Sometimes life seems so random. One minute you're here, one minute you're there. We just roll along trying to live our life with a plan and a purpose but still feeling like there's a big randomness all around. Or at least that's how I feel most of the time. So recently, and quite randomly, I have found myself as a new member of the Tuckaseege Baptist Church Choir. Again, one minute I'm parked on a pew in the sanctuary on a Sunday and the next I'm draped in a heavy, burgangy choir robe and trying to find my inner alto. So random. Or is it?
If I pull back, way back, and have a look at the totality of my life so far, I can clearly see a pattern here. There's really no scattered footprints wandering about aimlessly but a paved path which lead me from childhood and straight into the second row of my church's choir. Then if I tighten up the focus I can even say that the purpose was not to be in the choir as a whole but to stand in the exact spot that I was standing this past Sunday. I was supposed to hear exactly what I heard and gain what I gained by hearing it. And that moment in time was all part of the Master's big plan for me - well organized and pulled off without a single hitch!
My dad loved music. He played all sorts of instruments, he had a love for jukeboxes - we always had one - and he even sold records for a living. There was music everywhere in my childhood home from Elvis Presley to boxloads of Rythym and Blues 45's. From piano to banjo - the house was always alive with a tune! As far back as I can remember I had that same love for music. Songs from every genre, every generation are embossed on my memories. I so vividly remember sitting beside daddy on the piano bench and trying to sing "The Holy City" as well as he played it. I never could. He would take me around places and get me to sing for his friends. It was a lucrative little business for me - mostly getting paid in shiny quarters and mostly because I was Johnny Bishop's little girl! It was music that was the strongest bond between dad and me and to this day when I hear certain songs I think of him. I can't watch a man's hands stroll over a piano keyboard without getting lost in memories of him.
I grew up believing that I would be a great singer. I had no doubt in my mind that I was that good and could easily be the next big somebody. Unfortunately the desire and the talent didn't exactly sync up. I could always carry a tune and did well enough to win a karaoke contest or two but it would take a lot more than that to be catapulted into super-stardom! The older I got the more I realized that. At one time I even went so far as to question God for giving me the desire but not the same level of talent. I didn't get it. Surely He knew how much I wanted it. If He would just grant me what I desired then I could sing for the people, the people would love me, I would be rich and famous and then I could give a little back by tithing to a church or something. No luck.
The older I got the less I sang. Gone were the days of seeing my dad beam with pride because I sang the National Anthem at a minor league baseball game. No more bar crawling to Karaoke nights, competing for a cheap trophy and the adoration of the local bar flies thinking surely one of these people could "discover" me. The dream had died - and eventually so did what little voice I had. I sang in the car and I sang to my son. And that was all. I had to go work for a living, trudging along in my random life - earning a non-glamourous living. Thank you very much G-O-D. Thanks for nothing. I was going to glorify you with my fabulousness but no - you couldn't work with me on my big plan.
Last summer I visited Tuckaseege Baptist Church. I had no intention of going there but my son had been going with a neighbor to the Vacation Bible School that week and he had learned a song with the other children of the church. He would be singing in church that Sunday morning and he insisted I be there. That same morning they had a guest pianist and as I was walking into the sanctuary I was nearly knocked over by the music. The beautiful music played by that man took me right back to my little spot on daddy's piano bench listening and watching his hands and wanting to sing well enough to make him even more proud of me. Oh and I cried as he played In The Garden, The Old Rugged Cross, How Great Thou Art. On and on the man played and my heart nearly exploded in the longing for my dad. I wished he could have been there, I wished I could have told him about the man and I wished he could have seen my baby sing. But beyond the sadness and tears there was a spark. A tiny little flame of interest in the music itself. I wanted to sing it! I wanted to stand up and sing it and let the people here me sing it and love me and my voice!! And then it was over. Completely missing the point, I shook some hands, met a few nice people and Matthew and I left. So random, but not really. Matthew and I went back to church that next weekend. And mostly every weekend since then.
"Word got out" that I used to sing a little and finally, after being asked several times and by several different people to join the choir I had run out of excuses. So poof! Just like that I found myself in the choir - singing again. Or trying to. Singing in a church choir is a lot harder than singing in your shower. There are multiple parts and many voices, tempos and key changes and arrangements. I had forgotten what "CODA" was and found myself flipping around the pages just trying to keep up with the others. I didn't know the songs, I had lost my nerve and I couldn't sing alto without following along with someone's tenor. I was humbled. And then His plan for me became perfectly clear...
Sunday morning I stood up with the choir, cleared my throat, took in my lungs-full of air and prepared to sing our song. I sang the parts I could, mouthed the rest. But what was so much better than singing was standing in the middle of the music. The music notes dancing gently over the ivory keyboard, rising and falling and softly swirling around the hearts of the voices. Oh the voices, the sopranos beside me, the basses and tenors behind me all filling my soul with the lyrics of praise. The sheer love for Christ in the voice of the lady standing right beside me washed over me and I cried. She truly loved Him and I heard that love in her precious voice. It was an all-inspiring love song from the voices all singing straight to the audience that was God alone. And then I started to sing again, "Blessed Be The Name Of The Lord" and this time to God! And HE loved my voice! And I finally got it! My talent for Him - He gave me a talent for use to praise HIM. So now I'm in the choir, humbly singing along, mostly in my own key and once again loving music! Not random at all but a direct and specific plan laid out for me, using my dad and my childhood surrounded in songs as a path to the 2nd row of the Tuckaseege Baptist Church Choir.
