God is Good

In 1969, I met Jenny Lind, the opera singer often called the “Swedish Nightingale,” during an episode of Here Come the Brides, an 1860’s western adventure drama that aired on ABC when I was not yet a teenager. I had crushes on the lumberjack brothers Jason, Joshua, and Jeremy, who invited the singer, played by actress Mala Powers, to stop in Seattle during her American tour. After watching her “performance,” my hopes of becoming a professional singer grew in adolescent proportions.

The name Jenny Lind took residence in my head and emerged as my imaginary stage name, although she sang more like Karen Carpenter and Helen Reddy. Eventually, she evolved into the likes of Olivia Newton-John, Linda Ronstadt, and Dolly Parton. In 1981, I became a stay-at-home mom, and my repertoire gradually grew to include songs recorded by Amy Grant as well as “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” “This Little Light of Mine,” and the TV theme songs for Rainbow Brite and My Little Pony.

During the 90’s, my firstborn took over the radio controls and her version of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” echoed in the halls of our home. From then on, there was never a dull moment as members of our growing family explored a variety of musical genres. As for me, Jenny Lind was long gone, and I concentrated on singing in choirs and harmonizing with the growing number of contemporary Christian artists.

During that decade, Pam Thum released a song called “Life is Hard (God is Good).” I bought the CD, titled Feel the Healing, and played the recording often because I liked her style and her key fit my voice. Mostly, though, I loved how the lyrics reminded me that, well… life is hard, but God is good.

Thirty years ago, when I sang the second line from the chorus, “We’re barely young and then we’re old,” I was raising kids. I wasn’t old-old, but I was no spring chicken either. Now that this old hen collects Social Security, I guess I must finally be old.

Actually, sometimes I do feel old, like when my oldest grandchild graduates from high school and celebrates by staying up all night, or I glance in the mirror and see crow’s feet. Especially when my optometrist tells me I have cataracts, or it takes me longer to roll out of bed. Occasionally, I feel young at heart, like when I write clever words, giggle with small grandkids, or dress up pretty because I’m not staying home to do retirement things.

Mostly, however, I feel like the same authentic me. I’ve aged to senior citizen status, but it happened so gradually that I barely noticed. If I had an imaginary friend today, I’d want it to be a well-mannered, cuddly canine instead of a crooning celebrity.

I’m not sure which breed I’d choose, but I’d prefer a mutt who could handle all my moods and idiosyncrasies. One who’d be willing to tag along whenever needed, but who also doesn’t whine when I want to be alone. One who makes me feel like God is good, who mirrors the real-life spouse I’ve been with for 45 years and says he loves my bed hair, because after all, that’s true love.

“Most writers are just kids who refuse to grow up. We’re still playing imaginary games, with our imaginary friends.” — Ian Rankin

Wishing all of you godly imaginings,

Annmarie