Once upon I time, I was an orphan

Nate Hunt - Bass
Nate Hunt grew up in Muscatine, Iowa and came to IHOP in July 2008. His passion is to know Christ and make Him known through prayer, singing, playing, and preaching His beauty until every tribe, tongue, people, and nation have heard the true gospel.asf

Once upon I time, I was an orphan. A worship team orphan, that is. I mostly stayed hidden in an old, undecorated room with orange chairs, brown carpet, and beige walls, and a few old brown tables, playing songs to Jesus with a few of my friends. Worship leaders ignored my emails. Attempts to sub went nowhere. I can't lie. I learned a lot in that season. Most of all, that Someone really important was watching. But I wanted it to be over so badly.

Finally, I got out of there, into a "real" world with grey chairs and white walls. There was a big world map at the back to keep me interested while I waited for a family to join. I couldn't say that I wasn't an orphan anymore, but at least I was somewhere on the waiting list. Sometimes the adoption agency would let me get on stage and play my bass, as long as I stayed hidden behind a big white pillar.

Weeks passed. Time went on. The most merriness I could make out of Christmas that year was to spend as much time in that room playing behind the pillar. At least Someone heard it. And I finally figured out that was enough.

Then came the breakthrough! A moment of triumph! One of the dads in this city decided he wanted to see how well I went with his parenting style for a few months. He wasn't sure if he wanted to adopt me yet; the door was still wide open for other kids in that big white room.

But what glory! Finally a chance to get adopted. This is what I'd been waiting for that whole year. Then, tragedy struck. Two days after I set foot in the house, I heard something around the corner on a Saturday morning. It was big. It was tall. It was loud. It was smooth. It was groovy. It was jazzy.

...It was over...

Or so I thought. My hopes were crushed. I wouldn't be needed around the house anymore. I'd have to find another house to live in, or maybe even travel to another adoption agency. Or just give up for good and plan on being an orphan my whole life.

It turns out that the master of the house decided to keep both of us around. I guessed it was basically a contest to see who could hold out the longest, play the most tastefully, be the most impressive, show the most commitment. The family got bigger and bigger. Brothers and sisters coming in droves. Some had tinny voices and others softer. Some were more tinkly and some were more blaring. Who would have thought one house could get so many kids crammed into it?

They taught me in my early adoption classes that trying to make yourself more impressive than you really are doesn't help the adoption process. It can actually make it worse. I had a clue that someone was watching, and knowing that was supposed to calm your fears and make you play even better.

But with so many kids in the house it was hard to believe. With all that noise, how was one to get noticed? How was a kid supposed to get attention? Assuming that I'd be kicked out in just a matter of time, I did anything I could to get the master of the house or the other kids to notice me.

Having that big groovy guy in the house was quite a trial. But as time went on, we realized that this house wasn't like other houses. It was big enough for both of us. We actually learned a lot from each other. In times when he got more attention, it taught me to remember that Someone was up there, and that's all that mattered. It wasn't about me getting adopted or noticed by the parents or the other kids or anyone staying in the house. Other times, when I felt like the favorite, it taught me also to remember that Someone was up there, and He was getting all the attention anyway.

Finally I realized that I was nowhere near getting kicked out of the house. I realized that trying to get attention from my brothers and sisters actually didn't make me a better musician. It actually just caused me to fret. I realized that the big groovy brother was actually a really cool guy, that he had a lot of great musical ideas, and that when I had to stay in my room sick, he could make sure the songs we sang didn't sound too empty. 

I wish you could meet him. It really Kurtz me that I can't tell you his name. You'll just have to introduce yourself to him when you hear him play next. He's got lots of funk--and where I come from, funk is actually a good thing. I'm glad he stuck around. I'm glad the family was big enough for both of us. Most of all, I'm glad Someone's up there.

© 2011 Nate Hunt