Opposition in All Things

I feel reasonably sure that the great composers of beautiful music were suffering under some level of duress to produce the lofty compositions that lift our heart, inspire our mind and enlarge our soul will the swelling joy of God's singularly most lovely gift.

I say that because tonight's choir rehearsal was an exercise in both music and pain.
Unless you have been in a choir that seeks to truly be more than just a bunch of people who can cover the parts, you don't know what I mean. Our choir director's version of warming up is enough to make you break a sweat. And most people don't think of choir as being an athletic event - foolish mortals!

The Stake Choir is comprised of over 60 participants for vocals, two accompanists for keyboards, two conductors and an orchestra of various strings, winds and horns along with a percussion section.

This ain't for sissies.

Once we survive the warm up period, the real fun begins. We get into the various pieces of music with "let's go through this section" and "can we try that once again" and the inevitably following phrase of "one more time with feeling". Oddly enough, every piece we worked through tonight began the toil at the letter "C" marked on the score. Why the letter "C" is a mystery that only the directors know for sure. Perhaps all of the music is destined to lapse into pitiful rigour at that juncture.

Add to it the reality of me sitting by the chapel's pews watching the directives and cuing from the BACK of each of our directors. I can't see the various expressions on their face, I'm guessing at which cue in close means what and I have NO idea if I'm blending in with my section since I'm sitting at a distance beside the second row of pews and everyone else is far, far away on Judea's plains up in the choir seats.

I'm sitting up as tall as the saggy bottomed wheelchair will allow (and hey, no nasty remarks about MY saggy bottom will be tolerated!). I'm trying to sit straight, use my diaphragm to tuck in, push up, control the flow and use my air properly to support the notes and bridge the phrases.

I feel like I am literally pushing up from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. My toes are turning into plump little sausages from the effort. The cast is awkward and I'm not steady enough on crutches anymore to hop stairs like I used to do. Ah, the halcyon days of youth when the fear of rolling down a flight of stairs didn't exist. Now the fear of falling down two measly steps is sufficient to keep me by the pews instead of sitting in my now accustomed corner pocket where sound goes to die.

I've occupied that particular corner for a few years now, mostly because I rehearse like a mad woman to learn my music and because I try with God's most powerful help and aid to not 'lean' on other singers to know my part. So I sit where the hearing is limited and hope that I'm doing my best to offer up my widow's mite of music in the way the Father intends.

But for now, my seat sits empty and I sit in the wheelchair by the pews until I get my cast off in a couple of weeks. I hope...

Just today I had offers from people to have my toes pinched, my cast kicked and a blatant disregard for the fact that a wheelchair doesn't exactly set land speed records getting out of aisles and doorways.

My foot was trampled by a child who was too impatient to let me get out of her way, and an adult indicated that my presence was really inconvenient to those wishing to get out of the room.

Well alrighty then!

No one was tacky at choir. Mostly because by the time we got done, we were all pretty whipped. Music can do that. It can carry you to dizzying heights of joy and then wear you out into a beaten and whipped scrap of your former self.

I have to admit I was thankful for the respite of snarky comments and rude behavior.

Lord knows I didn't set out to break my ankle in two places at age 47. That just isn't cool. Casts are NOT fun at any age. But because opposition exists, I am getting to learn how to be patient and wait on help from others.

While I don't wish anything bad on others, I have to wonder how gracious they would be if someone was constantly offering to hurt their casted limb.

I told the man today who made the "kind" offer to kick my casted ankle "DO IT AND DIE!"

People around us were going "OOOoooOOOoooH!"

I'm sure I'll get into trouble later on for 'offending him' by saying what I did, but that is just not funny to me when my leg is hurting, swollen and sore. Quite frankly, that offer of his isn't funny at any time, but the opposition thing comes into play.

In order to truly appreciate decent manners, you have to endure a few people who lack any semblance of decent manners.

Well, God bless and I hope that dude never breaks a bone.

But he will be comforted in the knowledge that should he happen to ever break anything, I'll be there handy with a pillow and a kind word. It may be the only softness he's had in his life and, based on his idea of humor, it's likely all he's ever gonna get...