The moment I heard the dare I refused it outright. No way was I going to do that. No way was I going to jeopardize what I had worked hard for the past few years.
Singing a solo as a part of the Living Christmas Tree performances was something that more than a few high school students aspired to at the Big Church on the Island. As a senior, my opportunity finally arrived when I was chosen to sing the classical number, “White Christmas.”
I would be singing from the big stage just in front of the Tree, and having memorized the music as well as the lyrics way in advance, I had the song down in plenty of time to feel comfortable concerning the series of performances to come.
Enter our beloved youth pastor.
To know Larry Lawrence is to absolutely love and admire him! He was only at the Big Church for a few years, but they were extremely impactful years on many a teenager—including me.
Larry was the kind of youth pastor that you just loved to be around and that you wanted to please (in a good way). He was a wonderful teacher, a compassionate counselor, a devoted leader, and a very good friend. But Larry was also the biggest kid of all time. Known for his rather “refined” sense of humor, Larry Lawrence had a special knack of convincing individuals to pull off all kinds of gags and hijinks—mostly the memorable kind—on friends, enemies and/or leaders.
“Hey Furtick!” (Larry loved to call people by their last name. I never minded.)
“Oh, hey, Larry,” I replied as I stood waiting to be called up on stage for our last closed-door rehearsal, the one right before the big dress rehearsal.
“Wanna have some fun?” he said, his face straighter than a fine-toothed comb.
“Sure.”
The instant the word slipped out of my mouth I wondered if I would regret it.
“You’re singing ‘White Christmas’, right?”
“Yeah.” I say, nodding.
“Tomorrow’s dress rehearsal, yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” As I replied, I immediately thought about how although dress rehearsal was not open to everyone, it was open to the church folks, many of whom came. It occurred the last night prior to the opening performance, and the sanctuary would be quite full.
Larry lowered his head and then glanced furtively around the sanctuary. For a second, I thought he might reveal he was CIA—an undercover agent posing as a youth minister, you know? Happens all the time, I’m sure. He eventually looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You have to sing the line: ‘I’m dreaming of a White Christmas’, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, what if you sing something else instead?”
Now it’s my turn to look around. Where’s the camera? I wondered as I looked around the church. Where’s Alan Funt? (That’s for you older readers in the house.) Then I remembered who I was talking to: Larry Lawrence, prankster-extraordinaire.
“What’d you have in mind?” I replied, only to humor my spiritual leader.
As expected, the sanctuary filled up considerably the next night. Nerves set it as I took in the crowd from off to the side of the stage, but I was okay. Lots of practice, both with the choir and privately, left me feeling ready and prepared.
It was almost time to go out there when Larry’s dare came to mind. I chuckled at the zany mind of my youth pastor. Just then, one of my buddies came along. To make conversation and steady my nerves, I mentioned what was in my head.
“You’re not really gonna sing that out there, are you? Pastor Faull is going to kill you if you do.”
Jim Faull served as music minister at that time. He had a great sense of humor and was pretty easy going. Nevertheless, I had no intentions of pushing things with him.
“Are you kidding? No way!” I replied. “Larry’s crazy. I’m not singing that out there.”
I had no intention of accepting Larry’s dare. Really, I didn’t.
A few minutes later, I was standing on stage, alone. The house lights dimmed. A spotlight settled on me just as the orchestra began playing the intro to the Bing Crosby classic. The opening lyrics—I’m dreaming of a White Christmas—flowed through my head. I breathed in through my nose and then out of my mouth. Control. Relaxation. That’s the key to a strong performance, I had been told.
I’m dreaming of a White Christmas. Again, I replayed the opening words in my head as I listened for my cue.
Finally, the moment came. I opened my mouth and took a breath. The words came out loud, clear, strong and on pitch:
“I’m dreaming of a White GIRLFRIEND…”
I tried to stop it. I really did. But I couldn’t. Singing it that way in my head for the past 24 hours had NOT been a good idea, I suddenly realized.
Fortunately, it was only dress rehearsal. Fortunately, I somehow managed to find the word “Christmas” the next few refrains of the song. And, most importantly, fortunately, I had a very forgiving and kind-hearted music minister.
If you are out there and reading this, Bro. Larry, I just want to say… thanks for the memories. I love you and Merry Christmas to you and yours!