I remember sitting down at a piano competition, getting nervous, freaking out and forgetting the song. My teacher set the music down in front of me. But I stubbornly didn’t want to use the one thing that would make the music sound as it should, and instead tried to master it on my own- sweating bullets and making awfully horrendous mistakes. What a stupid thing to do.
I do it all the time; ignore God’s music for my life. Make a fool out of myself. When I could be trustingly playing His notes stanza by stanza. Following His tempo. Feeling His rhythm. Eyes unswerving to the page set before me, not wanting to lose my focus or flow. The intro is a sweet melody, slow, light, and serene. The next page He sets a string of sixteenth notes interwoven with off-beat quarter notes- a little intimidating. Deep breath of prayer. He leads me through it. No harm has come to me under His direction.
The few slips might cause others to cluck of disapproval- but, God & I? We’re stronger because of it, and then He proudly hands me more notes to conquer. I play- with His coaching to never lose sight of the music- until one day, as I sound the resolving chord, He ushers me off the piano bench and into bright light, beaming and applauding at my performance. Telling me how beautiful the song was. To which I step back, out of the spotlight, and say,
Oh my King, it was all You.
You gave me the music. Taught me to read it. How to play it. How to never let it out of sight or mind. How to trust and dive head-first when it seemed impossible, only to find out the glorious rewards of moving over the keys in rhythm of Your love, being lead forward in Your grace. It never got easier, but my fingertips soon became familiar with the consistent fact that when weight presses down the ivory, a praise rings out. If I stopped playing when it got hard, I missed out on You.
You, my King, are the music.
And Yours is the glory.