Usually it was Sarah who serenaded us but I recall when her big sister, Elizabeth, regaled us with odd and sundry versions of 鈥淢y Grandfather鈥檚 Clock.鈥� There was nothing wrong with the song and I remember belting it out while I was in school choir. On occasion, I still find myself humming its rhythmic melody. There was nothing wrong with having Elizabeth sing it, but the constant repetition drove me crazy. Whether playing Yahtzee, riding with us in the car or while we walked, she sang it 鈥� ad nauseum.
Nor was there a problem hearing Henry Clay Work鈥檚 composition sung occasionally. In fact, I really enjoyed the piece. More than a dozen renditions at a time, however, got a mite irritating. In this case the tick-tocks got louder in direct proportion to my waning endurance level. 鈥淪ing, Elizabeth,鈥� we鈥檇 admonish (gently, of course), 鈥渂ut why not sing something else or somewhere else.鈥� Sigh, if only she鈥檇 had learned the beauty of moderation.
I need to learn that, too 鈥� and that brings me to Lent. The Protestant denomination in which I was raised rarely mentioned the season of Lent, let alone observed it, but now that we鈥檙e part of a wonderful church fellowship that observes this season, I realize that I missed something very special. Apart from any religious overtones, taking dedicated time from the hectic lifestyle I鈥檝e always managed to pursue would have been good for me and for those around me. Balancing the tick-tocks of life, like those of Grandfather鈥檚 Clock, would have kept things (me, specifically) on a far more even keel. To know that moderation is good is one thing; to practice it, another.
Read Proverbs 23 for King Solomon鈥檚 warning about all kinds of excesses.
By the way, now that Elizabeth鈥檚 moved so far away, I鈥檇 give lots to hear her sing again.
