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Outdoor weddings are a highlight of my spring and summer as a harpist—the sunshine on the bride’s smile, the soft breeze lifting the sounds of my harp, the mosquitoes on my arm. . .

Ok, there’s a problem! I can handle my music blowing around, I can handle the swift moving sun and shade, I can handle hauling the harp and fifty pounds of equipment over hill and dale to the beautiful gazebo. But it is really difficult not to interrupt the Pachelbel’s Cannon mid phrase when I feel a bug land on my upper arm! The bride is coming down the aisle, both my hands are caught in harmonies and I’m supporting a $12,000 instrument on my shoulder and I start frantically batting at a bug. . . not a pretty picture.

When I play an outdoor wedding, I expect to be ducking mosquitos, flicking ladybugs off the harp and still finding ants crawling out of my music books three days later.

But this year I played a wedding full of a different kind of bug. After the “I dos” the couples completed their service with a butterfly release. As I unfurled the beautiful melodies of Bach’s Prelude No. 1, they unwrapped a cage of monarch butterflies that danced out in all directions, a reverse confetti gravitating toward the sky. The flower girl and ring bearer, no more than three years old, tottered after the bright wings which flew always one step ahead. And one of those incredible iridescent insects landed on my music to take a breath. I was playing All Things Bright and Beautiful.

Have you ever held a butterfly? It makes all the other bugs worth it.

“All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.”
Cecil F. Alexander,

I always thought “Mouth-breather” was derogatory— a designation for that kid at summer camp with allergies and a loud snore. My dance teachers and singing teachers instructed me to breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

Then I went to record my first CD, “The Joy We Share,” and I learned a new definition. In the beautiful Rieth Recital Hall of Goshen College where my socked feet were thunder on the floor, my sound engineer would end every take begging me to breathe so he didn’t hear my breath come through the microphones. I put so much energy into my music, I breathe in during rests and wheeze out during decrescendos. And I had a stuffy nose. Over and over again my sound man would pull off his headphones saying, “Breath through your mouth!”

So I’ve spent the last year and a half training myself to be a mouth breather.

To record my Christmas CD, we again rented Rieth Recital Hall, and this time I had my breathing down to a science—I gaped like a guppy, lips parted for all my songs. And my wonderful sound engineer only heard my smile.

But my breath was not the only thing that could interrupt my recording session. Rieth Recital Hall’s superior acoustics were built a quarter of a mile away from the train tracks and, “When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry.”

Johnny Cash really knows how to phrase things.

Then there was the college tour that opened the soft seals of the door right on the end of a take. I can’t blame them for showing the beautiful music center to prospective students. But we did post a recording in progress sign.

Now that this CD is done I can breathe a loud sigh of relief, either out of my nose or my mouth. But I did learn that creating something beautiful, like heavenly music, sometimes involves doing something I didn’t expect, like becoming a mouth breather. Sometimes becoming worthy of heaven also involves doing things you don’t expect, like being kind to enemies and people who interrupt your recordings. . . But the end result is worth it.

And I am panting with anticipation to share these recordings with you! Stay tuned to hear when the CD arrives!

Usually, I fill June programs with patriotic music. Between Memorial Day, the anniversary of D-Day and the upcoming 4th of July, this seems like the season to stir the spirit with songs like America the Beautiful, Salute to the Armed Forces (which sounds surprisingly good on a harp) and the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

But this month is a bit different. For June 2015, I’m playing O Holy Night, Angels We Have Heard on High and The Little Drummer Boy.

Explanation? I’m making a Christmas CD!

The most common question from people who bought my first CD, The Joy We Share, was “When are you making a Christmas CD?” The answer is this year! The last week of June I will record a CD of all the Christmas Carols you asked for. We will produce it in July, put it into production in August and plan to have it available for purchase in September.

Which means that while my family is grilling hot dogs outside, and the corn is shooting up in the fields, I am practicing Christmas carols! If you are at one of my June programs, you will be treated to a special preview, a Christmas in June.

Of course, I can’t abandon my patriotic songs, so you will hear a few of those as well. And last week, when I played The Battle Hymn of the Republic back to back with O Holy Night, I realized how these two oft requested songs from totally different seasons correspond.

Think of the second verse of O Holy Night

“Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains He shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.”

This beloved carol was written by a Frenchman, Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure, in 1847, then translated into the familiar English version by John Sullivan Dwight. A scant 18 years later as the Civil War split America, Julia W. Howe also united the ideas of Christ’s birth and fighting for freedom in the third verse of The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

“In the beauty of the lilies,
Christ was born across the sea
With a glory in His bosom that
Transfigures you and me.
As He died to make men holy,
Let us live to make men free.”

By his birth, Christ made a commitment to live and die for our freedom. That Christmas spirit doesn’t end in December anymore than the patriotic spirit stops after July 4th. The commitment to a love that desires freedom and to a joy which keeps us marching is for all seasons. That love makes Christmas carols appropriate in June.

May you find that freedom as you celebrate this season—hopefully outdoors with hotdogs and fireworks!

Stay in touch to hear how the CD is coming and if you would like to pre-order the Christmas CD send me your name, phone or email and address.

Keep listening for Joy!

Monday night, I performed in the glow of gas lamps for the first time. Before, I’d only seen lamps like that in picture books. They hung from the ceiling around The Carriage House Amish eatery where I played after dinner Christmas music. The luminous steal mesh hummed excitedly, casting circle shadows directly below the gas canisters—the final contrast for a weekend of curious lights.
Christmas is the season of lights, but, as a harpist, I worry about light all year long. When I unpack the harp I think about light before acoustics. Sound carries around corners. Light does not. I need light to see my music, to see the strings and where I am putting my finger. I appreciate enough light to see my audience and gage how they respond to my songs—and my jokes! I always carry my own battery stand light in my harp bag, but a performance space with good lighting is a gift. And in a weekend of six performances, I received a variety of gifts.

To begin Saturday evening, I performed in a pitch black sanctuary, with only a stand bulb to throw a doily of light over my music. I sat at the end of the brass orchestra in my own church, Nappanee Missionary, for their Christmas cantata, and the choir and the musicians were the only spots of light in the sanctuary.

Half an hour later, I performed with the Maple City Chamber Orchestra on the brilliant stage of Souder Concert Hall. The stage lights, bright and sharp as trumpet blasts, illuminated the entire orchestra and choir in the golden bowl of white wood, and the reflected light almost touched the audience. From where I sat in front of the percussion, the conductor in his white waistcoat shone like a paper cut out against the shadowy balconies.

Sunday morning I joined another cantata at the United Methodist church. In contrast to the last two concert spaces, the white walls of the 1874 sanctuary were split by stained glass windows that warmed up the winter morning light and left blue and gold foot prints running across the audiences’ faces. Light filled every corner.
Among the Christmas lights and Christmas candles, the true light of Christmas shines as Christ, the light of life. I imagine Christmas light to be like my weekend of performances—first only a few, the prophets, like the musicians on stage, saw the light. With their tiny lamps, they poured out music to the audience in darkness. When Christ came, he brought light to the church, spotlighting every movement of the performers and inviting the shadowed audience to participate. But when Christ comes again, a dawning Sunday morning, there will be no darkness on stage or in the seats.

“The light that shone on Bethlehem fills all the world today . . .”

Monday night, my weekend of orchestra performances over, I returned to doing my solo harp events. I performed for a Lion’s club under the gas lamps of an Amish barn. But maybe that was the best reminder of all.

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,
let it shine
let it shine
let it shine.
Let it shine till Jesus comes, I’m gonna let it shine.”

My next public performance will be a candle light Christmas Eve service at North Main Mennonite in Nappanee.
Merry Christmas and celebrate the Light!