If you don't have a clue what to do, stall—and ask for more information.

          Without telling him how little of his musical ability he was currently able to use (People who love music usually have at least some ability, whether that ability has been developed and maintained or not.), I asked John what his high school choir had been like. He told me they had rehearsed every day and had one concert at the end of each semester. Whew—there was an out. Maybe we could avoid destroying either John or the choir.

          I told him that we didn't have a daily choir class period that was spent entirely on rehearsal, that we would be lucky if we even had one rehearsal per week that included everyone. I reminded him that someone would have to make a special trip to bring him and/or take him home for any rehearsal he did get to. I described what church choirs did during church services since I was quite sure he hadn't regularly attended a church with a choir in the last decade or two. I explained that because things could often change even during church services, we would be using visual cues so we wouldn't interrupt the church service. I also told him—truthfully—that my conducting was not predictable enough for him to be able to sing with the group, that music entrances and cut-offs were all cued visually and that the whole reason to have a choir was to have singers sing together. I also stressed that prayer responses never had introductions and had to be directed completely with visual cues, which he wouldn't be able to see.

        Several people must have been praying for me. I knew I hadn't stopped praying since I had realized what kind of decision I'd have to make.

          Even though seconds before I said it, I was still wondering what to say; I was inspired to ask John to help us pick out the music. I thought having him help plan for the choir was a way that we could include him. He really did love music and if you liked "loud" and lots of pitch-bending, there were things to like about his music. His song choices were usually quite good. Disaster was marginally averted—I hoped. No one who knew the situation seemed to be critical of my decision. Later most of the group tried to help me feel better, but I still felt horrible—as though there might have been a way, that I could have put a bit more work into it to help one of God's "blind, halt, lame," etc., children sing with the group.