Christmas is my favorite season for music. From “O Holy Night” to “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer,” I never tire of listening to Christmas songs.
The Christmas season was also my favorite time to sing. There’s something magical about Christmas music. Perhaps it brings about the anticipation of a silent night with loved ones, or maybe it brings to mind memories that remain distant throughout the remainder of the year. For me, Christmas songs are representations of the possibility of redemption. For a few weeks out of the year, fairytales and storybook endings feel real.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been coming to terms with the likelihood that I will never sing publicly again. It’s been a devastating realization, especially amidst the holiday season when so many of my favorite songs are on constant rotation.
I’ve toyed with the idea of going to church just so I could sing along to the carols from the anonymity of my seat. But I’m still filled with too much anxiety and dread to darken the church doorstep just yet. I’ve questioned why I should bother with wanting to sing songs like “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem” when the lyrics mean far less to me than they used to, but I’ve come to understand I still enjoy those songs because of the nostalgia they stir up in me. They represent a sort of home for an otherwise homeless heart.
So when I attended the Christmas concert in which my daughter was singing at the local university, I was pleasantly surprised to find a bit of home I used to find only at church. The audience was invited to sing along during several carols, and our ears were treated to a Christmas choral delight the rest of the evening. For an hour and a half, my fingers, toes and soul moved with rhythms. I lost myself in the high notes of the first sopranos–the notes that were always my favorite to sing.
As I watched the singers get lost (or maybe find themselves) in the music, I was reminded of similar experiences. Whether it was singing “Breath of Heaven” to a small group of senior adults or “My Soul Will Magnify the Lord (The Magnificat)” to an auditorium full of a thousand people, my heart felt the same: full. For me, the joy of singing was in watching the song transform the listeners’ faces and eyes . . . much the same way mine were changed during the concert.
Beautiful post, Rebekah. I, too, come from a very musical family. Each of my kids is a talented musician and a great singer. When they come home, our house is filled with all sorts of music. I have this notion, which has some scientific validity, that the universe sings. Perhaps its harmony is what holds it all together. Whether in front of an audience, or in the shower, singing is never a private affair. We join the universal choir that somehow, mysteriously touches us all. Thanks for lending your voice to the universe’s music, in whatever setting you do so. We are all somehow touched by it. Shalom, sister.