No More Basement Singing!

I had a breakthrough this week at school. Well, I don't know if I had the breakthrough or my 8th grade choir boys had the breakthrough....probably both of us. Glorious!

So, I'm not a male. That's obvious and an obvious hindrance when trying to guide adolescent males down the precarious path to great singing technique. Their constantly morphing voices make them uneasy and makes blending them into a united section as possible as herding cats. It's especially hazardous when I only have enough boys to have them sing one part, not a tenor and a bass part.

Without trying to detail all the challenges of effectively training adolescent male voices, suffice it to say that it's HARD. The biggest problem are the basement singers....those guys who have developed rich baritone and bass ranges and believe that the only manly way to sing is in the basement of their vocal range. And though I try to use the "Tenors-get-all-the-girls" line, the basement singers just stare at me blankly or sheepishly or with terror, wishing with all their might that they were in some other class.

Thus, I usually ignore the basement singers because, 1) my techniques don't work and 2) I don't want to cause needless humiliation in middle school.....

But, wait! Why is it that these students thrive on intense sport practices and even intense band classes? How is it that they will take a no-nonsense, you-better-get-competitive approach in football, but when they arrive to choir, it's a coddle-fest? Rebellion started seeping into my bones about this recently. I decided there would be no more pampering! No more protection from discomfort or challenges in choir! I decided to push my students, especially my guys, out of their comfort zones! Those basement singers had no more excuses!

So, last week, I gave multiple pep-talks about courage and about how choir should be like a sport. I reminded my young musicians that their voices were their instruments and that they should not take critique on their instruments personally. Then, I dove in. I worked my male section over and over, making each guy crawl out of his shell and try, especially my basement singers. I pulled out as many tricks as I could to get them to float into their upper range and falsetto voices. I decided to pick on them just a little...in a nice way. I was sure they would hate me forever.

To my disbelief, I was wrong! I was shocked that the one boy who was hovering in his low-range all year to that point was suddenly giving a shot at singing in his upper range...and he was making it! I was so thrilled that I began to chortle and giggle and clap my hands like a toddler at Christmas-time...but I didn't care if I looked like an idiot! All I could see were the boys' faces full of pride. All my badgering gave them a challenge and something to achieve! The girls seemed equally as pleased, watching these boys take on singing like they would a basketball play or a track race.

It goes to show you and me two things: 1) Adolescents like to be challenged and pushed even if they appear shy and insecure and 2) Singing is manly. Period. Especially when basement singers unashamedly sing high. Here's to you, Chris Martin and Michael Buble.

By the way, I think choir should be a sport.

A New Ride

You know how you remember some things from years past with vividness while others are completely forgotten? For example, I will never forget the time growing up when my friend dared me to steal some popcorn from the lady's tub in front of us during a high school football game. So, while the unsuspecting fan turned her back on her popcorn, I snagged a piece. I'm not exactly proud of that memory, but there it is, indelibly ingrained.

Well, just like I have never forgotten that incident, neither have I ever forgotten one of the first chapel messages I sat under at John Brown University. It was a message aimed for the incoming freshman. I don't remember the man's name, but I definitely remember his story. He spoke of taking his son on an excursion to Disney World. After experiencing the first ride, the dad proceeded to escort his son to the next thrill. Surprisingly, the boy didn't want to leave the ride they had just experienced.

"But, son, the next ride is SO much better, I promise."

"No, Daddy. I like this ride. I want to stay here!"

And so the argument would go until the dad could convince the boy that the next ride would indeed be better. When they would finally reach the next ride, the cylce would start all over. The son would become attached to the current ride and refuse to move on.

The speaker went on to compare this cycle to the cycles of believers. Often, we refuse to trust that if God is pulling us away from our current "ride", He has something even better in store. That story and analogy has stayed with me and always proves a comfort when I am faced with giving something up or heading into something new.

Yet, I still often feel like that little boy: unwilling and doubtful. I don't relish unknowns and don't readily give up comforts. I rarely anticipate the next phase with giddy excitement because I'm busy mourning the loss of something familiar as I tred forward. Though I love the thought of adventure and change and wish to present myself as a bold pioneer, in practicality, I am a horrific transitioner and am just like that little boy.

This concept washes me afresh every now and then. Today is one of those days. I don't know what's happening next year. I feel uncertainty gnawing at me and newness waiting around the bend. Excited? Maybe, but desperately clinging to my current ride. I feel I need a deeper surrender. I am afraid the hands of my heart are white-knuckled in gripping the merry-go-round while Christ is gently tugging me toward Space Mountain. Of course, this analogy breaks down. Life does not always get progressively more fun or exciting, but our walk with God can get deeper and sweeter no matter what the circumstances if we navigate the rides with Him. As we do so, He will lead us through the rides that will refine us the best. I'm not sure what my next ride is, but I'm praying for the faith to embrace it enthusiastically.

Presidents Day

Hooray for having two holidays two days apart. I felt it necessary to have a post for Presidents Day since I dedicated the title of my last one to Valentines Day. But....this post probably won't be about Presidents.

Or, maybe it will. I think that being President would be so incredibly tough. First of all, simply finding balance between work and play would be intensely challenging. You know how there are those jobs where you could always find something else to do? Like my job....if I wanted to, I could dedicate hours and hours to developing stellar lesson plans and creating carefully crafted birthday cards for each of my students (and that just the beginning of the extra things I could but don't do). How much more, then, would this be true with the President of the United States, the leader of the free world. Yikes.

But even more than that, I can't imagine how difficult it is for the President's every move to be endlessly scrutinized. People who agree and who disagree within the media spout off inflated opinions all day long. How twisted do reports and accounts become by the time they reach Americans' ears? I don't know....and, furthermore, how much media is fueled by mere perception of facts, not actual facts. After all, not all members of the media can know the President well enough to know his character and to know all the ins and outs or whys of his decisions. It's just not possible.

So it is that Presidents are more often than not defined by their voices of opposition or by the loudest media voice. It's difficult for reality to be completely known from such a distance. Truly. If I were the President or the First Lady, I think I would be frustrated by that. After living in a world where my reputation could be more "controlled", I can imagine losing some sleep over millions of eyes viewing me via a third party, the media.

No matter who is President, I have a level of sympathy for him regarding this aspect of his life. Yet, at the same, time, the President is the most powerful and influential man in the world. He has chosen this life and has many privileges that accompany the difficulties. He must be willing to be scrutinized because he must be held accountable. Thus, it must be the way it is. I just wish at times that the media would be a crew of superhumans....always knowing what is exactly right and true, never disagreeing, and always delivering a precise picture of the President. I wish that for the President and for Americans. I'll keep dreaming.

Valentines Day

But....this post probably won't be about love, romance, or flowers.

I awoke this morning to glimpse a winter wonderland outside. Frosted trees, lazy fog, and snow-studded streets gave me a surreal feeling. So, after eating some breakfast and pouring myself some fresh coffee, I settled on my bedroom floor (my recent fave location for computer time) and put on some ethereal music to go along with the scene out my window. Howard Shore's music from Lord of the Rings is now engulfing my space. Soon, I'll be conquering foes, helping Hobbits and falling in love (so much for not mentioning love in this post). Or, maybe I'll just continue to sit here in my pink flannel pants and long-sleeved Cathedral Choir T-shirt. Either way, I'm loving this Saturday morning.

Yesterday at school, I was testing my 7th graders on "Ode to Joy". They individually came up to me and finger-picked the melody, a song they've been working on for the past two weeks. I was struck anew by how a piece of music could sound as unique as each person playing it. Though the guitar rendition that I teach is forever ingrained in my brain, having taught it over and over, I am still delighted by new interpretations of the same tune. Yesterday, I heard loud, soft, musical, stilted, fast, slow, connected, disjointed, delicate, and harsh renditions of the same little song. Some students possessed that intangible musical sense, using their fingers and their souls to pour beauty into the music. Some students approached the piece with robotic accuracy, seemingly feeling no connection to the tune. Some students awkwardly grappled with the strings, letting the guitar needlessly intimidate them. Wow. Unique. God created each of us uniquely. How well I see that even when grading students on identical tasks!

As my token show of respect to the day, I wish everyone a happy Valentines Day.

Mysterious Majesty

Nobody looking would have thought I was driving down a patch of road I had endless times before. My eyes alert, I was soaking in the scenery as best I could while sitting at the wheel. Truth be told, I was hardly giving the road any notice. What made yesterday different from any other day of driving along that barren Wyoming land? The piece of black equipment occupying the passenger seat held the key. That new camera. I was suddenly seeing everything anew, hoping to find some unique piece of landscape that would lend itself to a photographic masterpiece.

Suddenly, my scouting eyes spotted him. I think time stood still as we stared each other down momentarily. A majestic white head peered at me through bland-colored sagebrush. I caught my breath. A bald eagle. No doubt. The last two times I had been on this road, I thought I had seen one, but couldn't be sure. No mistaking this guy. He was reality.

I quickly pulled my car over to the side of the road, jumped out, and ran back toward the eagle like a mad woman. He was quite far away by now and I was sprinting steadily away from my vehicle out in the middle of nowhere. Not sure it was the smartest move, but the majesty of the bird demanded my all.

With all the grandeur of a fairy tale, huge brown wings flapped upward. There it was, that gorgeous white head stretched out in front, leading the bird like a beacon to some unknown destination. I clicked my camera, but the fellow was just a speck on my screen.

Aware that I needed to reunite with my car, I hurried back, trying to keep an eye on the bird's swooping flight. When I slipped into my car, I flipped it around and sped back the other way, watching the prey of my vision. As if on cue, the big bird descended onto a large rock a ways off, perched with all the pride and dignity one would expect of bald eagle. I bolted out of my car and tried to steady my camera on the bird. It shook, the zoom maxed out and struggling to stay focused on the distant object. I snapped the camera. His image was captured. I took another picture. Another piece of evidence. Then, our rendezvous was over. He flew. I retreated to my car.

Turning around and continuing my journey toward Colorado, my heart was full. I could not explain to myself what was so magnificent about a bird with a white head. All I knew was that it was majestic. It gave joy to my day. I praised God. I felt it was a gift from Him to me. I think all of nature is God's gift to us. It's majestic because God created it and created us to enjoy it and thrill at its beauties. There is hardly a better example of such beauty than that of the mysteriously majestuc bald eagle.

Layers

Layers. Everyone has them. Funny layers. Serious layers. Scary layers. Obvious layers. Sensitive layers. Tough layers. I'm convinced that people and relationships are complex, in part, because of human layers...layers that are normal and natural or layers that are caused by sin, fear, shame, or whatever else. This theory is not a psychological breakthrough nor should it resemble a nauseating self-help guide. Instead, it's just my simple, unoriginal observation about myself and others. So, it's the name of my blog. End of story.

My unwise layer is exposing itself right now. It's a Sunday night before a busy Monday. It's time for bed and rest so that I will have the energy to keep up with middle schoolers tomorrow. If rest is not found, I will have no patience for those students whose one goal in life is to not do what they're supposed to...those students who delight in annoying me. Yes, facing those students seems like WW III when I'm exhausted.

So, to bed I will go. Future posts may not mention layers specifically but may reveal human layers all the same. My random, whimsical layer will dictate my blogging frequency. I don't know how often I let that layer surface. I guess I'll find out.