Worth It.

Sometimes this singing business gets hard.  I'm not going to lie to you: it has never been my dream to sing for the whole world to hear.  My dream has always consisted of stability and security.  You know what I'm talking about: the white picket fence, nine to five career, baseball games and ballet recitals.  Normal is what I craved.  Just a regular life of routine.

So you can imagine why this singing business can sometimes be tough for me.  I love the traveling, but hate never being home.  Some may think it's luxurious.  (If you're one of those people, I suggest skipping this paragraph.  Because, spoiler alert, things are about to get 360 degrees of real up in this place.)  I can assure you that there are few things luxurious about rest stops that are nothing more than glorified Porta Potties or missing important moments with friends because your heart is invested in a traveling ministry.  There is no red carpet of glory rolled out before you when you step out of an '89 Chevy.  If the GPS works correctly, you might arrive at the church...or you might arrive at a cornfield.  Sometimes you're not feeling the Spirit; sometimes you're just dancing like a fool behind the microphone stand because a killer bee is stalking you at an outdoor event.  Instead of applause from the congregation, you're lucky to get smiles.  In fact, you're growing kind of suspicious of the lady in the fourth pew who hasn't blinked since the pastor introduced you.  And you might as well face it: if you're in a rural area and church doesn't end before 9 p.m., you're going home hungry because even Taco Bell is closed in that town at that hour.  That beeping noise on your bus could be the carbon monoxide detector or the smoke alarm; figuring out which one is trying to kill you first is the exciting part!  And finally, there is no graceful way of tearing down and carrying out massive sound equipment while wearing heels.  Without fail, you always look like a waddling penguin or a newborn foal. 


With all of that being said, do not let me fool you.  There are certainly some perks to this singing shindig.  I'm with my family all the time.  I've learned so much about my own walk with Christ through the teachings and messages of the churches we've attended.  I've been to so many great places and have met so many wonderful people.  I've been a part of things I never would have had the opportunity to be a part of had it not been for the singing ministry.  Plus, how awesome is it to hear yourself on the radio?!?


But the greatest blessing, aside from doing what God has given me to do, is to be given the opportunity to minister.  I get e-mails and messages from people who enjoy our music or testimonies.  In these messages, they usually share their stories and glorify Christ through their struggles.  That, without a doubt, is what makes it all worthwhile.  To look out into a congregation and see someone with their hands lifted in praise or with tears streaming down their cheeks is what makes every taste of discomfort worth it.  And when someone comes to an altar, when someone realizes God's redemption, that's all that matters.  Not the stinky restrooms in desperate need of sanitation or the painful stripping of vocal cords due to excessive use.  To see one person touched by God makes the difference.


There is one instance in particular that always sticks out in my mind.  We arrived at a singing in Ohio.  It was an instance where we felt very little spiritual liberty; there was a time limit and a certain order to things.  Momma was sick and wasn't even singing with us.  The monitors were too loud and we couldn't hear a thing as we sang to this crowd that was talking and moving about.  As we finished our last song, we walked off the stage and figured we had just wasted a good half hour.  But after the event was over, a woman walked up to me.  She had tears in her eyes and they were overflowing as she embraced me in a hug.  As she continued to hold on tight, she whispered, "Thank you."  When she finally released me, I was speechless.  Was this woman thanking me for getting off the stage?  Because that was the only possibility that would make sense, and how exactly was I supposed to respond to that?  So I simply offered a polite smile to this weeping woman and patiently awaited any explanation she gave.  My heart broke and rejoiced simultaneously as she explained, "My mother just passed away a short time ago.  I've been really hurting and struggling with letting her go.  But tonight, when I looked into your eyes as you were singing, I knew Heaven was real.  I just felt such peace.  Thank you."


That's what it's all about.  Just recalling that story causes me to cry grateful tears because I am so unworthy, but so blessed, to experience moments like that. 


Sometimes this singing business gets hard.  But if that's what it takes to reach people, I wouldn't have it any other way.