I love people who can sing! I really love people who can sing so well that it makes me feel like I can sing. I often feel like this at my church. As our worship leader Chad sings with robust precision, I can’t help but want to sing with him. While I may look like I have a passive voice to those around me, it is really because I have learned to lip-sync. To keep my social standing, I dare not let out a real note, a heartfelt note, a genuine note. No, this would only lead to a free-flowing sonic collision with the worship team.
You may wonder how I got into such a state of insecurity when it comes to singing. It all started with a song stalker. He wasn’t a typical stalker. After all I knew Gabe. He was not only a neighbor to Mark and I in our first apartment, but he was also my brother’s college friend. Let’s just say he caught me red-handed.
I really don’t know what comes over me. I may be standing at my kitchen sink innocently doing dishes. I softly hum something to myself as watery bubbles surround my dirty glasses. Suddenly I have the urge to belt out a song at the top of my lungs. My part-time conscience kicks in and tells me not to, but for some reason I still listen to the aggressive demon on my shoulder telling me to sing. I can’t help it; I have a song in my heart. Many people, including Gabe, probably wish it would stay there; because, unfortunately, God didn’t give me the pipes to back up my lovely song.
Nonetheless, I cooperate with the song in my heart and release the beginnings of an original horror. As “Amazing Grace” powerfully springs forth from my mouth, it is as if something begins to mysteriously tickle my vocal chords so I can’t stay on tune. As I diligently discover notes no one on this planet has discovered, I can’t help but be proud of myself. While I liberally maneuver through the melody of the song, I can picture poor Gabe trying to finish his homework to no avail. On the other side of our apartment wall, he probably can’t concentrate as I powerfully release an unfriendly harmony to my own song. Unbeknownst to me, I continue to persevere in straining my voice to reach the high note that practically shatters the glass in my hand.
As I sloppily hold the last note, I can imagine Gabe wanting to come straight through our paper thin walls and begin to strangle me. He would never do that because he is a nice guy, but I bet he wanted to on occasion. Naively, I sang, not knowing I had an audience. I took my enthusiastic song choices to whole new levels, (in the privacy of my own apartment I might add), all the while he was snickering on the other side of our walls. I had no idea! Gabe probably wondered why I was deliberately slaughtering the song when he could hear me, but I didn’t know.
The fact that he never said anything is why I naively kept singing. That is until one day a knock came at the door. I panicked. For I knew I was about to suffer perilous persecution from an outsider. As I opened the door, I quickly smiled. Horrified I knew I had been caught. Acting stupid, I asked, “song?” What? Were you singing? I was ready to tell a bold-faced lie. “Oh, no that wasn’t me singing, I was watching the world’s worst singers on You Tube. Sorry, I’ll turn it down.” I would have tried this but he would have known that I am undoubtedly lying.
As words like, “Hey, Ash you kind of dropped that last note!” spilled off of my neighbor’s lips, I pretty much had to stand in shame and apologize for suffering from an embarrassingly bad voice.
Ever since I was caught, I have learned two very important lessons. 1) Always lip-sync. 2) Never try to lull a baby into ordinary slumber with such a voice, because he might try to escape with a full fledged crawl.