True confessions

November 1 marked All Saints Day, which many celebrated this past Sunday. Lutherans are in the End Times season of the church year, so many will celebrate "Saints triumphant Sunday" in the next couple weeks if they have yet to have that saints in heaven theme... And still many will not feel like celebrating. There's a whole group of people whose loved one died right in the middle of that season. Or who are about to die. Part of the challenge is that it's a day where you're supposed to be joyful. It's a day that is supposed to bring relief and comfort and peace. And objectively, it does. There is a peace that comes with knowing your dad's future (or now present) is secure. But there's a tricky thing about grief... As soon as you are "supposed to" or "should" feel a certain way at a certain time, you're pretty much guaranteed to feel the opposite. There actually are no "shoulds" in grief. You'll be happy...

to properly prepare you for everything that might happen. Sometimes a jazz percussion beat will start playing on the piano out of nowhere... In the middle of "Lord Jesus Christ, You Have Prepared" Good luck keeping track of all 4 flats after that.

There's a common expression: "the final nail in the coffin." It means the end of something, right? To use another idiom, the final nail in the coffin is also "the last straw." Well a coworker aptly said that seeing the name on the grave marker is the true "final nail in the coffin." There are a lot of final nails in the coffin for grief. Watching your father take his last breath, seeing his body carted out of the house, seeing him lying in the coffin, seeing the coffin carried out of the hearse and to his final resting place are all "nails in the coffin." But nothing is quite the unexpected sucker punch to the gut that getting this photo emailed to you is. I'd change the idiom if I could, from "nail in the coffin" to "name on the gravestone." Seeing your father's name carved in stone- his gravestone - brings about a finality like nothing else. His body is no longer hidden away in the ground. His death...

... that you didn't pull the second page of the hymn out of the hymn box. And didn't realize it until you were halfway through your introduction... You can fix this. Just keep playing. With strength and flexibility y ou previously didn't know you had ,  reach your left hand across your body to grab the hymnal that you foolishly put just out of reach of the piano (to reduce clutter on the piano) and open it to the right page as fast as you can. Throw in a little ritard and you'll be good to go. Nobody needs to know. * Don't try this at home ** Refer to Rule 10 and 10c. #discountdoublecheck

There's a fun fact about this rule. No matter how many times you break it, you'll never learn. You'll get comfortable and forget to check which parts of the liturgy are actually in the bulletin. If you're lucky, your pastor will ask to do a quick run-through, and will point out all the missing lines you would have just played. But you won't always be #blessed like that. So just Double Check.

When you show up to church and there's a trumpet set up next to the piano, just roll with it. Even if you had no idea there would be an instrumentalist.

It doesn't matter if you brought a different book for each piece you are playing throughout the service. It's going to happen. The pastor is going to say something in his sermon that very directly ties into a song for which you didn't bring music. A song you know you have in that one book. You might drive back to your house between services to get it. You might write the entire service off as a missed opportunity. You might just pull out the hymnal and improvise on a wing and a prayer during the offertory. There is no cure for wanting that one book.... (Unless you live across the street and can send a gopher to get it for you.)

Anger is a natural part of grief. It's one of the 5 stages, so it truly is to be expected when your father dies. And in some ways, it's the easiest one with which to cope. Grief is exhausting. Anger comes with energy. Depression makes it so you can barely get out of bed in the morning- anger shoves you out of bed to go destroy the world.  Sadness and pain cripple you- anger lands you back on your feet ready to lash out. Denial keeps you away from church because you don't want to face the realities of death and salvation and life- anger drives you to church so you can go give God a piece of your mind. Acceptance is a far-off seemingly unrealistic concept- anger is familiar and real.  Point is, anger is a functional emotion. It is a motivating, energizing, driving force. People easily go through life every day while simmering with anger, without any grief.  So when you're crippled by pain and sadness and sick of numbing depression, anger is a safe place to go....

I said it pays to double-check the bulletin... But it also pays to double-check your music. Do you have all the pages printed? Are you missing page 3 of 4? Did you accidentally not pull out page 50 of your printed off copy of the New Morning Praise setting, meaning you don't have the Prayer for Grace and following responses in front of you when you get to that point of the service?

This is something I have heard several times in the last few months. I will say or do something, and the person I am with will say, "You're back!" For some reason, this really bothers me. Everything in me fights that notion, and I usually end up "worse" for awhile. And I think it's because there's a lot packed into that concept of being "back to normal." I'm' not. It may seem like I am. But honestly, I can't stress this enough, a lot of it is fake. A lot of my days follow the "fake it til you make it" motto. Because of depression and grief and exhaustion, I have to pretend to be myself. I can sometimes feel myself subconsciously trying to figure out "what would Monica do in this situation?" so that I can approximate my own normal as best I can. Often, the statement that I'm back follows a whole lot of pretending to be my normal self. Even if it is a genuine moment of "me-ness," it does...

"Come Unto Me, Ye Weary" sounds easy. The second line is supposedly, "and I will give you rest." But that's not the real second line. The rest of the hymn goes like this: "And you will need to rest.  Because this hymn is awkward  And difficult at best. Oops that was a wrong note And those chords were all wrong.  You really should have spent more Time practicing this song"

True fact: The complexity level of the hymn is inversely proportional to the amount of time you leave yourself to practice.  If you wait until Sunday morning to look at the hymns, two of them will have 4 flats. One of them will have a bunch of accidentals (and I'm not talking about all the wrong notes you accidentally play...) and awkward chord structures.  Good luck. 

Playing chicken with yourself looks like this: *Looks at hymn list. Doesn't know what to play for pre-service.* "I'll figure that out later." And repeat, hoping that you eventually cave before the oncoming train of Sunday morning hits. I also call this: Playing for church in the summer when it's all "general" music and your brain is on summer break and used all the creativity in the festival season. See also: laziness, procrastination

It's a family thing. Worship is a family thing. In the rest of my life I might be independent, but when I enter the church, I become part of a family. My dad was the rock, the spiritual head of that family. It doesn't matter if you're 4, 14, or 24, worshipping together as a family is a tremendous blessing from God. Having a father who is a strong leader for your family is exactly how God designed marriage and family. And he's not there. He's gone. And even though he reared me to be a strong Christian woman, I'm weaker without him. Because I've lost my spiritual head. I've lost an important role God gives us fathers to fill. A role that is normally replaced with a husband, and not an empty void. Beyond the immediate family thing, the church itself is a family of believers. It's a family thing for everyone. Losing part of that family changes the dynamic. Church friends knew us as a family. Relationships are built to a degree not between indiv...

Special midweek services throw off your groove. Every time. We all have a rhythm. And that rhythm is based on Sunday mornings. That Ash Wednesday or Maundy Thursday or Ascension service? It's going to throw that rhythm out of whack. You now have your work/family/regular mid-week groove and your organist groove to reconcile. These grooves conflict. Moral of the story: Beware. The. Groove.

We have made it half a year. That sounds like a good thing. But it's actually really depressing. I have lived 6 long months without my dad. It's been 6 months since I was able to talk to him, touch him, be near him. It's been 6 months since I was able to worship next to him, joke with him, watch TV with him, or just be with him. I've lived through my first Thanksgiving without him, my first Christmas, my first Easter. We have had a few major life events: an engagement and a confirmation, both without him. And unfortunately, 6 months is just the beginning. The first half a year is the tip of the iceberg of the rest of my life without him. We have a lifetime of empty photographs where dad should be. A lifetime of holidays without him. Countless family celebrations that won't include Dad/Grandpa/Uncle David. A lifetime of days where I can't text him, can't go out for drinks with him, can't get his advice. A lifetime of being unable to feel him, ...

If you’re struggling or didn’t have much time to practice, enlarge the music. Especially hymns. It makes a huge difference. (See what I did there? Huge like the enlarged music...)

I know. I know how excited you are about the warehouse sale, or the upcoming Ascension service. I'm aware of how you really wished  you had X piece during Easter/Lent. I get that you have a new instrumentalist and now need music to match. But at some point you have to stop. And wait for the next binge music order.

The elephant in the room... So I've written about this subject before . As it turns out, I could probably write an entire book about why church is so hard when your father dies. There are so many reasons. Pretty much everything about it is ruined. So we will start with the elephant in the room. Part of why church is hard is because interacting with my church family is really hard. Why? The elephant in the room. Church is awkward. Every interaction since he died (and even while he was sick) puts the burden on me. "How are you?" Do I bring it up? Do I keep bringing it up? Do I ignore the grief thing and just say I'm great? How do I answer this question? It's a catch 22. If I keep bringing up the grief, people are likely to grow distant. Grief is a hard burden to watch someone else go through. You can only go through so much. Heck, I can only go through so much. Only I don't have a choice in the matter... If I did, I'd take a break too. So, if...

...through Christ who gives you strength. This is a good mantra: When you realize during the sermon that you forgot to practice the communion hymn that has 3 sharps (or insert your least favorite key signature here). #phil413 When the music falls off in the middle of a song. #phil413 When you don't realize you were on the schedule to play until you get to church that morning. #phil413. When it's Tuesday and Pastor hasn't sent you the Ash Wednesday hymns. #phil413 When you're playing for an outdoor Easter sunrise service and the 12 page choir song scatters in the wind halfway through. #phil413 Paul was talking about being a church musician. Trust me. #allthings #phil413