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March 6, 2003 - "Summertime
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
"A smile of encouragement at the right moment may act like sunlight on a closed-up flower; it may be the turning point for a struggling life." ~Author unknown
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NEW 2THEHEART LOGO PRODUCTS!
For those of you ladies who have been asking for 2TheHeart nightshirts, YEAH! We now have them! We will also have a brand new bumper sticker very soon and a few other new and fun products - all with a 30 day, money back guarantee. To take a peek, click here: www.cafepress.com/2theheart
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It's such a joy to share a new story from 2TheHeart's favourite (note the spelling!) Brit turned Montana homesteader! Send Ronnie an email and especially send get well wishes to his sweet wife Gay, who has really been having a rough time of it! Be sure to read today's Letter Box for an incredibly moving response to Sandy Smith's story!
"Summertime"
by Ronnie Bray
The note hung in the air timeless and eternal, its clarity unbelievable, ringing around the wood tiled ceiling without diminishing in power or intensity. The audience that had begun filing through the doors at the end of the show stood stock still as if they were painted. The notes of the piano died away as if they never would end and still her voice sustained the thrilling last note as she formed the word 'summertime' making it as penetrating as it was deathless.
Her name was Robyn, and she was the Director of the Reading Mormon Choir. They had completed their concert at the Mormon stake centre in Huddersfield, the audience, more than satisfied by the brilliant performance of soloists and choir had shown their appreciation by a standing ovation of several minutes duration, when in came a young man from the rear doors who rushed up to the podium where Robyn was expressing her thanks to members of the choir and to her accompanist, a large man who made the piano his willing slave.
The incomer extended his hand to Robyn, who took it smiling before they fell into a hug. Then, turning to the departing audience she appealed for silence and explained that the young man was the hairdresser who she met for the first time when he adorned her hair in his salon that afternoon and accepted an invitation to come to the concert. She explained that he had just arrived, having been detained on some important business, but that she was going to sing for him. The audience stood obediently still and silent, not knowing that what they would hear would surpass all that they had already heard that night.
The accompanist retook his seat at the piano and deftly played the introduction to Gershwin's lyric ballad "Summertime", as Robyn took the stage at the side of the piano, a dark-haired statuesque woman of some twenty-plus years, with an infectious smile who was possessed of an astonishing musical talent.
On cue from the piano, she assumed a relaxed classical pose, resting her right hand delicately on the grand's highly polished case as, with a look, she commanded the arena, and began to sing,
"Summertime... and the living is ea-sy ..."
The notes pouring from her golden coloratura throat filled the air with their pure magic sound, holding everyone immediately transfixed and spellbound. It was pure crystal in the sound of a human voice that had no limitations in either purity or range. We were all transfixed into motionless attention: thrilled to our cores by a performance whose refinement and elegance were matchless.
As she sang the last line her voice filled the auditorium and the last note held in the air as an eagle hovers on the wind until it seemed that she could hold it no longer, but she did, turning her left hand into the air and turning her wrist in a grand flourish as the last deafening sound ceased abruptly, plunging the hall into a silence as profound as her singing.
No one moved until their humanity had returned long after the magic ceased following a period of continuing silence as her listeners struggled to remain under her inspiring influence, not wanting to break the spell before slipping back, grudgingly, into the dowdy commonalities of goodnights, parting, and getting home. There was a pause like the silence in heaven, and then the three hundred plus crowd disentranced together to show their admiration for an overwhelming endowment by exploding into thunderous applause in gratitude for the transport to a dominion where music is the common language of such angelic beings as Robyn, who speak only to sing and touch hearts as they do it.
The hairdresser was overcome with an eruption of feeling that he could not have anticipated when he agreed to her invitation, but we all knew exactly what he was experiencing, because we too had been in Arcadia and felt the transporting power of one who sang with the voice of an angel, and all were powerless to do anything but be thrilled and informed by it, for through this agency, many hear the voice of God, and feel closer to Him.
The psalmist David knew this when he ...spake to the chief of the Levites to appoint their brethren to be the singers ...by lifting up the voice with joy.
Copyright © Ronnie Bray 2003 All Rights reserved
Ronnie & Gay recently completed a church mission after moving to the States from England and now reside in beautiful Montana. You will find more of Ronnie's writings in our archives.
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SPRING BOUTIQUE!
To advertise your book, CD, crafts, business, web site or product on our online Spring Boutique (now through Easter), email me at editor@2theheart.com . Each space in the boutique is a flat fee of $10, and includes ad design if you need it! Our boutiques are lots of fun and a great way to get the word out about your product! To see what the Valentine Boutique looked like, click here: www.2theheart.com/boutique
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The Letter Box:
Sandra's story ("God Speaks") was just beautiful! I volunteer to do church services in a local nursing home--and often read my poetry there. One week, I composed a poem especially for them:
Won't You Be My Friend?
(For my friends at Fairchild Manor Nursing Home)
I may be old and feeble now,
My hair is falling out;
My hearing has declined a bit,
I know that you must shout.
My legs no longer hold me up
Like in my younger days;
A mist enshrouds my memory,
'Tis in the past I gaze.
I know you get upset with me
When oft my food I spill,
But my hands have grown quite shaky,
I Can't always keep them still.
My body may be wearing out
But I still live within;
Deep inside I'm still the same
As I have always been.
I close my eyes and I can be
A younger me once more;
I still can laugh and sing and dance
As I did in days of yore.
So please don't be annoyed with me
When I want you often near,
There's not enough to fill my time
And it's loneliness I fear.
For days grow long, and nights grow short,
Sometimes I can't remember
Who I am or who you are;
I dwell in Life's December.
Yet, still, I am a child of God,
He loves me just the same,
And sometimes, in the still of night,
I hear Him call my name.
So please be patient with me,
All I have is time to spend;
There's so much you can learn from me,
Oh, won't you be my friend?
© 2003 Linda Newman
GramLin99@aol.com All rights reserved.
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