with everyone.
Love,
Grover
Grover–thank you for giving me some of those moments–for describing what brings you joy. Finding the humor is so, so important! That’s a lesson that took me way too long to learn. Thank you for reading this and adding to it. My love to you.
In Japanese news reported today, a study of cats and owners confirmed that cats know their names when called and can distinguish between their names and similar-sounding syllables.
Who would have thought it?
Oh, I think cats know much more than we think they do. But it’s nice to hear them get cred it for it. 😊 This made me smile–thank you. And much love to you.
I love this! All these moments that come together and remind us of our purpose, that we’re never alone, that people (or fur-kids) are brought into our lives for a reason. That our lives are meaningful and beautiful.
Thank you for reminding me to enjoy the little moments and to stop and really see the beauty in those moments ❤️
Jennifer–thank you for your beautiful words. “Our lives are meaningful and beautiful.” That is one perfect statement and what I fight to live by every day. Thank you. ❤
Good morning, Sparrow. I enjoyed LBOT2. At first I thought, h’mm, Sparrow is writing a “political piece”, but I soon “picked up” on your “spirit” of this blog. My Mom and Dad would “throw together” LBOT2 meals. They were thrifty, having lived through “the great depression”, etc. At an early age, maybe 3 or 4 I would sit, listen to my Mother play piano, and sing. That is where I got my “musical Baptism”.Then I grew into sing8ng, first at church in NYC, and itjust grew in me. I too, love giv8ng “doggie treats” to my Dogs, throughout my life. I know they love them. I usually “To is” the treats, they “catch” in mid air. Once again, your Blogs br8ng me, happy moments and memories in life. You ar3 very fortunate to h@vex!onty in your life, as I know you realize. His sense of humor, his love @nd dedication to you are , “inspiring”. I could g9 on and on, As we, I, go through the “seasons of life”, each season, I treat as @n adventure, and the anticipation, of going to that next stage/room is exciting, neve4 boring. But, we must all realize, “today” is our moment, what’s past is past,. The Carly Simon song, “Anticipation”, yes, “these are The Good Old Days”. F8nally, I have always been an “encourager”, thank you for br8nging that one word to “the top of my skull” today. Excellent blog, keep on blogging” ❤️TexGen
TexGen–I love your phrase “musical baptism.” I never thought of it like that before. When that moment happens, it’s so special and life-changing–especially for people like you whose hearts and heads are always full of music. Thank you for what you said about Monty; you described him well. And you gave me a word to focus on today–anticipation. So, yes, you are an encourager. You certainly are one to me. Thank you for sharing what was in the “top of your skull” this morning. I so appreciate it. ❤
I love music. I can remember lyrics better than any other written or spoken word. I can relate to both in ways deeper than other forms of expression.
Even though I had choir classes in Jr and high school, I can’t read music. I can follow the ups and downs of the notes as they dance across the line, but without the piano or other instruments- I’d be absolutely clueless.
My first experience with adult choir was under your mom’s direction. At the beginning, I felt overly out of place. But she never seemed to notice (or judge) my lack of musical training. She brought out a deep desire to serve Jesus through my mediocre voice. One that alone, sounded great to me singing along to the radio, but in reality was just so-so. But… when joined with other voices, produced something impactful. I loved being a part of the wonderful cantatas under your Mom’s direction. Choir also gave me the confidence to branch out into serving on the drama team.
Dottie made choir fun. We were a life group that concerned itself with the growth and well being of each other. I have beautiful memories of those days and miss having that opportunity now.
Your musings made me smile. Thank you, Renae!
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Oh, Lisa, what a gift you’ve given me and, I know, my mom. Your description of the choir and what it meant to you is so beautiful. I read it and thought–“yes, exactly! That’s exactly what it’s like to be a part of Mom’s choir!” I especially loved your description of the choir as “a life group that concerned itself with the growth and well-being of each other.” That’s so true. Thank you for taking the time to share your words. And, by the way, I, too, have one of those sounds-great-with-the-radio voices. 😊