You’re welcome for the brain worm. 😉

Today (tomorrow, as I write), I am grateful for music.   Last week, when I had to write a blog post early thanks to a forever long drive, I wrote about the physical thing that got me to my destination: my car.  Today (yesterday as you read this), I’m writing about the mental support that got me to Missouri and will get me home: music.

I come from a very musical family.  By pure chance, my siblings and I cover the four traditional singing parts top to bottom in age order.  Anli is a very talented Soprano, I am a Contralto, Monkey is a Tenor with an extremely unique tambour, and Elder Moose is the kind of (Contra)Bass choir directors salivate over (pianist and arranger, too–he’s way talented).  My parents fill out these parts with my mother at Alto/Second Soprano and my father as a Baritone.  Since all our voices settled, we’ve sung together several times, taking advantage of what naturally turned out to be the perfect sextet.

But even before our voices matured, our family was musical together.  Some of my earliest and strongest memories are of singing in the car together to pass the time on long road trips.  I have learned some of the downright weirdest songs on earth (a cheery story-song about the sinking of the Titanic) and most fun (CornerMaster Store) and most beautiful (several lullabies).  Some of my worst moments as an adult have been met with my parents tucking me into bed and singing the lullabies of my childhood.

This, of course, was not always the state of things.  There’s a family anecdote that says I would scream bloody murder (or continue doing so) if my parents tried to sing me to sleep as a baby.  Oh well.  I’ve been contrary since birth.  If this comes as a surprise to you, bless you and your charity.

Thankfully, being raised by my musically gifted parents (my mother was in a trio for a long time, my father was a symphony docent, they both were in musicals in school, it doesn’t end) solved that small problem.  I was exposed to so many kinds of music that my tastes can only be described as eclectic.  I learned to love classical composers (Greig makes me drool), moldy oldies (who doesn’t love Runaround Sue?), pop (totally a weakness), rock (classic and current), delicious instrumentation (William Joseph, you sexy, sexy man), humorous music (PDQ Bach, ftw!), folk (I love Nickel Creek), and so much more.  The role it plays in worship is also vital.  Music lifts me, inspires me, energizes me, calms me, reminds me, and drives me.  It serves so many random functions that I always have to keep it around.

And it’s that randomness that keeps me awake when I’m driving those long stretches.  It’s a gift from my parents and from my Heavenly Father.  It’s a gift that I get to share with my friends without hesitation (as if they could stop me when a song comes bursting forth) and it’s a gift I’ll teach to my nieces, nephews, children, and grandchildren.

But for now, it’s the gift that’ll get me home.

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