Come sing with us on Sunday! The e-mail from my church choir grabbed my attention. I’ve performed in choirs ever since I was little—it’s an aspect of worship that I love—but lately, there weren’t enough hours in the day. Not only had I returned to graduate school, I worked full-time and helped take care of my elderly mother. I hadn’t been to rehearsal in months, and I’d already missed it this week. Would I be too unprepared?
During rehearsals, our director always told us which verses to skip, which ones to repeat, when we should hold our notes and when we should rest. His tweaks to the hymns helped our thirty-person choir create a unique sound, but it was sometimes so much to remember that I had to jot down notes on the sheet music. What if I fumbled through the piece as I tried to keep up? Lord, I prayed, I really want to sing in worship. Help me hit the right notes.
On Sunday, I showed up just before the service began. My choir friends were happy to see me. “Are you joining us?” the director asked.
I hesitated. “Yes, I am.”
“Good! We’re about to start,” he said. “Take a copy of this week’s music from the choir room.” I headed downstairs, grabbed the topmost music packet from the large pile, and hurried back to the sanctuary.
The congregation filed in. The piano player took her cue. I took a deep breath and looked down at my sheet music.
Pencil marks? All along the musical staff and in-between the lyrics were annotations, indicating where to skip, repeat, and rest. My handwriting! Somehow, in that large pile, the sheet I’d used before had been right on top, waiting for me to grab it.
I sang with joy, certain that the words of the hymn were true: He Never Failed Me Yet.
