Miranda's lullabies (part 1)

I've started singing Miranda to sleep at naptime and bedtime. Wasn't sure if it would work, but she seems to enjoy it. And I've been thinking about the songs I've chosen to sing to her. For some reason, I've been on a John McCutcheon kick these last few weeks, and she's been hearing the same two songs over and over.

I was introduced to John McCutcheon during my first year at ASP, and it's stayed with me pretty powerfully ever since. I heard this song in concert, and learned it was written for his uncle's funeral. His uncle had only one arm and for that reason was not allowed his dream of entering the Catholic priesthood, yet had a life filled with love, family, and vocation. I think the song speaks powerfully about the value of a life well-lived, even (especially?) in its simplicity. I hope that someday Miranda and I can talk about why I sang it to her.



One humble shoemaker
From a small Polish town
One of twelve German children
His life seemed so small
One heart rent with sorrow
As the Church closed its door
“A priest needs two hands
to embrace all the poor”

One last child at home now
He watched them all go
Nursing mother and father
As their health stumbled so
Quiet voice in the parlor
Reading Grandma the news
Giving sight to her darkness
I saw visions, too

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to shake
One clear voice to guide you
One good heart to break

As a child I remember
His back bent with toil
Over sick beds, shoe forms
Children and soil
Tending roses and loved ones
The family business at hand
Tending one nephew longing
To be such a man

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to shake
One clear voice to guide you
One young life to shape

One form in the screen door
His eyes dancing with glee
With a single red rose
That he’s cut just for me
My sons sees his first birthday
As I reach for the phone
Takes his first stumbling steps
As his Uncle’s called home

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to grasp
One clear voice to guide you
One good life to last

One humble shoemaker
From a small Polish town
We are all lifted up
As we lower him down