The Cherub Choir Sings “Happy Birthday”

The Cherub Choir Sings “Happy Birthday”
Photo by Stephanie McCabe on UnSplash.com

Twice this week my kids got to plan and carry out one of their favorite feats – calling up a relative to sing “Happy Birthday” to them.

It has become a ritual. Just before the ‘birthday boy’ or ‘girl’ answers the phone (or voicemail picks up), the kids prepare. My oldest son (13) stands at attention, ready to corral the other two, should they fail to fall into line. My daughter (10) fixes her hair, throws her shoulders back, and clears her throat as if readying for an operetta. And my youngest son (6) wriggle-jig-hops like a monkey-frog creature who is simply too jazzed to hold all 42 pounds of himself still for a split-second.

Can’t you just feel the excitement!!??!

Children and birthdays. They go together like pizza and soda-pop.

A birthday is generally a bit livelier and more joyful when kids help you celebrate it, even in a small way – as through a phone call.

Why is that?

Let’s not pretend that kids are perfect. Let’s not say that they aren’t selfish (because all humans are). And let’s not delude ourselves into thinking that this birthday singing business isn’t (for the older ones anyway) at least in part about performance. Because the truth is, children have egos that grow bigger over time, just like their bodies. They will ultimately become like us – grown-ups who have to figure out how to handle that conundrum.

But I will suggest this: Kids don’t look at other people through jaded eyes. They simply see people. One person. Another person. Another person… and so on. And kids rejoice at every opportunity to celebrate.

People + celebration opportunities.

Put these things together and what do you get? Many reasons to sing. For there are people everywhere. And each one has a birthday.

Our hearts soften when we sing “Happy Birthday” with good intentions. Have you noticed? Even in the quiet confines of our minds. Even when we sing to someone who doesn’t hear us.

Try it.

Try singing silently to the person who cuts you off in traffic. Sing to the scowling clerk behind the counter. Sing to the pushy colleague who is always rubbing you the wrong way. Sing to the irritating family member who is standing on your last nerve.

Sing. Sing a happy song. See if your soul doesn’t rejoice just a tiny bit, in a monkey-frog wriggle-jig-hop kind of way.

Holy Moments – Day 25 – Meg Turns 40

Holy Moments – Day 25 – Meg Turns 40

From my vantage point – about 36 inches above the ground – I could see a mass of blankets preceding Mom through the back door and into the kitchen of our little Cape Cod home in Gales Ferry, Connecticut. I was two weeks shy of 3-years old, and I knew there was a treasure inside those warm white fuzzy folds. Her name was Meghan. And she was my baby sister.

I pawed at Mom’s arms, trying to see, but was gently led into the family room and seated far back on the olive green sofa with my right arm supported by a pillow so that…. I could meet her.

I wish I could remember her face on that day. But I do remember holding her. Holding her. Feeling for the first time that emotion that is privilege to older siblings (and the bane of youngers!) – ‘I will look out for you.’

She was my only sibling, and my protective instincts were sometimes appreciated – like when Meg was falsely accused of slashing mattresses at Girl Scout camp and I knew this wasn’t possible. She didn’t even own a pocket knife, for goodness sake. I was more than happy to go to the troop leaders and tell them what was what.

But more often than not – my compulsion to force on her my 3 years’ worth of advanced wisdom was met with resistance or outright rejection. Go figure.

To her credit, at a young age she understood how to use my bossiness to her advantage. For example, Mom asked me to help Meg learn to make her own bed. I got so frustrated by Meg’s ‘inability’ to straighten her green Sears ripcord bedspread, that I pushed her out of the way and declared that I would “just do it myself.” I ended up making lots of beds.

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Meghan and me, 1983.

Like so many sisters, we’re perhaps more different than alike. But it’s funny how every time Meg’s birthday rolls around, I feel our kinship reconnected in a special way, and in the last day or so, perhaps I’ve found the reason.

Meg and I were both born during Advent – a word which means “coming.” It is, by its’ very definition, a season of anticipation in which we keep a look out for the greatest gift – Christ, the Light of the World.

So many of my fondest memories with Meg are centered around moments of waiting for something.

Sitting on packed boxes in various houses, waiting for the moving van to arrive for our military move to another state.

Holding our bags in our laps (before the stewardess told us to put them down), waiting for the plane to land in Seattle, home of our beloved grandparents.

And my favorite – waiting side by side at the foot of the tree on Christmas morning for our parents to wake up. My sister and I never dared proceed with opening (or shaking!) gifts before ‘it was time.’ We didn’t even run into Mom and Dad’s room to jostle them awake. Why? I don’t know. I’m just so thankful now that, for whatever reason, Meg and I had this quiet special time together every Christmas.

In my childhood mind, the month of December – marked by her birthday, then mine, and ending in Christmas – was magical because for most of it, we were looking forward together to the largest celebration still ahead. Intuitively, we recognized this month for what it is – The season of Hope. The season of anticipation which rejoices in the fact that the best is still to come. And to think – that this is when we were blessed to be born.

My beautiful sister is a searcher. She digs deep and asks thoughtful questions. She looks for the Light.

So, today I celebrate Meg on her 40th birthday. As much as I’d like to think I could still ‘look out’ for her, I know she’s in the very best of hands and loved beyond measure. And though she’s doing well in life, I still believe her best season is up ahead. I’m eagerly waiting to see what’s in store for her.