As If On Cue

Exhausted already and it was only dusk on Christmas Eve.

I sprinted up the steps to the church balcony where my electronic keyboard sat, nagged by the feeling I’d forgotten something.

Music for the service? Had that. Youth choir ready? I waved my hand and they stood to position. My light for the music stand? I panicked. No light!

Below, sixth-grade Mary and Joseph were beginning their procession to Bethlehem. In moments, Beatrice, a soloist in the choir, would begin singing Mary’s prayer. I squinted at the sheet music. I could barely see. Something inside me crumpled. Two and a half more services to go and already things were coming apart.

I’m a church musician. Christmas for me usually consists of cinnamon bread wolfed down long after midnight, when I stumble home after 15 hours of rehearsals, shepherding choirs and playing carols till my fingers fall off. I love it and I dread it.

The bustle, the excitement and anticipation, the church hushed and candlelit, all that’s wonderful. But it’s a blur too; by the end I’m wishing I’d had a Christmas of my own, some sense of the presence my music helps others experience.

This Christmas felt especially hard. Our worship director had suffered a stroke and everyone scrambled to fill his shoes. Even worse for me, my dad had fallen gravely ill just before Thanksgiving. I’d spent every possible moment at his side. We’d held his memorial service just four days ago.

I stared at the music stand feeling everything crash in on me—stress, grief, exhaustion all bundled into that missing light.

The choir looked at me expectantly. I could hear the swish of Joseph and Mary’s costumes as they shuffled into position. I cast around wildly. The storage room! The door was a few feet away. I could open it and turn on the light. I reached. There, it was on. Quickly I closed the door until just a crack of light peeped through, enough to read the music. I began the introduction.

I barely heard my own playing. My mind flitted about, determined not to forget anything else. Remember, lighting cues for the next service. And more practice on a few late-night service carols. Didn’t have those down yet. The youth skit for that service? They could use a run-through. Same for the choir.

All at once my worries fled. Beatrice was singing. Her voice, clear and strong, filled the church. “Breath of heaven, hold me together. Be forever near me.” The words filled me. I stared at the sliver of light coming from the storage room. It was so small in the loft’s gloomy darkness. Beatrice’s voice was so pure. And yet—Be forever near me.