Finding my range
I was a soprano. I sang at church for years. I wasn’t that good. Some said I was great. Some said I was gifted. Some said I was “anointed” (I know what that means). I had a few professional lessons. I was nervous when I sang in front of others. My body trembled. There were times I forgot words. I still sang. I love to sing. No one will tell me not to sing. I am happiest when I sing.
For a little while, I took beta blockers for the adrenaline rush of stage fright. They worked some. A friend found out and told me I wasn’t trusting God. At that time in my life, I listened to anyone, so I quit taking them.
After thirteen years of singing, my work schedule changed to nights, which meant I was getting very little sleep. When I didn’t know my name or what day it was anymore, I quit singing. For reasons unrelated, I quit attending the church. For about 10 years, many churches later, I started again in a church where I finally felt comfortable.
I shook. I forgot words. I made the accompanists start over. But I sang. And I felt like I was home again, in my own space. People were kind. After a few years, I found my life taking up with other things. I started writing. It started filling up my space. Life problems came and started multiplying. Instead of singing them away I wrote about them. Some words became songs. I sang a few of them but now they remain words without melody. As someone else’s words took a back seat and my words found their way and surfaced to my fingers typing on a screen, my vocal voice went dormant.
Now my church is putting together a choir. They want me to join.
“I have no voice”, I cry.
Today I tried out. I have a lower range. An Alto range. Inside I defend myself by saying it’s my morning voice. It feels foreign. But it also feels comfortable. Perhaps I will be enhancing and adding dimension. Maybe I will learn harmony. Maybe I never was a Soprano after all.
Everyone can’t be in front. I’m writing I’m okay with it. Maybe reading the words will convince me. A quote I heard recently that has stuck…
“We start out so big, and all land humble.”
I think one definition of humility may be ‘come down softly to make a difference.’ It takes lots of roads sometimes to find where you belong.
Well, I will let you know how it goes…in another story.
It makes me consider what other roles am I playing that perhaps need to change.
Golden leaves fall soft
Deep winter snow leaves no trace
Grace in each season