Harmony

It's interesting to me how I remember learning some skills quite vividly, and how I have zero recollection of learning others.  Evidence reveals that at some point, I learned to brush my teeth and talk and add.  I don't remember learning those things.  But I DO remember the exact moment when reading made sense to me.  I remember Grandma Foster teaching me how to put those tight little Barbie doll pants on the Barbie (the key is BOTH legs at the SAME TIME).  I remember learning that when you cut a flower (even with the good intention of presenting it to Grandma Nell, who loved flowers), it would die.  (sorry, Grandma Nell)    I remember learning to tie my shoes.  Dad taught me, on his GIANT work boots, on the brown carpeted floor in the living room of our old house.  (incidentally, I was the fastest shoe-tie-er amongst my siblings.  I was quite proud of that.)  And I remember learning how to sing harmony.

My Grandpa Foster taught me, though I'm not sure if he realized it.  I was riding in the backseat of his car, sandwiched between my sister, Brittony, and my cousin, Tami.  Grandma was in her seat in the passenger side in the front of the car.  I don't remember where we were going, but chances are good that we three were being returned to our homes from a visit to Ludlow Falls.  In any case, Grandpa, a proud barbershop singer, was teaching us a new song to pass the travel time.

The song was called "Wait 'Til the Sun Shines, Nellie".  He taught us the melody, and we all sang that through a few times, and then he said, "Leslie, you sing with me this time."  And so I did.  This time Britt and Tami sang the melody and Grandpa sang other notes, similar to, but not the same as, what the girls were doing.  I followed along.  It was easy.  The notes made sense in my head.  I could almost hear them in my head before I heard them with my ears.

Grandpa must have said something nice about how I was doing.  I don't remember any particular words, but I remember feeling very proud, and that kind of pride in an accomplishment always meant that someone had complimented me verbally.  I would imagine it was something pretty mild, like "Very good!" or "Nice job!"  But whatever he said, I was hooked.

From that moment, the way I heard music changed.  Once I knew about this other kind of singing, I always heard it when music played.  Whether I sang it or not, I heard it.  Chords, playing in my mind.  Sometimes I have trouble knowing which of the notes is the melody, because the harmony lines play so loudly in my mind.

When I sing harmony, it's like I'm dancing.  Like dancing with my voice.

Melody...it's ok, too.  But it's so straight-laced.  When you sing melody, you have very little room for creativity.  Like you're dancing inside of a metal, body-shaped cage.  It moves to allow you to follow the steps, but you can't really improvise much.

But harmony?  If harmony is a dance, it's freestyle.  Like dancing freestyle in a weightless environment.  It's not learned steps; it's a feeling.  It's going higher...a third, a fifth...or lower...or moving back and forth, circling the melody and coming back.

And when you get a second harmonic part?  Oh man.  Tight, three-part harmony?  I'm pretty sure that's what we'll be hearing when we stand in the presence of the Father one day.  Singin' harmony with the angels.  A vocal dance of praise and joy and beauty.

And so.  I am thankful for the teachers in my life.  I am thankful to you, Grandpa Foster, for introducing me to harmony, and simply letting me know that I did it well.