The Perils of Worship Team, Part Two

I’m so comfortable in this long, leather chair, so I’m just going to continue our therapy session. Is that all right? How does that make you feel?

So, this all started at the beginning, see, this fear of public indignities and church. I won’t bring you al the way back to my childhood, though that is RIFE with possibilities, but I will recount the very first time I sang at our present church after we’d moved to town eight years ago. I was handed a little electro-awesome pack to attach to my pants. This is kind of what it looked like:

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I felt like Faith Hill. I’d always wanted Faith’s hair or at least a home in Nashville, and I felt like a monitor pack was the first, significant step toward that goal. So I rehearsed with the team Sunday morning (together everybody accomplishes more), and we had a few minutes before the first service began. I flipped my hair on my way out of the sanctuary, practicing for when I met Faith at the grocery store in Nashville.

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And then, of course, God felt I needed a reminder that pride goes before a fall. Or a splash. I went to use the restroom, pulled down ye olde trousers, and heard DUNK. Horror can make your reflexes super fast, and I did scoop that little pack out of the toilet faster than I’ve moved since. Not fast enough, however, and it was a goner.

THIS WAS MY FIRST SUNDAY. Kevin and Dustin, the head honchos, were very kind to me, though I still recall a little fear on their faces when I told this story to them. And grossed-out-ness. One does not want to travel literally or figuratively to the restroom with one’s team members (together everyone gets grossed out).

As testament to the sweet and unfathomable forgiveness one can find from people who love Jesus, they asked me to sing again. They did make me fork over my monitor pack every time I left the room and I had to keep it in a Ziploc on and off stage, but I still think grace won out again. Don’t you?!?