instead of napping, I wrote this.

Reading and periodically emitting a few "hm"s typical of responding to the profound, my "boss" - more accurately my pastor - evaluates the sheets of lyrics I've handed him and I silently prepare myself for full rejection, eyes on the table.

I'm looking for music to arrange for a small, trained ensemble as a special something at Christmas - not because Christmas is the time when sparkles and showiness are widely accepted and expected but because it's a big deal that God Incarnate came to us and we should make a big deal about it.

I'm looking for him to greenlight the choices so I can move on with the process.  He asked me the day before to make sure I continue to check in with him on this so that he can back me up the whole way and help if someone else tries to stand me down.


He's done reading but the pages are still in his hand when he takes a measured breath and rubs his eyes like a tired, hard-working man.

"Now, I don't mean this in an obnoxious way but..."  I'm prepared to take him at his word because I see no trace of sarcasm.

"...you don't have any theological training; is that correct?"

My shoulders may have slumped further as I said, "Yes," quietly, preparing to be made to feel even smaller.

"And you haven't read the Bible ... all that much?"

He knows I haven't read it in its entirety and that I've slacked in unacceptable ways these past nine years.  I've had my butt properly kicked on the subject to the point where I've made real changes and improvements but it's still a sore spot -- and he knows this.  I say, "Yes," even more quietly because I have nothing to argue.

At this point I'm pulling people in from their lunch breaks to help me start tearing up concrete and going back to blueprints.  Apparently I have no idea what I'm doing.  I felt shocked, actually, after he asked me the second question.  I know I've missed big things that he's pointed out before but to be this wrong that he'll highlight how I don't really know anything I was on the verge of being crushed (especially because it sounds like he's been thinking it for a while and is now completely fed up).

Tossing the sheets back across the table he inquires with muted perplexity, "How are you so good at picking songs with solid content?"



Oh, I see.  It was the classic American Idol deke you were doing there.  Thanks for making me poop my trousers.



Something significant congealed in the back of my mind when he asked this.  It sounds like I should be doing the job I've been doing.  It sounds like I'm well suited for it and that God has prepared me for it.  This is extraordinary news and it ends two and a half years of turmoil.

Still coming out of feeling small I was able to fight the urge to break into a large smile and to try to answer seriously.  It would be easy to shrug off but I wanted to validate what he had said.  I told him my best guess: "Umm... I have really good B.S. radar??"

He nods seriously and says, "Yeah," expecting me to go on, seeing that I've understood what he's told me.

"That wasn't very eloquent," I preface, because I want to try again.  "I can just tell when something isn't true and it bothers me."

This time he nods with deeper understanding and his facial expression tells me something has clicked.  "Right," he says, looking like he's enjoying being stupefied.  I hope we're both stupefied for the same reason, and that is that God is funny and incredible.