My grandmother Lila was a very spiritual woman and loved to express her spirituality through song. She would often sit at her piano and play and sing her favorite hymns at the top of her lungs, with a heavy vibrato that filled the dining room of her small upstairs apartment.

Sometimes when I was child, she invited me to come and sit next to her on the piano bench and sing along with her. We'd belt out the lyrics to some of her favorites like The Old Rugged Cross, When We All Get to Heaven, He lives, or Amazing Grace.

Occasionally, she would hit a sour note on the piano and we'd both collapse into giggles and then start again. Sometimes, I saw tears well up in her eyes as she sang lyrics that must have reminded her of times gone by. I was always amazed at her coordination - arthritic hands running nimbly over the familiar black and white keys, meanwhile both feet were busy pumping the lower pedals at the appropriate moments to create desired sound effects.

On the wall above her old upright piano was a picture of a beautiful young dark haired woman wearing a luxurious red ball gown, sitting gracefully at a grand piano in what appeared to be a large sitting room of a turn of the century style mansion, complete with high ceilings with a large fireplace that ran along one wall. The room was filled with gilded antique furnishings. Heavy velvety curtains were parted to allow beams of bright sunlight to illuminate the center of room.

I often lost myself in that picture while sharing the piano bench with grandmother during our sing-a-longs and I used to wonder if she had posed for that portrait in her younger days. I never asked her about how she came to acquire such a lovely painting, though now I wish I had.

Later, from my teen years on, we would accompany each other-she on her piano and me on my guitar. Many times we spent more time trying to get my guitar tuned to the same key as her piano than we did actually singing. Sometimes we even taped our "concerts" so we could enjoy them later. Unfortunately, none of the tapes managed to survive the years due to many moves, but I don't mind so much. Those times of music and mirth are forever burned into the fibers of my memory, and I can play them back in my mind any time I please.

You see, I can still hear her crackling voice singing the words to her all time favorite spiritual song, Sweep Over My Soul. The lyrics go like this:

Sweep over my soul, Sweep over my soul,
Sweet Jesus, sweep over my soul.
My rest is complete, when I sit at Your feet.
Sweet Jesus, sweep over my soul.

I'll always be grateful for a grandmother who taught me to appreciate music and spiritual expression. She has long since passed away, but somehow I know she is somewhere in heaven, serenading the angels in that big sitting room in the sky.