Thank you for the manna. Thank you for your provision and love today. Thank you for how you know just what I need and that you do not withhold.
A friend recently brought up manna- the bread-like substance that literally translates as "What is it?" that God gave the Israelites each day for 40 years in the wilderness before arriving in the promised land. I am out of school and freelancing right now and though I am overwhelmed (in a good way) with the amount of work I've been offered, the lifestyle and the content of what I am doing are not what I want long term. There are pros and cons, but all in all, what I'm doing right now mostly feels like a static survival option, like I'm not pushing forward toward something better. I'm not used to this state and I can find myself grumbling like the Israelites in the desert. I want better, I want tastier. I want. I want. It took 40 years, but what was on the other end? The promised land flowing with milk and honey. In the mean time God rained down nourishment for every dietary need. If this manna substance was the bulk of their diet, it had to be nourishing. God intentionally sent down a nutritious, life- sustaining substance. He provided for their needs. Was it bland? Probably. (Or maybe it was delicious, but repetitive eating made it feel ordinary and unwelcome). Did it get old? Most definitely. That's not the point. God provided and he was not without a plan at any point or in any respect. He built reliance and trust in His people. He brought them closer to Him and when the time was right, he showered bigger blessings on them and allowed them to enjoy with heightened appreciation.
Life is not an emergency. Wherever you are, be all there.
This is another phrase I have been preaching to myself and have now hung on my wall. Do not miss the moment, the lessons that God has for you now. I don't want to miss what God has for me during this time of manna. Forty years of manna. Forty years of loving nourishment and being drawn closer to God. What could be better? I could list all the frustrating aspects of what I do, but instead I will write about how God is blessing me as I gather the manna.
1. I'm thankful for my time cleaning alone in a house for a few hours with no one around. It's great solitude and a time to turn on some music or catch up on phone calls before the kids get home from school.
2. I miss my dog Clover and really want a dog so hanging out with the cuddly and spunky Elsie is therapeutic and a joy. I get paid to play with a cute dog. Not bad.
3. I'm thankful for the opportunity to pour into the lives of my students and kids I babysit. One has an over bearing mother that visibly stresses them out, some barely see their parents, some struggle with navigating life without being taught basic life skills or being disciplined, some have self confidence issues or learning disabilities etc. I have the opportunity to speak truth into these lives, show love, encourage and at times be that listening ear. I'm thankful for those moments when I get to be more than a violin teacher or babysitter.
4. I'm thankful for the way my student Satyan's eyes light up whenever he hears me play the violin. It's magical.
5. I'm thankful for those late night chats with colleagues while speeding home that sometimes turn personal and spiritual.
6. I'm thankful for the experiences that I have performing with and watching world class inspirational artists.
7. I'm thankful for the mentors I have in this city that believe in me and are ready to help me improve and succeed.
8. I'm thankful for my two great roommates who make me laugh and bake delicious cookies.
9. I'm thankful for the fact that I can support myself and right now am not worried about how I will feed myself or pay rent next month.
10. I'm thankful for the beautiful views while driving to work. The Ohio Valley with changing leaves is gorgeous. Sunsets... The sun falling on the leaves...
11. I'm thankful for hearing Beautiful Savior chime from a nearby church as I arrived at the school I teach at today.
I recently returned from an incredible six week journey in Central America and have many words to write- to pour from my mind and soul, but for now there is simply no time. For now, this thank you letter will have to do- to give a small glimpse of what went on.
Dear ______ Sponsor,
I write to you still in a state of processing what happened these past six weeks, what it means for my future and for the future of others. I applied to ______ for many reasons, but one foundational reason was that I hoped to find clarity in how to execute and connect with resources that would help further my large picture vision of combating poverty and human trafficking through music. My experiences and the relationships built these past few weeks did this. Though I can’t articulate the specifics of how my vision will come to fruition, I know that I have gained insight and inspiration. I have met incredible people, many of whom are carrying out similar visions. These are people I will stay in contact with, observe and learn from- they will be rich resources for years to come.
There are many images and beautiful moments that I won’t forget. One evening after a fledgling Panamanian string orchestra performed for us, my coach, Leon Spierer shared that there are many ways to give a gift. This stuck with me and I was reminded of it every time we performed for audiences that had never had the opportunity to hear an orchestra or we were welcomed with music, cultural dancing, food or open arms. It was truly special to be part of the first ever symphony performance in Belize. I won’t forget the faces of children who sat feet from the orchestra, staring intently, faces aglow telling how they had been transported to another world or the students who were largely self- taught so hungry for knowledge that they asked to continue working on dry technique even after an hour and a half. Forever imprinted on my mind are the images of weariness and desperation that poverty brings and the boundless joy that radiated from the orchestra as twenty-five different flags were raised and the audience joined in music making and dance. People call ______ a family and it truly is. As time went on, a sense of unity and purpose continually brought us closer together. It was beautiful to see so many different personalities, cultures and ages unite in friendship.
My vision is to bring change and it was a blessing to be a part of this through teaching the next generation and bringing beauty and inspiration to communities less exposed to other cultures and influences such as classical music. I went to bring change, but more than anything this trip changed me. I normally choose my relationships with care and often mentally write off the possibility of deeper relationship with many people, but this tour helped me grow in embracing the good and potential in everyone and meeting each person where they were at. It furthered my ability to remain open to everything and live in the moment. I have tucked away these memories and will treasure them for many years to come. I cannot thank you enough for your support that allowed me to be part of such an incredible journey.
Four years ago, my dear friend and I decided to co-sponsor a child. Time has flown and honestly, though we as sponsors wish for more of a relationship with our child who is not so much a child as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, we realize that the current state of our relationship exists largely due to us. Living in different states and different countries while each spinning numerous plates has resulted in sporadic, hurried communication that has often lacked intentionality and depth. It's been all we can do to keep track of and be financially able to make the payments that have sometimes backed up for months at a time. When the letters come, they sometimes read so generically that we wonder if she receives ours or writes her own. But when I flip the letters over, without fail, I find a beautiful drawing in consistent Eliana style. In spite of all the success stories you hear on Sunday mornings we wonder if we are truly making a difference. We wonder if this is THE ministry that God has called us to when there are so many others vying for our limited resources. When it truly hurts to give, we wonder if we can continue- if we should.
Over the past few weeks the specific organization that I sponsor through has come across my path three times. First, there was a lengthy presentation in church with more specifics and personal stories than I am used to hearing followed by this blog post that fell in my lap. http://margaretfeinberg.com/5-things-your-sponsored-child-can-never-tell-you/
In all honesty, the first point struck me the most. I knew these children were poor, but not the poorest of the poor- or to the extent the numbers show.
The other points were not fresh to me, but were a reminder of how plush my life is compared to so many people around the globe. As a young teenager, I mailed a $1 bill to our sponsored child in Ethiopia as a Christmas present. I knew that you weren't supposed to send money directly, but I figured that the amount was so insignificant it wouldn't be a problem. A town meeting was held and it was decided that the family would keep the money to buy a chicken. The eggs that chicken laid were sold and with time bought shoes for the whole family. I had given that family a major economic boost. $1- it's staggering to think what so little of what I have can do. That skipped latte could buy three chickens.
So we wonder, does this sponsorship thing work? Does it truly, generally result in impact-full change across the board or are the success stories an exception? Are the results inflated? I brought in the mail and on the cover was this story. Yes, according to the numbers from an economic stand point it really does work.
Today, I wondered how I could make a change in this current scenario. I asked myself how I could better build relationship. How could I better mentor this young woman in Ecuador thousands of miles away? The pen is mightier than the sword and prayer mightier than the pen.
Seven years of university study has left me ready to take a
break from school and enter the work force full time. I’ve been so blessed to
be able to study at three different reputable institutions that have endowed me
with an education not only in my area of study, but across other disciplines. Most importantly, I have further developed
my ability to write, research, think critically and teach myself. These
skills will serve me well in any vein I pursue. I've also learned to approach all weaknesses the same way I've successfully approached others- calmly, rationally, methodically and with fervor. I've learned that my insecurities and lack of trust in myself and my abilities has been one of the biggest things that has held me back. The pronouncements that I and others have spoken over myself about my weaknesses only hold value in identifying what needs to be worked on and overcome. They are not facts that should or will exist forever. I am a work in progress. For twenty years I have been building on my strengths and improving my weaknesses. Why should any one weakness be termed impossible? Why should I just accept that I am bad in a certain aspect when improving is the nature of what I gravitate toward professionally and personally? My innate stubbornness and persistence when channeled in the right way makes me a force to be reckoned with. I have had to shift my thinking about certain things before I could start to even improve. I am not naive and understand just how much
more there is to learn- to accomplish. I know what a truly solid education is-
think a traditional, rigorous classical education. Though I am now called a Master, the more I learn, the more ignorant
I feel, though it is said that this is a sign of wisdom.
During our commencement
ceremony, a friend of mine mentioned in her speech that success and failure are
both transitory and should not be treated differently. We must embrace our
failures, learning from them and moving forward, just as we should embrace our successes,
learning from them and moving forward. So for now, I celebrate, looking back on two
years of blood, sweat and tears. These past two years stretched me in certain
areas more than I have ever been stretched before, but I grew and finished well in every area, stronger than when I started. I believe that one semester of
studying with my current teacher was the equivalent of my four years of undergraduate study. I am talking about my private lessons and of course not the rest of the academia or other parts of the university experience. Something I told my teacher recently was that even though I knew I wanted to
study with him when we met on audition day,
what I didn’t anticipate was that I would gain a mentor who cared so deeply, taught
holistically and would guide me beyond
my years studying with him. Today, I understand more than ever how difficult the
field I am in is and how much there is to be done, but also more than ever, the relevance, power and importance of what I am doing.
What exactly that is will follow shortly, but for now, I
celebrate and praise God for His providence, guiding hand, blessings and sustaining
mercies that are new every morning. As I embark on a new chapter, that is thought of in the eyes of the world as insecure, not very profitable and seemingly frivolous ( I was asked yesterday if playing the violin is work- it's hard to believe, but true...), I am charged with this reminder while pursuing what God has placed before me:
"Go sell what you have, give to the poor, and come follow me. That is, stop coveting wealth and security. Instead, start resting in the goodness of God alone. Stop letting your love of status and power and ease make you callous to the poor. The issue in your life is a failure to see and enjoy how good God is."
This is beautiful and interesting- thinking of music as a piece of your identity- a unique descriptor as much as your name is- as a way to call you back to who you are truly intended to be (your " inner- most song"). Aside from the focus on self, implying that humans are inherently good and all we need is to be in touch with ourselves (whatever that practically means), I find this to be largely true. We all have a song- figuratively, and using music to communicate this, rather than words that put desires, characteristics and giftings down on a page in black ink is just another way to convey or represent this. On another note, what implications does this have for how this culture would approach abortion if a child's birthday is the day its song was first sung and it was conceived? I wonder, do these songs have words or are they strictly pitch and rhythm?
"There is a tribe in Africa where the birth of a child is not
counted from when they’ve been born, nor from when they are conceived, but from
the day that the child was a thought in the mother’s mind.
And when a woman decides she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a
tree by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that
wants to come. And after she’s heard the song, she comes back to the man who
will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make
love and physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of
the child, as a way to invite it.
And then when the mother is pregnant, she teaches that child’s song to the
midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the
women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then,
as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. Later,
when the child enters education, the village gathers and chants the child’s
song. When the child passes through the initiation to adulthood, the people
again come together and sing. At the time of marriage, the person hears his or
her song. Finally, when the soul is about to pass from this world, the family
and friends gather at the person’s bed, just as they did at their birth, and
they sing the person to the next life.
In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing
to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime
or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village
and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their
song to them. The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior
is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity.
When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything
that would hurt another. A friend is someone who knows your song and sings it
to you when you have forgotten it. Those who love you are not fooled by
mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember
your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your
innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused. If you
do not give your song a voice, you will feel lost, alone and confused. If you
express it, you will come to life.
You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at
crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune
with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing
matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t.
In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a
little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep
singing and you’ll find your way home."
~A Child's Song from Wisdom of the Heart by Alan Cohen
In a moment of utter awe and exasperation, I am taking a two minute break to start what will be a highly entertaining document. I'm an in awe of my clumsiness and how frequently ridiculous things happen. Just now, I was innocently sipping coffee and it managed to leap from the minuscule hole into my eye, all over my face, and on my shirt and pants. That's right. I barely moved and I have coffee and soy milk in my eye. I have decided to document any special moments for the next week or so. Just a few highlights that I can remember from the past few days:
Slipping as I dodged out of the shower at 6:50 AM on Monday morning to the sound of the smoke alarm and scent of toxic, burning oatmeal and clouds of smoke. It usually takes about 8 minutes to cook. wow. This should not have happened.
Finding a mysterious bruise on the back of my arm yesterday.
Getting tangled in the frame of a door with a music stand, which resulted in the stand assaulting my leg and a large, painful bruise.
Almost toppling down the stairs today on my way to school.
Just wait for it... This list should develop quite rapidly and should be good. You never know what oddity I will experience. Also, I've concluded that about every two weeks the birds conspire and decide to make my car their depository. This has been happening for a few months. in different locations. Really? I could also write about all the friends we try to keep out of our apartment... The cats, the raccoon, wasps, the large ant infestations... I've yet to see a squirrel. Like I said, just wait for it.
I'm clumsy. Let's just accept that fact, or rather, embrace it. I am no less of a person, because of it and have actually come to find it really funny ( in hind sight) that I regularly walk into objects - trees, lamp posts, tables, chairs and sometimes people. Basically, I'm either tuned into my surroundings or I'm simply not and am acting in a haze. Origins are: Exhaustion and lack of coffee or, more commonly, thinking deeply about unrelated things while carrying out physical actions. Don't worry, I do try to mentally enter my physical world when I drive. Yesterday, I had some thoughts, while chopping veggies, which brought to mind the fact that I need to be more careful about when I do this thinking. Anyways, these thoughts are not yet fully developed, but the possible implications give me chills.
We speak about music as a language and it is- it's a language of the spirit, the soul. It has a way of conveying certain feelings or images to people across cultures and age groups that is not conditioned- small children, babies and animals react to certain sounds the same way adults do. In other words, this reaction is not based off of taught correlation. There is something very intrinsic about the how music communicates and is interpreted. What is music? Varying frequency, pitch and timing (rhythm). What are words? Music (pitch and rhythm) with assigned meaning.
About a year ago a friend told me about an experience she had. She was at a service, playing her violin as an act of worship and someone who she did not know came over and translated what she had played on her violin into words. It was a scripture verse, a verse that had come up multiple times in very strange ways over the course of a few weeks previously in her own life, a verse that my friend and a few others felt God had laid on their hearts for varying reasons.
Recently, I've felt this urge to take my violin to church and play in the back as my voice in worship. It is a voice of mine and I see this as being the same as dancing in the back of a church service as worship, something that I wish I saw more of. Why are a small select, piece of the arts (a few specific, acceptable instruments) confined to the stage as means to help others enter into worship? Why are artists not using their second voice to worship in the congregation? Where is the artwork on the walls, the miming, the dancing, the poetry, the narrative read to the congregation?
For now I will leave the implications of my earlier words to your own thoughts, but they are magnificently exciting and beautiful.
vul-ner-a-ble adjective 1. capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon: a vulnerable part of the body. 2. open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc: an argument vulnerable to refutation; He is vulnerable to bribery. 3. (of a place) open to assault; difficult to defend: a vulnerable bridge.
Warning: Proceed with caution. This is loaded and long and now may be very truncated as it was too much of all of that...
Over time I've become more vulnerable and open with people, this blog being one example of that though the fact that I've told 5ish people about it (that was a burst of vulnerability right there), remain anonymous and have no link online connecting me to it anywhere else on the internet does not bespeak of great vulnerability. I'm okay with strangers whom I will never meet reading, but the thought of opening this up to my social sphere is definitely too personal. I want to maintain my freedom to let this blog be what it has become- a conglomeration of musings and a supplemental, less personal and detailed addition to my real pen and ink journal.
As a sub point, I was recently thinking about how truly heartbreaking circumstances and struggles help unearth the beautiful transformation that trials bring about. They birth depth that was often there all along in people, or recently grown, but now presses at the seams of a person, begging to come forth. I think this largely happens, because the one who has struggled knows that sharing with others not only helps to heal themselves, but gives a gift to those who hear. On the topic of pain, here is one of the most beautiful thing I have read lately: Letter to the Wounded #2 by Ann Voskamp
[...]
All this takes vulnerability- stepping out and taking chances in spite of what the result will be, all the while knowing that often you won't experience what you wish for. It's learning how to balance intentionality and letting the flow of life, God's beautiful story, sweep you away. It's opening yourself up to being misunderstood, judged and betrayed, to loss and disappointment. On the flip side, it's dipping deep into the wells of grace, of truth and beauty. It's living community and doing life together. It's opening yourself up to personal growth and transformation. It's seeking after best instead of good or present comfort.
And because I know just how vital vulnerability is to my life and the life of others around me, I have grown in this area, but I dance with it. Sometimes I take one step forward and two steps back. Finding better ways to assess when and to what extent to engage in this, and learning how to let go of the past instead of dancing backwards when I regret it, has been a journey that I've been on for years. Because being vulnerable is not always wise or good, or as put recently by a wise friend, "Just because something is genuine, doesn't mean it's right and it doesn't mean it's good". As humans we are attracted to the real or genuine. In that same vein, just because something is nice, doesn't mean it's good. But true relationship can't grow without it and so it must have a place somewhere in our lives.
There are some Tedx talks by Brene Brown circulating on the internet about vulnerability.
I love so much of what she has to say. Here are a few things that popped out to me, with a few personal comments in parentheses.
Brene's definition of courage: "To tell the story of who you are with your whole heart- the courage to be imperfect."
What makes you vulnerable makes you beautiful.
The core of vulnerability is shame, fear and a search for worthiness AND the birthplace of love, joy and creativity.
Society numbs vulnerability more than ever through debt, obesity, distraction, addiction and medication, but you can't selectively numb emotions. If you don't embrace the bad- feel the pain, you cannot embrace the good.
Culture tells us that we are not good enough, certain enough, don't have enough (thank goodness for Jesus, my all and all)
Still not convinced that you should be vulnerable? The cost of invulnerability is: Extremism, perfectionism, low grade disconnection from all that happens around you and living in dissappointment
We try to make everything uncertain certain - stop trying.
Somehow an ordinary life has become synonymous with a meaningless life. (Sometimes the simple life looks so appealing... Rich and healthy in ever respect.)
Ordinary moments are often where we find the most joy, we miss the ordinary in our quest for the extraordinary.
The Power of Vulnerability: Brene Brown
The Price of Invulnerability: Brene Brown
So my advice, do dip deep in the well. Be honest with yourself and others. With discretion, share yourself and cherish what is shared with you. Don't be that person that doesn't listen when someone entrusts a piece of their heart to you. Don't be that person that never shares (this is actually a trait of an unsafe person, believe it or not). Don't be that person who says that you care- that you want to invest in relationship and then make no effort to follow up on your words and walk away when approached. Do press on.
Music. I began my relationship at 5 and now I'm almost 25. Actually, it probably started in the womb. My father graduated with a degree in vocal performance and my mom was an amateur violinist and flutist. It didn't take much for my parents to give in when my older brother begged to play the violin as after watching a fiddler on Sesame Street. Like most younger siblings, I quickly became jealous and not long after began myself. I tried to quit numerous times, but with sage parenting practice, my mom held her ground. I remember being so angry and frustrated at times that I would cry on my violin as I either sawed away angrily or surrendered to the torture of another practice session while I bitterly thought about how everyone else my age was having fun. Early on I made a goal- to catch up to my brother and it wasn't long before I succeeded. Then middle school hit. It was a particularly difficult time for me and violin was one of the few forms of expression I had. I started have success with some competitions and had my first solo debut with a professional orchestra. When you are 13, getting a phone call informing you that you've won a competition with a cash prize of $1,000 feels like winning the lottery. And so I carried on, throwing myself into this craft, because it was my voice, because I wanted/needed to become independent post high school and, because it was what I knew.
When I was 15, a music professional that had known me for years asked if I would like to teach and began referring students to me. That was the beginning of my teaching career. I also did some gigging with my semi- serious string quartet that had weekly coachings with a MN Orchestra cellist after school. My proceeds covered clothing, toiletries and miscellaneous things like school fees and supplies. During my junior year of high school I began studying with my most beloved teacher, Mary Drane West. Mary was a God send and many times when I have thought about quitting I remember my time with Mary- how she inspired me, how she believed in me and how she managed to have me produce sounds that I didn't know were possible. Without Mary I would not be where I am today. She prepared me for conservatory auditions in a few short months. I had never studied the repertoire necessary to be admitted to these top notch schools. I returned home the summer after my freshman year excited to come back and see her, take lessons and as I shared this, a friend told me that Mary had passed away. It had been very quick. At the age of 97 she was still doing everything she always did, wearing her bright red lipstick, playing ping pong, going to performances, and teaching 40 students weekly until two months before her death. She lived a full, beautiful life and in many ways she is a role model for me. I have a pact with my best friend that we will never retire from life- someday we'll build an airplane in our basement, but we will never sit in a retirement center talking about the weather and birds. Mary is my perfect role model for never retiring, never settling for what should be if it's not what could be.
Doors kept opening and at each juncture of the path I questioned myself about whether it was really deep down what I wanted, and what was right, but at each step of the way I could confidently say, "this is where God has placed me now" and each time it became more apparent in retrospect.
During my post audition talk with my current teacher, he told me that I was born to be a musician- to play the violin. Apparently, I am a duck and violin is my water. Maybe there is some truth to this. It does run in the blood on one side of my family. I learned over the holidays that two of my great grandfathers were fiddlers and I've known for quite some time that I have a distant relative who ironically used to also study with Mary, compete in the same competitions as me and graduated from a top tier conservatory. I've had many teachers tell me I'm so talented and that this is what I have to do, because I'm gifted. They see potential and push, often so hard that we have a turbulent start. All the while, I question if this is really what I want, but I know what I want. I want to do this and so much more. The problem is that this is already so incredibly encompassing that there isn't room for more. People talk about the high points and how that keeps them going. It's true- it really does help, but for every mountain top there are hundreds of valleys. It takes every ounce of your intellect, heart, creative spring, spirit, will power, focus, discipline, physical energy to keep going. You will have to face and conquer a host of psychological battles that threaten to take away the product of your years of blood, sweat and tears. You cannot think about yourself, you cannot be nervous- it isn't an option. You must have confidence in yourself, in your technical and communicative abilities, you must project authentic ease, calm and warmth to your audience. You must remain graceful and calm under pressure handling every curve ball that will inevitably come with poise and perseverance. The battles are daily, hourly and the mountain tops weekly to bi- yearly.
Tonight as I listened to a colleague playing Bach's famous twenty minute Ciaconne, I asked myself if my someday plan of pursuing other professional skills and careers was another outworking of my common struggle with devaluation. My reasoning went like this- if my career struggles too much or I find that I can no longer endure this lifestyle and mountain top to valley ratio, or I become injured then I can always go back to school for these other things. Devaluation- yes, but I do truly want to do these things. I sometimes wonder where I would be today and where other natural inclinations and abilities would have taken me had I not be nurtured in a musical home from the cradle. Sometimes I just want to be normal- whatever that means, but really- be able to come home from work and have whole evenings to cook and relax -to not have this constant feeling of I- should- be- practicing- right- now and to not always be known as the girl who plays the violin. I want to have the time to explore other things I enjoy and can contribute to. It's a terrifying profession, especially for someone who struggles with being confident in her abilities, battles nervousness and seeks security. It's hard to find work, hard to keep it and financially very unstable. Being judged and criticized all the time, is just part of the job description and hard to stomach especially when just as much judging happens off the stage. To be successful or even survive one must learn how to navigate the political arena and constantly initiate. Sometimes I ask myself if all the good things are enough. I wonder if I can be satisfied feeding souls, inspiring people, bringing joy and healing others in a way that is often not readily apparent. I want to see the effects of what I do. I know deep down that God blesses us with gifts, that we are to be good stewards and use them, but this shouldn't be the defining factor in what a person chooses to do with their life.
As I drove home, my mind was busy, rolling with thoughts like a marble painting a page. (Writing this is my way of organizing those tangled roll patterns.) I parked my car I sat listening to the simple fiddle tune that was playing- I just had to hear the rest. I looked out my window and saw a beautiful sinuous tree with it's strong, but elegant branches, fanned out like veins and then I saw it as a large paint brush- silhouetted against a dark, silver gray sky and chimneys of a century gone by. It was so beautiful- all of it, the tree, the music, but mostly the music and really it was the music that caused me to see the tree this way. It was the music that caused me to see beyond the obvious. As I listened, I had this realization that music and I are now so tightly bound that I will always have a magical connection to it. It will always be more than just a large part of who I am. I love the expression, the communication and the nuance of sound. I love that it's my voice- at least one of them. I do love that the violin is the closest sounding instrument to the human voice. I love the color palette. I love that it can invoke so many emotions. I love that it comforts, inspires, educates and rejuvenates. I love that it's ambiguous, yet concrete. I love that it's like an adventure book- you can go anywhere. I love that it challenges every part of who you are personally and as a human. I love that it's spiritually significant and in so many more ways that we can only conjecture about. It's my song without words.
Josef Gingold (my musical grandfather) playing Song Without Words
Friday, February 8, 2013
Because
this
is
what
is waiting
for me...
ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
N the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child, Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
I'm taking a course on African American Music, which I honestly wasn't too enthused about until lectures started. It's proving to be a very interesting way to spend my time and I thought I would share a few things that have stood out to me thus far. As a disclaimer, let me say that this does not mean that I think one form of music is better than the other, only that there is much to learn from differing styles and perspectives.
1. African music is a marriage of music, dance and poetry.
Here are three beautiful art forms happening simultaneously. We have auditory, visual, intellectual (not that the other two aren't intellectual - believe me, I know just how intellectual music performance can be) expression all intertwined, touching all the senses. Music is a physical and intellectual practice and the way that western society has separated these things into neat little categories puzzles me. It seems these things were not separated in scripture.
As they were coming home, when David returned from striking down the Philistine, the women came out of all the cities of Israel, singing an dancing, to meet King Saul, with tambourines, with songs of joy, and with musical instruments. 1 Samuel 18:6
2. Horrendous things, like slavery, happen slowly, one step at a time.
Contrary to what I remember being taught, African slaves were not just brought to the U.S. from West Africa. In fact, they lived for many years as indentured servants or as free land holding members of early American society. When two white and one black indentured servant ran away before they had served their full, agreed upon time, a court ruled that the white men would serve an additional few years and the black man for the rest of his life. This was the beginning of slavery in the United States. Small scale injustice or treachery can creep in quietly and before long you have something as widespread and insidious as slavery across a country, which also later contributed to something known as the Civil War. (I say contributed, because the Civil War was not primarily about slavery, but we'll save that for another time.) Be judicious in saying something will or can never happen, to do so is usually ignorant and foolish.
3. African music contributes to community in larger, more tangible ways than most western music.
Much of West African music involves call and response, where the one calling is responsible for leading the rest of the group and constructing the lyrics and dance moves. This alternation between people creates a sense of community- they are not alone in their endeavors, but are part of a collective group with the same aim.
N the beach at night,