It doesn’t settle a mom’s heart when she’s not sure if her son running out at the last minute, music flying, to take his place behind the drumset, is part of his jazz act, but it does bring a smile when a rhythm starts, pushing the music forward.
My son is a drummer. He marches on drumline, plays percussion instruments in band, and sits behind a drumkit most Monday nights practicing with the Jazzalopes.
Tumbling in my heart is that all four littles are sitting through a percussion concert. A first. It is a bit stressful sitting next to the youngest, but she makes it almost all the way to the end before Daddy takes her out. At least this time he got to hear his son play all of his pieces before leaving. Another first.
Though my body feels exhausted, my heart is energized as I sit soaking up atonal percussive beats of drums and haunting tones of marimbas.
I feel full of hopes and dreams. Where it used to seem I was just plodding along, getting by, there is now forward movement into possibilities. This is exciting.
While I long for for extended periods of time to write the deeper thoughts that dwell within, for now I am content to use the stolen moments I can grab along the way to scratch out ideas.
I am trying to stay awake, alive, and aware as I learn to recognize redemption.