Singing the Background
She sings bold notes, belting from her soul, loud and clear, deep and full, ringing through the acoustics into people's souls. She's young. A beauty pageant runner-up, straight-A student, former cheerleader, and vocal talent. Oh, and it seems important to mention that she has blond hair, big like Texas.
From my older and wiser lips, I sing softly, delicate and feminine, barely heard. I am the girl with hair that's destined to live out its days straighter and flatter than a memo sheet pinned to the wall, but I flutter a high-noted harmony that blends into her voice, elevating it. The background.
I am singing the background.
Without going into a long drawn out Amanda's Vocal History lesson, let me summarize it like this: I have always wanted to be a singer. I have never been all that great of a singer.
Time and experience have left me with a usable voice, but I will never be the Nora Jones or Adele that I dream of sounding like. In fact, the other day I was singing over suds and plates and spoons, and I decided to record myself with my camera. Friends, if you want to deflate your ego, record yourself singing. I could hear Randy Jackson saying to me, "Like, yo, dawg, it was pretty pitchy. Like I had trouble listening to it." Yeah.
In spite of my vocal shortcomings, years of trying to sing and playing the guitar have also left me with an ear that can pick out a harmony. I can't explain how I do it. I just do. I hear it in my head.
I don't have the voice that was made to shine. I was not made to be a soloist. I have the voice that was made to be in the background. It may seem un-important, but having been around bands and music teams for a long time, even leading one myself, I know, those background people cover the mistakes of the foreground people. They keep the melody reeled in tight when a young voice hits the power notes out of control. They cover the sharps and flats with the grace of their harmony.
All this got me thinking about parenting.
My son just started walking a few weeks ago. His walk is still a bit like Frankenstein--stiffed-kneed and arms out. While I was watching him walk, I had myself a moment. Tears. My baby is a toddler. He's turning 1 in a few days. {I am crying again writing this. Life is so fleeting and precious and changes so fast. From being the girl that wanted 4-6 kids, to having the hard pregnancies and a delivery that made me say "Maybe I am okay with 2," to now longing for another baby; can I just confess my sentiment: God, you are a tricky one, you are.}
Here's the truth about babies learning to walk: They walk when they are ready to walk. We, as parents, need to do very little. We stand in the background encouraging, arms out-stretched to meet their first steps. We wait and we watch and we are there to catch them should they tumble.
It seems like a lot of parenting is like this. We, the parents, are in the background singing the harmony helping our kids find their melody while they walk, then talk, first day of kindergarten, making friends, losing friends, first crush, first broken heart, discovering Jesus for themselves, wearing make-up, spiking hair, first dance... {I think I need to stop there. I don't want to be in tears again over this whole my-kids-will-be-grown-up-one-day thing.}
God made our kids wonderful and unique and special. He gave our kids talents, personalities, and a different way of seeing life and relating to God. He grafted onto our kids' hearts purpose, potential. As parents, we watch our kids' personalities come to life as they grow. We see their struggles. We see their strengths. We may not know exactly what they will grow up and do, but we want to see them get there (well kind of, I am pretty sure there is part of us that wishes our children could stay young forever). We want to see them walking in their purpose and in their dreams.
We want to see them belting out the melody of their life's song.
We want to be there to reel them in should they find themselves a little out of control.
We want to help them find the Grace that covers all their mistakes.
And because of this, there is a subtle harmony each parent was meant to sing over their child. We sing it as we watch those first steps. We sing it as we prepare them for their first day of school. We sing it as we tend to their broken heart. We sing it as we show them how to apply make-up or do their hair. We sing it even when they don't want to hear it, when their eyes roll, when they think they know more. We sing that soft, subtle harmony that lifts their voice, guides them to their melody. It's quiet, but it's wise. It never outshines the melody, but it is important.
No matter where your kids are in life, they need your harmony. They don't need you to sing melody. They don't need your will, they need you to lead them to God's Will. They need you to sing harmony, the background, the guiding role rather than the leading role. They need your prayers and your support, your grace.
{Side Note: I think this analogy translates well into church leadership too. The best kind of leaders are the one's that can sing the harmony so that those who follow can find their melody.}
What do you think?
Amanda
From my older and wiser lips, I sing softly, delicate and feminine, barely heard. I am the girl with hair that's destined to live out its days straighter and flatter than a memo sheet pinned to the wall, but I flutter a high-noted harmony that blends into her voice, elevating it. The background.
I am singing the background.
Without going into a long drawn out Amanda's Vocal History lesson, let me summarize it like this: I have always wanted to be a singer. I have never been all that great of a singer.
Time and experience have left me with a usable voice, but I will never be the Nora Jones or Adele that I dream of sounding like. In fact, the other day I was singing over suds and plates and spoons, and I decided to record myself with my camera. Friends, if you want to deflate your ego, record yourself singing. I could hear Randy Jackson saying to me, "Like, yo, dawg, it was pretty pitchy. Like I had trouble listening to it." Yeah.
In spite of my vocal shortcomings, years of trying to sing and playing the guitar have also left me with an ear that can pick out a harmony. I can't explain how I do it. I just do. I hear it in my head.
I don't have the voice that was made to shine. I was not made to be a soloist. I have the voice that was made to be in the background. It may seem un-important, but having been around bands and music teams for a long time, even leading one myself, I know, those background people cover the mistakes of the foreground people. They keep the melody reeled in tight when a young voice hits the power notes out of control. They cover the sharps and flats with the grace of their harmony.
All this got me thinking about parenting.
My son just started walking a few weeks ago. His walk is still a bit like Frankenstein--stiffed-kneed and arms out. While I was watching him walk, I had myself a moment. Tears. My baby is a toddler. He's turning 1 in a few days. {I am crying again writing this. Life is so fleeting and precious and changes so fast. From being the girl that wanted 4-6 kids, to having the hard pregnancies and a delivery that made me say "Maybe I am okay with 2," to now longing for another baby; can I just confess my sentiment: God, you are a tricky one, you are.}
Here's the truth about babies learning to walk: They walk when they are ready to walk. We, as parents, need to do very little. We stand in the background encouraging, arms out-stretched to meet their first steps. We wait and we watch and we are there to catch them should they tumble.
It seems like a lot of parenting is like this. We, the parents, are in the background singing the harmony helping our kids find their melody while they walk, then talk, first day of kindergarten, making friends, losing friends, first crush, first broken heart, discovering Jesus for themselves, wearing make-up, spiking hair, first dance... {I think I need to stop there. I don't want to be in tears again over this whole my-kids-will-be-grown-up-one-day thing.}
God made our kids wonderful and unique and special. He gave our kids talents, personalities, and a different way of seeing life and relating to God. He grafted onto our kids' hearts purpose, potential. As parents, we watch our kids' personalities come to life as they grow. We see their struggles. We see their strengths. We may not know exactly what they will grow up and do, but we want to see them get there (well kind of, I am pretty sure there is part of us that wishes our children could stay young forever). We want to see them walking in their purpose and in their dreams.
We want to see them belting out the melody of their life's song.
We want to be there to reel them in should they find themselves a little out of control.
We want to help them find the Grace that covers all their mistakes.
And because of this, there is a subtle harmony each parent was meant to sing over their child. We sing it as we watch those first steps. We sing it as we prepare them for their first day of school. We sing it as we tend to their broken heart. We sing it as we show them how to apply make-up or do their hair. We sing it even when they don't want to hear it, when their eyes roll, when they think they know more. We sing that soft, subtle harmony that lifts their voice, guides them to their melody. It's quiet, but it's wise. It never outshines the melody, but it is important.
No matter where your kids are in life, they need your harmony. They don't need you to sing melody. They don't need your will, they need you to lead them to God's Will. They need you to sing harmony, the background, the guiding role rather than the leading role. They need your prayers and your support, your grace.
{Side Note: I think this analogy translates well into church leadership too. The best kind of leaders are the one's that can sing the harmony so that those who follow can find their melody.}
What do you think?
Amanda
