For as long as I can remember, music has played an important role in my life. I have enjoyed listening to it as well as performing from time to time.

BY NANCY KIDD

At JDC I frequently turned to music to supplement our other activities. In addition to our morning “Birdie Song,” we rapped about the bones in the body, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Schoolhouse Rock” helped us memorize the preamble to the Constitution.

And sometimes we sang other songs—sometimes children’s songs—just for fun. Amazingly, the students seemed to enjoy these songs. They would request them at times and even volunteer to lead the group. Who knows why they were such eager participants? Some of us adults wondered if the singing filled in a few gaps from their childhood experiences.

Of course, not everyone jumped on board. Occasionally, kids considered singing like this beneath their maturity level. And when they balked, I joked that it was all a part of our master torture plan.

Although I have been closely tied to music for years, I have taken it for granted.

I have failed to recognize the countless benefits it provides. In more recent years, however, my appreciation for its unifying and nurturing powers has grown by leaps and bounds. I have come to better understand how music can reach people and help heal where mere words fall short.

Once in a while, when the JDC students came into the classroom, the whole lot of them appeared out of sorts—agitated and volatile. It might have been the result of an altercation during a recreational activity. Or it may have started with a quarrel between a couple strong personalities and then spread to affect most of the group.

No matter the cause, I didn’t want it to continue festering in my classroom. So, occasionally, when I felt their tension, I would play a particular song for them.

“How Could Anyone Ever Tell You” was on a CD of children’s lullabies I’d discovered years earlier. There were no guarantees, but I hoped the students would slow down to listen and let it transport them to a calmer state.

Before I started the music, I asked them to close their eyes and put their heads on their desks. I encouraged them to relax and focus on the words of the song. Sounds like a simple request, but they often found it difficult to relax. Closing their eyes involved a level of trust that didn’t come easily.

Eventually, they all complied, and I watched them as their stress and frustration began to melt away. They settled into stillness, eyes closed except for an occasional “peeker.” Typically one or two needed assurance that none of the others were looking around.

Once I took the kids to the “gym,” a standard room with a basketball hoop, polished cement floors, and bright overhead lights. I had the kids lie on their backs on blue gym mats I’d spread around the room. Then I had them do the legs-up-the-wall yoga pose, scooting their rears as close to the wall as they could. I gave them small towels to cover their eyes and asked them to relax and listen to the song.

I wanted them to feel soothed, and sometimes it helped.

What I was never prepared for was my own reaction to this activity. Every time I played the song for them, I spent my time trying to take them all in. I would devote several seconds of focused attention on each student before moving to the next. Without fail, every time I did this I found myself struggling to keep myself together. As I sensed the fragile, blessed souls before me, I was moved to tears. Each kid with their individual personality yet all struggling and all alike in their need to feel valued.

I initially recognized the benefit of sharing this song with the troubled youth at the detention center. Little did I realize how much more we eventually would use it.

My husband plays the acoustic guitar, and I play the keyboard. About 12 years ago we began playing music together with a friend. Great musicians we are not, but we sing a lot of songs with three-part harmony, and people seem to enjoy hearing it.

A year or so ago, we added “How Could Anyone” to our repertoire, and it became our standard closing song.

Sometimes, before we begin this song, my husband offers a few remarks. He encourages the audience to close their eyes, listen, and imagine God singing these words to them.

Especially if we happen to be playing at an assisted-living facility or anywhere with people facing tough challenges, it can be nearly impossible for us to sing. We look out into the audience and watch them following our request, immersed in the lyrics. That’s when our own eyes well with tears, our throats constrict, and our voices catch and quiver.

Yet, if we can still somehow convey the message of the song, it seems no one cares how we sound at that point.

If ever there were a song I longed to share with the world, this is the one.

How could anyone ever tell you

You were anything less than beautiful?

How could anyone ever tell you

You were less than whole?

How could anyone fail to notice

That your loving is a miracle?

How deeply you’re connected to my soul!