My father sang solos in church as I was growing up, in a golden
voice that seemed to float on the breath of angels. He sang the
Lord’s Prayer a cappella from the balcony every Christmas Eve.
My father sang solos in church as I was growing up, in a golden voice that seemed to float on the breath of angels. He sang the Lord’s Prayer a cappella from the balcony every Christmas Eve.
He always wanted me to sing in church, but I was terrified by the idea. I had always struggled with issues of self-esteem, and while I loved to sing alone in my room, the very idea of singing in front of anyone paralyzed me with fear. I knew I could never measure up to his expectations.
When I wrote his eulogy and buried him on my birthday a month before Christmas in 2000, I believed that his dream of my singing with him was buried as well.
Then an amazing songwriter came to Gilroy, a man who is inspired to write many new gospel songs. Allen Douglas and I became good friends and he constantly encouraged me to sing. But still I was too afraid.
He told me, “You have a lovely natural singing voice.” He always stopped me when I was putting myself down.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he would put his hand up like a stop sign and say. “God has given you this gift. Get back to me when you’ve learned to stop talking about yourself that way.”
He invited me to a recording session for a CD in Carmel Valley and let me experience what it’s like to sing inside the sound proof booth with headphones on and the engineer giving me my cues from beyond the glass. He didn’t tell me at the time, but later he mixed my voice into the background vocals on his CD.
He never gave up on me. He’d ask, “When are you going to stop making excuses in your life?” But no matter what he said to me, I always said no to singing with him.
One day he finally twisted my arm hard enough to convince me to try it.
“It’s the late service for Christmas Eve; not that many people will be there,” he said reassuringly. He worked with me to rehearse, and he slowly built up my confidence.
Finally I stood there in church shaking like a leaf, singing words that held new meaning for me: “In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone? Be with me now, Breath of Heaven, hold me together, lighten my darkness.”
As I sang my first solo with Allen accompanying me on the piano one Christmas Eve, it was as if the very thing my father had always hoped for was finally happening.
With the same kind of voice and musical gift my father had, Allen used his gifts to express love in a way that my father never could. Allen had become the encouraging and uplifting father figure my own father could never be.
In my nervousness, I did not sound my best, but I knew that something more important was taking place: I felt a sense of closure I had never known before. I was able to face my fear and not let it stop me. The musical gift of this unlikely angel was healing an old wound.
In the haste of holiday shopping frenzy, may we pause to find the ways that we can be gifts to each other. May we look for unsung heroes and for the ways that we can give hope to each other in everyday life.
May you find gifts (and angels) in unexpected places this Christmas season.
