Black History Month Concert

Final rehearsal this week:

• Choir: (somewhat garbled) Dubula Mgefaka dolo le-o
  Margaret, sotto voce: You know what my husband says this sounds like?
  Sopranos near her: What?
  Margaret: Doo-boo-doo the fuckin' de old la-dy.
  
  
• Pianist, who gave birth six weeks ago and has brought her baby to rehearsal, says something about the baby needing feeding.
  John: (bass who steps in whenever we're missing an accompanist) (mumble mumble) me to feed the baby?
  Tenor: Yeah, all right then, big boy, whip'em out, let's see 'em.
  
  
• I am an atheist, mostly. But I'm not adamant about it; I reserve the right to be dead wrong on this, and if I am, I hope the Deity doesn't hold grudges. And there are some things in life that occasionally make me stop and think and wonder how they could possibly come about without some kind of divine influence.
  
  Certain kinds of music, for example. Christmas carols and spirituals, mostly. They're so intensely beautiful and emotionally overwhelming. The joy and reverence they engender really doesn't seem like it could possibly be directed at nothing. You can almost sense the presence of a higher power smiling and returning the love and devotion of the singers.
  
  And babies. It's so cliche to say that babies are little miracles, but it's true. Tiny helpless little beings who have to learn, in a few short years, a range of skills and truths that are nothing short of amazing. And the feelings they engender also seem inspired. Watching adults of all kinds completely melt at the sight of a little creature who, on the surface at least, seems to do nothing but eat, sleep, and emit a range of noxious substances and sounds. It's... anyway.
  
  So here we were, the last rehearsal before this latest concert, and the pianist's baby was being passed around the choir while we rehearsed. I asked to take her, and at one point, found myself holding her and singing and swaying with the choir as we did our last run-throughs of some of the gospel numbers.
  
  So there I am. Holding a baby, singing "Sing till the power of the Lord come down/Shout Hallelujah!/Praise His holy name!" at her, while she stared at me and gurgled and waved her little fists.
  
  And I thought, "God, if you're up there? Brilliant!! Well done!"
  
  
• Whoops, just ran out of time. Will write about the actual concert later.