We went to a music recital this weekend.  Dear Girl's bff was playing the piano and singing.  So our whole family got cleaned up and were in attendance on the front row.  Its been a long time since I went to a recital.

I love all the children my children love, of course.  I feel maternal about them, almost like they were mine.  And for that afternoon, I felt maternal about every kid brave enough to perform.   Most adults aren't that brave.  We forget this, how hard it really is.  Few adults willingly put themselves in gut churning situations where their own creative force is brought to bear.  But children are braver, even as they are more tender.  Imagine their courage.  Oh, I was so proud of them.

My husband is a professional musician and for a while considered making music his career.  We spent a lot of time listening to live music, not just his own, while we were dating.  All the time we weren't hiking, drinking coffee or beer, cooking the most divine food, or bird watching was spent watching live music.  We saw nearly all the important or interesting music touring in the '90s.   Then we had kids... What was the last show we saw?  I was so pregnant with our son I nearly did not fit between the rows.  I fit between the elbow rests but my stomach was almost touching the seat in front of me.   To hear Bobby McFerrin sing Ave Maria.  Oh my.

......we interrupt this post for McFerrin surfing on youface......

The thing about live music is you are captive.  You must not get up and walk around or jibber jabber.  Sit still for the experience.  Something few adults require of themselves these days --as much as we talk about wishing we could sit down.  We rarely sit still.  And actual listening?  Well, listening is even rarer.  Stillness and listening are your contribution.  Performance is your guide.  What happens when stillness listening and performance arrive together is called presence.

Which is where children live more often than adults, in the present moment.  So it does not matter if they qualify as professional musicians, as talented, or even as what we might call good.  They arrive in the present moment bearing the force of their spirits and creativity with absolute honesty.  At one point I heard my husband whisper to himself, "Oh, I LOVE this." I knew just what he meant.  I felt all my blood vessels relax.  And I felt as I have felt sometimes in Meeting with Quakers or meditation.

Halfway through the show Molly, who was littlest after all, balked.  She wasn't ready.  So much more then, the triumph, when the whole of her 43 inches arrived on stage to close the show with her 43 seconds of time at the piano.  I tell you, recitals are priceless, free, and you can find God there.  Go Molly!