sing

The gray-haired man wearing a red and green plaid kilt, bagpipe slung over his shoulder, walked toward the front of the elevated platform, performing his mournful interpretation of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Another man, about twenty years younger, moved toward him, offering screeching and sizzling notes from his peach-colored electric guitar. An auditory feast filled the sanctuary, a special prelude to a Christmas service filled with choir and orchestra music.

Micah’s eyes opened wide, and his head swayed side to side as he thrilled to the music. At dress rehearsal, earlier this week, as we sat on our risers (Micah in the top row with the bases, me below him with the altos), he’d had the same reaction.

I’ve sung in this church choir for many years. When I was younger and attending our small country church, I sang duets with my sister and ensembles with other young women; I sang and played piano accompaniment for my high school choir–I’ve had lots of experience.

But this was Micah’s first year of singing in any church choir. He’d never even been in the kid’s choir. I’d never asked him if he’d wanted to be involved, never given him the opportunity.

Was I afraid he’d sing off key? He had a deep loud voice. People would be able to hear. Was it that I thought his head might sway too much, distracting the congregants? I was used to the way Micah’s body worked—most of the time I didn’t notice when his movements were different, perhaps strange to others. 

The week before rehearsals began, I approached the worship pastor after the service. I felt I needed to ask if it was okay for Micah to be involved. He knew who Micah was—how could he miss him, the extra tall thin young man who sat in the last row of the balcony every Sunday.

“Hi, Pastor A. I wanted to let you know I’m excited about choir this year and wanted to tell you that Micah would like to be part of it. He’s got a good strong voice—a base. He was in his school choir last year and really enjoyed it. I also have a piano at home, so I can help him with the music.”

The corners of his mouth rose slightly, and his eyes were warm and welcoming. He didn’t ask questions, instead just told me, “Of course,” and when rehearsals began.

Why had I doubted? Would I always have this concern about how our son would be perceived?

“Lord, help me to trust in your plan for Micah. Please help me get out of the way.”

We had two months of rehearsals before singing on the two Sundays before Christmas. There were 10-15 songs, some were standard Christmas carols, some harder songs where much practice was needed. I told Micah that he must learn his bass part well by listening to the tracks Pastor A. had emailed to us as well as rehearsing with me on the piano.

One of the traits I’ve always admired about Micah is his adherence to routine. He stretches every morning and afternoon (to help his scoliosis), he makes his bed every morning before breakfast, and during his last year of high school, he went to his room immediately after school to finish his homework.

Practicing for this ‘Christmas choir’ was no different. It became part of his evening regimen, although sometimes we listened during meals or in our vehicle.

The two Sundays we sang, Micah was handsome in his black turtleneck and pants, but most importantly he exuded happiness and joy. I knew he felt included and that he was also serving God for the sake of others.  Most importantly, he had an opportunity to grow in his faith, because during every rehearsal, Pastor A. had spent some time reading God’s Word aloud, ministering to us as a group.

On New Year’s Day, Micah and I stood across from each other, clean flannel sheets ready to be spread out over his blue queen-sized bed.

“Mom, what was your favorite thing about 2025?”

“Hmm—maybe your graduation from high school? How about you?”

“Well, Mom. I’d have to say it was singing in the choir for Christmas. I really enjoyed it!”

“Ah, Micah. I’m so glad to hear you say that! You know, the choir will sing again for Easter. Are you in?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m definitely in!”