Music changes mood, lives and more

Sundays when I listen to our worship team, my attention is drawn to our piano player. Isaac is  all over that instrument. He plays from his heart and is very proficient. His music draws me into worship and wings my memory back in time.

Our home was filled with music. My mother played piano, autoharp, organ and accordion. While my mother had several years of piano lessons as a child, notes only hindered her musical expression. Her fingers brought life to anything she played over and around, written notes on the page. My mother, like Isaac, played by ear and with her heart. When she was happy, she played joyfully. When she was upset or sad, she played to ease her pain and to comfort.

 My pastor father, who led the singing at services, was quick to apologize for his lack of singing voice and gave my mom credit for the music in our family. Early on, my sister was given music lessons from some music teacher my folks knew. Karin never cared much for it. Karin and I also sang duets while in elementary school when Dad spoke at other churches. I thought we did pretty well. Karin, three years older, said we weren’t very good.

 When we moved to Wyoming, I wanted lessons. Music rang inside me. I loved learning and singing songs from the Covenant Hymnbook. Mom started my lessons. In Wyoming, there weren’t many choices for parents who wanted their children to learn piano. Mom not only taught me, but had a few other students as well. I also played with mom’s autoharp but didn’t really learn how to master that instrument. At home, I played piano. At school, I took up the clarinet and played in school sessions and contests we attended as a school. A friend took up flute. We ended up playing duets at church on occasion.

 I was no virtuoso, but I loved music. It shimmered inside me. I got sick with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis a few months after moving to Northwest Kansas where Dad was called to serve the Lund Covenant country church., At the time, the medical establishment didn’t know how to deal with the disease. I became an experiment. `Nothing halted the progression of the disease. My legs drew up into a sitting position, and my hands began to curl up like those of an 80-year-old. I could no longer play the piano or clarinet.

My mother bought me what was then a keyboard, a boxy instrument with keys and cords. I was able to release my feelings, pain and situation in poems and songs while playing the instrument. Dad added legs high enough for my wheelchair to slide under it which allowed me to play and compose with more ease. Because of my love of music, Dad bought me a yellow Vivaldi record because classical music soothed me.

 My parents took me to Hot Springs, Arkansas for treatment. While there, dad wheeled me on the sidewalk when I spied a small transistor radio in the store window. The tiny radios were new and very different from the large radio we had at home. I wanted that radio, but I didn’t ask. The trip itself took resources the family really didn’t have. But Dad read my face. We entered the store and Dad bought that radio. I could always have it with me and listen to music and more.

 Years later, I came to Kearney to attend college—still in the wheelchair. Christmas my last year, Mom died of a stroke. My brother Paul, also then in college, handled things in Kearney when Dad had to return to his church in Minnesota. I ended up with a very nice stereo and in an apartment Paul helped me find. It was close to the college from which I’d graduated. I went on to massive reconstructive surgery to help me walk again.

 Recovery took time—braces, crutches, etc. Relearning how to walk took a year. My apartment became the gathering place for my friends. They brought their music, records, etc. We kept the kitchen stocked. My place was relief from college dorms. In the mornings, while getting ready to be picked up for therapy, I listened to music. When my friends came over, we listened to music. Not everyone had the same taste, so I got exposed to many types of music.

 It was there one friend, Keith, and I fell in love. I was still pretty shaky when a year later I walked down the aisle of our church, to the wedding march, and without braces or crutches, to marry Keith. Keith and I both loved music but were not musicians. But we had a nice record, then cassettes and cd collections. Those early years of marriage, we attended Christian concerts.

 Our kids grew up with music at home and in the car. While Cassie took piano lessons and also tried the violin, she was more about singing in groups like Sing Around Nebraska and specialty groups in high school. Chris joined the church band as a teen and learned to play several different instruments but tended to favor the base. He and his friends formed the group In 3D and played at venues around Nebraska. Later, while he is a computer expert, his Masters is in music production. He now plays in groups in Lincoln.

 My youngest granddaughter loves to sing. She even tried out for a musical and was chosen for Miracle on 34th Street. She’s taught me songs she sings in church kid’s choir. Though my fall in 2014 affected my voice so my singing voice is gone, I am thankful for all the ways I can enjoy music these days. I am especially thankful on Sundays when Isaac and his dad, our worship leader on guitar, brings music full circle for me. Even though my voice is now quiet and husky, I can as my dad used to say about his voice, make a joyful noise to the Lord. I am blessed.

 © 2025 Carolyn R Scheidies

Published Kearney Hub column October 10, 2025

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