Morning light is streaming into my little living room. Sitting here at my beautiful english writing desk, my fingers tap out what has become second nature to them. This dance that I have not found enough time lately to tap out across the black keys…but, still it comes, gently, willing to be danced still. A mug full of steaming coffee sits next to my computer and the thoughts, like swans gliding across a lake, are warmed with its dark contents. Music quietly lilts out of the silver screen before me, stilling the birds that would wildly fly about in my head, taming them to be caught and written down.
So many thoughts, so many things I would say, mere shadows caught in my hands. Forever I write about things that are merely a glimpse of what I would have them be. Yet, even in this there is a purpose. Even here, desperately trying to put into words all the thoughts that control feelings deep within this well, there is beauty and purpose still.
A violin bow glides across strings, moaning out an achingly beautiful melody. Listening, I think of the song, the notes drawn across strings that my own hands would play, that they know almost better than the song I write across black keys that spill forth words. Notes that have danced across my days since I was three. The violin an extension of my arms…as if it is a part of my body. Now, out of my speakers comes a song that is not mine, that another hand draws forth. Carefully, my ears listen to the song, not thinking so much of the instrument as they do what is coming out of it. I think of the black notes that dance through the air, that float into my heart, landing there to draw out emotions coloring the words written. I know the dedication, the practice, the effort that the player put forth in order to draw the bow so smoothly across the strings, to make the sound clear and effortless and beautiful, weeping for what I do not know. I think of how intimate the artist is with the instrument that is masterfully played in this song. Of how intimate I am with the instrument played. I know the curve of its wood, the curls and twists carved into all that makes it what it is, the holes that allow the sound to be drawn forth. I know the way the strings must be tightened, brought into tune with each other, allowing all that is sung to be correct. I know how it is almost painful to bring every string into perfect tune with all the others, allowing each part of the instrument to be in alignment, transparent, and yet each string showcases the diversity of the whole instrument. Each sound sung out is different than all the others, beautifully diverse. Some notes, some sounds, and certain songs played will touch those who listen in different ways. There will be songs that are cast aside, while others will like arrows shot, pierce hearts that listen to them.
And because I am a writer, a musician, and deeply in live with my God, I cannot help but see the correlation in it all. The violin in all its beauty is nothing if not picked up in the artist's hands. If left alone, it will sing of nothing, no notes will dance forth, no lives will be touched. And here it is then. When I look at my life, when I look at all the things that are changing, shifting, moving, I realize that, I do not want to be the artist playing. If my life is to be the artist or the instrument, I would be the violin in the hands of the One who will draw forth the song. I know myself, I know the kind of artist I would be if left to my own inclinations. So, instead of playing the song, I would be the one played. I would have my God pick me up and draw forth that which will bring the most glory to His name. I would have the strings that are the areas of who I am, all tightened and brought into alignment together so that, in all their diversity, they will play together to point back to the One who brings out the song and notes created. Trusting, I can know without a doubt that whatever is played by His hands will be far more beautiful than I could ever dream.
The song continues. It dances about in my heart, achingly beautiful, making my head think of all that is to come. That it will be, as C.S. Lewis said, far better than anything we could possibly leave behind. Remembering that this life of mine is short, too short to not answer the song that He would play across my life, there is joy beyond all I can imagine in this. In waiting to hear the song, in knowing that He is faithful, in seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait. Wait and listen and allow Him in all the incredible beauty that your Father is, to lift you in His hands and play a unique song with your life. With the life He created just for you, His precious, unique, individual child. You. You reading this in this very moment. You are treasured in the hands of a master musician, cherished and loved beyond all compare. Wait and watch and see the amazing things He will do with your life. Gaze into His eyes and seek to have an intimate relationship with the One who loves you above all else. Watch and see what your God will do...
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