Monday, October 29, 2012


I'm finding lately that my favorite comfort food is music.  It digests easily and is sometimes so yummy. When I tuck my guitar against my heart and feel the vibrations, it hits the same emotional spot that my mother's hands patting my back did, when I was a child. The same spot that a pile of hot mashed potatoes and melted butter can touch on a cold winter day.
Mom gave me my first guitar when I was 13, and though I didn't even play it for a year, I knew, on that Christmas morning when I found it under the tree, that it would be a life changer for me. 
As we work through this strange and unknown process of grieving the loss of our mother, I've held my instrument more tenderly.  Lovingly, even.  It makes me feel connected to her.  She knew the words to every song I wrote, and if you've been sitting near her at any of my concerts you've heard her singing along.  As I write new songs, and prepare the set lists for my upcoming holiday performances, I have to push the thought out of my head that Mom won't be there to sing along this year. At least not to our human eyes.  I hear her in my heart. Always.
I was notified earlier this year that I am to receive the 2012 Governor's Mansion Artist Award from Governor Herbert on November 28th at the Governor's Mansion.  I am startled and deeply honored.  The night before that, I'll be singing as they turn on the lights at the Festival of Trees.  And then a few days later I'll be offering three Christmas Concerts at the Farmington Arts Center.  Beyond that are numerous private performances for church groups and corporations.  I love this time of year, musically, because I feel like Christmas offers me a perfectly appropriate setting to testify of my Lord. And music is my most comfortable means of witnessing. 
So, Mom,in the words of the song Memoria..."I will keep you here."  Right in the center of my heart, and I'll pray that the words and the tunes will not be choked out by my sorrow, but will rise, instead, in celebration of the joyful reunion of two people I love with all my being: my mother...and my Lord.


  1. What an appropriate and wonderful thing, the governor giving you an award for the beautiful, almost unbearably poignant and true work that you do. There are a lot of words I could spin about how, in so many ways, we become our beloved mothers - moving into at least some of the space they leave when they are no longer in the world (however that happens) - about sorrow and gratitude, and tears that come unbidden at the odd moments - and what moment is not odd without a person who has loved you so completely, lit the fires that power your heart? But I won't try. You will have been to them long before I got to them; it's your gift. So I will just throw my arms around you again next time I see you. I think that'll do.

  2. Your love of the Lord, shared beautifully through your music and manifested in how you genuinely live your life, is one of the greatest gifts you've given me.

  3. This is, above all others, the most meaningful post I've read. I read it. And read it again. And read between the lines. And felt how very much you miss your mother and how much you love the Lord. Congratulations on the awards you have earned and deserve. My heart is full for you and I celebrate with so many others. Love you, Cori, and I too miss your sweet mother.

  4. Crying again. Aching for my Gram and longing to be at your side listening to the sound of your music.