Hi all,

Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be taking a little break from blogging for the next couple of weeks. 

I hope you have a great Christmas - and I'll see you next year! 

Sheri

After eight years of marriage, I thought my husband knew me better. I was wrong. It all began when our pastor asked everyone in our small congregation to participate in the annual Christmas program. Not being one who enjoys the spotlight, I cringed. Maybe I could just read a quick poem, I thought. But my husband had his own idea. I remember the day he told me about it. I was sitting at the kitchen table decorating Christmas cookies with our three-year-old daughter, Emily. Curt walked in and messed up my perfectly good day.

“You want me to stand up in front of the entire church and sing?” I dropped my knife, splattering red frosting across the table.

“Not by yourself.” He snatched an overly-sprinkled cookie from our daughter’s pile. “I’ll sing with you.”

“Oh that’s comforting,” I said. “You know I don’t like all those people looking at me.”

Curt shrugged and took a bite of his cookie. “It’s a small church.”

“Not small enough,” I mumbled.

I don’t know how he did it, but a couple of days later, Curt managed to persuade me. We dug through our collection of Christmas music, looking for the perfect song. Finally we agreed on O Holy Night. I ran to the mall, bought the karaoke version and popped it into the cassette player. As the intro began, I felt a twinge of anxiety. I just need to get more familiar with the song, I thought.  

So I practiced every time I got in the car. When I ran to the store, I sang along with the lyrics. As I drove to the mall, I flipped the tape over and sang with the accompaniment. When we went out for dinner, Curt and I practiced harmonizing the chorus. Emily always sat buckled in her car seat, happily humming along.

But I was not happy. With each passing day, panic grew inside me. I imagined myself standing up front on program night. Everyone’s eyes would be fixed on me. What if I forget the words? What if I trip over a poinsettia on the way up the steps? How did I ever let Curt talk me into this? 

All too soon the night I’d been dreading arrived. Curt and I sat in the back of the church waiting our turn. On the platform, a woman recited her version of ‘Twas the Night before Christmas. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies dive-bombing my stomach.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. What should I do with Emily when we go up front? I couldn’t leave her sitting by herself. I scanned the church, looking for someone she could sit with. Maybe I could bring her with us. But Emily was pretty shy – what if she got scared in front of all those people? As I wrestled with my decision, the pastor interrupted my thoughts.

“Curt, Sheri, come on up--”

I scooped Emily onto my hip. Then we walked to the front and stood together on the platform.

The congregation sat still, watching and waiting. I nervously switched Emily to my other hip, holding her between Curt and me. I felt the warmth rising up in my cheeks. I glanced over at Curt and gave him a subtle, you’ll-pay-for-this smile.

Finally the music began. I cleared my throat. O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining … As Curt and I sang, I was surprised to hear Emily whispering the words along with us. How sweet, I thought. She’d heard the song so many times; she’d also learned the words.

After a couple of verses, Emily grew more confident and sang a bit louder. A few rows back, two gray-haired ladies nodded and smiled at our charming trio. They probably think we planned this, I thought, gazing proudly at Emily. My nervous butterflies began to disappear. Things were going so well – until we reached the chorus.

As the chorus opened, Emily began to sing with such enthusiasm, it startled me.  She opened her mouth wide and belted out each sour note with tremendous conviction. I gave her a firm squeeze, but she didn't take the hint. Curt and I stared at one another in shock. Across the pews, men snickered. Women covered their mouths to hide their giggles. Curt and I sang louder, hoping to block her out. But her passionate performance overpowered us both.

Yes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. But as many of you know, it’s also a difficult time of year to lose a loved one. I was reminded of this last Tuesday morning when my 92-year-old grandpa passed away.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Ninety-two years! And yes, I’m glad my grandpa lived a good, long life. I’m also thankful my girls had the opportunity to know their great-grandpa. But no matter his age, it’s still hard to see him go. 

All day Tuesday I found myself reflecting on memories of Grandpa. One of my favorite memories is the special part he played on my wedding day. Grandpa drove me and my handsome new husband to our reception in his 1909 Model T Ford. (I wrote about that experience - as well as a tribute to my grandparents here.) 

Grandpa would have a warm fire going in the fireplace. Grandma would pull out various salads and desserts from the fridge. Then we’d all sit around the fireplace and roast hot dogs together. 

As each memory filled my mind, I couldn’t seem to shake the reoccurring lump in my throat. Then my mom called.  

“Now don’t feel like you have to, but we were wondering if you and Curt would be willing to sing at the funeral. Talk it over and let me know as soon as you can.” 

Honestly, my first thought? You've got to be kidding. And my second thought: my mom has way too much faith in me. 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I cry at Hallmark commercials – and this is Grandpa’s funeral.”

“I know,” she said. “Just talk to Curt and think about it. 

I spent a great deal of time thinking about it. In fact, I could hardly think about anything else. To be honest, I didn't want to do it. Not only was I afraid I’d be emotional, but I was just plain afraid! I don’t enjoy singing in front of people. And for some reason, the thought of singing in front of my family just made it worse. 

After changing my mind several times, I finally decided to do it. But I was so nervous. The night before the funeral I woke up at 3 AM and couldn't get back to sleep. What if I’d made the wrong decision? I mean, how well could I sing with a lump in my throat?

On the day of the funeral Curt and I sat in the balcony. As I listened to the pastor, I looked over the words of the song we were about to sing.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus; look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of this earth will grow strangely dim
in the light of His glory and grace.

I thought about that first line: Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Suddenly I knew that's what I needed to do. I needed to stop thinking about myself and start focusing on Jesus – because this really wasn't about me.

Now here's the best part. The closer it came time for us to sing, the less nervous I felt. From the moment the organist played the first chord until we sang the last note, I felt unbelievably calm.

Thankfully, the things of this earth (like my fear and pride) did grow strangely dim once I stopped thinking about myself.

After the funeral, the church bell chimed 92 times as friends and family slowly filed out of the church.

That’s when I realized two things. First, it takes a long time to ring a church bell 92 times. And second, I’m really thankful I didn't miss the opportunity to play a special part in saying goodbye to my grandpa.   

Raising a teenager can be a challenge. She wants freedom and independence. I feel the need to protect. So how do we find a balance? 

This week I'm sharing a post I wrote for the Quad City Moms Blog. I'd love it if you'd meet me over there! 

Here's the link:

http://www.quadcitymomsblog.com/2013/11/30/learning-to-balance/

Have a great week!

Sheri