Chapter 16

Chapter 16
Concerts and Recordings

On our way out to the farm that evening, the four of us siblings burst into spontaneous singing as we often did. It was nice to have a fourth-part to our harmony, now that Reed was old enough to chime in. Two of our favorites were “Operator” and “Bad Connection,” which we put together into one medley, because both had a central theme that talked about getting Jesus on your “telephone line.” We usually managed to work in an old hymn or two as well, which always reminded us of Grandma Hoffman, who had so much enjoyed hearing us sing the great classics like “Amazing Grace,” or “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”

"Reed, take your inhaler," Kim commanded, as an audible wheeze came through on the final note of "Inside Out," a tune originally sung by Londa Lundstrom.

"Oh, don't be so picky. A wheeze now and then doesn't hurt anything," Reed complained. But he dutifully took it out of his pocket and did as he was told. He was usually able to keep his asthma under control with his inhaler and the occasional use of his breathing machine, although late-night trips to the emergency room weren’t unheard of either. Reed never fussed about it though, even when his breathing became labored. We fervently hoped he would grow out of the asthma someday, and that the more severe occurrences would become a thing of the past.

"Home again, home again," Dad chanted as we turned into our front yard. We all piled out, and everyone went in various directions. Dad took the van to the car shed, while Mom went inside the house and checked for messages on the answering machine. Kim was inspecting the corner stash in the living-room to see whether any mail had come for her in the past week, and Reed started for his own room to catch the last few minutes of one of his favorite radio programs. Rory was on his way to what had formerly been Grandma Hoffman's house, and was now our music studio. I was sure Grandma would have wanted us to use it for that very purpose, since she was now living in a heavenly mansion and no longer needed her earthly dwelling.

I lugged all of the paraphernalia I'd brought home into our house, dumped it at the foot of the bed where Kim and I slept, and then went to see what Reed was up to. “Adventures in Odyssey” was just ending as I entered his room.

"Why do you bother to listen to that, if you’re only going to catch the tail end?" I wanted to know.

"That's better than nothing," he pointed out. "And besides, another good show is coming on right away, so there."

"What program is that?” I inquired.

“It’s a really funny one! I just discovered it. You need to stay in here and listen to at least part of it. I’m sure it’s the weirdest talk show that you’ve ever heard of.”

I groaned. “Leave it to you to ferret out the strangest thing out there.”

“Just wait ‘til you hear it. This guy, Mischke, reports on some of the craziest news stories he can find and then usually adds his own concocted details or makes little songs or skits about them. Sometimes he’ll take phone-calls all about the story, or makes prank calls, himself. It’s so cool!”

“Hmm. So are you implying that your radio programs are more important than your dear sisters coming home for the weekend?" I needled him further.

"Well, you're in here with me right now, aren't you?" Reed reasoned--always having a comeback for any argument. "So it isn't like I'm not spending time with you or anything."

"That’s only because I took the initiative to hunt you down," I retorted. "Otherwise you'd just hermitize in here the whole time, and we'd never get to see you."

"You wouldn’t let that happen, so why worry about it? Anyway, wanna look at my keychain collection real quick, before the next show comes on?"

I reached over and discovered that he'd added several new ones since the last time I'd inspected them. "If you keep this up, you won't have room to sleep in here by the time you're a teenager, because your keychains will be taking up all the space," I laughed.

"If it starts getting that big, I can just stand it up on end," Reed assured me. "See how I have them all hooked together so handily?"

"I guess I know what we can get you for Christmas from now on--just a few key chains," I suggested.

"Don't bother; I get enough of them during the rest of the year from everybody else," Reed told me.

"Speaking of Christmas, I suppose you still remember what you got every year, since you were two?" I questioned, just to be sure his memory wasn't beginning to fail him, now that he had almost reached the ripe old age of nine.

"Of course," he said indignantly. "Why would I forget a thing like that? I remember all my birthday presents, too." And to prove it, he proceeded to list them for me in chronological order by year, even remembering who each gift was from.

"I sure don't understand how you can get such good grades in school, when your brain is so full of all this extraneous stuff,” I said. “I‘ve never heard of anyone else who knows the table of contents of their favorite books by heart, or anybody who can recite a half-dozen story-records word-for-word, just from listening to them so often.”

"It isn’t hard," Reed replied. "I remember nifty little details without even trying."

Just then Kim opened the door and announced that Rory had called us over the intercom to say that everything was hooked up and ready to go.

"I guess you'll have to miss your show, after all," I said in a mournful tone. "It's time to practice."

"Well, if I have to miss it, playing music is the best reason," said Reed.

We all trooped over to the music studio, and Reed found his newly-acquired position behind the drum-set, while Kim and I took our places in front of the piano and keyboards. As Kim did some fancy warm-up trils on the piano, Reed began showing off the new drum-rolls his brother had taught him, and I added to the overall effect of the din with a helicopter sound from the synthesizer on my right hand, while playing an impressive bass accompaniment with the left. Rory now knew almost as much as Dad did about where the myriads of wires and cords belonged, so the two of them were scurrying to get everything plugged in and ready to go. He was also a pro on our mixing board already, and could tell you exactly what each of the dozens of buttons did and how they should be adjusted so we'd all sound our best.

Finally Rory picked up his lead guitar and asked, "Well, should we get this show on the road?"

"Okay, don't keep us in suspense any longer, Reed," Kim said. "Let's hear your song now."

Reed cleared his throat dramatically, and then the boys began to play the new song that Reed hadd just composed, with Dad joining in on the guitar. Kim and I were so engrossed in listening that we didn't think to accompany them on our piano and keyboards as we normally would have done. I was amazed at the good chord-structure and the rhythmic flow of the lyrics. It would have been a fine first-attempt for any song-writer, but was especially so when considering it had come from a child of his age.

Kim and I cheered enthusiastically when the song was finished. "I can't believe it," I marveled. "It has so many words, that you have to be listening really close to catch them all."

"Yeah, it's just like you're telling a story or something," Kim agreed. "Do it again, Reed."

Reed happily obliged and repeated the tune--all six verses worth.

"I think you'll have to be our main song-writer from now on. Since you're getting started so early in life, you'll be writing phenomenal stuff by the time you're twenty," I noted.

"This one is already pretty phenomenal, if you ask me," added Kim. "You’ll have to do it on Sunday, for sure."

"And Ror, you should get with the program soon, or you’ll be left in the dust,” I chided my other brother good-naturedly. "Do you realize that you’re now the only member of the band who hasn't written any songs?"

"Well, I can play more instruments than all of you put together, so that should count for something," Rory pointed out. "I guess I'm just more into figuring out melodies than trying to come up with ideas for lyrics."

"Excuses, excuses," Kim said. And that was all I needed to hear. Her remark had brought a song of the same title to mind, about all the funny excuses people come up with for not going to church, and I played the beginning bars on my keyboard. The rest of the clan joined in right away, as though it had been rehearsed.

Afterward, we went through some of the songs for Sunday's program. Rory's skill on the guitar was constantly improving and expanding. Already he could play at least as well as our Uncle Rick had, which was hard to imagine, because Rick had always been at the top of our list of musicians. We would never have believed we could find anyone else with the same talent, much less such a person turning out to be our own little brother!

Kim and I had Brailled two copies of the song list, so we would know what was coming up and could switch instruments with one another whenever the upcoming song warranted the change. Our brothers, of course, had the song list memorized, and scoffed at our inability to do likewise.

"Looks like next up is your saxophone number, Ror," I said as I consulted the list.

Rory began putting his horn together. "Too bad I can't convince Dad to do any old-time stuff on stage," he lamented. "You guys should hear what I've been doing over here lately, since we bought our new recording equipment. I've been makin' all kinds of old-time music, and it sounds really neat!"

"Go ahead and show them a couple tunes," Dad encouraged. "It’s not too bad, for a bunch of waltzes and polkas, especially when you consider that Rory is playing all the instruments himself."

"Not to mention also doing all the recording and mixing, too," Reed added.

"Well, Gramp has been wanting me to make a tape for him of me playing all his favorites, so I figured this would be as good a time as any to learn how to run all the sound equipment and kill two birds with one stone," Rory reasoned.

He laid his horn aside and went over to find a song he could share with us. "I don't have the final mix done on all of these yet," he told us, "But I'm getting there." He turned on the machine, and the next thing we heard sounded just like a full band, playing the old familiar melodies we'd known ever since our childhood visits to Gramp and Gram's home.

"Wow, Ror! This is too good to just keep to yourself. You should be selling it or something,” I told him"

"Is that really you playing all those instruments, Ror?" Kim asked incredulously.

Rory laughed. "Who else do you know around here that can play old-time music?"

"You have a point there," she acknowledged. "I just can't get over how good it sounds though."

"And the quality is great, too," I continued. "I’m sure people would have a hard time believing this was the first effort of a 12-year-old engineer."

"Seriously, Ror, if you keep this up, we wouldn’t even need to go to Bismarck to do our albums anymore," Kim went on excitedly. "We could just do them right here at home."

"Yeah," I said, catching her enthusiasm. "That would make things a whole lot easier for everybody, because we could just work on it little by little as we had the time, rather than having to get it all done within a couple of days."

"That would be so much better, especially now that Kon and I are gone so much of the time," Kim said.

Mom and Dad had mentioned to us more than once that they thought it would be nice if Kim and I would do a recording composed solely of songs written by the two of us. At first we hadn't been able to imagine how such a thing would be possible when we didn't even have enough songs written yet to fill an album. Now that Rory was making the whole endeavor seem so much more feasible, however, I was sure we would be motivated to work on some new material for the record.

Rory played a couple more songs for us from his first recording project, and then we got back down to business. He was beginning to come up with creative ideas of his own for unique chord progressionss and catchy rhythms, and it was easy to picture him someday being the leader of our group, or having a band of his own that would go far beyond anything we were capable of doing.

We were all up bright and early a couple days later, and ready to leave for the concert that was scheduled for that evening. Dad had loaded our equipment into the trailer the night before, so everything was ready to go. I grabbed the novel I was currently reading and settled myself in the back seat. Kim was right behind with her stereo and tape case. The cassettes she played for us on these trips consisted mostly of songs she had recorded from the Christian radio station in Bismarck. She turned on the player now, just as Rory and Reed climbed in.

"Gee, Kim, I think you could have picked a better time for making that one," Reed commented. "Sounds like the reception was terrible that day."

"But wait!" Rory cried in exaggerated amazement. "Kim, rewind that, would you? Listen to this, everybody. She actually finished a whole song. The ending isn't cut off, or anything. How did that ever happen, I wonder? And wow—hold on a minute--the next song even starts at the beginning, instead of right in the middle someplace."

"She might be getting pretty good at this in her old age," Reed conceded grudgingly. "Now if only there weren’t so much static in the background."

To my brothers’ dismay, the hopes they had of hearing subsequent songs played in their entirety were not realized. Nevertheless, we all enjoyed the music Kim provided, even if the high standards set by Rory and Reed weren't completely met.

"I think I'm gonna learn that one to start doing at our concerts," Kim told us as an upbeat number proclaimed that it won't be old Buddha sitting on the throne. “I could tell our audiences how I go out witnessing to people at my college, and about some of the odd answers that are given when we ask how they know they're going to heaven. That would fit in perfectly with this song, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I told her.

"Play it again,” Rory requested. I was too busy listening to all the music and not paying any attention to the lyrics."

"It was talking all about how there's only one way to God, and that none of the other leaders of false religions are going to be the ones sitting on the throne," I explained. "You mean you didn't hear any of that?"

"You should know by now that I don’t usually hear the words until I've listened to a song several times and have a good idea of what all the instruments are doing," Rory reminded me. “That’s just the way I’m wired. I’m almost always drawn to the chord structures and stuff like that first, whenever I hear a new song.”

"Weird," was Kim's reaction. "Well I guess maybe that's the mark of a great musician."

"Anybody in the mood for a salted nut roll?" Dad called out. "I have a couple extra up here."

“This early in the morning? Not I,” Reed answered back.

“You wouldn’t take him up on the offer regardless of the time of day,” Rory pointed out. “You never eat candy.”

“I bet you guys never realized that candy bar manufacturers have to put instructions on the wrappers, telling you how to open them," Kim declared.

"No, I hadn’t heard that. Where did you glean that little tidbit of information?" I wanted to know.

"Oh, some of my friends at college were teasing me about how I just rip them open any old way, and I asked them what they meant. They were all surprised that I didn't know there was a correct way to open the things. So then they had to enlighten me, and I guess there’s this line with arrows or something on every wrapper showing you just where to tear, and the words 'tear here' are even written for you just in case you still don’t know what to do.

“Oh, Kim, that can’t be true,” I protested dubiously.

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “Just ask anybody. And not only that, but apparently practically all food containers and boxes are the same way."

"What on earth?" Rory said in amazement. "Sometimes it seems like poor sighted people can't figure out anything for themselves."

"No kidding," I concurred. "It’s really starting to dawn on me just how insecure some people are. Like if I'm at a social function with somebody who has never been there before, they’re always looking around at everybody else, so they don't do anything that might be construed as being different or out-of-place.

“I know what you mean,” Kim agreed. “Like it would be the worst thing ever if anyone teased them or had to correct them or anything. And yet they usually won’t ask anyone for advice or help, either, because that would be admitting they aren’t sure of themselves, which would never do.”

"And thinking everything is such a huge deal, like waiting to see which fork they should use first and dumb stuff like that,” I went on. I mean, just think how unfun our lives would be if the four of us were always worrying about those kinds of things; we wouldn’t want to even get out of bed in the morning.”

"That’s for sure," Kim said. "Now I see why some people just don’t get how we're able to function without sight. They're so dependent on all their visual cues."

"And even when they are given instructions, they won't follow them unless someone else does it first,” I observed further. “Just last week I was at a meeting and when the guy said 'meeting adjourned', I stood up to go, and my college friend grabbed my arm and whispered frantically that nobody else was leaving yet. Everybody was afraid to make the first move, so finally the chairman had to say, 'You're dismissed,' and even then the girl next to me wouldn't budge until she had seen that somebody else was leaving the room ahead of her."

”Dr. Dobson was talking about the same type of thing on those 'Preparing for Adolescence' tapes that Kim played for me," Rory mused. "He said he was at a meeting one time, and nobody acted like they wanted any coffee when they were asked until finally it was James Dobson's turn, and he went over and got some. So after that most everybody else who came after him went and got coffee, too."

Reed had burst into laughter at these revelations and thus was unable to make his usual witty comments. Now though, he had calmed down enough to contribute his two cents to the conversation. "I just recently discovered that most doors in public places have signs that tell you whether you should push or pull to open the door, so people know how to get in and out of wherever they are."

"Funny," I grinned. "And the other day at the cafeteria, Shelley was stunned when I opened my own milk carton. She said she’d never noticed the little lines that are easy to feel on the part where it should be opened. Until then I had always thought that was how everybody figured out which end was which."

Just then Dad pulled over and brought the van to a grinding halt.

"What's wrong?" Rory questioned.

"Flat tire, I'm afraid," Dad replied, as he got out of the van to replace it.

"Why does something always have to happen to put us behind schedule, no matter what?" Mom wondered aloud.

In spite of this setback, however, we knew we had to be prepared to begin the concert when 7:00 rolled around, and I breathed a sigh of relief several hours later when once again, we’d managed to get everything ready just in time.

While the rest of us were stressing over setting last-minute volume levels, plugging everything in correctly, reteaching Dad some guitar chords he had forgotten and wondering why the amplifier was making an obnoxious buzzing noise, Reed took his place behind the drums and began doing his best to lighten the mood. He started a rousing beat and began singing with gusto. “All I Want for Christmas is my Upper Plate…”

“Oh, Reed, can’t you get into the Christmas spirit any better than that?” I moaned, when the song was over.

“You didn’t like that one?” he asked innocently. “Well then, how about this? I just heard it on the radio last week for the first time ever. I had to memorize it right then and there, because I couldn’t find a tape recorder anywhere handy, and I knew I’d probably never hear it again.”

And with that, he launched into the tune, which was sung to the melody of Jingle Bells.

“Rust and smoke, the heater’s broke, the door just blew away.
I light a match to see the dash, and then I start to pray.
The frame is bent, the muffler went, the radio, it’s okay.
Oh, what fun it is to drive this rusty Chevrolet.”

All of us began playing along with the catchy melody in spite of ourselves, and afterward Kim asked him to do a repeat performance, because she hadn’t been able to catch all the words the first time around.

“You guys, people are starting to come in,” Mom cautioned in an undertone.

Undaunted though, Reed began the song for the second time, only to be interrupted by a sneeze, followed by another, followed by six more. He never did a halfway job when it came to sneezing.

Of course, this reminded all of us of a tune we’d composed spur-of-the-moment at one of our previous concerts when the same thing had happened, and we all began the fast-tempoed country-song called “I Feel a Sneeze Coming On.”

There were a few titters when we reached the conclusion, and I remembered Mom’s warning that we had an audience. People must really be wondering what in the world they were in for. To my chagrin, my sister only made matters worse by deciding that this would be a good time to sing “I am Slowly Going Crazy, but they haven’t got me locked up yet,” which was sung to the tune of Battle Hymn of the Republic.

After that, I quickly whispered a directive to my youngest brother, telling him to do Achy Breaky Heart, his version of which had Christian lyrics. It was always a hit with folks, and I hoped it might help to set people’s minds at ease to the fact that perhaps we weren’t completely insane, after all.

“Let Jesus heal your heart, your achy-breaky heart.
He’s the one that really understands.
He will heal your heart, your achy-breaky heart,
He’s the only man I know who can.”

As more people began entering the church building, Kim and I decided to do a few tunes on the piano with me at the high end and her at the low. Dad helped Rory and Reed to find a seat in the front row, and then went to help Mom set up the record table in the back. This promised to be a good evening. Even though the concert wasn’t officially underway as yet, people were already engaged in the music we played and were applauding after each song. Having such an enthusiastic response greatly helped to boost our spirits and reduce the tension we’d been under earlier as we’d hurriedly attempted to get everything organized before it was time to begin.

After Kim and I had ended our third duet, the pastor walked to the microphone and gave everyone a warm welcome. He then introduced our family enthusiastically, and Dad came back up to the front with Rory and Reed, while I went to the keyboard and synthesizer and began making the appropriate adjustments for the first song. Dad began with the opening bars of “I’ve Got a Whole Lot of Things to Sing About,” and we were off to a rousing start.

Afterward, Kim and I switched places so that she would now be on the keyboards while I played the piano. Unfortunately, we bonked heads with each other in passing, but I quickly tried to cover the awkward moment with humor by saying into the microphone, "Now you can see why Kim and I decided to attend different colleges."

Everyone seemed to enjoy this joke so much that I wondered briefly whether perhaps we should try to incorporate the accident as part of our regular concert routine.

Then Kim began telling people about the next song, which was one of the old stand-bys that she and I still did on occasion--"One Day at a Time."

"Living life one day at a time is a philosophy that our family has adopted for about as long as I can remember," she was saying. "Konnie and I attended school 200 miles away from home for the first nine years of our education, but Mom and Dad came to get us home every weekend during that time. When they first started making that long trip though, they didn't know they'd have to be doing it for nine years. They just took it one day at a time--not thinking ahead to the possibility that this would mean driving 270 thousand miles all-told. Sometimes we need to just step out on faith and trust God, even though we may not understand exactly how he'll supply the needs."

"And another thing we've learned over the years," Dad put in, "Is to never give up. If you know you're right about something, don't let anybody try to talk you out of it, no matter how things might look on the outside. When there’s something you know you should be doing for the Lord, you can’t let anything stop you. If we want to wait until we’ve got all the answers and have every detail figured out, none of us would ever be able to serve Him. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and He’ll show you the next step along the way."

When the song had ended, Rory did an upbeat tune that was named "Please Don't Advertise." The lyrics stated that if we aren't living what we preach, we shouldn't go out of our way to advertise the fact that we're Christians. It was usually well-received by the audience, and tonight was no exception.

Next, it was Dad's turn. He said he would be doing a song he had written called "Sing a Song for Jesus." "Whenever I get discouraged I try to remember that somebody is probably sitting in their car somewhere with their tape deck going, listening to me sing all about this new life that God has given me. Then I realize I need to shape up my attitude and try to live out what I'm preaching, like Rory was talking about earlier. So I get out my old guitar, and before long things start looking a whole lot better."

When Dad had finished singing Rory said, "This next one is called UHaul Trailer, and it talks all about the fact that we shouldn't be so focused on material things, because when it's our time to leave this earth, we won't be able to take any of that junk with us, anyhow. So we should be generous with what we have--which actually brings up an interesting point. It didn't cost any of you a dime to get in here tonight, did it? If anybody had to pay anything, speak up now--because I don't see any raised hands out there."

Rory waited for the laughter to die down before continuing, "Well, that's good, because I have news for you. You’re going to have to pay to get out."

More laughter. Rory chuckled and went on, "Well, anyway, I think they're going to be taking the offering in a few minutes, so just remember what I said. God does love a cheerful giver, but I'm sure he would also accept from a grouch."

Rory started to sing, and after the offering had been taken, Dad announced it was time for the youngest member of the family to have a turn.

“Well, it’s about time,” was Reed’s assessment. “And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” He punctuated his remark with a crescendoing drum-roll that ended with a loud symbol crash. “It’s none other than Reed F Hoffman, here to sing for you about the fact that I just don’t care.”

Amid the puzzled laughter that followed this comment, the lively song began—which talked all about not caring what people thought of him praising God in his own way. By the time the song had ended, people were tapping their feet and clapping along with the music.

“Thanks very much,” Reed said graciously. “And now I think it’s time to turn you over to my sister for this next number.”

“Well, that’s a hard act to follow,” I said. “I guess I’ll just try my best. This song is called “I Love My Jesus,” and it pretty much speaks for itself, so I think we’ll get right to it without further ado.”

“I just wanted to say a few words before you get started, Konnie,” Dad interjected. “We don’t always need to make a big show of our love for the Lord. A lot of times it can just be the little things, or the stand we might take in our own quiet way, that has the most influence. A good example of what I mean happened not too long ago, as a matter of fact, on Konnie’s 21st birthday. Some of her friends had planned an evening out on the town for her, now that she was officially old enough to go out and party. But she just told them she would rather spend a quiet evening in the dorm. I think that probably made more of a statement than anything else she might have said. And the fact that she didn’t cave into the peer pressure and go along just to save face says a lot, too. When her mom and I heard about that, it was just one of those moments that made us proud. Okay, go ahead, Konnie.”

Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that what I’d seen as being such an insignificant event in my life would make an impression on anyone. I realized anew that we don’t always know when our day-to-day behavior might be impacting people.

After we had done a few more songs, it was time for Dad to bring things to a close. “We’re going to slow things down a bit as we wrap up here tonight,” he said. “This is a song we learned about a year ago, called ‘I've Never Been This Homesick Before.’” There was a catch in his voice, as he began to reminisce about Grandma Hoffman, and told how she had always kept us in her prayers, and was likely still doing so from up in heaven. "She can talk to God face-to-face now," he said, "and I'm sure she hasn't forgotten about us down here, but is interceeding on our behalf every day. We all miss her so much, but we'll see her again someday, and that's such a comfort, knowing that this life is only the beginning, and that the best is yet to come.”

Even after the concert had ended, I was still reflecting on what Dad had said about Grandma, and I hoped she had been allowed to peek down on us as we sang our songs, and that we were making her proud.

Loading and unloading the equipment took even longer now than it had back when Rick and Denny were with us to help out. We had accumulated a lot more of it since then, and our parents were very grateful for the times when a few thoughtful people would stick around after the concerts to lend a hand. Even so, the job wasn't an easy one, and often folks were careless in their handling of the heavy amplifiers and instruments. Sometimes Dad would encounter a tangled jumble of cords and cables when he opened the trailer after unhitching it from the van when we got home. He didn't intend to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, because the help was certainly appreciated.

Kim and I were glad that our Christmas vacations began in time for us to be able to attend our brothers’ school Christmas program that year. They would usually tape the ones we had to miss, but we much preferred to be there in person whenever possible.

We all arrived at the gymnasium early on the night of the program, so we could be sure to get good seats. Of course, the highlight of the evening was when Rory did his solo, “O, Holy Night.” A hush fell over the audience as he began to sing, and a little tingle went up my spine as he hit the high note near the end just perfectly, in a loud, clear voice. The room erupted when he had finished, as the people stood to express their appreciation. It was a memorable moment, to be sure.

When the program had ended, Pam Seim, our brothers’ aide, was the first person to express her congratulations. “Great job, Rory,” she said as she walked up and gave him a big hug. “I think I even saw a little tear in your dad’s eye when you got that standing ovation. And Reed, you were just awesome, too!” she continued, turning to my youngest brother. “I’m so proud of you both.”

“Well, hi, you two,” she went on as she came over to where Kim and I were sitting. Wasn’t this just great? I’m so glad you got to be here tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m sure glad we didn’t have to miss it,” I answered sincerely.

“So how’s college treating you guys? This must be your last year already, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right,” Kim said. “And you might actually be seeing a lot more of us this spring, if we get to do our student-teaching here in Lemmon.”

“That would be a blast. We could pester each other again, just like old times,” Mrs. Seim replied with a chuckle.

We all laughed and reached for our coats. It had been a fun evening, and there was a lot to look forward to in the months ahead.

The new recording project that Kim and I began working on would feature five songs written by her, and five by me. The first song was entitled “Sisters,” which Kim had written about the two of us. It would be followed by one of mine, and so on. I had composed my first song a few months earlier, which I’d named “My Humble Prayer.” In it, I asked the ever-provoking question that most of us have probably wanted to know at one time or another—“Is it your will, God, or is it mine?” Once I’d gotten started, lyrics were beginning to come more easily to my mind, until now I had only a couple more songs to write for the album’s completion.

When all was said and done, Rory was playing a grand total of eight instruments on the recording—including mandolin, violin, recorder, lead-guitar, rhythm guitar, saxophone, drums, and bass guitar. We were amazed and humbled by the fact that our 13-year-old brother was not only the chief instrumentalist on the album, but the recording engineer and vocal accompanist, too. His voice was just beginning to change, so he had to switch from singing high harmonies to low by the time the album was finished.

The project was not without its challenges, of course. During one of my songs, “New Doors” Rory came down with a bad case of the flu. He was so ill that he couldn’t even partake of one of his favorite specialties which Mom had prepared for supper that night, fish and fried macaroni. For Rory not to indulge at mealtimes was a rare occurrence, indeed! Nevertheless, that very evening the immense dedication he already had toward music was made very evident when he managed to drag himself back over to the music studio, in spite of feeling far less than optimal. I was heading to college the next day, and we didn’t want to forget the arrangements we had worked up, so Rory insisted on finishing his guitar and drum parts for the song before calling it quits for the night.

What was even worse than the stomach virus though, was the bad ear infection Rory contracted—one of the very few he’s ever had. The thing that bothered him even more than the pain was the fact that it affected his pitch in one ear. He was trying to record one of Kim’s songs and had to keep turning his good ear toward the music and try to block out the distorted notes coming from his other side.

It wasn’t until many years later that we found out just how worried he had been about this incident in his life. Never having had an infection so severe before, he didn’t know what the long-term effects might be, and couldn’t think of anything worse than having his hearing damaged in such a way. Fortunately, the problem did eventually fade as the infection started to heal, but even to this day some of the higher frequencies are gone in that ear. Still, as things turned out, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and for that we were all quite thankful.

When we listened to our finished product a couple months later, it was apparent to all of us how much God had obviously been at work, helping us at each step along the way. This recording was a completely homegrown project, and the three of us siblings were the only ones who had a hand in it. Even Dad hadn’t been able to help much, except to give Rory a bit of technical advice every now and then. The more contemporary genre of music was not his cup of tea, and a lot of the chords we were playing were ones he’d never heard of before. But he and Mom were behind us all the way as usual, praising all of the attempts Kim and I were making at composing songs, and giving us the moral support we needed when times got tough.

Rory’s polka-tape was also doing well. Mom had taken a few of the finished copies to our local Ben Franklin store in Lemmon, and they had actually sold out rather quickly and were in need of more. A radio-station in Dickkinson which featured that type of music every Sunday was even giving it some air-play, of all things. The rest of us couldn’t get over the fact that it was the old-time music which was gaining notoriety—and all played by a now 13-year-old, which just added to the irony.

Just as Kim and I had hoped, an arrangement was made between our two colleges that would allow Kim to do her student-teaching with me in Lemmon, so we began to make plans to move into the house that Mom had found for us. As things turned out, I was assigned to work in Mrs. Thorne’s third-grade class, which meant that Reed would be one of my students. Kim was going to teach in Miss Podahl’s fourth-grade room next-door.

Mr. Haakedahl had undergone a complete change of heart since my teaching experience class the previous semester. Surprisingly enough, he was now one of my biggest fans, and was staunchly in my camp when it came to convincing people that I would be a great teacher someday. I appreciated this turn-around on his part more than I could say, especially since he was giving me his full support before I’d even begun my student-teaching and was now willing to supervise my sister, as well. I knew it was just another one of God’s blessings, and a confirmation that He really does care about all aspects of our lives.

Postscript by the author: The following is a link to hear one of the songs on the recording that consisted of songs Kim and I had written. Kim is singing and playing piano and keyboard on this tune, and Rory is doing everything else--including guitar, bass, drums, saxophone, harmony vocals,as well as engineering and mixing. At age 13.