Christmas Singer

I enjoy singing with a good chorale, and the Sunday choir at Joe's new church brings in young singers to complement the church's congregation. They produce some beautiful music.

Going to church regularly would just frustrate me - my soul is in an uncertain and impatient place. But I miss music, so accepted Emily the choir director's invitation to join them for their Christmas song and readings service.

For the past six weeks or so, I've been getting my keister out of the house on Sunday mornings to join them for their after-church rehearsal. I loved it. Emily runs a tight rehearsal, and would rehearse the Christmas music first and then let the 'Christmas Singers' go.

I liked being a Christmas Singer. Something joyful, cheerful, welcoming in the name.

The service where we were to perform the music was this past Sunday. We gathered early, to go over the music one more time, and I was not real happy with myself - I was still making mistakes on a few key phrases.

We broke for a bit, regathered, stood for the opening song. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath and sent a prayer to the Spirit to help me to not screw up.

And, I didn't. Those key moments? I was spot-on for all of them. After the last of them had passed, something inside me eased, and I allowed myself to lose myself in the music.

And then, and then. Out of nowhere, came tears. For Maria. In the middle of 'Angels We Have Heard on High', for goodness sake! It took me by surprise; I enjoy the hymn, but it has no special attachment to family for me. For once I was grateful for my allergies, and grabbed my always-handy kleenex to wipe surreptitiously at the unexpected tears.

I am aware there is a lot of grief roiling beneath my surface. There's been a lot to grieve in my life these past few years; I guess I shouldn't be surprised it leaks out when I let my guard down. And as my sister-in-law, Christie, once said, "The Spirit must own stock in Kimberly-Clark, so often does its touch bring forth tears." Tears of grief, tears of healing. I didn't want to squash them, but I certainly wasn't going to be standing in front of the congregation bawling, and managed to convince most of them to be released on the inside only.

Unexpected Grace.  Merry Christmas!