It was a Tuesday morning and I leaned over the bed and tugged on Tim’s shirt.
“Get up! Get up! It’s time to make a video!” He pretended to play possum. But it was too late. Seconds earlier I’d caught him narrowing his eyes to slits. He sighted the time on the clock across the room and thumped the pillow back over his eyes. I Tigger-bounced him and pulled him by the arm outside to the yard, video recorder in tow.
I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing brings back memories of the seventies, when Coke commercials kidnapped TV waves. Smitten, I bought the 45 RPM and sang along over and over. (For those of you unfamiliar with twentieth century historical artifacts, the record disc was a crude vinyl Mesozoic device which revolved on a turntable with a needle and reproduced sweet melodies for the world to dance to.)
The song has always warmed my heart with memories of a friend’s apple tree orchard and the rich aroma of hot Apple Brown Betty for dessert. Singing about snow-white turtledoves brought Holy Spirit joy.
I’ve always wished I could teach the world to sing in harmony. (Though there were certainly days I bent a few notes out of shape and needed to learn how myself!) I’ve yearned to hear the world’s voice echo as one throughout the hills for peace. The song lifts me up and fills me with hope. So I figured I’d dish up a bit of God-optimism and sing it for you.
Tim and I set up the video equipment in the back yard. My smartphone was cued up to a YouTube video for background music. Two extension cords, one tripod, and a primed-to-go video camera later:
Quiet on the set! Ready . . . 5-4-3-2 . . .
BUDDA-BANG! BUDDA-BANG! BUDDA-BANG! Loud pounding sounds pierced the morning air. Frowning, I walked briskly down the street to explore the source of the interruption.
Two Mexican men dropped chunk after chunk of broken concrete into the back of a pick-up on my neighbor’s driveway. I explained to them that I needed about twenty-five minutes of quiet for a video filming a couple of houses away. They shrugged their shoulders and gave a half-hearted okay.
I raced back to my yard and dropped into the center of a patch of Trillium. In fifteen minutes, we had the video. I hopped to my feet, and said to myself, Hey, that was fun! Glad we’re done.
Papa said, “But we’re not done.”
To be continued in Part 2.
What do you think Papa had in mind? What would you like to teach the world to do?