About a year after moving to Columbia, Missouri, I joined Missouri United Methodist Church, known for its music ministry.

Last April, the church’s new Director of Music announced that he was looking for volunteers to join the church’s newly-established praise band. Fully expecting to be turned down gracefully, I volunteered to play drums, as I had played for various ensembles in high school and college.

But to my surprise, I have been playing since then on drum kit, tambourine, and conga drum, as well as singing the occasional back-up vocal.

Playing in this band has connected me to my youthful drumming, a skill that helped bridge the gap between my total blindness and my sighted peers. It has allowed me to work with a mixture of college students and adults to make joyful, though sometimes imperfect, noise. It has allowed me to witness how a group of strangers can grow together to form a team that continues to improve at making soulful music for those attending the weekly 9:15 AM service.

Our growth has had its share of awkward moments. During an early rehearsal, the band leader counted off four beats so that our two guitarists could start a song in a given tempo. The guitarists, however, played ten percent too slowly.

“No, no!” the director shouted as he ran across the stage. After counting off again at his original tempo, he ran back to where he wanted to stand. Once again, the guitarists played ten percent too slowly.

“No, no!” the director yelled again, his feet pounding across the carpeted stage.

Disgusted, I pounded a conga beat at the director’s desired tempo, and, much to my surprise, the drum kit player started playing at the same moment at the same tempo. The director shouted a grateful “thanks,” and the guitarists got the message.

I still haven’t quite figured out how us drummers played in sync at exactly the same moment without any eye contact.

Like many growing groups, the band has gone through changes: a new director; several different keyboard players and singers; a temporary absence of the other drummer; and an ever-evolving repertoire of new tunes.

We continue to grow.

But mishaps still intrude. The time when the minister forgot the offertory, the all-important time when the plate is passed so that attendees can donate money. The time that the band almost forgot to play our offertory song. The time when the keyboard player started a song in the wrong key. The time when I uttered an audible obscenity under my breath after making a mistake. The time when half the band began playing one tune while the other half started playing another.

Then there was that prayer time portion of a service when I sat on my drum stool (also known as a drum throne) and began orienting myself to my electronic drum kit. As the pastor droned on, I found that I wasn’t properly aligned.

But drum thrones swivel, and as I swiveled to get into proper alignment, the stool emitted a loud, grating, fart-like noise.

“Excuse me?” the pastor said in his ministerial Mississippi drawl.

“Sorry,” I said in mortified amusement.

During the next year, I hope that the praise band can make better connections between our music and the minister’s message. I hope we can better use the talents of our singers. I hope we can integrate one standard hymn each week into our repertoire. I hope we can get our hands on a synthesizer and use it wisely. Most importantly, I hope we continue to grow through the good and painful times.

Remembering that we can’t grow without pain.

And that well-functioning teams can grow through working together to survive and learn from those painful moments.