Is There An Organist in The House?

The bride’s mother stepped to the microphone. “Is there an organist in the house?” she laughed.  “Our organist is lost thirty miles away. If you can play, please step into the pastor’s office.”

I knew someone who could fix this mess. “Honey, you can play,” I whispered to my husband. “Go help them.”

“Oh, Jeanette, I’m only a pianist. The organ is a totally different instrument.”

 I couldn’t give up that easily. “You can do this, Kev. Just don’t use the foot pedals, and they’ll never notice!”  My elbow may have slipped into his ribs; I don’t remember.

With a desperate look around the room, he stood up and moseyed to the door of the pastor’s study. As he pulled the door shut behind him, I sighed.

When he took his seat on the organ bench, a collective smile embraced all 200 guests. He played the processional like the first snowfall, sprinkling each bridesmaid with music. 
He gained more confidence for The Wedding March, and the bride received a full-scale storm of Wagner. By the recessional, organ music avalanched from his fingers. While the guests filed out, he bounced on the organ seat like a kid on a toboggan, playing original compositions, carols, and classical pieces.

Guests lined up at the reception to congratulate the wedding superhero. He grinned and said, “I was happy to help,” and, “No problem at all!” 

I stared at him, hard. “Did I come with the right man?”

 “I just didn’t want to steal the show from anyone else who could play. Everyone might think I was showing off.”

“No way would they think that about you, hon. Everyone could see you only wanted to help some friends out of a jam.” I jabbed him in the ribs one last time and straightened his halo.

The above is part of a chapter from my book Two Scoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top, which just reached the 3,000 mark in sales. 

Have you ever been to a wedding where a disaster took place? What was the outcome?