Yesterday, I was involved in creating Christmas music that made you reach for the ear-sporks. My Patient Husband and daughter decided to get out their respective cello and violin, and using a book of Christmas carols that came from when my mother took piano lessons, they began working through the first song phrase by phrase. I grabbed my violin and joined them.
“Give me an A so I can tune to you,” I said, only it turned out no one had tuned. This boded well.
An hour later, we’d managed to stumble through two songs, plus Kiddo3 and come upstairs to bang on Kiddo2’s retired drum set, and Kiddo4 had Kiddo3’s very old quarter size violin, and he enthusiastically made sounds with it. We made a lot of noise and all had fun, and I’m a little excited to go back and practice both songs again (solo.)
I started thinking last night about something I’ve had in mind since I started taking music lessons. Back in 2000, after Emily was diagnosed, I took guitar lessons because guitar lessons were significantly cheaper than psychotherapy, and I’d have a usable skill at the end. My goal was to be “better than the church lady” who strummed in time to the choir every Sunday. This was a reachable goal (and I would have reached it if my guitar instructor hadn’t said, “Actually, why don’t I just teach you to play?”) but I never did play in the church.
One morning, though, I brought the guitar out to the cemetery, and I sat beside Emily’s gravestone and played for her. She’d heard me playing badly in utero, and now I played there, just me and her (and maybe anyone whose house bordered the cemetery) and it felt right to do that. A couple of songs, and then I went home.
Yesterday, I realized what I wanted to do was play violin in the church. To just sneak in sometime during the day when no one’s around, play a couple of songs, and sneak out again.
But it feels wrong. Disrespectful. I don’t play well (trust me) and it feels as if bringing those multiple mistakes before God doesn’t make them holy mistakes. It just has me playing lousy in a sacred space. God does, after all, hear me when I’m playing at home. (Maybe He wishes He didn’t.) Yesterday, though, I wanted to bring it to Him.