So, the other day I saw something on television that triggered a memory of a particular day I hadn’t “pulled out of the file” for a long time. I saw it once again with clarity and supposed there must be a reason to come to me at this time & place…I’m sure there’s a reason, but am not certain what that reason is…so I will write it down. 

The memory. I was a musical composition major in college, while also pursuing a career in classical (opera) vocal performance. So, to those ends, many of my late nights were filled with composing (“old school”, with a pencil or a Flair pen – remember those?) and most of my days were filled with rehearsals, competitions, sometimes performances, and adjudications. I had more energy than I have now.  Didn’t we all?

This memory is of a particular adjudication. For those of you who may not have heard that term, “adjudication”, it is a sort of performance “test” where one is scored and critiqued by judges and these scores are used sometimes for grades, or as markers of progress…or sometimes as entrance exams into performing art schools or post-graduate studies (the judges are often from other schools and universties). Sometimes these vocal adjudications are private: you, an accompanist, a few judges. Sometimes there is an audience…which may or may not include those who are singing.

This particular adjudication was an out-of-town event in a nice auditorium. It was open to the public and the auditorium contained about two-hundred in attendance. There were three judges at a table about halfway back from the stage, in the seats. The audience all had to sit behind them. There was a tall, thin, unsmiling man on the left, a large bald and bearded man on the right, and a much smaller, older, woman of color in the middle…always smiling. I remember her most: large-framed glasses and a lavender suit. She was the judge in charge, the judge in the middle, and the other two followed her lead.

I sang my prepared aria and an art song. Then, at this particular adjudication, the singers had to “sight sing”. In other words, each singer was given a sealed manila envelope with a sheet of music (or two) in it which they were then asked to sing, unrehearsed and unaccompanied, for the judges and those present. The instructions we had been given told us the song would not be in a foreign language, that it would be “legit” in nature (not a popular song, but perhaps an older folk song, hymn, Victorian parlor song, something to be sung in a “classical/operatic” style). We could ask for a starting note or simply choose our own key.

For many, as you can imagine, this was the most stomach-churning part of the whole day. Sight-singing (singing a song simply by looking for the first time at the music) was usually not as difficult for me simply because…I grew up in church, singing hymns from a hymnal, in parts, surrounded by others who did the same thing, including mom & dad. 

I received my envelope. I unsealed it and took out the music. I had a moment that seemed like an hour, where my mind wasn’t quite able to comprehend what I was seeing. The guidelines clearly said that the songs in our classical and opera category would be of that style and nature…I had clearly received a song from the other category (which was part of the adjudication the previous day) the song was “STORMY WEATHER”.

I knew if I asked for another song I would be disqualified. In a moment I made the decision to sing it, partially because I knew it well. I also knew that I couldn’t change the words (which meant I couldn’t change the gender of the “object of the lyric”) so I had to sing it as it was written. But I also knew that I shouldn’t sing this song in the same style as opera. I should sing it as I would sing any blues…and so I did. I chose my own key and belted it out…not really knowing what would happen after that.

Knowing that I was probably going to be disqualified or whatever actually gave me some relief and I sang as I liked to sing, not really caring what the score was going to me. I looked at the faces of the judges and finally settled on the lady in the lavender suit. She smiled at me, encouraging my every phrase…even when I had to sing (embarrassingly, as a 19-year-old) “…since my man and I ain’t together…” she simply kept on grinning.

At the end of the final phrase, I held the last note longer than I needed to (showing off a bit)…getting softer and softer until it faded away (I have – or HAD – good lungs). Those there applauded…loudly…a few stood. The male judges glared…the lady in the lavender suit raised her eyebrows, still grinning.

“What was that?!” said the thin man on the left, not without some indignation.

“It was the song I was given.” I replied.

“That’s impossible,” he said, “let me see that!” He got up and barreled down the aisle to the stage where I was. He took the music out of my hand and then flashed it to the others.

“Well, that’s wrong.” He said, giving me back my music, “This never happens. A singer isn’t supposed to get the wrong song…we’ll discuss what’s to be done next.” And he walked a little slower back to his seat.

“You had a choice. You chose to sing it, even though you knew it was not right?” said the large, bald man…like it was MY fault.

“Yes, I wasn’t sure what to do but sing it. It was the song I was given.”

“Well, you CHOSE the wrong thing to do…you made the wrong decision.”

At the moment I felt about six-inches tall and thought I should apologize. Then the head judge, the lady in the lavender suit, took her large-frame glasses off and said, “I think it’s marvelous.”

As the other two judges gave her the side-eye, she continued. “I’m sorry, but I applaud you for not only giving a fine performance but singing the song you were given…that deserves something. It isn’t necessarily a part of the adjudication, to see how one does when they are thrown a curve ball, but maybe it should be.” 

I was, after some discussion, not disqualified, but was given “Honorable Mention” since giving me another song to sing would’ve also been unfair, and giving me First or Second place would’ve also been unfair…on the other hand, the lady in the lavender suit offered me a scholarship to her university two years, full ride…where she was head of the department (that’s another story for another time).

I can still hear her say, “…you sang the song you were given, that deserves something.” 

I sang the song I was given. It wasn’t the song I was expecting. It wasn’t the song I particularly wanted, or would’ve chosen. But it was the one I was given. One person, one “judge” said it was impossible that I would receive that song and almost called me a liar, as if it were MY fault I received that song. Another “judge” said the singing of that song was my choice, and a bad one…I shouldn’t have sung it. And yet another…the head judge, the important judge, the one that mattered, said, “…you sang the song you were given, that deserves something.”

Paul the Apostle complained of a “thorn in his side”. We don’t know what that was, it could’ve been illness, a person, a situation, a crippling condition…whatever it was this man of deep faith prayed to have it taken away…and it wasn’t. So, he “sang the song he was given.” Someone may have said that Paul was a sinner, therefore afflicted. Someone may have said he didn’t have enough faith, or he wouldn’t have that thorn. Someone may have said his affliction was his own choice. This is the Apostle Paul we’re talking about. 

Fanny Crosby wasn’t born blind but became blind early in life and remained so for the rest of her life. She prayed for sight and it didn’t come. Some told her and her parents that they could “pray the blindness away” if they just had faith. Some told her parents, and told HER to her face, that sin caused her blindness. She still “sang the song she was given”, and wrote over 800 hymns to the One True God, songs of insight and vision…ironic, isn’t it? 

There are many more examples in the Scripture and in life of God’s children who don’t get the song they want or are supposed to get. Sometimes they get to choose another, sometimes they don’t. 

Sometimes a “song” isn’t just a “song”.

I was given a song to sing. It’s not the song I wanted. It’s not the song I would’ve chosen. I could’ve asked for another, and in my heart I did. But in the end, I sing the song I was given. Some judges say that God would never give me that song, as if it were MY fault that song was given to me. Some say, I CHOSE to sing that song when I could’ve refused. But I’m a singer, and singing is what I do. I know that my only real and true choice was to sing the song I was given. Some judges have said to me, as they said to Paul, as they said to Fanny, and as they’ve said to many, many others, that my faith is weak and if I’d only try I could “pray the song away” – as if I hadn’t already tried, as if I had no faith at all…and as if I needed to “pray it away”.

But the Judge in the middle, the One who counts, said, “…you sang the song you were given, that deserves something.” That Judge in the Middle isn’t just talking to me… 

…and sometimes, a “song” isn’t just a “song”.

Let those who have ears…hear.