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The Dance |
-----
On occasion I have been asked to provide music for a small mid-week
service at my church. This is not an invitation I look forward to
as it challenges my comfort zone in an extreme manner. I am very comfortable
performing with my trumpet in hand as this is “what I do,”
but the service in question doesn’t lend itself to such a performance.
I feel compelled to dust off the guitar and pound out an easy and
familiar tune from the hymnal. I haven’t entirely figured out
why the endeavor is so painful for me, but I have become certain that
is has something to do with the fear of how others will perceive me.
On the occasion of my most recent invitation, that very idea was challenged
in a new way as I felt a strong compulsion to perform one of my own
songs. Each time I thought about the impending performance I couldn’t
get this idea out of my mind. I’d pick up my guitar and the
hymnal but would inevitably end the session by playing and singing
my song. Afterward I’d remind myself of all the reasons I couldn’t
sing my song at the service. It would seem self-serving and egotistical.
The song was far too long for such an occasion. The subject matter
was entirely inappropriate. I’d put away my guitar, more frustrated
than ever that I still didn’t have a song to perform.
----- A few days before the service I
found myself in a bookstore with some time on my hands. Not even thinking
about the upcoming performance I made my way to the performing arts
section. A book on the shelf caught my eye and I picked it up. It
was a small book by Leanne Womack entitled “I Hope You Dance.”
It was a companion to her hit song by the same title. As I thumbed
through it, I was inspired by the message. As I stood in the aisle
reading it, it suddenly occurred to me that I had to perform my song.
I had no choice. The subject matter of my song - that I had rationalized
as being inappropriate - was all about the dangers of following someone
else’s dream of who you are or what you should do. Now Leanne
Womack was reminding me that I was refusing to hear the irony in my
excuse making. I had to get up and dance. My own song said so.
----- I arrived in the small chapel before
the service and began rehearsing the piece when I saw the choir director
coming toward the door. Upon seeing him approaching, insecurity stopped
me in my tracks. He told me not to stop, but of course I already had.
I recall telling him, rather apologetically, that I would be performing
one of my own songs. Even though he offered words of encouragement
and said it shouldn’t concern me, I didn’t buy it. I was
relieved that he was going to be unable to stay for the service. Of
course, this reminded me that I still had a long way to go in feeling
comfortable with my “dance.”
----- My nervousness grew as people started
coming into the chapel. I knew the service was always very small and
that I would likely know everyone there. Somehow this didn’t
help, nor did it help that each and every person seemed to ask me
what I was going to perform. How many times would I have to apologize
in advance?
----- The service started and I knew
the point of no return had arrived. The butterfly clock had begun
to tick. I was to follow immediately after the sermon. There were
a few hymns to be sung before that and I thought maybe this would
help break the ice. On one of them, I even got the nerve to pick up
my guitar and very lightly strum along.
The pastor performing the service was a close friend and I knew that
this fact alone would help to relax me. Her messages always found
their way right to my heart and I knew I’d be touched and inspired.
But, I feared that even this security blanket would be challenged
when she started out by saying that she was going to do something
a little different this time. She mentioned a pastor friend of hers
who often used current-day material for sermons, calling them “contemporary
scriptures.” She said that she had found a contemporary scripture
that called loudly to her and that she wanted to share it this night.
I almost fell out of the pew when she held up the book - “I
Hope You Dance.” She played the song for us on a portable CD
player and then read us the book, showing us the pictures, the way
a pre-school teacher reads to her class. At that moment, the butterfly
clock began ticking to the beat of her song, to the tune of her message.
I felt as though I had somehow been delivered into this moment.
----- After the sermon I stood up and
told the congregation where I had been and what I had been doing when
I decided I needed to perform this selection. As I began to play,
I felt the butterflies calmly and gently lift my voice in song.
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