The Gift of Music

"Every year something from the Primary program makes me cry. This year it was your family." Mrs. Wilson said through teary eyes. This sentiment was echoed by each person I passed on Sunday. They couldn't possibly realize that I was far more touched by this family singing together than they ever could be.

When I was young, my sisters and I sang together. My mom dressed us in matching dresses and we sang. We sang in the car, on the mountain, around the camp fire, at family events, at church events, at talent shows . . . you name it. I loved to listen to the way our voices blended in that unique way only genetics produces.

I fell in love with Briz when I first heard him sing. His date begged and begged him to sing. He gruffly agreed but stated, "This is not a song for you. It is only for my future wife." He played his guitar and sang Want you to Know by Chicago. I knew who he was right then. I saw his soul. I knew I'd give anything to have someone sing a song like that for me someday. His date was sure a lucky girl. My date, however, was in the other room watching a violent movie that I had escaped from. Bummer.

So, it is natural that when we married, I expected to produce our own brand of Osmonds or Jackson 5.

When forced to consider adoption, I learned many things about myself. One was that I was a snob. A child with Briz and my genes would be cuter, smarter, and more talented than one with another's genes. I found that we tend to value our own gifts more than we value gifts given to others. Yes, I could get a son who was a great ballerina, but that wasn't near as cool as Briz's football prowess.

Before I would let myself adopt, I submitted to a rigorous and painful reshaping from my loving Father in Heaven. I had to learn that EVERY child of God has equal value and equally beautiful gifts before I could welcome one of his sweet children into our home.

When Ladybug arrived, one of the things I noticed as she aged, was that she had NO attraction to music. Two, three, then four passed, yet not one song crossed her lips. At the time, we were not aware of her Aspergers and learning disabilities. Two other sweeties joined our family with no noticeable musical gifts. I rejoiced in their own special talents; nature, child care, artistry, physical prowess, or animal catching, but some tiny piece of me mourned that I could not share my soul deep love of music with my buddies.

Then... this year. The stake asked us to provide the musical number for Little Mother's Baptism.


The girls did beautifully. This time, it was all of us. Each little one took a part, then Briz and I joined in soft accompaniment at the end.

I couldn't care less about microphone positioning, volume, tune or anything else. My heart was in the joy of singing with my family. I forgot to look at the congregation, I had eyes only for my babies and sweetie as we sang together.

Unexpectedly, comes a God breeze . . . long after I'd given up hope of this experience, it comes . . . and the joy after the wait gives the experience (my personal gift from my Father) even more beauty.