Mum/Mother/Mummy/Mom

Anna Louise Butler

Born 19th September 19(Censored)

Wife of Paul Butler

Mother of David Betts, Daniel Betts and Isabel Butler

Twenty two years (two months and two days ago to be exact), Anna Butler gave birth to twins; and in so doing earned herself the title of ‘mother’. As one of those twins, I’ve had the privilege of spending pretty near every day of my life with her and, despite (somewhat reluctantly at times) having to share her attention with my brother, been the recipient of an overwhelming amount of her time and energy. She’s phenomenal.

I find it a little daunting to think that at every single moment in my life...EVERY moment in my life...my mother has loved me unconditionally, worried about me (unconditionally!), thought about me, loved me and missed me unconditionally. My earliest memory involves me balancing precariously along a wooden beam at nursery - I love that my mother was there and can remember me at that age far more vividly than I can. Even at twenty two as I arrive home from work, my mother is there. How much more incredible is it that my mother is not just my mother; but that she managed to start at the deep end with two children at once, before adding a third later on?!

My mother lost her own mother at eighteen. I can’t imagine that. I’d be lost without mine. For me, that’s an even greater testament to the amazing woman that she is. For a while she was a single mother with twins. I can’t imagine that. I can barely look after myself, let alone myself and two small children as well. I have never gone without, never suffered, never felt any burden or strain. Yet, I am not spoilt. Thank you mum, I don’t know how you managed that!

I don’t want to ramble much more, as there is actually another point to this. I am very fortunate in that I able to work with, spend time with or lead a number of people at my church. I spend countless hours with the church community; something that couldn’t make me happier. I also have the privilege of being able to try and make some small impact on the people around me. The reality is that the majority of people that read this blog will be people that will know me rather than my mother, but don’t see or hear about the amazing woman that she is. However, if you have been impacted by me in any way, I want you to know that you have automatically been impacted by her. For example:

If I have taught you guitar: my mother (and fantastic step father) paid for my guitar lessons and encouraged me to practice.

If I have helped you revise: my mother was the person that helped me to learn to read and write - I wouldn’t have had the ability to help you with anything if it wasn’t for her.

If you have been impacted by a song I’ve written, or something I’ve said: my mother is responsible for the guitar lessons, the piano lessons, the singing lessons, the violin lessons, the music composition lessons and the freedom to read, write and learn about anything I want.

If I have given you a lift anywhere: my mother (and fantastic step father) paid for my driving lessons, and sat with me as I endangered their lives in the name of L plates!

If I have led you in any capacity: my mother (and fantastic step father again) ALWAYS provided (and still helps to provide) me with everything I needed to learn and grow; whether books, tuition or otherwise, my mum would provide it.

If you enjoy my company, if you are influenced by me in any way or if you have benefitted from something I have done in any way whatsoever: my mother is responsible for it. She is my biggest influence and my best mentor.

This is a bit of a long shot, but if I’ve made any difference to you, I’d really love you to thank Anna, my mum. Whether a comment on the inevitable Facebook link, or an email to davidcbetts@googlemail.com (I’ll forward them to her so I don’t

give away her email address...she'd kill me!), it would really mean a lot to me, because I know it will mean a lot to her. Don’t wait for someone else to do it. Whether you’re twelve or sixty, I would be extremely grateful for your input as with your help I can truly convey how thankful I am for my mother and all she’s done for me.

I appreciate that this whole thing might not be to your taste, but I really couldn’t care less. I think my next blog entry will be all about encouragement anyway - let’s not cheapen heartfelt encouragement just because it isn’t the norm!

(Definitely going to kill me for this pic!)

Boxes of Song Boxes

On another late night drive home, I put my music collection on shuffle. This is rare for me - I’m much more of a ‘one album at a time’ kind of person. However, one of the songs that played had quite a profound impact on me, but not for the reasons you might think. The song is called ‘Try’ by Nelly Furtado:

This happens to be one of my favourite songs ever, although not necessarily for the words or melody - though both are pretty good. Rather, what I realised was the amount of extra information connected to me that was stored deep in the recesses of that song. When that song plays, I find myself traveling back in time to a past reality. It’s almost like the song itself is simply an elaborate packaging for more information. For instance:

‘Try’ takes me back to 2004. Initially April 2004, to be exact. I remember the girl I was in a relationship with at the time sending it to me on the eve of a ski trip to Sunday River in the United States. I remember missing her way more than was appropriate at that age to - but I didn’t know any better at the time. I remember listening to the song on the American-styled school bus in Boston, on a Nokia N-Gage mobile phone with headphones that weren’t really worthy of their purpose. I can still picture the retail park we visited, as well as the cafe we mobbed as I watched my credit deplete faster than I could stand; delighted with the realisation that I actually had signal, and with it a means to communicate with life at home. I remember the mistakes I made that week, the lessons I learnt (briefly) following that week and the summer that soon proceeded it. It was during that year, and that song, that my obsession with tuna and sweetcorn became apparent. It was also the year and song that defined the trajectory that I’m currently on. The latter stages of that year were home to some of the largest struggles I’ve faced in my lifetime...and ‘Try’ by Nelly Furtado played repeatedly throughout. I would have been in an altogether different place without them. Lastly, it reminds me of friendships that were broken and never restored. Listening to this song reminds me of how such immense closeness can turn immensely sour. I remember how much I wish certain friendships had turned out differently.

Now, I would be shocked if you felt the same about this song when you heard it. But I wouldn’t be so shocked if you had similar memories attached to different songs. Today I’d like to put it to you that the power of music is not in its technicality or how beautiful a song sounds. That’s just music. Instead, I’d like to suggest that the power of music is in its storage capacity. We each carry 'song boxes', filled in varying amounts with memories, pictures, locations and people. In fact, our iPods and MP3 players are simply boxes of song boxes. Perhaps this is just me...and I’m really very happy for it to be just me...but I honestly do believe that the power of a song lies in its storage rather than its sound.

For example, some of my favourite songs are directly linked to some of my strongest memories:

“Say” - John Mayer

“Solution” - Hillsong United

“So Much Love” - The Rocket Summer

“The Little Things” - Colbie Caillat

“Zebra” - John Butler Trio

“Mighty To Save” - Hillsong

You may have heard of some of those songs. They may mean nothing to you. Maybe they do mean something to you. Either way, they aren’t just song titles to me; they are song boxes with a whole host of memories locked inside.

This is why I love music. This is why I couldn't imagine spending my life doing anything else. I'd rather dedicate it to reorganising, repacking and writing my own song boxes, because let's face it - I've got a while before I run out of memories to store!