A Hush Fell Over the Auditorium

I had wanted to join a choir for years in the city in which we used to live, but my schedule never exactly lined up with the rehearsal schedule for either choir that met there. I sang as much as I could otherwise, at church, in weddings, at home, for friends and neighbors. Before we moved I searched for choirs in the small city we were moving to, and I found one, the director of which was my high school choir director. Sweet success.

During high school, choir was one of the few places I felt comfortable, like I belonged. I got along with everybody in the group. My senior year of high school my friend Leslie and I were section leaders–she played the piano, and I led the second soprano section in warming up and rehearsing some of our more complicated parts. I loved being part of the choir “team”, with the occasional competitions for solos, daily practices, and concerts. And we all naturally had something in common: we liked to sing and we liked to (more or less) perform. Choir was my community, and I drank it all in like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter day. It was a bright ray of fun among the everyday drudgery that high school school can turn into sometimes.

As I entered my high school auditorium for the first time since graduating seventeen years ago, that familiar feeling of belonging filtered back into my heart. Even though the high school itself had gone through some serious remodeling, the auditorium remained mostly unchanged. The burgundy seats still felt rough. The same bright, yellow lights shone down on me from high in the ceiling. The grand piano sat on stage right, looking regal and inviting. I used to play sometimes during study hall when I knew I was by myself and nobody else could hear me. I felt safe tucked away in the corner among the black of the stage and the curtains. Sometimes I almost hoped that someone could hear me and would pull me aside later to tell me how amazing I sounded. Those high school dreams still stick with me. I want to be in the background, but still heard and appreciated for who I am and what I can offer the world.

A nice steady hum of excited voices, laughter, and greeting old friends filled the auditorium. The room almost buzzed with overflowing joy. People who hadn’t sung with each other for two years were getting ready to lift their voices together in song again. I loved being part of this beautiful chaos even though I didn’t have anyone to greet. I smiled at everyone I could as I made my way down the aisle and found the second soprano section. I was about to sit in the front row when a friendly woman in the row behind me said hello. I decided to sit by her.

We struck up a conversation and disovered pretty quickly that she was the much younger sister of one of my childhood friends from church. What an incredible coincidence. I couldn’t, and still can’t, believe how wonderfully God plans things out, each moment sewn together in a patchwork quilt of blessing after blessing. I had felt at ease when I entered the auditorium, and now I felt completely at ease, among old-new friends and singers I could hardly wait to sing with. My high school choir director took the stage, and a hush fell over the auditorium.

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Part two coming next week!