On Sunday we took a little drive to Wisconsin to take a peek at a vintage camper. Sadly, the camper needed more work than the Hubs and I are knowledgeable and comfortable with, so we had to pass on her. Me being an optimist and an avid fan of the DIY world, I thought she had potential. My dad and Tim, who I had brought along as the manly men and RV experts, thought it was beyond our limits and could be disastrous. I'm not 100% convinced, but I gave into their manly advice. They're probably right. However, I will close my unconvinced statement with the realization that next time I'll bring my Vintage partner with me for such important RV decisions. My resident "experts" got all clammy and quiet once we met the camper and it's owner. I don't think either man said two words to the gal. Suddenly I was thrust into being spokesperson, question asker, the manly expert laying on the ground inspecting the undercarriage, etc... I was all like "how did this happen? You in the man shorts, speak up? Ask the lady about some rust, would you? Okay, fine, I guess I got this." I love the men in my life with abandon, but I'm learning they are not the ones to take when examining RVs. No ones perfect.
As all road trips go, I had my cooler packed with snacks and waters, the sun was shining and the radio was up. We talked, I probably sang along here or there, and we found cities none of us had ever heard of before. It wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday. While chatting over our early dinner on the way home, we began discussing current songs. I was asked to sing a line of a song by my mom when my parents didn't recognize the title. I hesitated because a public singer I am not. And apparently my dad respected my hesitation because he nonchalantly shared a laugh over the table accompanied by "ha, Brittany who can't carry a tune?" Oh. Wow. Ouch. Check, please.
Later that night I said something to the Hubs about how my comical dad used to comment "did I just run over a bag of cats??" as we'd drive around and I'd sing along with the radio. My sweet Hubs kindly replied "blah, blah, blah, you're not a great singer, blah, blah, blah". I know he said more than those 5 words and I KNOW it wasn't meant to be hurtful but more so encouraging, but my ears shut off after the words "no great singer". Ouch. Panic.
My brain then did a warp speed processing of the two statements in a 10 hour span and I panicked. Do I make people listen to a bag of cats during worship at church every week?? Oh no, can people hear me singing off key at church?? Have I totally annoyed my friends after years of singing along in the car? Should I never sing again? Am I a sing along laughing stock?? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I was seriously so embarrassed that I cried a little. Just a little. The Hubs felt awful and he was in no way being mean or hurtful. Not even an ounce. What he tried to say was sweet. What I heard in my inadequate being was that I sucked. Not just that I'm no Beyoncé or Celine, but that I should probably never sing again. Like, ever.
I know that the Lord says to "make a joyful noise", but He never said it had to pretty, right? But at what point is it a public service to just sing along with worship songs in your heart and not with your lips? If I can't carry a tune in a bucket, should I try and carry it in my heart and head alone? Maybe I can become one of those sign language interpreters that sings along at church with their hands? People would think I'm doing a very noble thing, while my family could be like "Praise the Lord above for small favors", and I could be all "ahh, finally I get to sing again!"
That might just be the best idea I've had in a long time. You're welcome, everyone.