I have never not practiced for a solo as little as I did for the one I sang Sunday morning. I’m not sure exactly what possessed me to venture into this new and terrifying world of winging-it, but well, I did just about that. I prepared some, yes. I was singing with a CD accompaniment track and I played it several times, finding just the right key. Reagan munched happily on her cereal Saturday morning and I sang my way through the song about 4 times. I didn’t get the CD out on Sunday morning at all, but instead sang in the shower a few times through the song. Upon arriving at church I ran through it once with the sound and that was that. Whatever happened next would be what the congregation heard. Honestly? It was probably one of the better solos I’ve sung. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the song, because I thought it was a lovely song. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the people listening, because I happen to love them dearly. It wasn’t that I was so over-confident in my abilities, because I was totally scared most of the weekend and shook so much that singing into the microphone became almost challenging. It was that singing through it anymore was not going to make me do any better with the song. It was what it was. In the end, I was so happy that I made it through, sounded pretty good, and could go home and reflect on how God chooses these songs we sing. We are merely instruments, vessels of His praise.
Saturday was a pretty lazy day for us. Okay fine, it was lazy for ME. Reagan is still overcoming a cold. And though I had to wipe that snotty nose much less often, I still had to wipe the snotty nose and dodge her face-rub in my shoulder. She’s handled the whole cold thing pretty well so far, but we will be glad to have her back to normal, too. I would tell you what I did other than wipe a snotty nose and get nervous about my solo, but there really isn’t anything other than that. Saturday night Hubby offered to go get us something for supper, and here is our conversation:
B: I could go get some supper.
J: Sounds good. How ‘bout Subway.
B: No, I’d prefer Arbys.
J: Okay, Arbys is fine.
B: I don't want to go to Arbys. Let’s get pizza.
J: Sure.
B: We have some coupons to Papa Murphys.
J: Sounds fine.
B: No. Not Papa Murphys.
J: Why don’t you just figure out where you want to go and then go there, then?
B: Breadeaux.
J: I no longer care.
Sunday was solo day and then nap day. That evening, our church hosted a drama group which presented the Last Supper in the form of a frozen life / skit production. It was really neat! Each disciple would talk about how he was called, what he thought of being a disciple and then reflect on Jesus’ words that one of them would betray Him that night. Each disciple ended his reflection with “Is it I?” Indeed, it is all of us! What a powerful way to lead into a service of communion. We are all the reason for His death and His suffering.
I’ve been finding it pretty hard to get out of bed these days. And I’ve been having a lot of really strange dreams. I don’t know precisely what is going on here, but I may be catching Reagan’s cold. It could be that I am so hungry for some fresh air and since it hasn’t snowed recently I haven’t gotten any. It could be that I long to go for a walk or a run, but feel so trapped and unable to do that. It could be that life is just coasting along and nothing enormous is happening right now. Whatever it is, I’m hoping that I can just soak in the quietness for a while, and then be refreshed and able to embrace the warmer, more vibrant times ahead.
But seriously, if I have one more dream about shopping for bed sheets...
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