Rhythm or Not

I have NO rhythm. In fact, I even had to ask my husband how to spell that word, rhythm (no vowels, interesting). I was just thinking about something that happened to me years ago in Africa, generally a place that it's good to have rhythm.

(It's weird how things that happened to you years ago pop into your brain without warning.)

I told this story recently at a Bible study for Pastor's wives. There is this erroneous belief that to be a pastor's wife, you must play the piano and/or sing (preferably both). Unfortunately I can do neither. (That's so NOT fair by the way!). Fortunately, I realize I can do neither, and my "Africa story" probably helped me with the understanding that music just isn't my gifting.

In 1998 I went on a mission trip to Tanzania, Africa with a team from my college ministry. We spent two weeks doing various outreaches and helping a missionary couple in Tanzania. While we were there, we did several Vacation Bible Schools. One such VBS was in the Bush. The African Bush is amazing! There is nothing for miles. It really looks like a scene out of The Lion King. Long stretches of African plains with random vegetation, a few scattered up-side-down trees (I don't know what they are really called, but they kind of look like they are upside down), an occasional mesa, and a few mud huts situated in small clumps.

This particular day, we traveled several miles to the bush to do a VBS for a small community that had indicated an interest in the Gospel. In the African bush, VBS is for the entire family, not just the kids. So we hauled our generator and primitive sound system, which consisted of a microphone and a keyboard, to the middle of nowhere. And we set it up. Not a house in site. Not a person in site. There was a "cornfield". Or maybe I should say there was some corn growing. Not anything like a field you would imagine with nice neat cultivated rows and sprinkler systems.

Anyway, we set up our sound system and we began playing some music on the keyboard (not me, for the aforementioned reasons). And they came. Out of the cornfield. I'm telling you, it was like a scene out of "Field of Dreams." My assignment was to lead a lesson complete with a flannel board and Bible characters and a translator. But that came after the singing. For now, I was all caught up in the moment. Watching the people come out of the cornfield, and join our VBS, and participate in worship. Soon, some dear soul brought me a drum.

ohhhhh. If they would have only known. If I would have only been in having a clear-thinking moment. But I wasn't. And, I played that drum with all my heart. And, let me add, it wasn't just any drum. It was a hand-made, goat-skin stretch tight over the top, big drum. Probably someone's prize possession. And they gave it to me. Like I said, I have NO RHYTHM. And, now Africa knows it. And, they promptly took my drum away. Really. They walked over to my and took the drum. The end. (I did do my lesson, and had more success.)

So, I hold no "pastor's wives" illusions about needing to sing or play an instrument - have I mentioned that I can't even remember the words to church songs that I've sung for years. If the projector screen were to go out, I'd still sing my heart out (in my seat, you don't have to be good to worship God in your seat) but I guarantee you the words wouldn't be the ones the author put together!

By the way, is it weird that I married a drummer? I mean, the boy beats on the steering wheel in the car. He beats on his leg, he taps his foot - he has a beat in his head ALL the time. And, he loves me. Strange how that works.