This is a small, true story.

Last Sunday was Mother's Day in the U.S., and our choir was small Sunday morning. A number of regular members had gone out of town to be with their mothers. So there were only four of us singers, all older women with gentle voices. Well, there was one really good soprano, but she knows how to blend.

For the offertory, we sang a song called Isaiah 49.

I will never forget you, my people.
I will hold you in the palm of my hand.
I will never forget you, I will not leave you orphaned,
I will never forget my own...

As I sang, I thought, "This is so pedestrian. The song seems to plod along." But I kept singing.

Then a picture came into my mind. I couldn't tell you where this image came from or where it "was" in my environment. It was merely the image of a small, country church, built of limestone. It was tucked among pine trees. I knew it was a protestant church of some sort, could be in the pine forests of the south or the north, either Alabama or Wisconsin, places where I have spent time.

So I said to myself, "Let me try singing this song as if I heard it coming out of the windows of that church." So I tried it, and it worked. I don't know what I did exactly, but others noticed me doing it, and they joined me. Our Fearless Leader heard the difference, and smiled her approval.

After church, I told this story to a very accomplished choir member. (She has a master's degree in horn performance.) She told me she heard the change, so now I know I am not just kidding myself.

What fun!