Sing, Momma

He was an impatient little two-year-old.

So cute - no doubt about it.

But so impatient.

I was putting breakfast on the table and had decided this cold North Carolina morning, three days before Thanksgiving in 1979 would be a great time for hot chocolate.

Steam was rising from the three Styrofoam cups as I said, "let it cool a bit."

Eight-year-old Becca listened, as did five-year-old Renee. However - my impatient little Tray thought he knew better than his momma.

He reached across and pulled it toward him.  Suddenly that hot water was running not just across the table, but splashing on his body.

I grabbed him, put him in the sink and begin to spray cold water. What I hadn't realized that when I grabbed him, the chenille bathrobe I was wearing held heat - and that made the burn worse.

We were on the way to the hospital in Lexington, and as I held him in my arms, I sang Jesus Loves Me and sometimes he would try to sing. I can almost hear his sobbing voice "nobody can do it like McDonald's can."

The trip was a 30-minute drive.  When it got quiet in our car, he would say "Sing, Momma."

Those words have stayed with me.  When I am frightened or worried, I sing.

Besides, "He who sings frightens away his ills" (Miguel De Cervantes).

I have been reminded of those words as we are in this stage of my mother's life.  She sang in her high school women's ensemble.  I have heard that she even soloed at a wedding or two. When daddy was in the Philippines during WWII, however, she stopped singing.

She would sing the hymns in church, but she was never in the choir, and she rarely sang at home. The years before daddy's passing, I would often hear them singing as they shared in a time of devotion early in the morning.

As her hearing continued to diminish, she tried to sing, but well I should just say she tried to sing.

I was with her recently at a gathering that included a performance of various songs.  It ended with Amazing Grace and I tried to get her to sing along, but she kept her mouth closed. So, I leaned into her ear and sang the words along with the musicians.  I'm not sure how much she heard, but to me, it was a wonderful experience.  And I have decided to keep doing that.... when I go visit her from now on, I'm going to sing to her.

Maybe someday she will say "Sing, Paula."

May your life be filled with enough Sunshine 

to make you appreciated the Shadows