The lights dimmed, the audience hushed, and the conductor raised his arms. As music flooded the sanctuary and lifted our gaze to the musicians, it flooded my soul and I closed my eyes, not wanting anything to disturb the ecstasy of the moment. For a while I sat in utter happiness.
My eyes were not closed for long. Almost as enchanting as the music itself, was watching the music unfold before me. Performing music involves more than merely playing the printed notes—it becomes a dance within the symphony between conductor and musician; a dance made not with physical touch, as a waltz, but a dance made through eye contact, hand motions, and subtle mannerisms.
It amused me to observe a violinist, buried in her music, miss the signals the conductor attempted to give; a cellist, obviously enjoying his job, making eye contact and responding readily to the slightest command of the master; the harpist, bestowed with many rests, basking in the collage of sound around her as if she was hearing it for the first time.
My thoughts drifted beyond what I could see and hear at that moment to the lives of the composer and musicians. What led up to this momentous occasion? How many hours, days, even years, of hard work did this magnificent performance require? The labor of the composer over his masterpiece, the hours of practice on the instruments, the intense study of the conductor, all leading up to the simple splendor that unfolded before my eyes and filled my ears.
He who sees only the trumpet part may think it incomplete. It may appear repetitive and unexciting to him who sees only the bass part. To him who observes the flutist spending hour upon hour practicing scales and exercises, or the violinist trapped in a practice room, it might seem pointless and futile. But the conductor, who stands in front of his orchestra with the full score before him, understands all. He sees how all the pieces fit together in a perfect and beautifully complex interaction between each section, musician, and himself.
My life is like this symphony. In my limited view it appears incomplete, futile, and often repetitive. I can only see the individual parts as they are written, and cannot imagine how they will all fit together in the end. I question the Composer, and ignore the Conductor. In the end, a beautiful symphony will play, and it will all make sense. But as He writes the music of my life, I have to learn to trust, to obey, and simply enjoy the “part” I am in now. I can only see tacets and rests while in the meantime He is writing another part, that when put together, will become complete.
As in a symphony, my life is composed of tension and resolve, quiet and loud, fast and slow, increasing and decreasing, the magnificent and the simple, melody and harmony. All are necessary, all seem insignificant when isolated, and all drastically affect the end product.
Will I trust my Composer? Will I let Him write what He wants without questioning His wisdom? What do I do while I am waiting, while He continues to write my symphony? Seek to know my Conductor. Learn what His mannerisms, facial expressions, and words mean. When it comes time to play the symphony, I must know the dance, and be able to respond to His slightest command, His most subtle instruction. It isn’t just about knowing and playing the notes; it is about knowing the Conductor, and following His lead.
“For I know the thoughts and plans I have for you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not for evil, to give you hope in your final outcome. Then you will call upon Me, and you will come and pray to Me, and I will hear and heed you. Then you will seek me, inquire for, and require Me [as a vital necessity] and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11, Amplified Version
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