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A Joyful Noise

Harlem gospel choir

Announcing #SweetSundayBrunch, with Harlem Gospel Choir

June 15, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Remember the lively conversations we once shared around the family table on Sundays? If you close your eyes, can you also recall the delicious aromas that wafted from the kitchen? Fried chicken and cornbread, syrupy pancakes and scrambled eggs…food so tasty, its closest rival was the toe-tapping, tambourine-waving music you heard in church that morning? That’s the feeling we’re going for with #SweetSundayBrunch, a weekly Twitter chat that I’m co-hosting with the Harlem Gospel Choir.

In 140 characters: #SweetSundayBrunch is soul food, served fresh every Sunday morning via social media. Join our global conversation every week, starting 6/21.

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Share snaps of your Sunday gatherings (Image copyright Harlem Gospel Choir)

#SweetSundayBrunch is also inspired by the incomparable joy that came of singing with the Harlem Gospel Choir. I still get teary-eyed when I think about the day I blogged about being a “caged bird” who trembled at the very thought of singing out loud, even in private. I challenged myself to take a workshop with the world-famous gospel choir, at the Escondido Performing Arts Center. It was definitely outside my comfort zone, but it stood at the very top of my bucket list, and I was ready for the challenge.

To my great surprise, I was invited by the lead singer to join the choir onstage, and to stand next to her in the spotlight.  To my even greater amazement, I sang a full-throated version of “Oh Happy Day” at center stage, without fear or inhibition. When the final grace note dissolved into silence, each of the choir members came forward and hugged me. The lead singer ushered me offstage, but not before saying (loud enough for all to hear), “We’ve been friends for a long time. But we are more than that… we are family.” It was one of the most authentic expressions of love that I’ve ever experienced, and I (along with the Harlem Gospel Choir) want to share it with all of you.

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Me, shortly after singing onstage with the Harlem Gospel Choir–oh, happy day!

 

#SweetSundayBrunch is an interfaith, nondenominational, toe-tapping, tambourine waving, guilt-free gathering that’ll make you wish you could scratch-and-sniff your Twitter page.

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Whet our appetites! (Sunday Brunch on Lummi Island, copyright Nina Laden)

 

Our first Twitter chat is this coming Sunday, June 21st. Since we’re expecting guests from around the world, it’s not tied to a certain time zone.

FIVE GUIDELINES:

  1. Connect with us every week by adding the hashtag #SweetSundayBrunch to your Sunday morning tweets. Got extra characters? Add @MelodyeShore and/or @HarlemGospel.
  1. Share a good word, choir pics, song lyrics, snaps of your Sunday gatherings…bring what you’ve got to the table & invite your friends to join us.
  1. Tweet and retweet people who use the #SweetSundayBrunch hashtag, and ‘follow’ those whose interests you share.
  1. No copy/paste advertisements, rants, or porn.
  1. Mention Sweet Sunday Brunch by name—as much as you’d like, much appreciated! But please save the hashtag [#SweetSundayBrunch] for our weekly gatherings. [#SweetSundayBrunch is our registered hashtag, and we’ve also created a @SweetSunBrunch Twitter profile.]
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Post pictures of your Sunday gatherings! Image copyright Harlem Gospel Choir

THREE SUGGESTIONS:

  1. Follow the Golden Rule. Meaning: be generous of spirit & open-minded.
  1. Give and you shall receive. Extend the hand of friendship, take away an encouraging word.
  1. Make a joyful noise. Jump in, speak up, give a shout out…have fun!

Sound fun? We hope so! This is our first foray into the hashtag world, so we’re hoping you’ll help boost the signal.

Posted in: #SweetSundayBrunch, bucket list, Harlem Gospel Choir, joy, joyful noise, Singing, Sweet Sunday Brunch Tagged: @Harlemgospel, @Melodyeshore, @SweetSunBrunch, #SweetSundayBrunch, Harlem gospel choir, joy, joyful noise, singing

Finding my voice, and taking wing

February 23, 2015 by Melodye Shore

In you is all of Heaven
Every leaf that falls is given life, in you
Each bird that ever sang… will sing again, in you. —A Course in Miracles

I’m still reveling in my experiences last week with the Harlem Gospel Choir. More to come about that, and soon, but I first need to find adequate words with which to express their shimmering magic.

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In the meantime, how about a hummingbird hatchling update?

When last we visited their nest together, the siblings were doing flight simulations. Four days later, on February 19th, I witnessed something rare and wonderful.

Walela’s babies been riding the wind currents all day, hanging ten on the edge of their nest. Whew, scary! If the video’s jumpy in a few spots, it’s because I was more than a little nervous. But when the winds died down, the birds were safely ensconced in their nest, seemingly unruffled by their wild ride.

Later that same evening, I climbed our rickety wooden ladder, cell phone snugged to my ear so I could talk to my sister Sheryll while also snapping a few last pictures before nightfall. Quite the balancing act, I must say, but boy howdy, was it worth the effort!

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They were playing a game of do-so-do on their cottony perch, when suddenly…well, see for yourself. The bigger hatchling hovered over its sibling for just a few seconds, propelled itself backward and then soared on tiny wings over the red tile roof that sheltered it, from egg to fledge, in Walela’s nest.

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The next morning, our new fledgling had nestled into the birdbath beyond my kitchen window, about 15 feet from its former home. Sheryll called it Sunshine, and that seems fitting for this tiny bird with shimmery feathers. (I took this next sequence of pictures through my front window, so they’re a bit blurry. But oh, are you as happy to see him flourishing as I am?)

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Walela’s nurturing her baby while it gets acclimated to life beyond the nest, as mamas are wont to do.

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Over the next several days, she’ll show Sunshine how to forage for food and survive on its own in the wild.

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Motherhood is hard work!

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Hovercraft mama that she is, Walela also watches over the hatchling that remains in the nest, preening its pinfeathers and practicing flight maneuvers on its own.

Here’s what it looked like, the day after its sibling fledged. Lonely, you think?

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Walela visits often. I took these snapshots yesterday morning.

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We’ve since decided to call her Jennifer (“Jenny”), in memory of Reverend Jennifer Durant, who inspired many, living with ALS as she did–with a featherlight spirit and a heart filled with joy.

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She still has a few pinfeathers tucked into her tail, but I suspect Jenny will be taking to the skies sometime today or tomorrow.

Posted in: birds, Flight, hummingbird hatchlings, hummingbird nest 2015, hummingbirds, Singing Tagged: fledging, Harlem gospel choir, hummingbird hatchlings, hummingbird nest 2015, hummingbirds, Reverend Jennifer Durant, Walela

The caged bird sings

February 15, 2015 by Melodye Shore

There was a time when my sisters and I performed as an ensemble, singing gospel choruses on the makeshift platforms of my father’s Pentecostal revival meetings. We were the warmup act for his fiery sermons.

Sheryll Melodye and Heidi_abt1961

Heidi, Melodye, and Sheryll

But there came a day, back in the early 1960s, when I lost my singing voice.

We were performing with the church choir that morning, a swirl of beribboned braids and Easter dresses, making a joyful noise together in the sun-splashed sanctuary of Everybody’s Tabernacle.

A black woman approached the platform where I stood, eyes twinkling under the netting of her pillbox hat. She reached for my hand. I nodded. She led me down the steps and into the crowd of worshippers, white-gloved fingers laced through mine. We “sang in the spirit together”–spinning like kaleidoscopes under the stained glass windows, prisms of color at our feet.

My feet blistered inside my hand-me-down shoes, but I didn’t feel a thing…until my mother reached into the aisle where I was dancing, pinched my arm and yanked me backward into her pew.

“Stop acting like a jungle bunny,” she hissed.

My throat tightened. In my mother’s disapproving eyes, I saw flashes of something dangerous. I’d seen it before, casting its shadow over the water fountains in Mississippi. I’d felt its looming presence, commandeering the lunch counter at a department store in Alabama. I recognized, but couldn’t yet name the familiar glare—directed now toward the good-hearted folks that opened their homes to our itinerant family, filling our empty bellies with casseroles and latticed pies, stocking our pantry with canned vegetables and fruits, and outfitting us with winter coats, more suitable for Baltimore snowstorms than the thin cotton sweaters we brought from California.

I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t sing another note. The lyrics swirled through my head, but the melody was spirited away to a secret hiding place, where love doesn’t pinch, and joy flies on iridescent wings through an impossibly blue sky.

At almost five years old, I couldn’t find the words to describe how I was feeling. But years later, I stumbled on a passage written by Rumi, who somehow got it right:

“The feelings trembled and flapped in [my] chest like a bird newly put in a cage.”

I’d long-since rejected the ugliness my mother spewed that day. And yet…the music was still locked inside me. I enrolled in choir classes and paid for private lessons. But despite all that throat-clearing, I rarely sang loud enough for anyone else to hear. I wouldn’t let loose in the car, not even with the windows rolled. I didn’t sing in the shower,  even when I was home alone. I even bought myself a tambourine–but I couldn’t find the backbeat, and the clanging cymbals sounded more clanking chains.

But here’s the thing: When we step into that liminal space that falls between our comfort zone and  wildest dreams, miracles sometimes happen. And if we keep our eyes and ears wide open, we might get brief glimpses of that.

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Our plane was grounded by a snowstorm, so we rebooked on another airline. I couldn’t believe my ears: the Harlem Gospel Choir was clustered at our new boarding gate, singing gospel music. I reveled in this serendipitous encounter (read: went all fan girl on them).

Someday, I promised myself,  I’ll sing like that again. I might’ve even told Anna Bailey, their manager, about my dream to one day sing with a gospel choir again.

Two years later, as luck or fate would have it, I saw this posting on my Facebook feed:

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Looking forward to our workshop and concert @theccae California Center for the Arts in Escondido CA on Sunday Feb 15 at 7:30pm. ‪#‎HarlemGospelChoir‬ ‪#‎theCaliforniaCenterForTheArts‬ ‪#‎escondido‬ #Escondido ‪#‎ESCONDIDOCA‬ ‪#‎SANDIEGO‬

 

Say amen, somebody. Carpe diem, Melodye.

I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not claiming a full-on healing. But guess where I’m headed on this sun-splashed February morning?

UPDATED*

I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free...

It’s impossible to describe for you the joy that came of enrolling in that Escondido workshop. I still get teary-eyed when I remember the “caged bird” who flinched at the very thought of singing out loud, even in private. I watched the choir perform, bodies swaying as they sang.  I sang a few, raspy notes–under my breath, so no one could hear me.  Eventually, though, and with lots of encouragement, I stood trembling at the mic, rehearsing a song for our evening performance. Was I stiff? No question. Pitch perfect? Probably not. But I kept telling myself: At least I’m trying.

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No one else knew the depths of my anxiety, except for the choir members with whom I shared my story over dinner. I talked about how silly I sometimes felt, constrained after all these years by something that happened to me as a very young girl. I confessed, with a sheepish smile, that after hearing them sing in the JFK terminal, I’d written “Sing onstage with the Harlem Gospel choir” at the very top of my bucket list.

I sat with the workshop buddies, felt an old stirring as I watched them perform in concert. I think, in hindsight, that it was the warmup for the magic that followed.

After an intermission, the lead singer stood at center stage, shielding her eyes from the glare of the spotlight. “Where’s Melodye?” Kiaama Hudson asked. I pivoted in my seat, scanned the auditorium. There were hundreds of people in the audience–surely, she was looking for someone else?

But no. Eyes twinkling, Kiaama fixed her gaze on me. “Come on, girl,” she said, as she waved me toward the stage.

I slow-walked to the front of the auditorium, felt everyone’s eyes on me as I climbed the platform stairs.

She took my hand in hers, and led me toward the microphone. “This is on your bucket list, am I right?” she asked me. “Singing with us onstage?”

I nodded, at once petrified and excited. It’d been a long time coming, but change was gonna come.

Kiaama stood tall and proud at the microphone: chin lifted.

I straightened my shoulders, took several deep breaths.

We sang a few practice riffs. My voice was tentative; hers was rich, full, and sweet.

But when she laced her fingers in mine,  I felt a familiar stirring.

Kiama radiated love from the depths of her being, and Oh, Happy Day, I was standing next to her, letting my little light shine.

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Kiaama Hudson. Image via Village Voice

When the final grace note dissolved into silence, Kiaasha said, right there in front of God and everybody, “We’ve been friends for a while now. But you know…once you’ve sung with our choir, we’re no longer just friends. We’re family, for life.”

The choir surrounded me–a group hug that felt like sunshine, and sparkly effervescence.  It was one of the most authentic expressions of acceptance that I’ve ever experienced, with reverberations in the rest of my life that I’d be hard-pressed to explain.

“Sing from your heart,” HGC manager Anne Bailey told us in the workshop, earlier that day.

Which, of course, is where I found my voice, hidden all this time under layers of protection. I’m setting it free again, slowly but surely, now that the lock is finally broken.

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(*Updated to include my workshop experience and my mother’s actual words.)

Posted in: CAN I GET A WITNESS, Harlem Gospel Choir, liminal spaces, memoir, Singing Tagged: baltimore, can i get a witness, escondido, Harlem gospel choir, rumi, Say Amen Somebody, singing, william blake

Say Amen, Somebody

February 11, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Performing with a renowned gospel choir has always been near the very top of my bucket list. It’s one of those dandelion wishes that makes my heart sing, that speaks to my greatest joys & deepest fears.

Not that I fully expected it would ever happen, but I’m not one to discount any possibilities. I mean, miracles do happen..

Caught a flight at JFK with–oh happy day!–the @harlemgospel choir. pic.twitter.com/Mtf8Y0RsDp

— Melodye Shore (@MelodyeShore) March 2, 2013

Well…The Harlem Gospel Choir just posted this event to Facebook:

10959906_10152713040327183_4236852055818134960_nLooking forward to our workshop and concert @theccae California Center for the Arts in Escondido CA on Sunday Feb 15 at 7:30pm. ‪#‎HarlemGospelChoir‬ ‪#‎theCaliforniaCenterForTheArts‬ ‪#‎escondido‬ #Escondido ‪#‎ESCONDIDOCA‬ ‪#‎SANDIEGO‬

And it just so happened that I saw it while scrolling through my news feed! So excuse me while I retreat to my fainting couch with a vial of smelling salts, because, oh happy day, I’m registered for an ensemble workshop with THE HARLEM GOSPEL CHOIR, y’all! And if that’s not enough of an anointing, lol, I’ll have an opportunity to sing with them at an evening performance!

Posted in: CAN I GET A WITNESS, joy, joyful noise Tagged: can i get a witness, Harlem gospel choir, memoir, oh happy day

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