Recording

Years ago, I made a recording of some show tunes at a little place located in a Nashville mall. It was not a super professional job, by any stretch, but it was fun. My family and friends seemed to enjoy the CDs I gave them and I felt like I sounded OK.  

Cue trying to record again 20 years later. Twenty years of reflux, allergies, asthma and a neuromuscular disorder. Not to mention 20 years of AGING have taken more of a toll than I realized. 

Over the years, I have tried to take care of my voice. I have stopped singing for months at a time when vocal problems arose. I have tried to maintain good technique. I don't smoke or drink. I have been realistic about lowering my repertoire as the years have gone by. I still practice daily. But nothing can totally stave off the effects of age and illness. 

I have been reading about how other singers have dealt with aging voices. Opera singers change roles or retire, pop singers take things down a step or two and encourage more audience participation in concerts, etc. It all has to do with being realistic, I suppose. 

I don't think I am ready to hang up singing just yet. There is a big difference between singing a song once in a church where a slightly off note might be heard once and hopefully forgotten in the grand scheme of things and on a recording which might be listened to over and over. My sound engineer assures me that his tools can mitigate factors that I am hypercritical of. 

I just have to make peace, as most singers do, over time in one way or another, with the voice I have now as opposed to the voice I had 20 and 30 years ago. There is a saying that time marches on...all across your face! Well, time also marches on...all across your voice! I will learn to be happy with both! 

Preaching Station

As of today, Hermanville United Methodist is no longer an official "church." We are now what is known as a "preaching station." 

Over the past two years, we have lost key members to death, moving, and, sadly, to other churches. Our membership was already small. We simply could not financially continue to support the salary and retirement of an assigned pastor with only 7 official remaining members.

So, we will be meeting twice a month. The messages will be given by guest speakers and ministers. This will be a new experience for the people of Hermanville UMC. We don't know how it is going to go. I am praying and hoping for us to be able to stay together as a church family in some fashion. 

When I think of this situation, I think of this song. I hope our preaching station really helps us to realize that WE are the church and that we can continue in this new form. Prayers appreciated. 

I am the church! You are the church!
We are the church together!
All who follow Jesus,
all around the world!
Yes, we're the church together!

The church is not a building;
the church is not a steeple;
the church is not a resting place;
the church is the people.

The Gift of Love

As I was looking through some hymns recently, I came across this one and the message really spoke to me. The Gift of Love is an old traditional tune. The first lines are in the photo at left. The verse ends with:
"But have not love, my words are vain, as sounding brass, and hopeless gain."

Some of the best performances I have ever witnessed were by people who did not have a "slick" speaking or singing delivery. But, I could tell that they truly loved what they were doing and who they were doing it for. 

Conversely, I have been to performances (speeches, concerts, etc) where it was obvious that there was more ego than love involved. Some of these performers seemed to no longer love what they were doing or who they were doing it for and it shows. No matter how polished the performances, there is an element missing. When I can't feel any true enjoyment on the performer's part, he or she has lost me. 

I know we can't all love what we do all the time. I get it. But, if we consistently can't do what we do with love, maybe it is time to find another line of work. 

The song continues. 

Last Words

Sometimes, out of morbid curiosity, I will look up the Facebook page of someone who has recently passed on. Often, there will be the tributes from loved ones lamenting the loss of the departed. 

Sometimes there will be posts visible that were written by the deceased. Or how they describe themselves in that brief bio that shows up in the "About" section. 

A couple of times recently, I have been shocked at the profanity-laced offerings I found. And it made me think: If I were to die, what would I want my last Facebook post to be? A hateful comment putting down an entire race or class of people? A piece of unsubstantiated gossip? Name calling of people on the other side of the political aisle? Once it has been posted, someone has seen it, even if one chooses to remove it at some point. 

Facebook may very well be the lasting repository of your last words. 

What would you want them to be? 

Congenital Myopathy

After years of being misdiagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, this is what the final verdict was a number of years ago. My symptoms can sometimes mimic MG to a startling degree, so the misdiagnosis was not really surprising. 

Since I retired, for the most part, I have been able to keep the symptoms (muscle weakness, difficulty swallowing and speaking, some breathing difficulty, and my right eye closing) under control. As long as I get the rest I need (and I need more than the average person!) I can manage. Sometimes I feel pretty good. Other times, not so much. 

This week, I got a refresher lesson on what happens when I push too far. I made it pretty well at the Annual Conference of the Mississippi United Methodist Church on the first day. I was able to get up at 4:30 and begin the process of taking my meds in the prescribed order, getting breakfast, etc. I got there by 7 to get a handicap parking spot and went in to begin the day.  By almost 5 PM, when the day session was to end, I was getting tired but made it home. Things that I don't really think about, like trying to balance sitting on my walker or in an unsupportive chair make a difference, as my muscles have to work harder even to sit. 

The next day, I could tell I was weak, but I needed to get back to the conference for the voting portions of our agenda. By the time I got there, my right eye was nearly closed and I was shaky. I got through the morning session and most of the memorial service. After that, I had to holler "Uncle!" I had just enough energy to get home and collapse in my chair. This morning, I knew better than to push it further. 

I get a fair amount of "Well, we are tired too!" from other people. There is a difference. For many years, I could push through "tired." But now, I can't push through congenital myopathy symptoms. Not safely, anyway. 

Since Hermanville UMC will no longer be a "church" after the end of June but will be a preaching station, I will no longer be a voting member of our annual conference. I will miss seeing the friends I have there, but in a way, it may be a blessing. 

The body has spoken. And it is saying "no."