One of those moments:

This week, I won’t be referring to scripture. Often, the Lord speaks to me in the “everyday” of life. Forgive me this observation:

Last week in orchestra, most of the cello section was absent. I was there alone with our section leader, a guy named Wayne, who plays like taffy. Long stretchy bows, with not a hint of scratch or squeak. You never hear him change his bow direction. Wayne reads music like I read words. No hesitation. No errors. He sight reads music with the most glorious attention to every detail. Honestly, a genius.

But last week, in a particular piece, Wayne missed an entrance. It was after five beats of rest, and Wayne, somehow, just didn’t show up.

The first time  it happened, I simply jumped in where I belonged. But it frightened me. Wayne never makes a mistake. I must have screwed up. I kept playing, but my mind was back at the error, recounting the rests, wondering how I’d made such a terrible mistake. I mean, it had to be my mistake, right?

Our director headed us back to top of the music. This time, when Wayne didn’t jump in, I didn’t either. I was spooked, too freaked by the event to do what I knew to do. His hesitation fed mine. My hesitation turned into paranoia. The paranoia digressed into absolutely irretrievable stage fright. I was a gonner.

Even as it happened, I couldn’t believe that a five beat rest could undermine an entire suite. It did.

The next morning, I realized how much orchestra mimics the Body of Christ. You see, like the members of the orchestra, we depend on one another. We are leaning on each other, listening for one another to function in our gifts. If you hesitate, I will too. If you fail to enter at the right time, I will doubt myself, and stay quiet too. I’m listening to make sure that my notes harmonize with yours, that I play in perfect tone, that my style suits yours, that my silences give your solos greater weight. I want my accompaniment to let your solos soar. I want your accompaniment to be the foundation for my solo.

And all of us must be listening to our Great Conductor.

We must enter when he directs. We must grow louder as he deems. We must whisper with our instruments so that the message of the music has greater and greater effect. He decides which notes depict the music’s theme. He emphasizes them by coordinating the body so that those notes have the greatest significance. He pauses to let us work out the kinks, to listen to one another, to practice our parts.

And then, when all is well, he taps his wand and begins the Great Concert which brings glory to his Father.

I ask you. Are you hesitating? Are you listening? Have you quit because the player in the next chair missed his entrance?

Or, are you courageously following the Great Conductor?

Me? I’m working on it!

Bette

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2 Responses to “One of those moments:”

  1. Mary Says:

    I love this word picture. Or is this a music picture? My husband and I were just talking about the body of Christ and how we need each other.

    So is Wayne okay?

  2. Bette Nordberg Says:

    Mary, I’m not sure! But this is the life I live, seeing the Lord in the everyday life. Crazy, I know. But it’s me. And yes, Wayne is GREAT! He hasn’t missed an entrance since. And yes, I listen for him so that I know it’s time to play. I depend on him! Someone has to be counting all those measures of rests, right? Bette

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