He is My Song

I wish I could sing, or play an instrument other than the kazoo with skill. Every member of my family can either sing or play guitar or piano.... except me. I mean, I can play a few chords, and I can sing within a very narrow range. In fact, my ability to sing was one of the delusions of my childhood. And it was my mom's fault. As I have mentioned in prior posts, my sister Wendy was highly intelligent and highly talented. All the things I could do, Wendy could do better, and yes, that included art. I hated Wendy, which was the only way I knew to cope with all the feelings of inferiority. My mother, wisely seeing me drowning in my paucity of self esteem, tried to bolster me by focusing on the two things Wendy didn't have that I did. Everyone else in our family (except Mom) had brown eyes, but I had green eyes. My mother made such a big deal about my green eyes that I came to believe I had personally selected them and then special ordered them to arrive on the day of my birth. Were it not for my exceptional ability to procure those emerald orbs, I would have eyes like dirt like Wendy did. (I use the past tense, because in His infinite sense of humor, God gave Wendy brown eyes that faded to green with age, removing one of the two things I had that she did not.) The second thing I had over Wendy which I believe persists to this day was that I could carry a tune. As far as I know, Wendy still can not sing without bats torpedoing out of their caves. So while I honestly probably could sing better than Wendy, with all respect, the bar was not very high in that endeavor.
However, I trusted my mom and so I joined the elementary school chorus. I was put in the soprano section, but I don't think it was really that I was a soprano. I think it was just that since I was such a shy and frightened child when placed before humans, whenever I sang to anyone but myself in the shower, my vocal cords constricted and the squeak that emerged was labeled the closest thing the choir teacher could compare it to. I huddled with the other sopranos.
Despite my debilitating shyness, I had moments throughout my life when I was determined to rise above my temerity. When the tryouts for the School Choir solos were announced, I had such a moment.
When I told the choir teacher I wanted to try out, she paused and said, "Are you sure?"
This may be interpreted by more astute minds as an indication that perhaps I should take up another calling, like removing lint from dryers, but I persisted.
On the day of the tryouts, we were called one by one into a small room, and we sang a verse in front of the choir director. I wore my new dress, the one I can still picture to this day with a white top, green full skirt to match the eyes I had selected, and a yellow sash. I loved that dress and I felt beautiful in it. Inexplicably, when I sang my solo, my voice didn't squeak and I remembered all the words. It was with astonishment (I am sure to the entire choir) when it was announced that I would sing the solo.
So the next month was to be spent practicing for the big event. In practice, as far as I can remember, every single time we came to the part where I was to sing in front of all my fellow choir members my one small solo, I blew it. My terrified vocal chords would take one gander at the crowd and go hide behind my tonsils.
The choir director would try to smile. There would often be shocked silence from my choir mates. How had this worm with no voice won the coveted solo?
After two weeks of this farce, the choir director announced that due to an unforeseen event, the song with my solo would have to be cut from the program. Now of course, I understand that the unforeseen event is that the soloist sang like a wounded burro, but at the time, I only felt a twinge of disappointment. Mostly I felt relief.
With age and dawning wisdom, I understand that whether I want to be a swan or not, if I am a duck, I must be satisfied with what a duck is made to do. And much as I wish I could sing with notes that have the scent of Heaven upon them, I really don't need to. God tells me that in my weakness is where He shines. What joy to read in Exodus, 15:2_

The Lord is my strength and my song;
he has become my salvation.