How to Teach Your Child to Love Music (Tip #4)

Photo: Baher Khairy, www.unsplash.com.

“I used to play the tuba years ago, but I quit taking lessons.”

I remember hearing this countless times growing up as an evangelist’s kid. Usually, it was spoken by middle-aged adults, a look of regret filling their face. Or by a young parent who wished they had stuck with piano lessons so that they could pass on their knowledge to their family. The instrument always varied, but the regret never did.

If I had a quarter for every time someone has said this to me, I would be so wealthy I could buy my own little island. Well, maybe not. But I would certainly have enough money to buy books for quite some time–which would be fine with me.

I always wished I could say something encouraging to the people who said this to me, but I usually never thought of anything clever. I would smile, nod, and shake their hand. What could I say? “I’m sorry” sounded lame.

You see, in the Marshall family there was no such thing as not learning an instrument. You just did. And there was no such thing as quitting an instrument. You just didn’t. End of discussion.

Did I resent this? No doubt it crossed my mind to feel a tiny bit rebellious as I labored over my piano scales or felt the steel strings of my guitar or mandolin mark indentations on the tips of my fingers. (And I was not even as dedicated as some of my siblings were.)

Do I resent this now? No, not at all–because I appreciate the value of learning an instrument and the hard work and dedication required to achieve this. Now, I can look back and thank God that my parents never let me quit practicing my instruments.

Much has been written on the benefits of learning to play an instrument. I am certain that my Dad knew exactly what those benefits were, but for some reason only one sticks in my mind. I heard him tell kids and teenagers this often:

“Learning an instrument can help you play video games better,” my dad used to say. “Helps your fingers move faster.”

 

I did not play video games much as a child, but Dad made the point well: learning to play an instrument benefits a person in ways they may not realize.

In his article “18 Benefits of Playing a Musical Instrument,” Michael Matthews says that some of the benefits include increasing your memory capacity, enhancing coordination,  promoting social skills, and teaching discipline.

On top of all of the benefits to learning an instrument, researchers have found that amazing things happen inside our brains when we play an instrument. My sister Sharon shared a video with our family recently. The TED-Ed video explains how both our left brain and our right brain are involved when we play music.

“Playing music is the brain’s equivalent of a full body workout,” Anita Collins says.

 

I may not have had a choice about learning an instrument as a child, but today I am thankful that the choice was not left to me–or I may not have chosen for myself.

How grateful I am now that Dad and Mom made me learn and refused to let me quit. If they had, I would have lost some of the richness of life. I would have lost a chance to touch someone else’s life. As an adult, one of my greatest blessings in life is sharing music with others. Music has enriched my life in ways I am still realizing to this day.

You may have stopped learning an instrument as a child, but you can start over now or begin for the first time.

And for goodness’ sake, do not let your child quit lessons!

A Little Thanksgiving in My Heart

Photo: Providence Doucet, www.unsplash.com.

As a child, I remember our family spending Thanksgiving in many locations. Whether it was in North Carolina or Washington state, Ohio or Arizona, the location varied as much as the people with whom we spent the day. Sometimes we celebrated with families we barely knew, and sometimes we celebrated with just us (along with any extra travelers we had with us).

I have always had a special spot in my heart for Thanksgiving. This holiday does not contain all of the rush and stress of the Christmas holiday, where we run around like maniacs, searching for that perfect gift or buying that last-minute stocking stuffer. You still get all of the same delicious food, but you have more time to reminisce and enjoy the season.

For some reason this year, my memory keeps slipping back to a specific Thanksgiving we had one year in North Carolina. The church where our bus was parked next to provided a “Thanksgiving Basket” for us. Most of the items were frozen foods. Because we had no oven on the bus, we had to use the church’s kitchen in the fellowship hall. If my memory serves me correctly, the kitchen did not have an oven, either, but they did have a microwave. We heated our food, one item at a time . . . a process that seemed to take forever. I remember that the building was not very warm. But we were together and we made memories.

Then came the day we built a log home in West Virginia. Now we finally had a permanent location to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas and the occasional summer family reunion. The cabin fairly bustled with activity: a blazing fireplace and pungent cedar log walls and towering beams and half-circle window and wrap-around porch and sparkling lights and dashing children and sisters chatting and brothers joking and Dad’s deep-fried turkey and chocolate pies and . . . always, always the rousing music. And then the cousins and aunts and uncles came and we laughed and sang and made up crazy songs about the first Thanksgiving and corn and Squanto. Those memories fill my mind and heart now–the long-ago microwave Thanksgiving dinner receding into the distant past.

This year, I will be far from that cabin and the noise and the family ties. A sharp ache throbs inside and the sweep of loneliness envelopes me as I think of being so far from home. But deep in my heart the memories will remain, cherished and protected. And as I stop and ponder, I realize I have a host of family members around me still.

My church family has become my family now in so many ways. Parents and sisters and brothers and grandparents and too many nieces and nephews to count. And I will be happy to spend the next few days with a dear friend and her family and extended family, sharing food and fellowship and friendship.

The last few days, Colossians 3:15 has quietly challenged me:

“And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful.”

 

Be thankful–no matter where I am or what I am doing. Be thankful in the hectic moments. Be thankful in the quiet moments. Be thankful in the good circumstances and the bad circumstances. The command is clearly stated. Not “Maybe you should be thankful,” or “I would suggest that you be thankful.” Be. ye. thankful.

And when I do stop to give thanks, joy fills me. After all, who says I cannot have a little Thanksgiving all on my own, deep in my own heart?

Music that Shapes a Century

Photo: Matt Marshall (mattmarshall.photos).

Sophie Tucker. Ma Rainey. Bessie Smith. Ethel Merman. Judy Garland. Anita O’Day. Joan Baez. Bette Midler. Madonna. Lucinda Williams.

What do these names have in common? According to Roxane Orgill’s book  Shout, Sister, Shout: Ten Girl Singers Who Shaped a Century, the ten women listed above helped to shape popular music in the twentieth century, just like the title of the book declares.

Like me, you probably would not recognize most of the names listed, with perhaps the exception of Judy Garland and Madonna.

I never even knew that some of these women existed, yet the power of their talent influenced the culture of music in America.

 

I am known for haunting the library on a regular basis, and a few months ago I decided to use its online database to search for books on teaching children music. I came across Orgill’s book and although her target audience was YA (young adult), the book still fed my curious literary appetite. As she described their careers and their rise to stardom, I was intrigued. She included details about the costumes they wore on stage (even the shoes!) and the way they handled their money. She wrote about their fears of performing, their love of crowds, their hopes and dreams.

I realized how little I knew about the individuals who influenced our country through their music. Some of these women lived decent lives; some did not. Some, like Judy Garland, had their musical careers commandeered for them and struggled to find their place in the world. All of them worked hard and invested untold hours in their craft. I do not know the motivation behind their determination to succeed, but I was challenged.

These women shaped a century with their musical talent, but I wondered how much I had helped to shape the past century with my music. As a woman, I could empathize a little with the struggles these women had faced. As a musician, I could appreciate their hard work and determination. On a much smaller scale, I understood the pressure to perform (to minister, in my case), to always have a song prepared, to smile when I did not feel like it. I remember long practice times with my siblings, tiring recording sessions, quiet little classrooms where I worked on a piece, empty auditoriums where I practiced scales on the piano. I wish now that I had worked even harder on my music, that I had been more determined.

I think of other musicians who work faithfully on their craft. I am certain many are hidden from larger musical circles, practicing in secret, ignoring the calluses on their fingers, disregarding the hours of hard work, paying for voice lessons, not caring that no one notices the intricacies of their offertories. Many women and men have produced music that glorifies God, and they have worked hard in secret where only God sees.

If these women helped to shape a century with their music, how much more we need godly musicians and singers to keep producing music.

 

We need musicians and singers who may never know the effect of their music in this century, but who continue practicing and ministering and putting out their songs. America needs that music, the kind of music that can shape a century and change our country and our world.

New President, New Road

Photo: vector.me.

I remember the first time I voted in a presidential election.

I had turned eighteen a month before and was sharing this voting experience with my older brother Jonathan. We sat across from each other on the pink vinyl couches in the front of our bus. My sister Sharon ceremoniously pulled the absentee “butterfly” ballots from their envelope, along with the little metal tool used to punch the holes, indicating our choices. She then began videotaping the whole event as we read our ballots.

“Here’s the new voters casting their first vote for this election,” she said–or something to that effect. “Jonathan and Jessica. Here they are, folks.” The camera view swung toward Jonathan.

“Dole, Keeemp!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist victoriously. “Dole, Keeemp!” he repeated in his best southern drawl.

The camera swung toward me, but I was not as witty or humorous as my brother. I do not remember what I said, but I still remember the thrill that I experienced, knowing that this was my first time to cast my vote to elect a president of the United States. I gripped the ballot in one hand, the hole puncher in the other–a bit of terror rising. What if I punched the wrong holes?

Yesterday I once again exercised my right to vote as an American citizen, a privilege I have enjoyed since 1996. The process was a bit simpler than my absentee voting in the old days. I simply filled in little squares with black ink, then slid my ballot into a machine. The results were tallied within two minutes. Like many others, I took a “voting selfie” and then headed to work.

Did I think that I may have been choosing “between the lesser of two evils”? I would definitely have preferred Cruz. Did I fully grasp the serious nature of this election? To my own shame, I had only started to fully understand how serious this election was, although I realized both candidates had completely different platforms. I knew that this election was important, and I never questioned whether I would cast a vote.

However, I began to see that the importance of this election was not simply based on Trump or Clinton winning, but ultimately on who appointed the next judge to the Supreme Court, and whether the Senate and the House would be predominately conservative.

Refusing to vote meant that certain beliefs that I held dear might be targeted in future years–perhaps my right to witness, pass out a Gospel tract, attend a church service, or express my beliefs on abortion or the Second Amendment.

I was challenged a few days ago to think of how this election could expand or hamper our ability as Christians to continue getting the Gospel out. More than anything else during this election, that thought convicted me.

No matter what road America takes in the future, I know that my ultimate responsibility is to share the love of Christ with others. To help bring peace through the Prince of peace. Although I am thankful for any politician who tries to turn our nation back to its foundation, Christ alone can heal wounds, calm fears, and soothe anger and hatred. He alone has the power to bring our nation back to Himself.

How to Teach Your Child to Love Music (Tip #3)

Photo: Matthew Marshall (www.mattmarshall.photos).

What happens when you have a dad who grew up in West Virginia and a mom who grew up in New York City?

You end up with an eclectic musical upbringing.

You learn to listen to bluegrass and mountain music. You savor the bowings of a fiddle, the strum of guitar strings, the twang of a banjo. But you also learn to appreciate the sound of an orchestra. You savor the call of the trumpet, the sweep of harp strings, the richness of the cello.

Bluegrass and classical–the two styles of music I was privileged to be around as a child–formed the Marshall sound. But the exposure to polar opposites in music did more than that: it taught me to fall in love with a variety of musical styles–and not just bluegrass or orchestral sounds. I learned to love a capella music and piano music and Celtic music and . . . you get the idea.

Often we choose to listen to music that we are familiar with, music that we connect with. Music has the ability to draw us in and provide comfort, and we gravitate toward what we understand and know. But sometimes we forget that music offers more than the sounds we are used to. We forget the world of music is vast and magnificent and enriching.

If your family tends to listen to only one style of music, I encourage you to expand your musical palette.

 

Try listening to an instrument that you are unfamiliar with, such as an oboe or French horn. Train your ears to recognize a dobro or mandolin. Notice how much work it takes for singers to blend their voices in a capella music.

By listening to different styles of music, not only can you teach your child to tell the difference between instruments and styles, but also you can open a door to further learning. What are the origins of those instruments? For instance, the mandolin resembles the ancient lute and is tuned the same way a violin is tuned. Did you know there are mandolin orchestras? (By now, I think you can guess that I am partial to the mandolin.) The mandolin is played in a bluegrass style in America, but its origins reveal another side to this diminutive instrument.

To make things even more fun, try mixing up styles and instruments. You probably would not associate a banjo with classical music or marches. But my brother Matthew plays classical songs and John Philip Sousa marches on his banjo. You could branch out, too, and connect an instrument with a style of music that you normally would not associate together.

My parents taught my siblings and me to appreciate the beauty of variety.

“God is a God of variety,” my dad used to say as he stood behind the pulpit. “Just look at all of the people sitting in the pews right here.”

 

The belief–that God can use any instrument we play, as long as it is played to honor Him–filled my life. All can be used to give glory to the God of the universe. Even if man designed the instrument: the white or black keys, the steel or nylon strings, the shape of the wood, the curve of the bell.

Your child’s life will be enriched, as mine was, by exposure to music’s variety. Maybe he will love the sound of a saxophone because you taught him to listen to it. Maybe she will develop a skill on the guitar simply because you played guitar recordings while you were making dinner.