Excerpt
Do It Anyway
1
In Life-Changing Moments“Tasha, you gotta sing,” the choir told me. I stood in the fellowship hall of Bennett Union Baptist Church in my hometown of Jesup, Georgia, surrounded by a room full of teenagers looking at me to be the remedy to our problem. Preston, our lead singer, had gotten in a car wreck. He was fine but wasn’t going to make it to our performance. We needed someone to take the lead.
We were part of a community choir, Sounds of Harmony, formed by a group of us teenagers just a few weeks prior. We had decided to do this performance on a whim; invitations were extended by word of mouth through the corridors of Wayne County High School. Before we knew it, the choir had grown to nearly forty people and was loaded with talent: singers, keyboardists, organists, drummers, dancers, you name it! I had been entrusted with the assignment to direct the choir. My job consisted of teaching parts, perfecting arrangements, and giving direction during the performance. I loved my role! But me as the lead singer? Uh-uh. No way.
“What are y’all talking about?” I said. “I can’t lead this song. I’ll direct it, but we’ll have to find someone else to lead!”
The last time I had performed in front of a crowd had been in grade school when I sang Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” at my cousin’s kindergarten graduation. In my opinion, that was a “kiddie” performance I had buried deep in the sea of the forgotten. I was completely perplexed as to why the group members were asking me to sing lead, but they remained persistent. I eventually agreed. Somebody needed to step up and do it.
The church sanctuary was packed with around two hundred people. Our concerts had become a big deal in our community. These encounters provided an outlet for worship and entertainment on nights that normally would have been spent watching reruns on TV or talking on the phone to pass the time. There wasn’t much else to do! There were so many students in our choir, and often their entire families came out to enjoy the concert and support them.
The song I was being pressured to lead was “Now Behold the Lamb,” written by Kirk Franklin and originally led by Tamela Mann. The mere fact that this was a Tamela Mann song was an intimidating thought. Her voice is packed with power, authority, and precision. Our group sang a lot of songs written by Kirk Franklin; I’d venture to say we sang his whole collection, top to bottom!
I stood in front of our choir and the congregation as the music began to play, closed my eyes, and belted out, “Now behold the Lamb, the precious Lamb of God.”
With my eyes tightly shut, I lifted my voice. It felt as natural as breathing. I always knew I could sing, but I didn’t believe that it was my calling. Failing in front of others was a big fear for me. But I simply let go of that apprehension and sang the song, even in the face of fear. It didn’t feel like a performance; it felt like purpose!
I’d never dreamed of being the one in the spotlight. I had been extremely comfortable with my background roles. But this moment revealed both to me and those in the room that there was more in me I needed to discover!
When I opened my eyes at the end of the song, I saw a room overwhelmed by God’s presence. People were bowing. Hands were lifted. Faces were full of tears. I looked over at my parents, locking eyes. I believe we all knew this would be the beginning of a journey destined by God.
But I felt confused. What is happening here?
I had been in many church services where the presence of God could be felt in a tangible way. I had sung in choirs my entire life. I had played the keyboard for many revivals and church gatherings. But this was different. This response didn’t come from a crowd simply wowed by a good voice. This was more than that.
This was an anointing.
It felt like God had just opened a door and I walked right through it. I knew He was leading me to my purpose. I glanced over at my parents once again, and their expressions mirrored what I was feeling. This is something special.
This moment—this precious moment singing about the Lamb of God—was something we needed to stay in. We could not move from that moment. For a while after the song, people remained in worship.
I realized then that God had entrusted me with a special gift, a gift that was greater than I could’ve imagined. Now I needed to take the gift and do His work with it.
I believe we all have gifts that are waiting to be unlocked with a simple yes. Sometimes the gift lies dormant until we awaken it. This can occur after a long season, but it can also come from a single experience. Our yes may come from a challenging moment or from one of insight where we suddenly have a glimpse of what really lies within us. Or maybe the yes is a reluctant acceptance of our gift because of the push of others; we need to pay more attention to the talents people see in us.
***
My childhood memories often come with a soundtrack. Songs were always being sung, whether it was by me or someone else in my family. Everybody on my mother’s side loved to sing—my aunts, my cousins. On Christmas and other holidays when everybody gathered, we would all sing. We called ourselves the Jacksons of Georgia. So even though music was part of my life growing up, I was not the “chosen” singer in our family. If anybody would have been expected to have a musical career, it would have been Quita and Tesha, two of my cousins.
Quita and Tesha attended the same church that I did. Back then, it wasn’t typical for churches to have multiple choirs, but our church had four: the senior choir, the adult choir, a teen choir, and a youth choir. Aunt Charlene, one of my mother’s sisters, led all of them, so naturally it made sense that her daughters were musically gifted. My cousins had gorgeous voices then as well as now.
We loved to have church no matter where we were. At school, we gathered in the hall, singing church songs between classes:
I get joy when I think about what he’s done for me.
This is the day that the Lord has made;
we will rejoice and be glad in it.
Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away.
Rising, He justified freely forever:
One day He’s coming—oh, glorious day!
My aunt Linda was a history teacher whose classroom was located near where we’d gather in the hall. It never failed: She would hustle out into the hallway and disrupt our “church service” to scold us for being out of order. She would quote her translation of Ecclesiastes 3:1: “There is a time and a place for everything under the sun,” she told us. “But this is not a church house—this is a schoolhouse!”
We would scurry out of the hallway with laughter and joy. We knew that she loved to hear us praising God, because it was what she and so many others had trained us to do. And our worship made an impact on the other students around us. We witnessed students being saved and converted because of our decision to be loud about our faith. We just couldn’t help ourselves.
People knew I could sing. But here’s a little-known fact that I’m sure you didn’t know: I was a baller. That’s right—I was the captain of our basketball team. Sports were a big deal in our family, and I loved being part of a team sport. I believe the lessons I learned from team sports play a vital role in my being the leader I am today.
Many of the girls on our basketball team were also a part of our community choir, so, of course, we had worship on the bus while riding to games. We all believe that Coach Daniels, who also grew up in our family church, secretly awaited our bus church services, even though she never showed it.
So, yes—a singer, a basketball player, and a pastor’s kid. Being a PK meant that I did whatever my hands could find to do in ministry. I filled whatever need popped up: “Sure, I’ll play the keyboard.” “I’ll teach Sunday school.” “I’ll clean the church.” I would do anything.
But lead singing? It just wasn’t a role I played until this one mind-blowing night. Everything changed after that evening when I sang “Now Behold the Lamb.” There was a monumental shift. I started leading more and began to really cultivate my gift of singing.
