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I write novels, eat dark chocolate, raise three children, love my husband, scrub toilets, ignore the laundry, and love a good story, but hardly ever in that order.



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Friday, January 18, 2013

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:
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.
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?!?


  1. This story always makes me laugh.

  2. Cute story. I had to wear one of those packs for a speaking gig in December. My chipmunk cheeks kept bumping the little flesh-colored mike. The frustrated sound guy kept calling it "baby fat." I graciously bit my tongue in order to NOT tell him where 36-year-old women carry "baby fat." :)

    OH! And I have Faith Hill story! We have family in Nashville. Shortly after moving there out aunt and uncle were attended this party in someone's home. They had a baby grand piano; Uncle Bob is an expert pianist (hobby, not profession), so as always, he sat down and started playing while the guests mingled. After a bit, someone walked over, complimented him on his playing and asked if she could sing along. They did a little duet, just for fun. He told her she had a great voice, to which she replied: "Thanks. It's kinda my thing." Aunt Liz goes over later: "Do you know who that was?" He had no idea he had been performing with Faith Hill!! Too funny.

    1. All sound guys who make chipmunk cheek comments should be forced into telling a really personal story into the mic, in front of a packed room. Take THAT, Cheek Man.

      What a great story about Faith Hill! I love it that she didn't act like your uncle should have known him, duh. I'll bet your aunt has had a great time telling THAT story over the years. :)

      Thanks for sharing!


    2. Yes. You are right about the sound guys. I'll tell him that next time. ;)

  3. I never heard this! I was always more grossed out that we all shared ear buds and I would wipe them off before and after my use. Once in a while I would secretly use hand-sanitizer if it was handy on my person - take that to the therapy couch. :)

    1. Oh, the therapy couch might get crowded real fast, Susan. We now have our own personal ear bud covers, but I did notice my mic SMELLED a few weeks ago. I fear people spit when they sing and talk, the spit doesn't dry and mics get skanky. Ew.

      All to Jesus, I surrender, even my nose and my aversion to other people's earwax.