sing, sing a song

Today I returned home an hour and a half after church was over. (No, I didn't need a special interview with the bishop or anything like that.) I was at choir practice. I know. Me. At choir practice. Something I told myself I would never do.

Now, I love music. I love the hymns. I love Christmas carols. But I do NOT sing in public. In fact, for most of my life, even during congregational hymns where there are over 250 voices to hide behind, I have been singing so softly for fear that someone would hear me.

I used to like to sing. But, like my voice, all that changed in Junior High. During dress rehearsal for the holiday program, Miss Summerhays, the choir director, had us line up in rows according to height. I happened to be just shorter than Mike Z, so he stood in front of me when we went on stage and stood single file, slightly turned in. I don't remember what the song was, but whenever we sang a particular high note in that particular song, Mike would elbow me in the gut. Perhaps he had an uncontrollable spasm or was just simply teasing, but whatever the "real" reason, what I decided in that moment is "I can't sing. And unless I want to get hurt, I'd better not let anyone hear me." So, for over twenty years, with the exception of being alone with the car radio, that pudgy, freckled faced 8th grader has been mouthing the words.

Recently, that decision made long ago created a dilemma for me. I received a personal letter from the ward choir director pleading for me to come and sing. Being relatively new in the ward, I dismissed it, rationalizing that this Sister clearly didn't know me or my voice. Then, coincidentally/inspirationally, as things usually occur, the lesson I had to prepare for Sunday School that week was all about sustaining others in their callings. I was reminded that when we raise our hands to sustain someone we are promising to do whatever they require of us, to assist them in fulfilling their assignment. As I was pondering on the topic, the letter from the choir director came into my mind. Drat. Then this thought followed closely behind: "if you didn't intend on supporting (agreeing to help) this sister, you shouldn't have raised your hand to pledge that you would. It is too late to put your hand down now. There are witnesses, you know." Drat, again. I mean, Fa-La-La.

Covenants trump insecurities.