When I was a kid, my mom was very involved with Sunday School at our church.
In my eyes, my mom had many talents — like…she played the piano, she was excellent at drawing, and, she was strangely able to be around groups of dorky and wiggly children without losing her cool. Mind you, I have no idea if my mom lost her cool inside, but on the surface, my mom always seemed very calm and capable to me, and it’s one of those aspects of her personality that I wish I could embody myself!
But when I was in elementary school, for some reason, my mom decided to get involved with the “Children’s Church Musical.” She was in charge of the whole kit and caboodle — picking out the musical, casting, playing the piano, teaching all of the kids (from multiple grades) all of the songs, choreography…running lines…
Dear God?! How did she do it??
Or the better question is: Why did she do it??
The play she picked was called “Barbecue for Ben.” (I Googled it today just see if I remembered the name correctly, and there are still churches out in middle-America putting on this old chestnut!) The premise of the play was based on the story in the Bible of the Prodigal Son. If you’re not familiar with the story, it was a parable Jesus used to express His desire to forgive us of our sins if we repent and turn back to Him — just like the rebellious son who takes off and squanders his inheritance and then returns to his father who is waiting for him with open arms — and of course, with a barbecue party complete with roasted meats and all of the family’s friends waiting to celebrate the guest of honor.
I remember when my mom first got the sheet music for the play in the mail, she immediately started practicing the songs on the piano in our living room. I remember that it seemed to me like the composer attempted to make the songs kind of “hip” and “relevant” to kids growing up in the ’80s, and then my mom added her own “pizazz” here and there, too!
But just imagine, if you will, some of these great and timeless children’s hits:
Whoops! My Pocketbook’s Empty
Who’s That Diggin’ in My Garbage?
Look Who’s Coming Down the Street
N’ya, N’ya Johnny’s Jealous
Classics in the making, right? Well…not so much, but, that musical and watching my mom pull it off did leave a lasting impression on me. I remember being really proud of her on opening night.
I was in fifth grade at the time, and I was really into wearing denim vests back then, and since there was a “barbecue theme,” my mom let me wear my favorite dark denim vest with the red corduroy liner as a part of my costume — even though none of the other kids in the “choral group” wore a vest. It’s strange how details like my vest and how my mom made me feel by letting me wear it stand out to me all these years later.
I’ve been thinking about my mom so much lately. As the weather starts to take on the tiniest hints of fall, it always seems to trigger me to miss my mom a little extra. She passed away on a gorgeous Colorado fall day, and all of the days we had with her leading up to her death seem to forever live on the surface of my skin and all it takes is a fall breeze to reawaken them.
The mind is a strange warehouse for memories — at least mine is — and I can’t really explain why I was thinking about my specific memories of that musical. It clearly wasn’t the songs that got stuck in my memories. It was just my mom, and the feelings I still remember she triggered in me.
In the past two weeks, I’ve heard three people quote the same Maya Angelou quote, and it goes like this:
