"My One True Desire" by Blake

The ward choir performed yesterday. In and of itself, that really isn’t a strange occurrence, but to me it was. You see, in the ward we moved from the “ward choir” was more like the ward duet—and that was if the second person was standing in front of the microphone—so when 25 people walked up, I caught myself gasping. Anyway, this post isn’t about the ward choir though, but about the choir director. Not any director in particular, just the director in general.


Secretly, or it was a secret, I have a dream to lead a choir once in my life. One song is all I want. And the only reason I want to do that is because I want to fling around one of those stick things that not nearly enough choir directors take advantage of. I mean, this is the perfect chance to do exactly what I couldn’t at scout camp—brazenly swing a pointed stick around as much as I would like. Of course that stick at scout camp was on fire, but that’s beside the point. Now before you judge me as crazy, pause one second and think about your childhood. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t “lead” the choir at some point. It happened multiple times and you know it. It probably still happens at red lights when you’re magically “invisible” inside your car. For those of you that say, “Nah, never happened and won’t ever happen.” I’m sure you don’t play the drums on your steering wheel either. Traffic cameras don’t lie, nor do the those people laughing that can somehow see the “invisible” you.

Anyway, if I was made choir director—which would go against the principle of inspiration so I know it won’t ever happen—I’d hold my arm to the square validating that I support myself in leading the choir and then bolt for the nearest music store to buy my stick thing. The technical name for the stick thing is baton, but that reminds me too much of a marching band and using one of those batons would be a little over the top. Plus, those guys were all geeks. Anyhow, the stick I’d buy wouldn’t be cheap. Nope, it’d be made from some rare wood from a rainforest somewhere, a 500 year old tree, or from wood stolen from a national park. Is there a black market for batons? Nah, most likely not. Nonetheless, it’d have to be imported and that means big bucks.

Maybe I’ll get my wish one day. If I do, you’ll all be invited and I promise you, it will be a performance you’ll never forget. For now I’ll keep wishing…and go ponder about sacrament meeting. I’m sure there was something more important I should have learned.

*Hijaked from Blakes writings.  He really would like to have a baton.