In my late 20’s through my 30’s I was a member of the choir at church.  I loved it, being a part of a musical group and singing hymns.  A time or two I was asked to take a small solo part in a song, and I thought I would die.

As a kid, my comfort zone was about a six by eight! I had been in the band and loved most every minute of it, but tryouts were awful! I remember a moment during my high school years in which I cried because I got so nervous! My poor band director sat alone with me in that small room which come to think of it was only about six by six, so I guess that day the zone was even smaller! I think I made him as uncomfortable as I was making myself. He kindly offered, “Karla, what can I do to help?” I begged, “Don’t make me sight read.”  He shook his head, “You will sit last chair, and you’re too good for that.” I appreciated him.  He calmly sat while I eventually  composed myself.

During the past decade, I have expanded the walls of my tiny comfort zone. Soon after I joined Emmaus Baptist Church, I began singing in the Praise Team.  With only about six members this was quite a stretch for me. The man who operated the sound system would mouth, “Karla, your mic is not on.”  I would continue to sing somewhat shrugging my shoulders not making even the slightest motion indicating I would be turning it on.  In fact, I might even admit praying for them to forget to turn it on before we started! When he caught on to my tricks, I would just place myself as far away from the microphone as possible. When he would motioned for me to scoot up, I must have thought I was playing mother-may-I because I took some serious baby steps toward the mic and planted myself for the next 25 minutes!

A few days ago on Christmas Eve, I had prepared to sing a duet with my dear friend Jenni.  The first song we had planned did not work for us.  After searching, we finally settled on “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. We rehearsed several times feeling somewhat confident.  Sunday morning arrived, and I was having sinus issues.  We did a run-through, and after deciding not to sing with the Praise Team, I thought I could hit the high notes required for that one song.

Jenni grabbed the microphone, and I cringed. I only do this with the mic in the holder! We began singing as I felt my throat closing and heard my voice tighten. This is NOT good! I aimed for my soprano notes, but I missed the mark by a mile.  Breathing deeply, I strived again several more times, but to no avail.  It was not going to happen.  Having to hold the microphone was the LEAST of my worries.  I wanted the song to be over fast!  I was thankful when she altered her voice from the practiced alto notes to singing the melody with me because of my weak attempts as the notes rose.  Though the song seemed to creep in slow motion, I survived.

Shaking my head a little and apologizing to Jenni, we sat down.  Pastor Scott began the short sermon, but my mind was having a hard time allowing my mistake to take a backseat to the true meaning of Christmas. Continuing, deacons began serving communion.  The pastor spoke of Jesus’ body being represented by the little bites of unleavened bread, and he signaled us to eat the bread.

A few rows up from me, I noticed Mr. Archee, who is about 80, fighting to peel back the plastic from his bread. Joe, a man who has a lively love for Jesus left his seat, walked across the aisle, and slid down beside Mr. Archee.  He fumbled with the older man’s wrapper until he had the bread opened and Mr. Archee could partake of his communion.

Several tears rolled down my face, as I was reminded that it is our efforts that God desires, not perfection. My attention totally focused on the love of God.

-Karla