1 | Three Little Birds

The music starts at 7:04 in the podcast.
Hope is flexible, bendable, and brilliantly uncomplicated. It can also be bright, like a piece of glow-in-the-dark silly putty in the basement. Or warm and inviting like a sunny morning with birds on the window.

Which is what Bob Marley sings about in "Three Little Birds."  This is one of those cheerful, uplifting songs that inspires people to look for the good.

The optimism of the phrase, "Every little thing is going to be alright," knows no limits. Knowing some of the upheaval going on when he wrote this, there's bound to be more to it that the simple hope it talks about. But there is the beauty in it. It's open to interpretation for all of us to make it our own, regardless of what circumstances inspired it.

It makes the song timeless and immortal.

For me, this song represents my first venture into learning a new instrument, which is a neat and tidy spark of hope all by itself.  My good friend, who is also the head of the music ministry, basically forced me into learning the baritone ukulele so I could serve more people. I was more than hesitant. More like resistant. Not that I didn't want to learn it, but I didn't believe I could. I was old, after all... (I know, 40 isn't old, but your fingers are stiffer and slower than they were at 15, for sure.) With his direction and "encouragement," I looked up how-to-play-ukulele videos and bought a baritone uke off of Amazon. His suggestion of a baritone was perfect. Not only does it have a lower register that fits my voice better, it's kind of like training wheels for the guitar. The chord positions are very much like guitar (which happens to be my favorite instrument), so if I ever got "hopeful" enough, I could transition to playing the guitar fairly quickly. Bless him for suggesting such a perfectly optimistic beginning instrument.

In the early fall, with autumn leaves changing, I began to strum out the chords of this little gem of a song. It was simple enough, but my fingers were slow to change to the chords. Two dedicated weeks later, I finally got my fingers and callouses to smoothly slide across the frets. Three simple chords for Three Little Birds.

But there's more to this one.

It's Gemma*.
Gemma is my very first client that I was given to as a single minister. Gemma is a young mom who had a terrible accident. Not able to communicate, Gemma is permanently paralyzed. When I met with her mom, she told me that Gemma liked Bob Dylan. So, I made it my goal to learn a Bob Dylan song just for Gemma. This sweet song fit the bill perfectly.

So, it's the first song I learned on my bari, and it's the first song I shared as a solo minister, with Gemma, who could probably use all the hope she can get.

Thank goodness the song was brilliantly uncomplicated. Like Hope is.

What brings you hope?

*name changed.

Songs with Stories - a Music Ministry

I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me --like food or water. -- Ray Charles

Ownership:
These might as well be my words, though Mr. Charles spoke them more eloquently than I could. Maybe that's why I have to sing. Not want to. When I sing a song I care about, even though I, in actuality, did not write it, I feel like they are my words. I feel not like I own the thoughts, but that somehow, they belong to me.

Connection:
Why does someone write a song? Or sing one? Why this urgency to share?  Humans crave connection, to feel like something matters, like we aren't alone in the great chaotic cosmos. Songs bridge that connection somehow, allowing others to hear words, like lights strung on a melody and be illuminated by them. From current music, to the troubadours and chanters of the pre-renaissance era, to the ancient Greek Seikilos Epitaph, to prehistoric oral traditions, music resonates beyond Time's restrictions.

Troubador: Story-singers, not story-tellers
All songs share something. And the best songs tell a story.  During the 11th to 13th centuries, a group of traveling singer-storytellers, known as troubadours, traveled France singing their stories. A troubadour was basically a poet who wrote verse to music. I think that's what I like most about singing. The storytelling is done musically. When I sing, I attempt to tell the story that I believe the writer had in mind.  And isn't that the beauty of a song? Someone else can attach words to a tune, but we relate to it and make it part of us, somehow the story-song belonging in us, joining us to the writer and the listener, a welding link, a connection.

Songs with Stories:
An a plane from Orlando, a 5 hour trip, I sat squashed between two other passengers. Tucking my elbows in so I didn't touch the people next to me, I flopped open the tray table and opened my iPad that I use when I sing to patients.  As a music minister for the terminally ill, I have a chance to change the subject of my client for a while. The joy I feel in the music travels the short space of the air between us.  And for a moment, the client, or the stranger, or whomever it might be, and I connect, like synapses, transferring energy and ideas.  We forget the reality in front of us, and just sing.

On this plane ride, as I was updating my ministry song list, Longing overtook me. Longing to share more than the songs in this list. More than the moments with my clients. More joy with music. More connection. How could I do this? Crowded in the seat, but lonely in my thoughts, the idea of Songs with Stories bloomed.

Ministry with hiStory:
The idea of sharing the histories of the songs or sharing non-origin, yet related, stories tied to the songs, stems from my experiences with music as a ministry.

Most of my life involved serving with music somehow. Raised in a musical family, I grew up harmonizing with my 7 siblings. I learned to harmonize at 10 years old on a church hymn. For literally decades, my family sang to our grandparents and aunts and uncles. My grandmother eventually landed in an Alzheimer's care center and every Sunday for 14 years, we would visit the people there and give impromptu concerts. In those very forgiving audiences, I made tons of musical mistakes, learned how to harmonize better, and learned to love people of differing abilities, instead of being scared of them.

I was lucky enough to serve a musical mission for my church when I was 21. For 4 months, I was able to tell some of the history of my church through song.

I have taught all ages of people with music. I spent many years teaching elementary age children church songs, helping them understand that they are divine and Jesus loves them. I have taught adult and youth Sunday School lessons using the messages of hymns to convey the ideas.  I also shared the messages of sacred pieces, whether in solos or choirs, and sometimes conducted the choir--which I am no good at. Truly. Still, conducting ability aside, some of the best teaching is done through song.

And a few years ago, I was blessed to be able to join a music ministry that sings for the terminally ill. Serving my grandma in her care center prepared me very well for this specific ministry.  So serving with music comes naturally. This podcast and blog are simply an extension of what I've been doing all my life.

Joy:
Grief can take care of itself, but to get the true measure of a Joy, one must share it. --Mark Twain.
Music is that Joy for me. Joy, when shared, doesn't diminish. It expands. So, that's why I started this. To allow my joy in music, specifically song, to be multiplied.  With my life ending minute by minute, I can't leave the planet with the music still in me.  Abrupt, trite, stereotypical, not-a-very-good-intro, whatever. Wasting time waiting for perfect words or reasons to start sharing the songs still leaves me with wasted time. It's time to just start.  Because each sunset with no songs sung is a day that snuggles up with a pillow named Regret.

On an ancient Greek marble stele, Seikilos recorded a song. The earliest complete musical composition known as of yet. It says:

"While you live, shine/
Have no grief at all/
Life exists only for a short while/
And time demands its toll."

I'll add to Seikilos's ruminations, and while I live,  I will try to expand joy by sharing songs and their stories.  I will try to sing and shine before Grief and Time require my voice to be silent.

You're invited. Come. Listen. Sing. Connect. Share the Joy.  Share with me these Songs with Stories.