Playing Second Fiddle

Two weeks ago my sister and I surprised Mom by taking her away - off the farm - for a weekend in Nashville, Tennessee. We had a really wonderful time together celebrating Mom's 65th (6-5!!!) birthday. I can't remember the last time the three of us shared a hotel room, but it brought back fond memories. Mom still put the unused hotel soaps and lotions in her suitcase so the staff would restock each day. Old habits die hard. 

We ate well over three days and didn't sit still much. In fact, I think the longest we were stationary was during a 2-hour show at the Grand Old Opry. One day we walked over five miles checking out the Music City attractions. We did take Mom to Broadway St. so she could experience the crowd, live music from the "next great ones" and stale beer smell. She didn't seem overly impressed, but I think she enjoyed the people watching. 

One stop we made on Broadway was to The Second Fiddle, an old honkytonk with a small stage and large assortment of historic Nashville memorabilia along the walls. 

We sat and watched a small band play a few old, recognizable classics. The lead singer obviously had the attention of the crowd with the microphone, but not without the talent of the few behind him. They truly were playing second fiddle at The Second Fiddle, I thought to myself. What a way to spend a Saturday. 

Each band member played passionately and loud, waiting for someone to drop a couple dollars in the tip jar next to the stage speakers. I noticed almost all of the band mates were wearing wedding rings. I wondered if their spouses were playing at a bar next door, or perhaps even waiting tables there. When they were done playing, they packed up and left so the next small gig could move in. But the band seemed to split, and all seemed to go separate directions. 

I thought about how I spend my time, where I invest my energy and where I might play second fiddle. Sometimes after my husband folds the towels I desperately want to re-fold them the way I prefer (with crisp, even folds), but in a rush to mark the next thing off my list, I put them away without doubling the effort, thankful for his contribution to our “band”. 

And while we were in Nashville for three days, I was constantly expecting Cody to call asking questions about how to prepare one of Caroline’s favorite meals, or what to give her for teething or how to properly put her hair in a ponytail, following her natural hair part. And do you know what? He never did. The only time he called me in three days was to ensure we weren’t at a Waffle House on Sunday morning when it made national news. 

Semen tank and open fire: 
Dad/Daughter bonding, I guess

The truth is, not all of us can lead the band at all times– though I think often as women we have a hard time realizing that. We have an instinct to lead all areas at all times with our hands in everything, and quickly become overwhelmed, stressed or short fused when things don’t go just as we planned. 

If you look around, you’ll find a large group of folks who are perfectly content playing second fiddle, doing what they need to do, to make a business work, a family function or an event go on without a hitch. You'll find people take care of small details quietly, and doing it well. You’ll see classmates who need not be the center of attention, custodians who never once complain (even during flu season…) and men who don’t drive the bus, but they sure keep it running. Those are the “second fiddles” who actually make the band sound great. Those are the people who play smaller roles to make life’s band grand. 

Those are also the people who don’t consider refolding the towels after someone else already has, they just put them away without another thought. Studies show that most second fiddle players are not mothers. I do all my own research. 

I guess if there was no one to play second fiddle we wouldn't have much of a band. Or church. Or school. Or business. Or home life to raise our families. 

So I return from Nashville with a new perspective, a new outlook on my role within our home and community and newfound respect for those perfectly content in the back row. 

You make life’s music worth listening to.

Save me a seat. 

Kitty's Special Music

Hello. Welcome to this week's confessional. Something has been on my mind.

When I was in high school I went to a small church tucked inside the confines of a tiny Indiana village. I say village because it was too small to warrant a town; it had only three streets. 

General store next door

The old church had many empty pews on Sunday morning, but you could count on the same familiar faces being there every single Sunday. It was a small, but dedicated, bunch. 

I went there by invitation from a friend. I knew no one on the first Sunday that I joined them, but by the time I moved to Purdue I knew nearly everyone. I'm not saying that to brag; there were maybe 20 people in the congregation. They taught me not only the words to, but to believe the message in, Because He Lives. 

Alabama sings Because He Lives

My friend and I brought the average age down greatly. We were 16 and 17 years old, and many of the others could have very well been our (great) grandparents. You can imagine the joy on their faces when we'd come through the doors. One woman in the church even bought my monthly devotional for me; the one where the Peril of Prosperity entry came from. Twelve years later and I still carry it around. 

Though I haven't been to that church in more than fifteen years, there is one woman I remember well. 

Her name was Kitty. 

Kitty would always come in on two wheels on Sunday morning, barely beating the clock that hung at the back of the church. She played the organ beautifully and took full advantage of the acoustics in the tiny rural church. She sang loud as she played, and rarely seemed to look at any kind of music book in front of her. When the service was over, Kitty seemed to leave as quickly as she'd arrived. 

Often we would have "special music" by Kitty. The minister would actually say it that way:
"This morning we'll now have special music from Kitty."
Kitty didn't need a microphone. She was quite small but her voice was large. And high pitched, with a hint of scratch in it? Is scratch a musical term? It is hard for me to explain in writing, but some how Kitty's singing actually reminded me of a cat.

My friend and I always kind of giggled to one another, and maybe participated in an elbow jab to the ribs, when the special music started. We always knew where it was headed. 
 
Kitty's music was special, indeed. 

I admired Kitty for standing in front of a group and belting out her love for Jesus. It was true. And real. And quite loud. 

I was reading the paper last week and saw a face I hadn't seen in years. 
In the obituary section was Kitty. 

I read about her life and dedication to her family, community and church. She was an organist at church for 47 years, but not the one I went to. She was an organist at the tiny church I write about for 20 years. Finally, I understood why she'd rush into our church service then leave so quickly; the woman served in many capacities on Sunday morning. She also created and directed a community choir. She was in charge of Good Friday services. Kitty was a faithful servant through music. 

I sat back in my chair after reading about her life, and thought about my short association with her. 

I felt shame that I giggled at Kitty's special music. Because Kitty's special music was how she used her God given talents to to serve and love the Lord. Her special music was how she shared her gift. Who was I, at 16 and barely able to tap out Mary Had a Little Lamb on a keyboard, to smirk each time she sang? If I could go back in time, I would rewind seventeen years and stop Kitty after church to thank her for her special music. 

I learned from Kitty last week, by reading her obituary.

God gives us certain talents, gifts. Things we can do, create, extend or give away to others that no one else can. Edwin Elliot once said, “By being yourself, you put something wonderful in the world that was not there before.” I believe that very much. There will never again be music in that church like Kitty's. 

Use up those talents and gifts. Every single one of them. Wring them out and get every last drop. Find those things that make you uniquely you and extend them to the best of your ability. Worry not what others may think of your volume or boldness or the ways in which you give. Sing it, live it and scream it to the rafters.

I've heard that the meaning of life is to find your gift, and the purpose of life is to give it away.

Kitty did, every Sunday.