Glory of a Glitch

Glory of a Glitch

When little girls have a sleepover, the topics they cover before they close their eyes run the gamut. From boys to volleyball, God to ponies, the subjects touched upon know no limits. How it was that night in Pinehurst, in a bedroom belonging to Wendi’s grandparents, she ended up singing Loch Lomond to me I cannot recall. But I remember the tune, the melody….I even remember many of the lyrics. More importantly, I remember how Wendi sang it.

My father was a musician, a good one. To me, when he played, the music was flawless. After all, he had been practicing for years by the time I came along. The members of his band were also able to perform without detectable (to me) flubs. Guitars, mandolin, drums, and piano together with a singer, they presented a radio-worthy performance.

But, Wendi’s rendition of an old folk song, was different. What I heard when she sang was unique in my experience because it was imperfect. She knew the words. She knew the refrain, however her voice couldn’t deliver the lyrics smoothly. It cracked a little. It didn’t always find the correct octave. I was transfixed! As far as Loch Lomond was concerned, never again would I appreciate a polished version. It was Wendi’s adolescent, non-professional delivery of the song that set the bar for me.

As the years went by, I began to realize that in a world infused with synthesized, heavily edited, faithfully practiced music by a gifted minority, it was the ultra-rare slip or gaffe that caught my ear and made me take notice. For me, it was akin to finding a hidden gem, an unexpected, delightful surprise.

I grew up in the same little Methodist church my father attended his entire life. The church pianist/organist, Johnsie, was the only one I had ever known. When the doors to the church were open, Johnsie was in it, bottom on the bench, fingers tickling the ivories. Sunday after Sunday Johnsie played each hymn beautifully while the congregants did their best to bring glory to the Lord in song. Johnsie was nearly flawless. If she “messed up” it was rare. But, as with us all, a time came when Johnsie’s health began to decline. Heart willing or no, her fingers would often fail her at the keys. Hymns she’d played since childhood, now altered in a way that frustrated her. She no doubt began to feel let down by the very digits that had performed for her faithfully for decades.

For me, standing in the pews, singing the same songs I’d sung for over 30 years with the same organist, the experience was edifying. Johnsie was a human… a loving, devoted, Christian woman. She was the one who played “O Come All Ye Faithful” when I was Mary. She was at the organ on Easter mornings when I sat in pretty (pretty uncomfortable) dresses. She played during homecoming Sundays, baptisms, and communions. She was “our” Johnsie. When her performances began to have more slipups, more “oops” moments, I loved her music all the more. It was raw, more vulnerable. It spoke more clearly of allowing God’s grace to shine despite our human weakness. As a congregation, we would sing on through as her fingers caught up and found sure ground. I learned more from her tenacity to serve the Lord in her time of poor health than I could have learned from the minister expounding on the concept in a twenty minute sermon. With her flaws I gained spiritual understanding.

This past New Year’s Eve, the town of Cameron gathered around a little flagpole in the park where an enormous dewberry was suspended awaiting its drop to signal the New Year. That event is worthy of more than a paragraph, so I reserve the right to go into detail at a later date. But, for now, I wish to bring your attention to the musical conclusion to our New Year’s celebration there in that little town. As the dewberry was lowered to the ground, a gentleman raised a lone slide trombone and performed  Auld Lang Syne.

Was he a professional? I have no idea. My guess is no. He had no mike, he had no back up. It was freezing cold and we were in the dark. His circumstances were less than ideal. His music was not “good enough” by the modern mass media standards, because it was not without defect. But, there I stood listening to him play, opening himself up to potential critique in an environment where he had little control over what actually met his audience’s ears. Yet, he played for us. He gave us his very best. Around his feet swirled little sugar fueled children in need of sleep. His sheet music dimly lit by impromptu lighting. I felt as though at any minute Andy and Barney would show up with a “Happy New Year.” I was smiling from ear to ear and had a full heart. No, the music would not have even been acceptable (to the world) for a commercial during TV’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way! The fact that is wasn’t a heavily orchestrated event reminded me that I was in an intimate setting that emphasized celebrating life together rather than perfection. I will forever remember the New Year’s Eve of 2013 because of that unrehearsed performance.

I am such a flawed individual. I scarcely know where to begin. Any ability to sing left me when I suffered vocal cord paralysis. I am awkward at times and clumsy. I claim to be a Cajun cook because my family has so many “blackened” meals. I too often let my passions express themselves verbally and I cannot coax even one beautiful song from an instrument. If I didn’t find joy in the fallibility of life, I would have to rely on others to hand me my joys after heavy editing. Sad, but true. Instead, I have chosen, without even realizing it at first, to grasp upon those raw moments of humanness when the foibles are exposed. I pull them in to my mind to be mined of every gem.

Thank you, Wendi, for singing me to sleep as only a friend can do. Thank you, Johnsie, for serving your God when your fingers wouldn’t serve you. Thank you, man in the park, for playing your instrument to a motley crew of friends and family in Cameron despite the rustic surroundings. Thank you all for showing me the beauty of sharing and serving others even when it has meant being vulnerable. Any time God asks me to do something and I offer Him excuses, all I have to do is look back on the lifelong examples of people who set their excuses on a shelf and gave of themselves despite the deficit and I yearn to join their ranks.

Exodus 4:10-17

New International Version (NIV)

10 Moses said to the Lord, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”

11 The Lord said to him, “Who gave human beings their mouths? Who makes them deaf or mute? Who gives them sight or makes them blind? Is it not I, the Lord? 12 Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.”

2 Corinthians 12

9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.