Voices

My family loves to sing.  Some of those numbered among us are excellent and are allowed to qualify themselves as a 'singer', others sound good in a group (which is excellent because as we gather around Grams' piano it is usually in large numbers), while others can't carry a tune in a 10 gallon bucket.  But we sing.  We sing in the shower.  We sing while getting ready, which is grand when the four girls at the mirror decide on the same song but a bit difficult when James Taylor is being sung in one corner of the house and Taylor Swift in the other as our voices are loud!  We sing in the car with our windows down, we like fresh air and providing entertainment to the passersby.  We sing when we hear a good tune in the mall or if a melody randomly pops into our heads as we walk down the beach.  We sing in the kitchen as we cook. We sing to the little ones as they rub their eyes and cling to their favorite blanket.  We then gather around the piano or hand the guitar to the most capable and sing through the night.  Its who we are and I love it.

One of my favorite moments of the week is the first hour of worship on Sunday, especially when I'm with my family.  As the single, and favorite, granddaughter/daughter/niece/sister/cousin I get to sit next to whomever I choose.  My choice is never difficult.  I sit on the open side of Gramps or Papa, Uncle or cousin, brother (it is a rare Sabbath when there is more than one of them as choice but on such an occasion I usually choose the eldest of them all).  As that first song's introduction is played they each pull out that green hymnal and hold it for me to see, no need to share the weight.  Then it begins, they sing in full voice their praises to the heavens.  My heart is happy.  I tend to get lost in the strength and testimony buoying up each note they release and miss a verse or two with my own voice.  Its peaceful and splendid.

Growing up Papa worked for Uncle Tom.  Uncle Tom is a burly man with a heart of gold.  Uncle Tom's smile warms a room and his laugh is infectious.  Uncle Tom loves to open up that green hymnal and sing but the notes he finds are rarely written on the page, in fact I'm not certain they could be written.  He is not a musical genius creating a harmony for the heavens to pause and listen to.  Rather, he is so far from the melody and a sweet harmony that some may be offended.  Not me.  I grew with him sitting a row behind us each Sunday.  And his voice, to me, is just as sweet as those men in my family as it is full of life, joy, and hope. Hearing "I Know that My Reedemer Lives" as Uncle Tom sings it with such passion and conviction in said truth is something that, even thinking of it now, makes my heart happy.  I miss him sitting behind me on Sundays.

When I'm away from family I attempt to find someone with a suit coat on primarily as I'm a frozen girl always but especially in places of worship where the air conditioner is turned on 365 days a year at full blast.  But then, just below that on my list of hopes, is someone that sings with the joy of Uncle Tom.  Ace was my companion for a bit as we shared a home.  And that nine o'clock meeting that forced me to be awake by seven thirty was my favorite the minute that low note was hit half way through the first verse.  I would stop singing and he would smirk, knowing I was happy with the sound.  When he left it was rough finding a replacement but Binx or Doc would bring the same happiness.  Binx delicately hitting the harmony and Doc maybe finding two right notes in a five verse hymn ... they just love singing and it makes this heart happy.

Apart from Sunday I seek company that isn't afraid to belt out a tune.  Anytime I'm with that friend that is that friend I call when the world falls apart I will look up to him, bat my eyes a bit, hook my arm in his and ask for a bit of "Magic", something from Guys and Dolls, or a bit of Billy Joel.  Walking down the street of Salt Lake or driving with the top down and California sun on my face is better with his voice in my ear.  Its an immediate feeling of security.  Its an immediate reminder of when life was a bit simpler.  Its an immediate smile on face and wave of happiness in my heart.

Late Saturday nights are pretty close to perfect when a guitar is in hand and an unabashed voice graces the air.

When I'm alone in the car or attempting to bring order to a month's worth of clean laundry strewn on my bedroom floor my music of choice is the 'Testosterone Tunes' ... not a Rocky medley but rather a compilation of songs sung in a beautiful male voice.  I go from Mikey and Straight No Chaser to Uncle Mike's music.  Bui-Doi to Lilly's Eyes to Forever in Blue Jeans.  I'm just more incline to not begrudge the laundry pile or yell at the car that cut me off if a male voice is ringing in my ear.

I don't think I'm alone in my love the male voice.  Last night we listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Nathan Pacheco.  The choir was spotless, as usual.  Nathan took my breath away, over and over again. I was at the edge of my 15th row on the balcony seat, awaiting each note.  The entire audience of thousands matched my enthusiasm and eagerness for the next word, stanza, and song.  Why Mac didn't allow him a final portion of "Come Thou Fount" is the first thing I will address with Mac, if I ever meet him.  Nathan's voice reaches the hidden pockets of your heart.  It causes eruptions of feelings that you were certain no longer existed, or at the very least were packed tightly away in a dark corner, as it transcends any inability to 'use words'. It makes me happy.

Singing voices, whether pitchy, far from the melody or any fathomable harmony, or spot on make me happy. Please sing today!