You'd think that by now I would understand who I am. You'd think (or at least I would) that I would have a pretty good handle on how I react to certain situations. None of my responses should surprise me, right? Wrong. Well, apparently, anyway.
I recently discovered Pandora for myself, despite being online for a few years now. Pandora asked me a series of questions regarding my music tastes, and I was pleasantly surprised with the types of music it suggested to me, mostly because I actually liked what is suggested. What fascinated me the most, however, was the fact that is played many songs that I already knew and were considered "old" songs. A number of them are praise and worship-type songs, etc.
We've been moving back to the farm. It's about a 45-minute drive from where we are now, so we have spent several hours in the car while trekking stuff between houses. During these treks, naturally someone plugs in their iPod, and we scroll through music and usually compare notes. My sister's tastes in music has changed dramatically over the years. Artists and genres she once adored are despised, and vise versa. Unlike my sister, however, nearly all of my tastes have remained the same; artists, songs, genres, even instrumentation and lyrical content. Old favorites are still favorites.
So, this, coupled with my experience today with Pandora, got me to thinking.
If a person has fairly constant tastes, whether it be in music, cars, values or pizza parlors, what does it tell about that person? I'd like to think it makes them something of a constant or a standard, rather than someone who is stubborn or stuck in their ways, but who knows.
When I was about 15, I was on a swim team over in Thomasville, GA. It was sponsored by the YMCA, so we swam at a pretty decent facility. Our coach, Peter, was a solid Christian guy, a great athlete and completely devoted to his wife and his guppies. Coach Peter is to this day one of the best men I know. Everyone once in a while, I'll run into one of my old team mates, but few of us are on good terms. (They didn't like the fact that the big girl was better :-p)
Anyway, I recently found out that a friend of mine, JCH, is a lifeguard; I'm assuming at some community pool, and it got me to thinking about how much I miss swimming. I miss the hot/cold feeling of working up a sweat only to be washed away by the next cool wave. I miss Peter's driving clap that made me want to do better. I wasn't much into the competition stuff, but it gave a good reason to push myself to be better. We had Meets about every week, and the traveling element got pretty old.
Since we're moving back to the farm, I am very much looking forward to swimming on a regular basis again.
You are my one constant. Never changing. Always the same. Steady You are my anchor, my sails, my mast, my ocean.
You are my framework, my structure, my rock.
How could I have been so blind? How could I have fallen again?
"Come dance with Me," You say, sweetly calling my name. It is the name only You know, and yet somehow I know to answer. "Not yet," is my reply. I don't believe the words I've said, and perhaps I didn't say them, but my actions betray my thoughts, and there You stand, waiting once again. I have stood You up, betrayed Your trust, and destroyed any confidence left in myself.
Happy and satisfied in my pool of black mud I stay, saying, "I am too busy. I don't have time for You, now. Too much to do, here," as You call me to marble floors, lofty trees and colors unknown to the human eye. Here I sit, dirty, ugly and covered in blackness, content in my dark world of "this will do."
Yet, You remain my one constant. Never changing. Always the same. Steady
I hear Your voice again in the distance, but it is not You who has moved. Blacker still, the mud clings to me as though it has a life of its own. I see it for what it is, but I am stubborn and self-stuck in my mire. I realize my plight and call to You for help, pulling myself close to You. And You, ever faithful and true, are where You have always been. Right here. All along. But my troubles are passed now, and my mud requires shaping. "Thanks again, but no thanks. I will remember You when I need You again."
Yet, in Your faithfulness and ever-flowing goodness You. Are. Constant. Unwavering. Unchanging. Remaining always the same. Forever.
A victory. A perfect mud pie. "Come look! Come look! See what I did? Aren't you proud of me?" A smile. And what a smile it is! The mid-day sun itself flickers like a dying candle in comparison. "Give it to me." What? My victory? My hard work, my time invested, all my effort for my mud pie? Just give it to you? That's not fair... I earned this. I worked hard for this, and now You want me to just give it up? How does that work? Are You going to give me another mud pie? I think you should give me two for my obedience... "No. Just give it to me."
A battle lost. My perfect mud pie lost. My victory lost. "Come dance with Me," Your voice comes again. No. I am angry with You. You made me give You my perfect mud pie that I worked so hard for. That wasn't fair, and it wasn't nice, and You didn't replace it. I am angry with You.
More mud pies, more troubles, more pleas for help. No answer... Still no answer... Still no answer... "Ok, I get it! I'm sorry! I just wanted my mud pie back! Can I still have it? Please?
My mud decreases. My troubles increase. My pleas turn desperate. "I give up. It's just mud. I don't want it any more. It has tricked me again, but it is still mud. I don't know why You want it, but You can have it all. I don't want it. I don't need it. I just want to see Your smile again. I give up."
"Come dance with me," Your familiar voice breaks the silence. You pick me up from the mud, but You do not take my hands in Yours. You brush me through the air and carry me like a child in the crook of Your arms. A smile. That smile. This is dancing? "This is not fighting Me or doubting Me. This is trusting Me. This is you not resisting Me. This is realizing that I am in control, no matter what." When will I understand that it's just mud? When will I get it? "Pray, listen, and obey. I'm not going anywhere."
You are my one constant. Never changing. Always the same. Steady
I want to take pride in something that I’ve accomplished. I don’t care much about the compliments. I’ve always kind of figured that people feel obligated to say something nice about something I’ve done just because they made eye-contact. Maybe that’s just conceited and I should think better of myself, but that’s what I think.
I like music. I seem to be pretty good at it. But is it something that I can take pride in when it comes so easily to me? That doesn’t seem right. That’s like taking pride in walking, or being able to breathe. It just happens. There’s no struggle or work involved. Granted, walking would be something worth being proud of if you are a year old or a cripple, and breathing if you were an asthmatic or a recovering severe smoker. But with music, it’s not like that. Like I said, it just sort of happens.
Someone calls your name in the mall or at work and it is your reflexes that make your head turn, not a conscious effort. Yeah, that does sound pretty conceited. Oh well. Maybe I am conceited and ungrateful for what people call “a gift.” I certainly hope that’s not the case. I don’t feel like I am ungrateful. I just feel like this thing I have, this ear, this talent isn’t mine. I’m just the truck driver, the broker, the messenger, the empty vessel carrying material from one container to the next. It’s not really... Mine. That’s probably why I feel so strongly about using it well and making the most of it for the real Owner. It is not of my own creation, though I am still responsible for it.
On the other hand, is there anything that can truly be mine? I mean, isn’t everything we do supposed to be for the glory of God anyway? Doesn’t God first have to provide everything we could possibly give back to Him?
I am on the brink of some good things. Some good accomplishments, or at least I think I am. Finishing my A. A. degree, moving out. Already paid off my car. I am kind of proud of that. But it just doesn’t feel the same as setting out to overcome some impossible task.
I love to cook. I love playing with the ingredients, trial and error, making something wonderful out of items that are meaningless on their own. But what I love more about cooking is giving away the result. Maybe it’s the look on the person’s face when they see that the foil-embalmed plate is for them, or the gleam in their eye when they taste what I’ve created. It’s something of a high, really. I love it. I am proud of what I cook… Usually. And I am proud that people like what I give them… Usually. I like giving.
I want to accomplish something big and give it away.
Well, the much sought-after letter from FSU finally arrived, and none too soon.
Bottom-line: Rejected.
They listed a few possible reasons as to why they "could not offer me admission at this time." It was obviously a broad-spectrum type letter. I called my teacher right away as she had made me promise I would. She was quite sympathetic, and said she would try to find out the specific reason(s) for my rejection. "You took that better than I expected," Mom said. I looked at her blankly. Um.... Thanks? She was pretty sympathetic too, but how sympathetic can your life coach really be? The sympathy (and I use that term loosely) was followed by a mini-diatribe of how to plan for rejection in the future which included a short list of everything I'd already done as a "just in case." Turns out, it's a good thing I had a Plan B (more like a Plan A 1/2).
Anyway, I have a year until I can audition again which is actually a good thing. In the meantime, I will finish (officially) my two-year degree, and prepare that much more.
