Donovan Banks

Yesterday I went to mass at my old Parish on the Bluff. I spent many years playing guitar in a small folk choir there. In fact I started out playing there.
In my confirmation years we were told to do something for the parish and seeing as I just started playing, I tried my hand and joined this group. I had only just started playing and could barely hold a barre chord but I joined anyway. I sat at the back with my trusty old Nylon String and strummed away.
I learned many things in that group. I was forced to play in front of people every week. I learned that mistakes don't count, you must just carry on playing. I learned about song structure and some very strange chord progressions. I made some good friends as well.
I must have been part of that group for over 12 years. I only ever wrote one piece of music I consider a hymn. I taught this choir the song, never letting them know where it came from. they all fancied it and we played it a few times.
I left that parish when I got married (just over a year ago) and haven't been back much. Last night was the second time I have returned in 18 months. I was listening to them play one of my favorite songs and it reminded me how grateful I am to be able to make music. It reminded me of my start, when I couldn't play Bm and I was so nervous. For all my dreams and hopes about music, the foundation was laid there.
they finished the song and I felt humbled.
Then they started to play their next song and a wave of goosebumps came over me. I had completely forgotten about the hymn I had written and they were singing it. They still have no idea who wrote it and I like it that way. It was so surreal. I just sat there, closed my eyes and listened to this small group perform a song that I penned. They sang it with heart and I could feel their belief in the words.
What a humbling experience to know that not only have  I written a song that is a spiritual connection for people, but that they sing it because they like it.