For the past few days, I've been trying to write an article on femininity. I don't know if I've succeeded (it's a tough subject) but it did make me think about my senior year in college, when classmates were applying for fellowships and graduate schools and performance programs in Europe.
I could have done the same. I could have continued living from spotlight to spotlight, eating and breathing beautiful, classical music, drinking champagne at performance receptions, hearing the applause from the crowd after a moving night of melodic extravaganza.
But there was something about the performance world that bothered me. Even my friends in the choir, who would have happily performed on a street corner for a flock of pigeons, did not understand how I felt when we sang the words "Hallelujah!" and "Agnus Dei". To them (all of whom were not Christians), music was the highest calling. They sang for the beauty of the harmonies, while I sang for the Creator of the harmonies. No matter how much emotion my fellow singers put into a piece of music, it was always lacking something for me.
It's been years now since I've sung in a choir, and I do miss it. I miss the challenge. I miss a cappella singing and the intensity of blending voices together. But I've found something better. This morning, the children's choir sang "Hosanna! Hosanna! You are the God who saves us, worthy of all our praises!" I had taught them the sign language for the chorus, so people would have a visual for the words and, I hope, gain a deeper appreciation for the lyrics as they sang them. As the children sang and signed, my heart was lifted. Sixteen little voices in unison (when they weren't off-key) filled me with more joy than a symphony and a hundred-voice chorus could. I may never sing in Carnegie Hall, and that's okay. I know where I'll be singing for all eternity.
But there was something about the performance world that bothered me. Even my friends in the choir, who would have happily performed on a street corner for a flock of pigeons, did not understand how I felt when we sang the words "Hallelujah!" and "Agnus Dei". To them (all of whom were not Christians), music was the highest calling. They sang for the beauty of the harmonies, while I sang for the Creator of the harmonies. No matter how much emotion my fellow singers put into a piece of music, it was always lacking something for me.
It's been years now since I've sung in a choir, and I do miss it. I miss the challenge. I miss a cappella singing and the intensity of blending voices together. But I've found something better. This morning, the children's choir sang "Hosanna! Hosanna! You are the God who saves us, worthy of all our praises!" I had taught them the sign language for the chorus, so people would have a visual for the words and, I hope, gain a deeper appreciation for the lyrics as they sang them. As the children sang and signed, my heart was lifted. Sixteen little voices in unison (when they weren't off-key) filled me with more joy than a symphony and a hundred-voice chorus could. I may never sing in Carnegie Hall, and that's okay. I know where I'll be singing for all eternity.
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