My Grandpa Franck loved to sing in church. When my memories begin, his church choir days were well in the past, but he was always there in church singing. Sitting on the left hand side of the church, in the middle pews, always next to the center aisle, there was Grandpa singing loud and proud. You could hear his voice. Not always the most melodic, not always perfectly hitting the notes, and occasionally misreading words, but he was happy. At peace in his home of worship.
His singing also set others at ease. If you sat close enough, your voice could just move in behind his and go along for a ride. The burden was sort of lifted from you and you could simply sing along.
One time I was visiting Grandma and Grandpa’s house, which was a common occurrence, since they lived down the street. Grandpa was singing along to a hymn on the radio, when he stopped and said to me, “You might as well enjoy singing, because you will spend forever doing it.” A reference to joining a choir of Heavenly hosts, the ultimate praise band. I long tried to find comfort in this vision. Forever is a long time. A very, very long time to do something that you are not particularly comfortable doing, especially in public, and especially in front of the Almighty.
It took me until adulthood to come to terms with the concept of singing forever. A) In the hereafter, time is different. Forever isn’t how we can comprehend it in this world. It will be fine, just different. B) You become a perfected version of yourself. A heavenly being, like an angel. I will certainly sound a lot better than I currently do. I probably won’t be very self-conscious about it, either. C) We have a caring and loving God. A God who certainly would not want me to spend forever doing something that I don’t think I do very well. I’m sure there are breaks for snacks and other activities. D) It will be okay. Everyone someday passes over. It will be fine. It’s what people do. Part of life.
So to this day, I try and follow Grandpa Franck’s lead. I’m not a member of a church choir, but when I’m in my pew surrounded by family and friends, I don’t hold back. Sing loud and proud. Not too loud, but you get the idea. Maybe, just maybe, I can be that person that someone else feels comfortable falling in behind. Maybe I can help them sing louder. Help them enjoy the moment. Help them feel God’s peace. Also, my kind and caring family doesn’t seem to mind. Plus, (and I know this kind of sounds silly and sentimental, but when you have your own blog, you can write similar things, I won’t judge) if I listen closely, I can almost hear Grandpa Franck’s voice singing along. Blending in with the other congregants, a whole in celebration. It’s comforting. It’s nice. It makes me happy. It gives me a sense of peace.
Well, this past Sunday, we were at church. I was singing along. Loud and proud. “Light dawns on a dreary world…” I continued on and all was good. I was enjoying myself. I launched into the second verse, “Light dawns on a dreary world…” That’s when my wife gently touched my shoulder. She was smiling and laughing softly. Leaning over and whispering into my ear, she said, “It’s weary, not dreary.” Oh dear, she was right. “Dreary,” “Weary,” similar sounding words with very different meanings. A dreary world, dark and gray. A weary world, tired and in need of rest. Inadvertently, I had authored my own song. Similar to what the author had envisioned, but not close enough for me to justify changing the song. “The trees shall clap their hands; the dry lands, gush with springs; the hills and mountains shall break forth with singing! We shall go out in joy, and be led forth in peace…” Dreary might work, but still, it’s not my place to change the words. Sorry about that. Later on, Charlene explained that she was waiting for me to catch my mistake, but when I boldly launched into the second verse, intervening seemed appropriate. Perhaps wearing my glasses next time might also be appropriate.
Somewhere, Grandpa Franck smiled. Somewhere, Grandpa Franck was proud. Somewhere, Grandpa Franck joined in, while singing the right words. Allowing me to fall in behind, “Light dawns on a weary world…”
