There was a lot of rejoicing on her birthday this year (then again, we rejoice every year). On her first birthday, she began walking on her own. On her second birthday, she began cycling properly. And on her third birthday this year, we thanked God for all the new progresses that took place in the past few months - her settling down in school and after-school care, toilet-training, learning how to read (English and Mandarin flashcards), her confession of her faith in Jesus Christ (and baptism), language development, words of affirmation for us (particularly her mummy), etc. I see her running around our house, playing pretend games and wanting to be involved in every activity possible... and I feel, honestly, very proud of her.
We had a simple celebration for Sophie on Tuesday - cake, candles, presents, and the wonderful presence of her extended family members.
Sophie's birthday guests (I assure you that they were not zombies...)
It was nothing particularly expensive or fancy, partially because I have to teach up till 8.30pm on Tuesdays and also because we will be going on a family vacation later this month to celebrate our wedding anniversary as well as her birthday. Sophie was delighted nevertheless, with the simple pleasures and smiled the entire evening away. The highlight was perhaps breaking open her birthday (Peppa Pig) pinata which I had constructed out of cardboard 2 days prior. Rather than fill it with sweets, I put in little thrills a toddler like her would appreciate - chocolate eggs with toys inside, balloons to blow up, a pair of Peppa Pig red spectacle frames, a Sylvanian Family baby rabbit on its rocking horse, and a tub of hair ties. Needless to say... she loved them!
And she must have felt so loved.
What surprises will her 4th year of life bring, I wonder. My prayer is that she would grow in her relationship with God... and get to know and love Him more.
Apart from those few instances when divine intervention (and a friend's kind initiative - I'm so honoured and grateful) had me playing for my Immortal King in a graduation banquet and a seminar, I haven't been practising. Or even playing for fun. The dust on my piano and books lie about 3 inches thick. Despite the fact that I always feel ashamed about it.
To be fair, when we moved in with my in-laws last November, my piano didn't come along. When we finally moved it into my in-laws' place, I couldn't really connect with it anymore, for some reason. Environmental, mostly. And partially due to the internal conflicts I didn't know how to deal with. Making music just made me hurt even more. It reminded me of what I had left behind. The losses and goodbyes. I actually felt sad whenever I played.
My husband says that I feel too much - and perhaps, he is right.
I didn't feel like playing and so I didn't play. Yet, when I listen to music or watch pianists on the YouTube, I ache to play like I used to. I miss being a musician - for the sheer pleasure and delight of playing as well as the identity. Maybe, even, I am lost now, because I can't really identify myself as a musician anymore. Yes, I should ascertain my identity in Christ and anchor myself in that - and I guess this is what the season is about. Learning that ultimately, being a child of God is what matters most. But when you are wired the way I am, and music has always been your world and playground, bread and butter, it feels odd when you part ways with it and see yourself as a separate entity. Perhaps, my mistake is that I lumped being a musician together with being a performer. Now that I am not a performer, I don't feel like a musician anymore. It shouldn't have to be that way. Music does not need an audience. A musician doesn't need to play just to entertain. Rather, one was made to play in order to live and thus, lives to play. One who lives not is dead.
While the solution seems simple enough, I don't know how to begin playing again.
I don't know why I am ranting. Even I want to slap myself now.
I am writing this over my soy latte upon completion of my final 3 Advent articles.
I haven't had much time (or desire) to read recently. By reading, I mean sitting down for long, uninterrupted hours and letting words sink so deep into your soul that they might resonate with the vibrations that have not found expression yet. Or stir up your hunger for more. More understanding, more love, more hope. Nowadays, I find myself snacking constantly. On bits and pieces of motherhood-related information I need from time to time, readings I could use for work, depressing world news, and random theological articles that I give little thought to after I am done. And yes, I go through a few board books a day with my toddler. While pleasant and important, I feel myself forgetting what it was like to be a reading, opinionated person in my field(s) of interest - music, the arts as a context for theology, and theology as a context for the arts. Everything I was passionate about seems to have gelled into a fairy-tale colloid that no longer seems real - so much so that my passion for them almost seems imaginary. Like an infatuation of the past. Whenever I am reminded of it, however, my heart aches as if I have lost something important.
Anyway, I thought I would start reading again. Perhaps nothing too hard - but the simple yet profound inventions that novels are.
I am so relieved that we are completing work on our missions project soon. Thank You, Lord!
Exhausted, I am.
Drawing in this very season of my life has been challenging, due to my state of mind as I wrestle with inner conflicts, mood swings, shifting priorities and stuff. I really don't know what could have kept me going if it weren't for the strength that the Author of our project availed me as I chugged through His Word (I am still in the Gospel of Matthew after 5 months, haha). I wonder if I will ever move on from being so jaded, and I guess I will, but I am thankful that He has enabled me to finish working on the project, in order that there could be a closure to this remnant of the previous season that has complicated my moving on in so many ways. No doubt, it has been a good experience while it lasted and I am comforted that my sacrifices would benefit the beloved little children who read the books that my team worked on - but boy am I glad that I am done, just when I was getting restless!
About half a year has gone by since our little sweetheart was born. In 4 days time, Sophie celebrates 6 months over. I, as her often-clueless, way-to-hard-on-myself mom am excited for a break from the stressful unease of pending assignments so that I can experiment with offering her solid food in the coming month.
Reading Paul's Epistle to the Philippians this evening, I thought that it could be presented as a classical symphony, scored in four movements that evoke a range of emotions through contrasts of tempo and mood.
(Please don't stone me.)
Movement 1: Philippians 1 - Sonata allegro; vigorous, energetic and passionate while Paul writes in his imprisonment (in Rome) to the Philippian Church who must have been undergoing internal and external conflicts/opposition. Introduction and thanksgiving that the gospel is preached despite sly preachers are followed by exhortations, particularly to "only conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ... stand firm in one spirit, with one mind... strive together for the faith of the gospel... not be alarmed by your opponents" (cf. 1:27-30) Movement 2: Philippians 2 - gentle, lyrical, slow and reflective as readers are encouraged to be Christ-like and persuaded to receive Timothy, Epaphroditus and other Kingdom-workers in high regard because of their humbling faithfulness. Movement 3: Philippians 3 - minuet and trio; Paul starts with "rejoice in the Lord", something that he had exuded himself in the previous chapters as well as encouraged his readers to do (directly or indirectly). Although this is followed by an almost-unrelated grim warning: "Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers, beware of the false circumcision..." (3:2) as well as Paul's reasoned arguments that motivate the Philippians to put no confidence in the flesh, the joy of the Christian experience again dominates the rest of this chapter. Paul reveals the source of his joyful contentment and hope : knowing and belonging to Jesus Christ.
Movement 4: Philippians 4 - a vivacious Allegro molto; Paul drives home to his readers a closing appeal for steadfastness, unity, joy and contentment in the Lord. A thank you note and closing comments bring the whole symphony to a spirited and triumphant finale: "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit." (4:23)
My hubby and I bade 2013 farewell and welcomed the new year by standing on the beach near our home (with many other unrelated non-acquaintances from all over the world) ... holding hands, watching fireworks and sky lanturns light up the sky... and then, praying together back home.
I have decided that I would be devoting my time, energy and creativity to making a lot more art this year than I did the last year (close to zero)... as well as writing, doing ministry and preparing for the arrival of the third person of our little Wong family. Art-making for me has always been a means of being still in God's presence and meditating on His word (as well as venting frustrations and relieving depression). I pray that my aesthetic experiences would be sacramental; and that I would bring God glory by being fully alive in Him as I draw inspirations from His created world to create.
You could always join me! :)
Well then, my readers... here is to a fruitful year ahead of us.
Hormones, sleepy-spells whilst slumped seated in the church's pew (uh ya), sickness and crankiness (especially when hunger strikes) aside, rest assured that I am having a meaningful Advent season.
In the spirit of the season, I think often of Mary, the young, humble and willing vessel of God's creative work.
It was not just any creative work. It was God's way, in the fullness of time, to reveal the mystery of Emmanuel to mankind.
What an extraordinary way!
A womb - graced by the presence of the enfleshed Word that was with God and was God Himself, through whom all things were made, in whom was life and the light of all mankind (Jn 1:1-4); a womb - concealed by layers of taut human skin, muscles and etc.; a womb - in its virgin state. This womb was to bring forth the impossible in man's terms, and yet the possible with God: Emmanuel.
God is with us - in our world, many parts of which are shackled by sin, hopelessness, shadows of fear and the dreadful uncertainty that comes hand-in-hand with condemnation. God is with us - in the now but not yet, where we thirst for righteousness, justice, vindication for the weak and oppressed as well as healing upon our afflictions and nations/lands. God is with us - in our personal pilgrimages to search for the meaning of life, of which He is the author and perfecter. Upon the canvas of the Master Artist, the breath-taking and glorious story of ransom has been illustrated and its culmination promised. The light will shine in the darkness and darkness will never overcome it.
Unto us, a Saviour was born.
Mary inspires me. She is, but not just a portrait of courage and passion. She was, but not just the girl whom God had invested with a solemn responsibility as the mother of God Incarnate. (And I wonder, in light of my own experience, what was it like for her at 19 weeks!)
Mary is also a reminder of how God is able to fill with purpose, life and hope those whom His Spirit is invited to indwell. Furthermore, He calls us to partner with Him in His divine project of redeeming the world. Whether we are artists, writers, church workers, business men/women, engineers, managers, teachers, physicians, lawyers, homemakers, students or even aspiring parents, Emmanuel is an invitation for the Spirit-filled to create and be creative for the sake of expanding God's Kingdom on earth wherever we are - and we can now be fulfilled despite loss, seeming failures, grief, challenging bosses and other undesirable conditions, because we are no longer alone (cf. Matt 28:20). Ultimately, we join God in His creative works of mission. We co-create with Him. What a perspective to keep in mind.
God is with us. He is sovereign. His love is unfailing. His purposes, who can thwart?
Pregnancy and the conception of a life (with the exception of Mary's of course) is, therefore, not just the fruit of a couple's love-making. No, we co-created this new life with God. It is God, who prepared the soil, allowed the seed to be sown in His time and made the seed grow. It is God, who purposes the child's existence and who will bring the child into the world for His purpose yet unknown. Emmanuel. God is with us.
Food for thought - for me.
I echo Amy Grant's Mary in my prayer today.
"Breath of Heaven,
Hold me together
Be forever near me
Breath of heaven
Breath of heaven
Lighten my darkness
Pour over me your holiness
For you are holy
Breath of heaven..."
We were dwelling on the subject of Old Testament lament in class yesterday, when our lecturer made a lovely statement on how a lament enables one to "travel the emotional journey" in dealing with a terribly difficult life situation, before arriving at hope and praise (and many times, forgiveness) again.
The fact that laments - from the simple to the shocking - are common in Scripture shows us that God is fine with emotional journeys of that sort, because it makes us who we really are - simply human. It is unrealistic to jump directly from disaster to sheer joy unless you happen to be a Pollyanna; not to mention harsh and backfire-inducing (speaking from experience). Even the great Apostle Paul had to learn to be content in his trials and tribulation (Phil 4:11-13); this suggests a formative process in time. I imagine that Paul had lamented at times, even though the NT doesn't record it.
Heroic positivity is admirable, but questionable as to how far it helps one to heal from a deep wound. Of course, I am not saying that we should dwell in square one forever. While there is no jumping from point A to point Z in an emotional journey, our walk must certainly anticipate point Z - a point of resolution, completed healing, acceptance and strategic adjustment in order to move on. Such purposeful journeys require faith. We lament because we have faith that God, in His great sovereignty and love, would not abandon us despite our screaming and kicking (and in David's case, cursing). We also lament because we have faith in the outcome of our laments; even when disorientated, angry and somewhat cynical, we desire to glimpse the hope which has been clouded by our momentary troubles. We desire to return to God's rest characterised by peace. We heal as we walk those emotional journeys with God. In time, we discover life.
And so, Kubler-Ross is not the first to advocate the need for emotional journeys. (I love her ideas, btw.) The Bible is.
The position of laments in Scripture has implications for those of us who have committed ourselves to walk with a person or people through grief, loss, break-ups, terminal diseases, failure, crises and etc. What does it mean to minister to one in such sorrow and hurt? How do we encourage a person to move towards hope and healing, without being too pushy that we rush him/her through the necessary processes in the journey? How can we encourage a person to lament (if it is obviously needed) when he/she thinks that lamenting is just making a mountain out of a molehill? There are also implications for the structure of worship in our churches. Is there room and time for the people's laments? Are our churches tears-friendly, or do we scorn tears and merely sing the choruses of "Hallelujah"...."We rejoice"? Do we help those who can't "cry it all out" to cry?
What about Christian artists? In our efforts to make the broken world a better place, how can our work encourage healing and hope through facilitating laments... and thus, the emotional journeys that hearken ears to God's comfort and draw hearts to trust Him?
Back from a long and strenuous choir rehearsal for next week's Sacred Music Festival choir. Please do come if you are free on Saturday, the 12th of October, 8pm. The choir and orchestra will perform at the Penang Tunku Abdul Rahman College Auditorium. Tickets cost RM20 each.
Physically exhausted, I am... but strangely, I feel so recharged emotionally, mentally and spiritually from working hard with the rest of the choir on hymns. Doing the "amens" on forte at the finale brought tears to my eyes (even though it's just a rehearsal), because it hit me that we were, as a choir, putting our trust and hope in God... that the words we've sung throughout the whole repertoire of hymns would bring our audience to savour His glory and grace.
Hymns. So oversung (or badly sung - pardon my blunt) in many of our churches that some people just sing them for the sake of liturgy without giving attention to what the words really mean... or they sing it because it gives them a sense of familiarity of the good old days. It is no wonder that the hymns have fallen out of favour with the younger generations. I have nothing against contemporary worship music. (I often use contemporary songs in my worship-leading... drums, bass, acoustic guitar and all.) Nevertheless, hymns are such treasures that it would be a tragic loss if we didn't teach our children (and younger Christians) to appreciate them - the beautiful poetry, their composers, the story behind the compositions, the themes, the parts of Scripture that they point us to so skillfully, the meaningful prayers they encapsulate, the beauty of voicing out those prayers/praises as a congregation, etc. Or worse still, we stop appreciating them ourselves.
Hymns are not only for those who qualify as our uncles, aunties, daddies, mommies, grandmas, grandpas, etc. Hymns can certainly make a difference in the lives of younger people too.
As for myself, I only grew to appreciate hymns during my time at PMC... thanks to a brother and friend who was so very adamant that I should get to know them. (He was a very compelling teacher of the hymns too!) And indeed, the hymns have enriched my walk with God in many ways. I admit that sometimes, when the tune of a hymn is not my cup of tea (me being me), I read the words out loud instead of singing them like the rest of the congregation, haha. Well, at least there is still some sense of being one with everybody, yes?
Thought I'd end with the first stanza of a hymn that I found especially meaningful today ~ "Dear Lord and Father of Mankind" by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892):
"Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
forgive our foolish ways;
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives Thy service find,
in deeper rev'rence,
praise."
I thought I'd never say this - but I am quite relieved that I am back to being a full-time student (no more part-time work, part-time study) for now, till I graduate in November.
Most musicians (all classical ones at least) would be familiar with the fermata - an element of musical notation which indicates that a note, chord or a rest should be sustained beyond its time value - with the length of the extension at the performer's (or conductor's) discretion. A fermata - whether poignant, intoxicating, spine-chilling or fun - heightens the tension of both the musician and listeners while resolution is anticipated.
For the musician, a fermata on a rest creates a sort of stasis, whereby
time seems to have been afforded for a breather... and yet, the truth be
told, he enjoys not the luxury of cat-napping. Rather, he is kept busy, waiting and preparing to resume playing.
Metaphorically speaking, this is where I am with regards to teaching music. I'm finally taking a breather - and I don't know what's in store for me after the fermata on my "rest"... or if I will ever teach again. However, the artist in me knows that this isn't the end of my work in the music field and God will open doors in His good time. This isn't the time for complete "rest" from music either. Whether it's performing, writing music, writing about music (theologically) or completing my papers, I shall be busy - in prayer, work, waiting and preparation for the season to come.
Upon tonight's wrinkled sky two lovers gazed, The moon amongst the fickle clouds amiable, shone unfazed. A lamp to govern the night, a sign to promise bold - that the sun yet shines bright on the other side of the world. A sleep is near so don't you fret. Sleep over today's troubles, burdens and regret. The Maker of the moon, the Author of the night, He who grants sleep to His beloved - will keep you safely in sight. Lord, tonight we sleep in peace, because in the sky darkest we've beheld a sign of Your grace - And tomorrow will not fail us.
I am wondering if this is the time of the month when my moods/emotions are supposed to go wonky.
Just two weeks ago, I was laughing with a friend who shared that she was crying at the drop of a hat. And in the past two weeks, I seem to have been going through a similar stage myself. (Is it contagious?) Worse still, I am being extremely pessimistic, defensive, guilty and panicky. I feel like... running away. Argh. My heart is in trouble. A fact with sparkling clarity.
Nooooooo..... In one word: sad. Play me sad songs and read me melancholic poetry - and I bet the farm that I'd milk you some buckets of tears.
So don't.
I yearn for God's comfort. Matthew 11:28-30 was God's timely reminder for me today:
"28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Anyway...
Today was an off day for me - a proper one this time, since there were no classes to teach in the afternoon, unlike any other Monday (Hari Raya hols for the kids). I spent it traipsing around Gurney Paragon Mall, having coffee all by myself, reading Scripture, listening to quartets on BBC Radio 3, writing poetry and sermon-prepping. A poem I wrote over my latte while comfortably seated at Starbucks: Past this window by which I tarry ~ are the happy faces, the leisurely paces, bags and shoelaces of the carefree And on my side of the glass ~ I ponder at this very spot on how different these pictures would look if a gracious God existed not ~ And yet, do they know Him?
And you'd be asking me, "What on earth for? You've got mentors already..." Yes, admittedly so. Great ones too. But great (and relevant) mentors, one can never have too many. I am in need of a mentor or advisor as I look to furthering my studies in theology - particularly that of the creative arts. I don't know when and where yet. We are praying. But if someone could help me to clarify my vision, as well as guide me on the options, good programs, funding, calling and whatever else I need to know, I would be grateful. Also, the mentor needs to be theologically sound, prayerful, nice, patient and faithful to pastor me... because I can be fickle-minded, volatile, easily distracted, easily bored and often discouraged. I blame these on my artistic temperament, gah. Haha (excuses). It is not too much to ask for, is it? :P And so yes, my dear readers... you are invited to pray with me.
Wednesday. A day of reading at Barnes & Noble in the Arboretum. A fine day. And then, I met the bizarre.
I had gobbled up at least three of them, books - before I arrived at the fourth. I went no further than four books because something in the last book left me both intrigued and pained. With a little indigestion, even.
It was no fault of the author. Lunday, the author of the fourth book, chronicles the lives, achievements and works of a selection of classical music composers from the different eras of music history - in a sturdy book, not more than an inch thick. A brilliant book, I thought, despite its shocking title. So real, so deep, and yet so concise. An easy book to read, I liked most things about it - the caricature illustrations, fonts and Lunday's humour (which kept cracking me up). My appreciation for classical music and her composers has bulked up with just one read. The book, however, is certainly not the most conventional of its genre. Lunday is creative in familiarising the opaque, bizarre and complex details that they become especially memorable. Alas, I am stuck ruminating on the subject of castrati. The most memorable thing ever. Castrati does not spell the name of an Italian dish, although I have no idea why it reminds me of food. Castrati (singular: castrato) were the breed of "angelic" voices who have inspired great operatic arias in especially the 18th century. Where and how were they made? In special surgical rooms of Italy, talented pre-pubescent boys who had consented to devote their lives to becoming opera singers or royal vocalists (whether by their own choice or by that of their parents who desired stardom for their sons for monetary reasons) were castrated to prevent them from reaching puberty. The castrati were Italian eunuchs in the name of art.
The result of the brutal pursuit? Their voices never broke - and therefore, retained the flexible vocal range of young boys. Such voices were favoured for their pitch and power, with the high
notes of a pre-pubescent boy passing from the intensely cultivated anatomy of an adult. (Of course the castration was just the beginning. They had to train hard. More about the castrati here and here.) Well, my curiosity got the better of me.
I absolutely had to listen to a castrato sing.
I did. And my heart broke. For the life of me, I don't know how people could have ever thought such singing to be angelic, magical or ethereal. It made my skin creep, hands-down. (It also made my first encounter with a human cadaver seem mild.) It was not merely about voice quality. I have nothing against men who achieve falsetto naturally via technique (I do know of such a person). Or eunuchs. Or those born with the genetic condition of Kallmann's. Rather, it was knowing the story behind the voice that made the difference. I couldn't imagine how any parent could have had the heart to set his/her sons on such a career path. Difficult decisions must have been made. And I won't attempt to put myself in the shoes of the Italian eunuch, exotically glamorous his life must have been.
Well, the castrati were celebrated artists in their own right, no doubt. If I had lived that many centuries ago, when women were barred from stage-work, I might have been a fan myself. Perhaps, I might have savoured the singing. But here I am, a child of a different era. I enjoy jazz and harmonising tenor voices.
Which brings me to the almost unrelated subject of pain and the artist. I have blogged about this before (just in case you find it familiar).
Pain is often food to artists, bitter as it is for the moment. Food. Not merely knowledge, beauty or even the love that warms one's lonely heart - butpain.
Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
An artist often goes through hell to bring the world a glimpse of heaven, so
to speak. I won't over-generalize, but this, I have often found to be
true.
It is often through the worst, darkest, most desperate times and circumstances of an artist's life - that the most moving songs, poetry, dances or paintings have
been birthed. Such forms of art have been known to refresh others who are in pain. Like a soothing balm.
The elegance of pain-birthed art is like that of a pearl embedded in an oyster's shell. As a result
of irritation, the pearl took form in a dignified, determined and
unperturbed manner out of existing God-given resources. Its lustre
shakes the core of hearts and induces peace in the midst of unrest. Even when reality points to
the absence of a present solution, one feels comforted that the
artist can identify with his/her pain. Even if wordlessly.
But is there comfort and healing for suffering artists?
In prayer and solitude? Undoubtedly so. In the company of the like-minded? Probably. But perhaps, suffering also calls for artists, having looked up and around, to bear down and push.
Maybe... put it all into a song, a poignant dance, a poem, a humble painting,
a rough sculpture, a drawing in the sand, a bottle of stars, a crafted
jewellery, a knitted dress, a patchwork quilt, a heart-warming cake, what have you ~ and push it out as fervently as you possibly can for the
many eyes, ears, noses, mouths, minds, hands and heart to perceive. Take time every now and then to appreciate God's artistry. Be out in the wild, listen to the nocturnal serenades, watch the
dances of nature, feel the wind
against your face - or study human anatomy. And then be inspired by God's authenticity
in His creation of His world. Beauty in the deep, form in a formless void, light in darkness, a man from mere dust.
Healing might or might not come in a gush... but all the same, healing
begins. Furthermore, as any creative effort and appreciation of
creativity are the embodiment of the image of our Creator in us, we
would have rubbed shoulders with Him - who also heals.
Subsequently, we may express our art in the backdrop of promise and hope.
They say that an artist's legacy rests on
whether or not his art was true to his heart. I would like to add that an artist's legacy also rests on whether or not his art resonates
with the hearts of those it has been created to reach.
Suffering is a necessary ordeal in this world we live in. Only artists
who understand the sufferings of mankind and hope, can truly produce their empathic balms.
Finally, to fellow Christianartists: we are responsible for our artistic expressions.
Our art should not merely serve to entertain. It can and will and must - but our art should also redeem.
The Greek word for "redeem" in the Bible is used of the ransom paid to
free slaves from slavery or captives from captivity. It is an important
metaphor used to help us understand what Jesus has done for us on the
cross - with regard to sin and death. Art that redeems not only induces a
yearning for freedom in its beholders. It also holds the key to freedom for its beholders - from their many bondages. Such art envelops the hope of Christ. Such art, God also uses to bring life.
I am not saying that we need to brand our
art with Bible verses or churchy jargon. A drawing of a flower, for instance, could just
consist of a stalk, two leaves and five petals on a blank sheet of
paper. It could be a drawing of a withered flower if need be. However, it is worth exploring how our hope in Christ may shine forth in such a
drawing - creatively and extravagantly. Of course, to do so we need to
first embrace this hope and know what we are hoping for in the midst of
the pains that we endure.
This is not easy. I often struggle to embrace hope. But let such struggles not be wasted. I pray that out of these struggles, I may
give more and yet share God's love and hope with others through my art. Yes, the love and hope of
the God who stoops down to look at us and raise us from the dust (cf. Ps 113:6-7).
A friend lamented briefly today that he felt as though he had "wasted years" by not putting in sufficient effort during his earlier years of musical education. He shared that when he had finally worked up a passion for music, the perceived lack in his foundation was discouraging to him. Somehow, his lamentation left a deep impression on me. I was mildly unsettled by it. Was it because I felt for him? Perhaps. Was it because I could relate to it in one way or another? Perhaps - no - probably, I could. But more than that, I was intrigued by what our mistakes in life could mean.
For most musicians, making "mistakes" in a well-rehearsed-for performance usually means playing the wrong notes - or what sounds wrong to the listeners' ears. However, most seasoned performers know that there is a way of redeeming themselves so that their mistakes actually sound like they were a planned part of the performance. Some geniuses improvise so confidently and smoothly that the mistakes even turn into hallmarks of character and innovational interpretation. Performers don't just stop playing to mourn! There is no time for regretting that split second that was - because the present moment is too precious to be jeopardised. Time ticks on. The audience continue to watch with bated breaths. The critics continue to make notes. And the final applause awaits.
No, I am not trivialising mistakes. There are certainly fatal mistakes in life that we must be careful not to make - because the consequences are too costly to bear. We should also not make a habit (or lifestyle) of the same old mistakes - giving ourselves excuses to accept them as OK. Even in music, precision is still precision - and personally, I feel that precision is powerful. However, I believe that it is still possible to see the mistakes that we have made unintentionally and therefore, those "wasted years", from a different angle. All those sad and sometimes ugly things can yet contain beauty and potential - particularly when we surrender them to God.... simply because He is the perfect Genius when it comes to turning mistakes into the hallmarks of His power and glory - to be savoured by those who trust and love Him. Wasted years - if any - do not have to stay wasted. There is still hope for those wasted years.
In Christ, eternal life is a NOW while it is a YET TO COME. And now encompasses yesterday. In Christ, an abundant life is found, the tapestry of which those wasted years may be woven into by the invisible hands of a gracious and merciful God.
Subsequently, life may be seen in a different octave. Play the adjacent C and C# notes simultaneously - and they clash unappealingly like gnashing teeth. Play the C note one octave higher (instead of the one a semitone down from C#) - and a pretty Major 7th chord sounds. Although this may not be the best analogy, life in Christ enables us to choose to play the C note one octave higher - and thus, the sweet C#Maj7 chord - so to speak! The ugly and unappealing may be redeemed. If you are not a musician, don't bother yourself trying to understand the above paragraph. It was just a musician's muse. :)
