We'd Get Stung at The Singing Bee

I gaze upon the stage of our church and see some of my very closest friends from our worship team using their beautiful voices to glorify the Lord. I hear the sweet melodies bursting forth from their powerful pipes and I pray that my squeaks somehow sound just as glorious in the Lord's forgiving ears.

Singing has never been a strong point for me.

And I'm thinking that God may have NOT given me that gift for a reason. It seems I have a special talent for butchering the words to any song I come into contact with. When I hear a song, I lack the deciphering ability to understand and/or remember what the piece is actually saying. Instead, my own version of it seems to conveniently stick in my head.

Let me give you an example.

In the early nineties, Reba McEntire came out with a very famous song entitled, "Fancy". It was the summer before my freshman year in high school and we listened to it repeatedly in my small town. I knew every single word by heart.

Or so I thought.

One day I was singing along to the song at the top of my lungs in the front seat of a friend's car, when she turned to me and said, "Seriously? You really think that is what it says?"

It seems that I had somehow twisted Reba's "Here's your one chance Fancy, don't let me down" into "Here's your one dance Fancy, don't go to town." And sadly, my mishaps are not just limited to the Country genre.

I've embarrassed myself in everything from Christian music to Rock 'n' Roll and back again. And I guess it's true about misery loving company, because upon marrying Chris, I realized that we are kindred spirits in this department. Although, he can carry a tune quite nicely, the actual lyrics he sings are so far off that the song almost becomes unrecognizable.

Or unbearable, as the case may be.

So, it comes as no surprise that Park is lyrically challenged, as well. After all, we really didn't give him much of a fighting chance.

I didn't even bother to correct him when I heard him singing, "Old McDonald had an arm, Eli, Eli, O", because really what's the point? And I even kept a straight face when he belted out his own rendition of, "Mary had a little lamp whose fleas was white as snow."

But I just couldn't hold it together when I heard his attempt at one of my favorite worship songs. The lyrics were written (or at least I think they were), "I love you Lord, and I lift my voice to worship you, oh my soul, rejoice." Chris and I often sing this over him as he falls asleep and have prayed that it will one day be the cry of his precious heart.

At decibel levels matched only by that of a freight train, he joyously sang, while waving around an imaginary sword:

"I LOVE YOU LORD, AND I LIFT MY BOYS TO WAR SHIP USE, OH MY SWORD, REJOICE!"

Even though I laughed myself to tears, I lifted my imaginary weapon and rejoiced alongside Park. Because, truth be told, those sweet little words sounded as glorious to me as they did to the Lord's forgiving ears.