IN GRADE SCHOOL I played the saxophone for two years and then quit. One event that no doubt contributed to this was the annual concert held at the junior high school across town. I remember only one song from that concert: "Red River Valley." And although I liked the song before the concert, I do not recall it fondly. On that evening I sat in front of more people than I ever had in my memory: a sea of students' parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles.
We came to the end of "Red River Valley," and we were supposed to play it twice. So I plowed ahead, blew hard, and belted out the first note of the song. But my plaintive G was the only sound that came forth from the orchestra. Somehow—I still do not know how—everyone else knew we were playing the song only once. Even though I stopped after one note, that one honk was enough. The crowd laughed, all the kids in the orchestra turned and looked at me, and I turned as red as the river.
I have blown my share of wrong notes in ministry as ...
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