Love Songs to Melt Your Heart and Move Your Soul: Song 3
Love is…coming home to all my favorite things (people and pets included.) -me
Home. There’s no place like it. It all comes back to that familiar quote—home is where the heart is.
Wherever and whatever you consider home…there’s nothing that compares to that feeling. The familiarity, the comfort, the little things that make it “just right.” I LOVE going home. Home is where you can take your shoes off, where you can breathe, where you can find true peace. And like the song says…”I wanna go home.”
There are three places that I personally consider “home.” First, my hometown. Although at this point in my life I’ve spent more time away from western Kansas that I actually spent growing up there, I still consider it home. I know where (just about) everything is. It’s where my old schools are, where great memories were made, and most importantly—it’s where most of my family still live. Home.
Second, is Lawrence, Kansas. While attending college I had the opportunity to grow and spread my wings. I learned to be self-reliant and develop character. I found out my strengths and weaknesses. I had my first taste of life on my own. Still to this day, whenever I visit I am immediately transported back in time to a carefree existence where there was nothing but possibility and adventure at every turn. Home.
Finally, my actual home…you know, where my stuff is at. I think this one is more of an emotion than an actual location. Over the past 20+ years, I’ve moved a number of times and not just in the same town. And, for as much as I hate packing, I actually don’t mind the moving all that much. Wherever we can all be together that becomes my sanctuary and safe haven. Home.
Coming Up:Love Songs to Melt Your Heart and Move Your Soul: Song 4
***This post is part of an ongoing series. As part of my cup half full approach to loving the month of February, I vow to jump in with both feet and embrace the whole Valentine thing with my own custom list of Love Songs to Melt Your Heart and Move Your Soul. Ambitious? Yes! Bold? Absolutely! Crazy? You betcha! Pointless? On just about every level. Regardless, let’s give it a go—I mean it’s February and how else am I going to get through the coldest, bleakest, cloudiest, shortest (and longest at the same time) month on the calendar. Let the countdown to Valentine’s Day begin! I (gritting teeth) LOVE February, how about YOU?
I’m usually in the mood right after dinner. Something about a full belly, a mountain of dishes, left overs sealed in GladWare, and disinfecting the counter tops seems to put me in a George Strait state of mind. There’s nothing like classic George when you feel like singing at the top of your lungs while your heart breaks into a thousand pieces as you simultaneously two-step with a broom…the occasional teardrop running down your cheek. Good times 🙂
My imaginary fan meet up with George Strait. Hope Martina doesn’t mind that I inserted my face over hers in this photo!
I don’t think anyone would classify me as a country music fan…although there were a few years in the mid-nineties where I “walked the line.” Okay, I’ll confess—I had a hat at the time, but it was just for the Little Texas concert at the county fair! My get-up was technically faux cowgirl…you know, trendy “booties” instead of real ropers, but I never went as far as having a belt buckle or Wrangler jeans. I did have a few radio presets dedicated to the local country music station at age 18, but all of it faded away just as quickly as it set in. Yet somehow, I managed to fall (and stay) in love with George Strait. And back in the day, I would have donned all that western wear, moved to Texas and developed a real southern drawl just for him. I mean, if I was ever going to go for a cowboy…it would have had to have been him—because if you’re gonna love a cowboy, why not love one who can sing?
While clearing the kitchen table and belting out a little George, the thought occurred to me—almost every song reminds me of a place in time. Memories, days gone by, people who I know and have known. It appears that several of his tunes have served as the soundtrack to many different seasons in my life. Crushes, first love, long drives, adventure, good times and bad. Right or Wrong, Fool Hearted Memory, A Fire I Can’t Put Out…seem to speak to times of young love and the intense feelings that often come with those first break ups and let downs. It was like George was the only one in the world who knew exactly how I felt! Then there were catchy tunes like The Fireman that remind me of KU and driving home with my roommate Sara in her hot, little red car. You Can’t Make a Heart Love Somebody, Easy Come, Easy Go, and Write This Down mark times where I learned important lessons about moving on and trusting God’s plan in both life and relationships. Twangy feel good music like Am I Blue always make me want to dance the day away. And two of my favorites–The Chair and All My Ex’s Live in Texas remind me of my parents–especially my dad’s band and concerts in the park downtown on summer evenings.
Unlike my other music phases, my George fanaticism began at a young age. I remember hearing George in the background while I learned to sew at my Grandma’s house. His songs seemed to play non-stop the first time I visited the great state of Texas (not to mention every time that I’ve ever stepped foot there.) George rode shot-gun with my best friend, Amy and I on our great Tulia, TX adventure in college. Later, his music again played on the radio appropriately setting the stage for a trip to Nashville. And it was George who traveled with me when I moved from Kansas to California. He was my cowboy companion as I cruised the interstate…thank goodness for a cassette player with auto-reverse! I laughed out loud while listening to Ocean Front Property in Arizona…scoping the horizon for his imaginary piece of real estate as I neared Phoenix. One song after another served as the backdrop to beautiful countryside and endless highway. And it was Heartland that later satisfied my soul when I found myself homesick for family and friends back in the Midwest. Other songs like Carrying Your Love with Me and I Cross My Heart remind me of true love, family values, and faith in God.
I know I’m not the only one with memories like these. And it’s been equally as fun to introduce my children to George’s music. His CD 50 Number Ones was on our vacation playlist as we traveled through Denver, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City, Lake Tahoe and finally into the San Francisco Bay area a few summers ago. They claim not to like him…but one glance in the rear view mirror and it’s hard not to notice them singing along. Just tonight my son belted out three songs in a row as he wandered into the kitchen asking aloud, “How do I know every single word?” My daughter rolls her eyes when I bust out a little George in the car on the way home from basketball games. Yet, I wouldn’t be surprised if someday George Strait makes his way onto their playlists. I imagine them sheepishly trying explain to their friends that these songs remind them of their mom and childhood! Better yet, I’d love to hear their take on the little ditty I call my “ultimate George Strait life song”—Ace in the Hole. They frequently give me the oddest looks when I tell them that there’s a life lesson in that song that will serve them well…if they just pay attention. Sure, Mom…sure.
While my radio presets today run the gamut from News Talk and Christian contemporary to Pop and Top 40, modern technology makes it easy enough to find George when and wherever the mood strikes. I don’t have any crazy aspirations of ever meeting George Strait. In fact, it’s probably better this way. I’ve been lucky enough to see him in concert twice and I’m good with that. As for me, our occasional kitchen-after-dinner meet-ups will continue to suffice, especially since they’ve been going on for years. Besides…who would two-step with the broom if George and I didn’t have these now and again country rendezvous?
Music gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything. —Plato
There’s a little piano that holds court in our living room. Nestled into a corner just to the left of the fireplace, this small upright garners quite a bit of attention. Don’t let its ordinariness fool you…this piano is a bona fide magnet! What is lacks in presence, it more than makes up for in amazement…and I see its wonder every time someone new comes into our home!
The piano arrived last summer. I was thrilled! I took lessons in elementary school and thanks to a battery-operated keyboard (that I’ve toted around for 25 years), I’ve managed to play a little ever since. I’d always wanted a piano in the house, but given our somewhat nomadic-clergy-family lifestyle, we haven’t had the luxury of having our own. So when the opportunity to have one placed in the parsonage arose, I jumped on it!
My kids were very excited. Nevermind that we only had one piece of sheet music and a hymnal to play. Nevermind that it was missing its front wheels. And nevermind that it was out of tune (I referred to its sound as slightly twangy). We had a piano! Slowly we acquired some beginner’s pianos books for the kiddos and I downloaded some of my favorite songs from the internet. We adorned the piano with a photo of the children, a lamp to help with the lighting and a few other homey touches. This piano was the perfect fit for our little family…and then IT started.
Whenever someone would step into our living room they would comment, “When did you get a piano?” Invariably it would start a conversation about music and for those who play (or played) an instrument it would lead to a moment of reminiscing. Those who stayed longer than a few minutes would eventually make their way over to the piano. It’s funny to me how much restraint adults have…they noticed it, talked about it, moved toward it, but never touched it. But when children visit the house (as they’re apt to do thanks to the social nature of my kids), they can’t help but play it. And who wouldn’t? I mean, I purposefully leave the keylid open. Always.
At first my little girl would try to keep the keylid closed when the piano wasn’t in use. She reasoned that it was something like keeping the refrigerator door closed. I love that girl! I guess she wanted to keep the keys “fresh.” I tried to explain to her that a piano should be inviting. My personal philosophy is that once the piano keys are out of sight the whole piano becomes an unused piece of furniture. As I type this I know it sounds a little strange, but it’s exactly how I feel. A piano is meant to be played! In my head a closed keyboard means “don’t touch, stay back.” Thus, our piano is always open.
Recently we’ve had some kiddos over who didn’t just touch the piano, but actually sat down at the bench and stayed awhile. Sure, they hardly knew what they’re doing, but they played nonetheless. I love to see their little fingers jump around and how they proudly believe that tapping out a morse code style version of Mary Had a Little Lamb somehow makes them the next Mozart. A few of the boys have ventured to play two keys at the same time! Others run their hands across the whole length of the keyboard and some sit and test their fingering skills as they cup their hands and play one note at a time. It may not sound like much (and sometimes it doesn’t sound like that much) and yet it still seems beautiful.
For myself personally, time spent at the piano is both refreshing and energizing. I love testing my own abilities and playing music that demonstrates the God-given gifts and talents of a songwriter. I lose myself in the melodies and tune everything else out. Musicians and non-musicians alike know that music can be transformative. I give my heart and my soul over to the sound…and there’s nothing quite like it. The piano is both powerful and soft…conveying hundreds of emotions with a voice all its own. For those who play, you know how easy it is to lose track of time. And it never fails, every time I play I discover something new. I look forward to experiencing that joyful feeling again and again.
In some ways that little piano reminds me of our relationship with God. Yes, I said it. God is like an open piano. Patiently and lovingly waiting for us to discover Him. Always welcoming, our great and wonderful God calls us to come over. He doesn’t demand our attention, and yet we can’t help but notice His greatness. He doesn’t mind when we ask questions. He doesn’t mind when we approach hesitantly. He doesn’t mind if we don’t have it all figured out and need to sheepishly peck at the keys to find our way in this world. He uniquely meets our needs and knows our inner thoughts note for note. It seems the more time we spend developing a relationship with our Creator, the more enriched and blessed our lives become. As with a song, time spent with God can be transformative. Our Lord offers us something new every time we enter His presence. Like an open piano, we– as His creation–are naturally drawn to Him.
Maybe I’m giving our little piano too much credit. Maybe. But I know this, we can’t give God enough credit.
I hope that anyone who visits my home knows that they are welcome to succumb to the great magnet that is our little piano. I pray that anyone who hasn’t discovered God’s never-ending love and goodness moves closer toward a relationship with our Maker. As far as I’m concerned, both opportunities are always open.
Prayer is when you talk to God. Meditation is when you’re listening. Playing the piano allows you to do both at the same time. –Kelsey Grammer
We should have listened to my seven-year old daughter while we were at the Christmas tree lot. She lobbied for a Frasier, but we went with the Balsam–that was our first mistake. Its intoxicating pine fresh scent had us fooled (not to mention it’s slightly cheaper price tag.) We took the Balsam and left “Stacy” (my daughter had already named the Frasier) to another couple who had been obviously eyeing it like a hawk that afternoon. About a week after we decorated the tree my son started to say, “Mom, it’s not good when you can see through your Christmas tree.” It was our second clue. When your dog shakes off pine needles like she just stepped out of a bath…that’s called strike three.
You know it’s time to get rid of the Christmas tree when the ornaments start taking themselves down!
So it’s the second week of January. It had to come down sometime. I mean, my little girl’s birthday is just a few days away and we can’t have birthday photos with a tumbleweed Christmas tree in the background. So I bit the bullet and took the tree down—but not before I could make an event out of it. Christmas Blend Starbucks coffee, peppermint candy canes, and my favorite Christmas DVDs playing…I started taking off the ornaments that hadn’t already surrendered to gravity. It was a sad day.
Sad because not only was I taking down all the festive Christmas decorations, but sad because this meant another year had slipped through our fingers. Sad because the kids’ break from school had run its course. Sad because all the holiday cheer has been replaced with dieting resolutions and “organize your life in 2013” mumbo jumbo. And a whole lotta sad because I had a Christmas tree mess unlike any other!
You always have battle scars when you opt for a real Christmas tree. Little scratches and scrapes during decorating…and don’t forget the sap, uugggh! Plus, the occasional water spill and of course–pine needles. However, this year’s Christmas tree outdid itself in the pine needle department. They started falling off about a week in. Then we noticed small piles of needles starting to form on the tree skirt. Soon after–when the living room was quiet–you could hear the pine needles fall through the tree. It quickly escalated to sagging garland, the strand of lights slowly inching toward the floor, and the occasional ornament falling in the night. Before long we began to worry whenever someone opened the front door and a breeze swept in. I yelled at the kids about running past the tree too fast and setting off a needle avalanche. We tried to keep up with the needles through the aid of our Dyson vacuum cleaner, but after a while I started to worry that we were actually damaging the Dyson. And forget about it when the UPS guy came the door–I promise that tree almost came tumbling down when the dog raced to the window to let out her warning barks. On Christmas morning there wasn’t an ounce of snow outside, but there was a nice prickly layer of pine needles dusting every gift. And then we left town.
When we returned we couldn’t turn the lights on the tree anymore…fire hazard. My niece caught wind of it on New Year’s Eve via a Skype video call. She wondered what HAPPENED to our tree! Her comment spoke volumes. We all knew it needed to come down. I actually sort of wanted it to come down (and I NEVER want to put the tree away…I secretly want it to be Christmas all year!) Still, it was painful to look at and I would have probably paid someone to take it down for me at that point if I thought we had any takers.
One week later we were all sort of used to the newly dubbed “tumbleweed tree.” Its falling pine needles had become just a regular household sound like the squeak in the kitchen floor. Whenever I walked into the living room I would just waltz over to the tree, inspect underneath, gather the fallen ornaments, dust off the pine needles and put them on the table. A small pile of ornaments had started to emerge when I decided that I was all out of excuses. There were other things that needed to get done, but the tree won out today. It’s ugly, shabby appearance had already forced me to tell the children that their friends couldn’t come over and play until I had taken it down (and I said that four days ago.)
It took hours and I’m still not technically done putting all the Christmas decorations away, but removing the tree was a big start. Of course, a zillion needles fell out in the process, it took a broom, a dust pan and about 30 minutes with the Dyson to get things looking good (although I still wouldn’t recommend walking where the tree used to be in your bare feet!)
I know we’ll do it all again next year and the year after that…although I’ve been eyeing artificial trees in the clearance section at Wal-Mart (wink, wink). But for now the living room has resumed its regular homey look, the children can have their friends over again, and the branch that used to be our tree has a nice new home up against the fence in our backyard. And who knows how long it will stay there….
The perfect Christmas tree? All Christmas trees are perfect! ~Charles N. Barnard
Second, is Lawrence, Kansas. While attending college I had the opportunity to grow and spread my wings. I learned to be self-reliant and develop character. I found out my strengths and weaknesses. I had my first taste of life on my own. Still to this day, whenever I visit I am immediately transported back in time to a carefree existence where there was nothing but possibility and adventure at every turn. Home.
hymningandhaing 