Ever Need A Shovel?

I began singing in school choruses and choirs in the eighth grade, and continued through high school and on into my senior year in college. In the ninth grade, I had a barbershop quartet that sounded pretty good together. Barbershop harmony is quite close, and it takes a good ear to keep the group on pitch, especially since the music is almost always done a cappella. We looked pretty nifty in our straw hats, white shirts, red bow ties, and red,white and blue-striped vests. But the group ceased to exist after that year since two of the members went to different schools.

My senior year in high school, I asked our choir director if I could get a quartet together for one song at our spring concert. He agreed to let me try, so I convinced the lead first and second tenors and a friend who was a baritone in the choir to give it a try. None of them had sung barbershop before, but with some diligent work, the one song sounded fairly good, as long as we had accompaniment. But at the program, we'd have to go it alone.

The big night came and, about half way through the program, we were in the spotlight. The first note sounded pretty good, but it went downhill from there. The tight harmony was just too much for the baritone, and he pulled both tenors flat. On top of that, their senses of syncopation left something to be desired. Fortunately, we had our music in front of us, and, as we neared the end of the first verse, I desperately pointed to the final ending. The others understood; we finished our cacophony, and exited stage right.

We rejoined the chorus on the risers, and prepared to sing our next piece. Everyone came in right on time. Unfortunately for me, I was still so flustered that I started singing a different song. I quickly rejoined the rest of the group, aware of a certain look from the director. Have you ever seen one of those Southwest Airline ads that asks, "Feel like getting away?" I sure did that night. Where's a good shovel when you need one?

For the next number, I was to join our regular pianist at the piano for a four-handed accompaniment to a piece by Mozart. As I slid onto the piano bench next to her, she whispered, "At least you had good stage presence." Unbelievable. Someone in the group wasn't totally down on me and was willing to give me a reprieve, a kind word. Feeling somewhat better, I got through the Mozart without a hitch. The rest of the program was a breeze.

When Peter denied Christ in Pilate's palace, he suddenly wanted to get away. I suspect that, after Christ responded to the mother of James and John when she asked if they could have the best seats in the house in His kingdom, the two boys wanted to "get away." And there were other times, I'm sure, that the whole group felt like I did that night so long ago.

Have you ever blundered in public to the extent that you wanted to crawl into a hole? Did you wish for someone to come along and let you know things weren't totally ruined, unrecoverable? That is how Christ dealt with His slow-to-learn disciples, time and again. That is what Marlys, our accompanist, did at the piano for me.

From time to time, we'll have a student make a real mistake in our presence. When it happens, how will we respond? It is so easy to jump on the unfortunate, erring child and squash them like a bug. But if we do that, what have we really accomplished? More than likely they'll already be aware of their mistake. How much better to relieve their anxiety and lift them up so they are willing to try again. We're all human, and we certainly must allow for the mistakes of children. We've got to keep their interest in succeeding thriving and growing. LORD, allow me to be gracious with them in the same way you are with me.

Now, get your nose out of the music and watch the timing of the entrances this time!

Dr. G