It’s been four years since I played trumpet for Easter Sunday. After that hiatus, I’m at a new church that has a pipe organ in the balcony with a talented organist. I introduced myself and said, “If you a trumpet player for Easter, I’m willing to play.” She immediately accepted my offer, got me some music, and we set up a rehearsal time.
As we ascended the steps into the loft, I thought, “It’s been fourteen years since I played in a church balcony.” That was for my son’s wedding. In the meantime, I usually played hymns and descants for Easter worship. But since my retirement, I didn’t have those opportunities. Until this year.
I started getting into shape after Christmas, hoping I’d have the chance to play. Playing at home is different than playing in a church. At home, my sound easily fills the bedroom where I practice. In an empty sanctuary, standing in a balcony, in front of ranks of organ pipes, it’s different.
As a rehearsal begins, I fight the temptation to over blow, thinking I have to fill the room with sound. I forget how far the sound of a trumpet carries. I’m behind the sound, not out in the space. It’s hard to relax, getting used to a new accompanist.
But after a few minutes, it feels familiar. Air fills horn and the pipes. Music fills the air. I can feel the vibrations from the big pipes. From the corner of my eye, I follow the head and shoulders of the organist. The notes fit together. It’s thrilling and motivating. I love this.
What an enjoyable gift from the Lord to be able to make music. What a gift to give it back to the Lord, too!
Waite for it... 