Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

A challenging and very rewarding concert

Posted by Lissa on December 8, 2009

I love Christmas concerts.  I love the beautiful, soaring melodies of Mendelssohn, the lilting prettiness of Berlioz, and the triumphant celebration of Handel.  I love the procession down the aisle and the sing-alongs with the audience.  I love that the solemn and/or celebratory nature of the music is as accessible to an agnostic like myself as it is to a devout Christian.  I love that Christmas music is . . . . comprehensible?  approachable? to the average Joe off the street; you don’t have to understand major versus minor or tritones or counterpoint to enjoy the carols.

And that last bit opens the way for non-traditional concerts.

Last night my choir continued its 25-year tradition and performed a mini-Christmas concert at a well-known school catering to blind people.  We had their choir of fifteen singers, mostly teenagers, join us onstage for a carol written by their music director, and to sing a Spanish Christmas carol of their own.

It’s not every concert that has a five-minute break so that designated choir members can descend from the stage and assist the school singers up the stairs.  I learned from my charge, a sweet and friendly girl named Boyana, that I’m supposed to let her grab my elbow, rather than my taking her hand.

It’s not every concert that you have constant audience, er, participation.  I was pleased that it didn’t bother anyone one bit; we kept singing and smiling without missing a beat.  No one cared how loud the outbursts became.  It wasn’t important.

It’s not every concert that you’re humbled and honored to perform with some of the nicest kids I’ve ever met, singing for an extremely appreciative and complimentary audience.

I am reminded anew how lucky I am.  I’m so grateful for my body’s health and the health of my family. I’m thankful that I can negotiate stairs and buses under my own power.  I’m happy that I can hear music, taste coffee, feel kitty fur, and smell the roses.

And I’m grateful for the lesson in grace I received yesterday.

Into each life some rain must fall.  When it does – I hope like hell I react with as much dignity and grace as the folks I met yesterday.


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