View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnis

When I became an American citizen, I had to go to the Minneapolis Convention Center. There, all of us who had passed the many requirements for becoming an American citizen were assembled. Before we were to swear loyalty to our new country, the judge in charge gave a speech. The gist of his speech was a plea for us never to forget our own unique heritage. Because the U.S. was made up by so many different peoples from all over the world and we had an obligation, not only to our new country, but to our old one. To uphold the traditions of our roots. The stories, the foods, the language and most of all, the music.

I thought of my mother, then; a person who demanded perfection of her children, but also a person who loved music. My earliest memories were of her sitting by my bed, singing in a high, clear voice; “Byssan lull….” And of us singing together while my mother played the piano; “Å, Kirsten Jordbærpike..” or of her just playing the piano, while the household relaxed into the rhythm of the evening settling in.

My mind also went on to the non-immigrants of this great nation, the Native American, whom we had tried to “convert” to our ways. And I pondered their music, so distinctive, but I am sure, also a comforting tie to their heritage.

And I thought of the music of the church, because this is where I now sing mostly, in choir and during services. The music going straight into my soul; the words staying with me as I go on with my days.

Last Sunday, our youngest grandchild, Torsten, confirmed his faith in Jesus Christ in the church in which he grew up, in Kasson. It was one of those occasions when a family gets together. And when ours gets together like that, it is very visible who is missing. Most importantly, Torsten’s father. But also his uncle. And during these family milestones, I will start to cry, not only because I grieve, but also because I am so touched by what is happening. But I had determined that this time, I wouldn’t cry. We celebrated that Torsten was now old enough to explore his own faith and I knew, from being so close to this part of our family, that faith would always be important to Torsten. So I should not celebrate by crying.

The Lutheran churches have their own distinctive music. One of the songs we sang on Torsten’s confirmation day, “Light the Fire,” was about the Lord’s arm being around us to breathe new life into us. I think that if the message of the song, would have been recited, it wouldn’t have affected me so much. But it was the music. I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to hide it, but the message came so directly to me. Through the music. “I feel your arms around me, as the power of healing begins.”

Music does that to me. it goes straight into my heart. “Light the Fire” is a typical song for young Christians, but it speaks to us all. And then there are the Norwegian songs, what we sang every day in school or what my mother sang for me. They still sit in my heart and I hope it sits in the hearts of my children and grandchildren too. I sang for them like my mother did for me.

I see music as the way we communicate on our most genuine and honest level. With dementia patients, it is often the last skill they remember. And before babies can talk, they will feel comforted by music. I would sing for my babies (even before they were born). I would sing of my love for them, my strong urge to protect them. I would make up the words as I sang, as they grew. About how special they were to me, how precious and about the bond I felt with them as their mother. “Jeg synger så gjerne en vise for deg.” (I love to sing a song for you.)