When I entered the second grade, my dad encouraged us all to find an instrument to play. After all, since he was the local high school band director, it would seem right for his up-and-coming charges to have some experience in the aesthetic tools of the trade, right?
Gwen chose a glochenspeil ( some people call them the "bells" - sort of like a portable xylophone), and Brent went for the French horn.
For some reason I cannot fathom - it may be because it was the only other instrument sitting around the house - I chose the baritone. The baritone. That piece of metal was bigger than me.
I immediately hated it.
I could get the notes down fairly well, but I couldn't keep up with the pressure of staying in tempo with others (probably a foreshadowing of my ill-spent youth) when we played in band. I got bored of daily practice. The thing gunked up too much. But worse, the baritone is the school bus rider's nightmare. Shoving and pulling that thing onto the bus was an embarrassing and frustrating tribulation. I detested taking that thing to school. Why couldn't I have chosen a trumpet? Or a harmonica? A kazoo? I'm amazed I didn't need professional counseling.
Well, I hung on with that thing through the fourth grade, sliding into fourth chair (out of four) and not caring that I was probably shaming my dad into exile.
But here's the weirdest thing: when our teacher asked for talent entries for our classroom Christmas party, I volunteered. Again, my actions were inexplicable.
I couldn't even read music, let alone get a good note out. Nevertheless, I thought I could wing a rendition of Silent Night - by pure talent alone. I am not making this up. I had the answer: I would pray.
I thought God would give me the talent. That's the truth. I practiced not a lick, but the night before the party, I forced Brent to pray with me that God would give me the ability to pull off a stunning performance and be proclaimed God's virtuoso at Dallastown Elementary School.
Well, it didn;'t happen. Silent Night takes like, how long, two minutes to play? ... if you know what you are doing. It took me longer than ten. Don't get me wrong - the class loved it. Wouldn't you, a low-self-esteem-suffering kid with huge ears and clod feet love to see one of your classmates go down in flames? I was a hero and a goat at the same time.
Prayer became more clear to me after that. I learned - and this is the truth - that God is not the end product of a magician's trick. He's not to be pulled out of a hat for self-fulfillment. He wants to talk with us, not be yelled at or commanded about. Yet some people still feel like I did in that baritone recital - God is a switch to be turned on and off.
Yet there is so much to prayer, and God does invite us...
Jeremiah 29:12 - "Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. "
We'll talk more about praying to God in the next couple of weeks.
