“Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.”
This quote, attributed to a social activist named Maggie Kuhn, has always been a personal favorite encouraging reminder.
If we have a conviction… a stirring of our heart… a passionate belief, why can it still be so hard to speak out? To share our minds, hearts, words?
Speaking up – and being vulnerable – can open us up to rejection, criticism, confrontation.
It can reveal to us how much other people’s opinions matter to us, even if we don’t want to think they do.
It can reveal to us our people-pleasing tendencies, and how much we might want everyone to like us.
It might reveal how hard we tend to be on ourselves if we stumble, misspeak, falter in formulating our thoughts.
Tomorrow I sing with our church music team.
I’ve done it once before – and sometimes for a choir piece – but never over a whole service. In front of people.
Singing isn’t the same as speaking out, but it does put a voice on display.
They may not be our heartfelt words, but they still become dear, personal words.
In recent years (and my oh my, as a parent) I recognize I have a strange relationship with being “on display” at church.
I grew up doing it rather easily – acting in skits, singing in choirs, lending my voice to the church, as it naturally branched out as an extension of my faith.
I led camp songs around the fire ring over my summers working at camp.
I led songs at our weekday chapel during college.
But as a young person, if I was embarrassed or feeling vulnerable, I could resort to silliness, hand motions, dancing around or well, being a clown. That was welcome in improv, theater, camp settings.
As an adult in the church, I inhabit a somewhat unique role. My husband is actually the pastor of our small church. He’s the one opening his mouth, speaking, teaching, putting himself and his heart out there.
(Not that I’m advocating in any way for women to stay out of the pulpit. Oh NO. I’m thankful every day for the strong female clergy in my wider church body who share their unique wittnesses, perspectives, and wise teachings with their congregations.)
It’s just I’m a little more behind the scenes these days. And I’m comfortable there.
(Well, as much as my 4 nutty kids will allow me to be. They sometimes manage to draw some attention, which inadvertently draws attention to me. Oof. But that’s a whole other post.)
But here I am.
There’s a need for a song leader.
Not a performer, not a flashy polished perfect diva… a worship assistant.
It’s something, with practice, I can mostly do.
Why is it so uncomfortable to get up in front of people, open my mouth, and sing?
Our church – thank God – is a down-to-earth, loving, affirming place. If I get pitchy… or bungle lyrics… or my voice cracks… or I miss an intro… I’m very unlikely to actually hear any snide comments.
That certainly isn’t a given, as churches and their people – sadly – can be woefully broken and toxic places.
Again, we are blessed to see a minimum of that kind of disfunction in this place.
But there’s something about lending my voice that makes me examine what’s going on inside me.
Believe me, I don’t get this introspective about volunteering for a youth group picnic.
I pray to remember why I’m using my voice: to assist worship, to praise God, to aid in making worship a time for reflection and spiritual nourishment.
Not to put on “the Laura show.”
Will I find something to flub up? Oh yeah, almost assuredly.
Depsite choral experiences of years long past, I’m not a polished poised performer. I’m most comfortable with my eyes closed, hands pried into my lower back.
I try not to take anything too seriously, but when something is important to you… and this is…
I can hope not to default to embarrassed silliness or big cringey overreacts, but to be present, acknowledge God’s grace (even if grace is an ongoing work in progress for me) and remember why I’m blessed to be doing what I’ll be doing.
It’s an offering.
I will sing… even if my voice shakes.
alive. awake. uncomfortable. 