There's just two more sleeps until Spring Break. I've been waiting for this...an entire week off of classes and obligations. But the days leading up to it have been hell.
Monday was okay. Nothing great, nothing completely awful. It was just strange. Tuesday on the other hand...Tuesday was a day all on it's own. Tuesday, I cried in my lesson. I am still pretty bitter about that. I'd made it so long before I lost it...oh well. Don't worry, it wasn't anything bad. It was the push that I needed, just at a bad time.
I walked out of my lesson with new goals and new plans, but when I went to implement them in the practice room, all I could do was sit and cry. I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was practicing made me weep.
That night was the senior piano recital of a friend of mine. It was fantastic and beautifully done, as was expected. But I couldn't truly rejoice. After the recital ended, I went to practice, but just stood and cried in my practice room.
I didn't want to do this anymore. I still don't. I don't want to do my junior recital. I don't want to do my senior recital. I don't want to perform. All I want is to play in orchestra, study music literature, write papers and conduct. No more of this solo violin stuff. I became increasingly apathetic and borderline depressed. I was giving up. I felt it, coursing through my veins. My spirit was breaking. I was broken.
This morning was praise and worship chapel; my favorite one. We just sing praises the entire hour and it's a beautiful moment. But today, I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees, crying out to God. I couldn't understand why I was so apathetic to music and had no desire to do anything with it. I couldn't figure out the root to my apathy. More than anything, I wanted to want to play my recital. I wanted to love my major, even though I'd been questioning the performance track since I declared it freshman year. I wanted to live my life of worship.
Then God started speaking through the music.
The violinist on the worship team began to be more pronounced in the texture. I could hear the smooth lines caused by the bow on the strings. That's when I remembered that my music is my worship.
And I'd made it a chore.
I still don't want to do my recital. I still don't want to be a performance major. But now, my attitude has shifted to aim for remembering how to worship with my practicing. That's my worship. Wanting to play my recital will come with time. Until then, my prayer is to continue to worship the Lord with every note that rings from my violin, whether it's in tune or not, whether it's part of a scale or the most lyrical part of a concerto. Every note is worship.
Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.