December 2021 found me in the middle of heartbreak. Our son had died suddenly, in his sleep, a little over two months before, and I was still partially in shock, recovering from the life-altering blow, feeling the intense pain of separation.
An unexpected element of my grief that December was my wincing over Christmas songs. Always before, it had been a peaceful thing to be surrounded by songs of the baby Boy, the sleeping baby Boy, the sleeping baby Boy with happy parents. Now, these old familiars made me tense up and cry in funny places, and almost made me want to skip a Christmas playlist altogether. I listened to Christmas in Heaven with therapeutic tears, many times, but many of the old classics simply hurt.
This was especially troubling to me, because music before had been a haven for me; a place to turn for healing and inspiration and praise. It made me feel mixed up for this avenue of comfort to be causing pain.
I wondered: was I stuck forever? Would I ever again sing Away in a Manger without a stab to the heart and eyes? Would I always be jolted by the thought of a baby sleeping?
December passed and January slipped away one day at a time, as only a January can. I still carried my grief, although the pain was starting to ease. I also carried something else—someone else; a new life. I felt something like numbness toward our baby inside. How could I have the emotional strength to care for another baby? I could not make sense of the Taking and the Giving.
One January night my husband and I were in town alone. He needed to pick something up in Walmart, and I chose to stay out in the vehicle alone while he went in. It had been another emotionally draining day. I flipped through songs on my phone, searching for comforting music. I found an album that interested me—Angels All Around Lullabies. The album cover photo was a baby resting in an angel’s arm. I listened to one of the songs, Before You Were Born. A child’s voice quoted softly from a version of Psalm 139 while peaceful instruments played.
“Oh Lord, You know me. You created my inmost being, and knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
I listened to that song and something touched the depths of my soul. It felt like the small voice was both of our babies speaking. Our baby that had been snatched away so soon—he actually had been carefully created! He had been seen! He was precious to God! And our new baby, whose heart had so recently begun to beat with life—he too was there under God’s watch and skillful, loving hand. The thoughts weren’t new, but they struck me in a new way from the song. A spark of purpose lit quietly in my heart.
My husband came out of Walmart and we drove quietly home. I can’t remember if I played the lullaby for him or not. Sometimes we shared openly about our moments of grief and insight; sometimes we lived them deeply alone, possibly mentioning them later.
We arrived home, still alone, because our daughters were at a sleepover. Jay fell asleep on the recliner, I believe, and I listened to Before You Were Born over and over. The music mixed with my heart-tears of grief and hope.
Then, another spark lit. Maybe I could pass this meaning on to other parents. Maybe I could record a Lullabies album myself, full of gentle meaning for children and their parents. Maybe I am at a place in my grief where I could begin a project. After weeks of limply succumbing to heartbreak, this was a surprising realization. And I think- I thought- I think I could be ready to sing about babies sleeping. Maybe facing this reality over and over, in the framework of God’s care and the angels’ watch, is exactly what I need.
It came to me: there are many instrumental lullabies albums, but I had never stumbled on an a cappella one. Why not? Are there not parents, and are there not children, who enjoy a cappella music? Why had no one done it? Could I, if it hadn’t been done before?
(Since then, I wondered if youth didn’t think of it, because they are youth. Men’s quartets did not think of it, because they are men. And moms could not do it because they are moms.)
I found myself in a unique position—a mom in the baby stage, but a no-longer-busy Mom. I looked, and I saw I had pent-up motherhood energy that could be picked up now, and poured into a project. I looked, and I saw a depth of meaning that my grief had added to my life. And I looked, and saw I had the resource of a selection of songs, and some experience with singing and recording multiple parts.
My husband woke up and I told him my idea. He was a little surprised, but we were in an era of not being shocked by much of anything. Our lives were not in a cozy rhythm that could be disrupted. He warmed up to the idea and agreed that I should at least check in to the possibilities.
Technically, he had had the idea first, we both remembered. One morning not long after our son passed away, Jay was pouring his morning coffee, and said “maybe you should record something this winter”. I emotionally breezed past the idea at the time. I was not creative-material at the time. I could not think of one thing I had the energy to record. Now I had thought of something, in no conscious connection to his suggestion.
Our friends seemed to think this was the obvious turn our lives should take. The idea met only encouragement and spurring on from day one.
I set to work, after contacting Altar of Praise and making recording arrangements. God brought a lovely selection of songs to me, many through other people. It was an exciting process to gather the lullabies.
After many hours of practice recording at home, much critiquing and advice and encouragement from a group of friends that listened to my tracks, many prayers and encouragement of friends, three and a half days of recording at Altar of Praise in Leola, PA, many hours of mixing and mastering by Anthony Bauman, and, above all, the guidance and strength of God, we are delighted to present this album of Lullabies.
-Kelsie Troyer
P.S. You can find Joey, our darling earth-son in the photos in the Gallery. Our beloved heaven-son Wyatt is pictured in the CD booklet. ♥️