Row, Row, Row your Boat

I remember the old round form of singing. We did it around a campfire at church camp with "Father, I Adore You." At VBS, it was "Father Abraham." Other songs like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" could also be done in a round fashion. We sang collectively, staggered until each voice faded out and one remained. 

It’s a perfect word picture of the current status here.

And one I owe to this beautiful essay by Leslie Trovato.

"What I’m getting at is that the feeling of being a last-group singer in a round is how it feels when your kids move out: you can suddenly hear the sound of your own voice again, and it is both strange and powerful. It’s a jarring recovery of something that’s evidently been there all along. I just couldn’t fully hear it because of all the other voices.” (Leslie Trovato)

For 26 years, I’ve been adjusting my tone, rhythm, and tempo to match or complement the other 7 voices. I’ve been singing their songs, tuning into their crescendos and diminuendo, harmonizing back up to their dreams. 

I was part of an ensemble singing a round. 

It was a whole thing.

But the voices are dropping off one by one.

It’s eerily quiet.

And there are times throughout the day now that I am startled by the sound of a voice. 

One voice.

It’s mine. I think.

But I don’t recognize it. 

What is she even saying??

Who is she without them?

The parts that once sang in my ensemble now sing in their own. Their lives ever as beautiful and challenging and inspiring.

However, they are their own.

Their stories not mine to tell. 

The lines seemed blurred. Or perhaps very clear, just weird.

I'm frustrated that I'm not immediately soloing better.

Or perhaps that I didn’t nurture it over the years.

But at the same time, how?? Just how? 

We tell mothers to do that. And in theory, I agree.

In practice. 

Impossible. 

Because motherhood, singing in a round with so many other voices with varying degrees of need at every single given moment, simply required all of me. 

And giving all of myself up to embrace that song, I do not regret.

And also.

I’m going to need a few minutes. 

A few years, maybe, to find my solo voice.

I feel like I’m looking around a lot these days asking, “Can someone at least give the key that we are supposed to be in?” “Maybe the first line?” “Can we start this song together and then I’ll figure it out?” “Anyone??” 

I’ve recounted this prayer from Barbara Brown Taylor to each of my launching kids as they struggled through making decisions about next steps. 

I’m claiming it as my own today:

—"One night when my whole heart was open to hearing from God what I was supposed to do with my life.

God said, “Anything that pleases you.”

“What” I said, resorting to words again, “What kind of answer is that?”

“Do anything that pleases you,” the voice in my head said again, “and belong to Me.”

Belong to Me.

And then sing whatever you want, Jody.

(But since I can't sing in the literal fashion either, joining the family band is off the table...)

So I’ll figure it out I guess.

In a minute or two.

Row, Row, Row your boat.