This evening's choir rehearsal was exhausting in the extreme. We have a huge amount of music to learn for Easter and have only Friday evenings to practice. Additionally there is the music for the next Sunday to run through.
To my tired ears, it sounded pretty good but I may be proved wrong.
When I think that it had been 24 years since I last sang, it seems impossible that I've managed to reestablish some of the old quality though these days there is a lot less power than previously.
When my lovely friendly neighbours encourage me saying how far I've come since John died I always feel they are 'stroking my ego' and tend to take it with a hefty pinch of salt, but even I have to admit I never expected to sing again at all, never mind every week and at Easter 4 days in succession.
This is a parish church not an opera house or concert hall, but the amount of work needed is just as great and considering we are a fairly motley crew the standard is surprisiongly high.
The neighbour I blogged about a few days ago, whose daughter was baptised, had not been to church for quite a time and was surprised by the friendliness of the congregation, while the little girl was transfixed by the singing. Theirs was an Ecumenical Church and the music was rather different from that at St. M's but the
little girl loved it, joined in enthusiastically and is now insisting on going to the All Ages service.
With no previous intention of becoming a regular church-goer again her mother and father have now agreed to attend the family service for their daughter's sake.
God moves in mysterious ways.