When we ate supper with Marshall this past Saturday, he mentioned at one point how curiously relieved he was to read that I had actually had a bad day or two, since my blog seems so often to recount triumph upon triumph.  And I suppose he’s right; a quick perusal of my recent entries does show a marked emphasis on success stories of one kind or another.  I always feared that this blog might turn into a year-long version of those Christmas letters in which we read that “Bryce was made captain of his high school football team yet maintained his 4.0 grade average, and his sister Charlotte spent yet another summer volunteering for Habitat for Humanity. . . etc.”   On the other hand,  I hate for it to turn into those dreary, pointless blogs with entries such as “October 21st:  My butt hurts.”  I hope I have navigating a path somewhere between the two,  but I am vowing here and now to be more forthcoming when life deals me a blow to the kidneys.

Allow me, then, to recount something rather humbling which occurred this afternoon.   Today was the only day that I am on campus this week, since Kathy and I leave for NYC tomorrow morning.   So I emailed all of my voice students- all 21 of them – and invited them to join me in the choir room today at 3:45 for a voice class.  They should all have been free and available since that’s normally Carthage Choir rehearsal which was cancelled today.  I didn’t require them to attend,  but I said that I hoped that most of them would take advantage of this chance to have at least something resembling a voice lesson this week.   I also reminded them that Carthage Choir rehearsal was cancelled all week long and that there would be other days where they could take a 3;45 nap.

So I show up to the choir room today at 3:45. . .  and you can see in the photo above what sight greeted me. . .   ONE solitary voice student,  Bryan Chung, and a lot of empty chairs.  I probably should have been hurt or disappointed or both – but I was actually sort of amused at the absurdity of my lofty expectations and of what in fact came to pass.  (I had us meet in the choir room specifically so there would be plenty of room for everyone.  As it turns out, we could have met in the downstairs broom closet and have still be comfortable.)  It’s probably not the worst thing in the world for me to be dealt this kind of Humble Pie once in awhile, although I don’t need a steady diet of it.

I’ve had other humbling moments in my life. . .   One of my “favorites” was when Holy Communion was hosting meetings with Bishop Peter Rogness because of serious difficulties we were having with a pastor.  (Who was eventually advised by the bishop to leave.)  One positive out of those meetings was that a lot of very nice things were said about the church’s music program and how it was for many people the thing which kept them coming to church during those tough days.  Anyway, after the staff had finished its meeting with the Bishop and was heading out the door, the Bishop came across the room to me with a big smile on his face – rested his hands on my shoulders – looked me right in the eye and said “The church would be a much better place if there were more people like. . . “  and I’m expecting him to finish that sentence with “YOU.”

Instead, he said “if there were more people like YOUR DAD.”

I love my dad,  and I was nice to know that the Bishop felt so positively about him-  but all the same, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.   In retrospect, I think it was just the feeling of swallowing 10 slices of humble pie in one gulp.

It may not be the most pleasant thing to eat, but it belongs in everyone’s diet.