Lessons from The Red Front Porch Swing

Lesson Two: Sing Joyfully!

I learned the first song I ever sang sitting on the red front porch swing at my Great Aunt Ella Woodyard’s house.  It was a hymn – the only “songs” Aunt Ella seemed to know – at least at that time.  Aunt Ella came from a long-line of dutiful Methodists who took great pride in joyful hymn singing, and her three favorites were – without question – going to be offered up during any visit.

So the first hymn that I learned, sitting on Aunt Ella’s lap on her red front porch swing, was her absolute favorite: “Let Us Break Bread Together.”  I couldn’t have been more than three years old at the time.  I remember her clapping my hands together in her own, teaching me words that I in no way understood.  I didn’t know about any bread that I could break – the bread from my peanut butter sandwiches didn’t seem breakable! – and I had no earthly idea what any of that had to do with my knees!  But even in my earliest memories of learning that hymn with her, I could sense that the words held great meaning for her.  I watched her face, her expressions as she sang; I heard the emotion in her voice.  The way that she sang it made me want to learn her song so that I could sing it with her. 

In time, we took our duets of “Let Us Break Bread Together,” “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” and “Sweet Hour of Prayer” on the “road” when we would head out to “bring a plate” of lunch or dinner to someone who was sick or homebound.  Aunt Ella served up not only a meal but a short devotional – usually consisting of a Psalm (Psalm 23 was her “go to.”), a prayer, and at least one of her favorite hymns.  Sometimes we would sing together on our way to deliver the “plate;” sometimes, we would sing together on the way back.  Singing together was more than a way for us to pass the time; it was a way for us to share something special, just between the two of us – almost like a secret handshake.

But then, as I got a bit older, those hymn sing-alongs with Aunt Ella just seemed too embarrassing, too childish.  So we stopped – or rather, I stopped.  She never did.  These days, I wish I hadn’t stopped singing those hymns with her.  I miss the sound of her voice. 

But the gift of music that she gave me was a lasting one, one from which I never seemed to wander very far.  Music became my comfort, my outlet, my safe haven.  And through the years, Aunt Ella showed up for my recitals – piano, flute, and ultimately, voice – beaming with pride at her “freckle-faced niece.”  And I beamed right back at the woman who had taught me that very first hymn.

One thing for which I will take credit is exposing Aunt Ella to new musical genres. My hymn-singing Great Aunt didn’t know much about popular music, and as I approached my tween years, I concluded that it was well past time for her to learn something a little different.  I would often bring my radio (Yes, that’s what we had before iPods!) along on visits to her house, hoping to introduce her to my favorites – Stevie Wonder, James Taylor, the Eagles, Elton John.  No such luck.  One day, though, she asked about a song that she heard playing, a Charlie Rich song called, “Behind Closed Doors.”  For some reason (that still remains a mystery to me), that little tune captured her interest.  Now, I wasn’t a Charlie Rich fan (and I’m not sure that I’d even heard “Behind Closed Doors” before that day), but I made it a point to buy the 45 (…what we did before iTunes…) and learn the lyrics, just so that I could teach her the song – sitting on her front porch, on the red front porch swing, singing loudly, so that all the neighbors could hear.  Suffice it to say that when my staunch Baptist mother arrived that summer afternoon and heard Aunt Ella – nearly 90 at the time – lustily singing, “and when we get behind closed doors, and she lets her hair hang down, then she makes me glad that I’m a man…..” she nearly fainted – and I nearly died laughing.  It was a treasured moment, a forged bond in our shared love of music.

And so, Aunt Ella taught me my second lesson from The Red Front Porch Swing: Sing joyfully!  For Aunt Ella, to live was to sing – heartily, with the whole of her being, every single day, as she worshipped, as she ministered to others, as she prayed.  Whether or not she was singing aloud, Aunt Ella always had a song of joy and praise in her heart.  Music fed her soul; rich texts and music communicated those things which simply couldn’t be expressed by words alone.  And, in the later years of her life, Aunt Ella proved that she lived her life with an openness to learning new tunes and new expressions of faith, hope and joy. 

Thanks for the lesson – and the singing gene, Aunt Ella.  You made me so much of who I am today.