Every now and then, life hands us an opportunity that feels bigger than we are—an open door we didn’t expect, a moment that stirs both excitement and a touch of nervousness. Those are the places where God often draws near.
The story you’re about to read is one of those moments.
In 2017, I was asked to perform with Robin Mark, an Irish Christian singer, songwriter, worship leader, and recording artist from Belfast, Northern Ireland. His music had been sung around the world. With thirteen albums and more than two million sold, he was well known—just not one I recognized at first.
Still, without hesitation I replied, “Sure, I’d be glad to accompany him,” even though I would have only two and a half weeks’ notice to prepare. Even though I wasn’t familiar with who he was, I rarely turned down a playing opportunity. I was looking forward to it and was confident in my ability to perform.
Who’s Robin Mark?
That’s the question I asked myself after I agreed. I was told the music would be provided, but what landed in my hands were simple song sheets with guitar chords—nothing close to what I needed. I needed to hear the songs and let them take root. But with only two and a half weeks to prepare, I began to get a touch of nervousness.
So, I contacted the radio station affiliated with our church and managed to obtain three of Robin Mark’s recordings. That’s when I realized I had my work cut out for me. Irish Celtic music wasn’t a genre I was used to playing, but I knew I could learn the flute parts straight from the recordings, but I’d really have to dig in.
And honestly, the challenge didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. If anything, it made the invitation even more meaningful. It was an honor to have been asked—especially knowing I was stepping in for Robin’s regular Irish flutist who couldn’t make the trip to the United States. This wasn’t just another gig. It was an opportunity, and I wanted to rise to it.
For the next two and a half weeks, I immersed myself in the playlist. Morning, noon, and night, I listened to nothing but Robin Mark’s music, letting every phrase settle into me until it felt natural.
Just before the concert, a prophetic word of encouragement came—one that reached straight to my heart, as if God Himself were cheering me on:
“Bill, you have an audience of one—it’s Me! Keep your eyes fixed on Me. You don’t have to impress anyone. I gave you the flute and the ability to play. My angels are surrounding you. Keep your eyes on Me, not Robin Mark or the band. Your future is in My hands. Your melody flows on earth and in the heavens. You are My instrument. I am pleased with you. My peace replaces fear. Enjoy the concert. Enjoy My presence! Have fun as if you and I are the only ones.”
Those words steadied me, filling me with a sense of peace and confidence that I carried onto the stage.
When Robin Mark arrived one hour before the concert, we managed a quick warm-up —barely enough time to get acquainted and just skim through a handful of pieces. It wasn’t nearly enough time to digest the two full hours of music ahead of us, but it was all we had.
It’s Showtime
As the concert kicked off, I could feel that familiar mix of excitement and nerves—the quiet signal that you’re stepping into something bigger than you imagined. But as the music unfolded, I felt myself settle. Hours of practice at home had given me confidence, and listening to his recordings beforehand allowed me to flow naturally alongside him.
Midway through the concert, Robin Mark—clearly picking up on my growing confidence—decided to have a little fun with me. The song Days of Elijah featured a lively Celtic jig, the kind usually played on an Irish flute. Wanting to stay true to the original sound, I had originally borrowed one from a friend. But with so little time to get comfortable with its wider tone-hole spacing, my fingers wouldn’t quite cooperate. So, I used my wooden flute instead—different instrument, yes, but still carrying that warm, wood-toned character that fit the moment perfectly.
After I played it through once, Robin looked over and motioned, “Do it again.”
And then again.
Each time faster than the last.
By the final go-around, he had left center stage, moving toward me, leaning in, pointing the neck of his guitar as if daring me to keep up. By that point, I was just holding on. Any faster, and… well, let’s just say the wheels might’ve come off.
Phew.
After the concert, I asked him, “What was that all about, Robin?”
He grinned and said with a laugh, “I was just having some fun with you, Bill.”
Closing Reflection
I’ll never forget trying to keep pace with that jig while Robin marched toward me, pointing his guitar like a Celtic ringmaster daring me to go faster and faster. And somehow, in the middle of that whirlwind, I held on as if for dear life life—and strangely enough, it felt as though heaven leaned in for the fun.
Because the truth is, we’re never playing solo. Maybe there really were angels close by, just as was spoken over me—cheering me on, laughing and joining me in the joy (and sweat) of that unexpected moment.
Either way, the lesson is the same: we are never alone. We are instruments in His hands, and the music we make—whether it comes out smooth or wildly offbeat—is always part of His plan.
Copyright 2025 by Bill Hutzel
Live mobile phone recording made at Zarephath Christian Church, New Jersey