I sang in the choir today for our Lessons and Caroles. There were, let's see, six of us. One alto, so I tried my hand at that as well. Can't hit those higher soprano notes anymore. And as my husband says, "Use it or lose it," which could apply to my present-day lack of singing skill since schooldays so many decades ago. I don't have the range, but maybe practice would cure that. Don't know for sure. I do love the alto harmony, though. Funny thing. When our priest began singing with us before services (and he can really belt it out), I was able to sing stronger as well. Is there some sneaky sort of metaphor in that predicament, do you think?
Now I'm wondering if I'll be asked to stay in the choir. Part of me wants to be in the congregation with our children since Gary still isn't a regular attender. I'm torn. 'Course I'm fretting over nothing since I'm not sure if they'll even want me to continue on with the choir after Christmas. But really, they have only 5 or 6 regular members. What do you think will happen!??
So, I'll pray and see how this plays out. I want to be where the Lord would want me, and that's the perfect place. If I'm there in His spot, then everything else will pan out. Isn't that the way?
Still, it's pretty awesome to be part of the processional each Sunday. To follow the cross (and the lovely incense when they have it) and wear the beautiful garb. But not just that---the history connected to all of it is glorious all by itself. And each time I've sat in the chancel area, whether in the choir or at mid-week prayer, I'm blown away by where I am at this place in time. Who would've figured this long-time Reformed Presbyterian would have ended up Anglican? Honestly, I've never feel so deeply moved by church until this past year and a half. Never. There's something about the liturgy. It makes my heart swell.
