Music Ministries

Dear Levi,

By Sunday the fever had broken but I was still very weak and sick. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower and tried to work through the throbbing, sore muscles to get ready for church. I wanted to be there so badly. I hadn’t missed in so long. I wasn’t going to make the morning service, but I took the time to carefully move my bruised and damaged body into nice clothes and brush out my hair until it shone for the evening service. I even curled my tresses, put on foundation, and mascara. Since I’ve flipped the part in my hair, it has always seemed off to me. The girl looking back at me in the mirror was so pale, eyes framed by perfect lashes, but face so… disappointing. I don’t blame you for finding another for your eyes to love.

The cobalt blue shirt I’d picked up at the thrift store hung around my torso in a loose billow, which pleased me tonight. I hurt so badly, I didn’t want anything touching me. What ever happened to that funky green suit coat you got in the spring from the thrift store? I wonder about it from time to time. The last time you ever smiled at me, even a half smile, mostly ironic and annoyed, but still a smile. I’m sorry I criticized your wardrobe. I felt like a heel the very next moment, and… ever since. All I did was fail you. I’m so sorry.

At church, you were sitting alone next to Brittany Ramirez and Brittany Lyons and some blonde girl. Levi, with all his girls. But I knew you weren’t there for any of them, just Anna. Why was she always late? I was curious but knew I’d never know. Not ever. I looked away from you and tried to focus on God, on the girls he had put in my life, on life on the other side of the balcony. Across the divide between your side and my side was open air and an invisible history, written by my words and your actions. It made tears burn in my eyes. You couldn’t see me through that space, and I couldn’t even cross over. God, why?

But downstairs, it was like another church. The church I knew over the spring, the summer. The place where I tried to know the locals and watched them deselect me from their groups slowly but surely. I was fed up with the church down stairs. Yet downstairs I went, to find Bro. Don. And we went to the piano in the practice room, and ran a few scales. Then he took me to meet Bro. Jim Willoughby, who would be working my schedule with the main Sunday School service in the auditorium. My favorite class these day… home, really.

One song every three months. My first would be the second week of November, and Bro. Don would come listen to hear me to determine if I was potential material for specials in the main service. I just want to sing. I just want to stand on the platform, and take that mic, and look up at the lights and the faces and let the memories, the pain, the comfort of the Spirit, every moment of the dark spring and the silent summer and the empty autumn… let it all just lift up to heaven. Give it all back to God. In front of the crowd of so many people that had let me pass in and out of their lives, to just show them that I love to sing for God. And to stand there in front of you, and show you that I did what you asked. I found my love for God again. I want you to know.

And if God gave me this voice, and this nonstop pull that keeps the music coming from my heart out my lips, then I want to give it back to him. Not by myself, but with a cello, a guitar… maybe the piano. I just want to create something beautiful to give back to Him. Why settle for nothing at all when I have the dream of something beautiful?

The last thing Bro. Don told me was that music spotlight ministry is only entrusted to people who show themselves faithful, accountable. And he said in the Bible, the ministry of song was specifically entrusted to the tribe of… Levi. It was the Levites who served in the temple through song. It made my heart catch. He was right… he was right.

Could it be possible? Maybe that’s why I have to sing. Maybe because since the beginning of time, it’s been entrusting to the people of your name. People who love God. People who have nothing to offer but their own pitiful self. People who found God’s grace.

Your star,

Rigel