How Can I Keep From Singing?
Singing at the wedding of my grad school bestie!
I’ve been singing as long as I can remember. As the story goes, my dad introduced me to the Wizard of Oz when I was two and a half, and I started belting out “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” while standing on park benches in NYC from that moment onward. Growing up, the singer-songwriters across the street let me sing “Jenny Jenkins” and other folks songs with them at some of their open mic performances. Since those early days, I’ve sung in choirs and a cappella groups, participated in worship bands, and learned a few jazz standards with my dad along the way. I’ve performed at graduations and the weddings of dear, dear friends. As much as I’ve always loved to sing, it was my years in the Children’s Chorus of Crane that truly gave me the gift of song.
I was ten years old when I met Dr. Heather Eyerly. I was a tall, leggy girl, who exclusively wore dresses, with a blonde french braid that ran down to my waist. Dr. Eyerly was an energetic, kind woman in her 30s with a brunette bob, quick smile, and bright eyes. She ran me through some scales and had me sing a few lines of a song, before inviting me to join her new Children’s Choir at the Crane School of Music. I would go on to sing with Dr. Eyerly for the next 8 years of my life.
Dr. Eyerly would welcome any child, no matter their musical ability, and make something beautiful with them. Singing with her was unlike singing with anyone else. There was an electricity about her, a contagious joy. If all our young voices fell flat, it only took her smile to correct us. The grace in the movement of her arms as she conducted made us breathe with a fullness that no other conductor could match. There was nothing like coming together, blending our young voices, and making her face light up with pure delight and pride. Dr. Eyerly gave us more than simply the craft of music; she nurtured a deep love of song. I know several of her singers who went on to earn music degrees, and those of us who didn’t still harbor that love. We experienced the power of music, to transform lives, heal hearts, and inspire lives.
Throwback to playing Little Buttercup in H.M.S. Pinafore the semester we performed a musical instead of a concert.
When I was in my teens, I struggled to recover from being bullied by a close friend of mine. They were not easy years. Still, in those years I devoted myself to the music. Dr. Eyerly nurtured my voice in our weekly choir practices and during private lessons; she encouraged my spirit by giving me leadership in the choir and opportunities to shine. In the music, I found a passion, a worth that my experiences of the recent years had made me question. I found strength and solace in being a part of the choir, and in the very nature of music itself.
There’s a song we sang a number of times over the years, a Quaker folksong called ‘How Can I Keep From Singing:’
My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth's lamentation,
I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn
That hails a new creation;
Thro' all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing?
These words best capture what I discovered about the ability of music to create something beautiful, no matter the circumstance. Dr. Eyerly truly lived into the promise of this song, in ways I wouldn’t come to appreciate for many years. She knew the power of song, and she shared it with us. This song often come to mind these days, as I consider the sorrows of the pandemic. They remind me of the same truth I discovered in my choir days, that music is both transcendent, untouched by the circumstances of life, and yet paradoxically it speaks truth into life. It reminds me of the nature of God himself, as the Book of Isaiah describes:
“I dwell in the high and holy place,
and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly,
and to revive the heart of the contrite.”
Surely, music itself must come from God, for I’ve experienced nothing but the presence of God that can do what music can for the soul.
I’ve been thinking a lot about those years lately. See, it’s been almost five years to the day since the last time I saw Dr. Eyerly. She was taking a leave of absence from her position at the Crane School of Music at SUNY Potsdam. Her choirs performed one last concert with her, and her colleagues invited us, those alumni of the Children’s Choir still in the area, to join them. In a flurry of texts and Facebook messages, I helped gather the dozen or so of us in town. We hadn’t sung together in years, but when we started to rehearse, it was like no time had passed at all. We all instantly blended our voices, with the melody rising through strong and clear, the harmonies sweet beneath. In that moment, I could see so clearly what Dr. Eyerly had given us — it was so much more than a gift. It was a spirit, one that we shared with everyone we’d spent our adolescence singing alongside.
March 2016
The concert started, and we stood off stage. On the cue from the student conductor, we all walked out on the stage, years after we’d last performed there. “Out on the Mira the people are kind; They treat you to homebrew and help you unwind,” we sang. Dr. Eyerly’s eyes teared up, and she saw the spirit that she had given us. After the concert we presented her with a bouquet of balloons, like we would back when we were choristers. One by one, we hugged and thanked her, posed for pictures, and tried to express our love for this woman who’d helped shape our lives. Tried as we did, as beautiful as that night was, I’m still not sure we did enough. A year and a half later Dr. Heather Erin Eyerly passed away from breast cancer.
I think about Dr. Eyerly every time I sing. How can I not? Since the pandemic started, I’ve been leading music with my brother and father for our online service. When I lead the hymns on Facebook Live each Sunday, I can see her standing in front of me. I see her conducting, the flowing movement of her hands guiding my breath, the wideness of her smile brightening my vowels. Then I, too, smile, breathe in, and sing. I may not have been able to tell Dr. Eyerly how important she was in my life. I may not have been able to show her how I continue use this spirit of music to serve others. In those moments, though, I know that she knows how I continue to use this gift of song to share joy, even through the darkness of the pandemic. And I know that one day, when death shall be no more, neither mourning, or crying, or pain, I’ll sing for her again.
