I have an odd—maybe vain—habit. When I've practiced a piano number to almost error free (See my previous post about that), I record myself to listen for inappropriate pauses, tempo changes, and my muttered frustration at mistakes. Then I work to fix those areas.
Today when listening to Lorie Line, who wrote most of the music I'm attempting to play, I didn't hear her correct notes. I heard her style. Her playing didn't resemble piano key-plunking as mine often does. Her rhythm didn't seem tiresome and rigid. It flowed. And her dynamics? Well, let's just say that I pretend mine are always mezzo forte, and something is lost in my interpretation.
It turns out that it's not all about hitting the right notes, about fingering technique. Somehow the pianist's soul must be heard through the notes. The song has emotion and needs a sensitive person to make others hear it. Songs are meant to have spirit.
And yes, you know it. That got me to thinking about some other things.
I have spent a lot of my life just trying to do things right: following rules, trying to be a leader, and raising my kids how I think I'm supposed to. But I also found that my life was bound by fears and worries. Way back when Caleb and Kaylee were quite young, I was teaching full-time during the day and going to graduate school at night. My stress-induced nightmares would haunt me even during my daylight drive to school. One recurring one was that my house was on fire and that I could only rescue one of my children. Whom was I going to choose? Anxieties like that followed me 24 hours a day.
I had mastered playing the notes right. I was successfully juggling a lot in my life, but I always felt guilty about something. I needed to spend more time with my kids. My house needed cleaning. I needed to read something for class. I had essays to grade for school. Although I was accomplishing a lot on paper, I felt little satisfaction.
Busyness had drained me, depleted me, and I wasn't filling back up with anything besides food and Diet Pepsi. (Not kidding.) My life had simply become a point to prove.
Eventually life slowed down. I made different choices and wound up here at home. Now I have time to notice the dew on the morning grass and watch the clouds reshape themselves in the sky. I wake up thinking, Yippee! This is not an absence of ambition. This is a contentment with the way things are, the result of a refocusing project that needed to take place in my heart.
So how about you? How do you know if you're just going through the (e)motions and not enjoying your life? The questions I think about are these:
1. Do my actions and my attitude match, or am I doing something nice while grumbling inside? (I believe the heart matters more than the action.) What's my default expression saying about me? Catch yourself in the mirror sometime. Are you getting smile or scowl wrinkles?
2. Am I allowing my circumstances to decide my attitude for the day, or does my attitude cause me to see my circumstances differently? Am I quick to blame others for problems, or am I quick to take responsibility and fix things? (Hint for this one: check out your last year's Facebook posts. Boy, is that a microscope to the heart's condition!)
3. Am I looking for ways to be blessed or to be a blessing?
Minor middle-of-the-blog interruption: I hesitate posting these blogs sometimes because I realize I have a lot to learn from all of you. My life is not perfect. I lose my temper sometimes. I have typos. My house is a mess, and I'm selfish.
I don't want my life to be just a pounding of the same old notes. I want it to inspire. I want people to laugh at my funeral and be in line to tell all the good memories they have of me. When I get to heaven, I want God to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
What does that mean for me? It means that I have to change. I need a daily heart check, a daily soul outpouring to God, who redeems me and refines me and reminds me that He will finish the good work that He started in me.
And that new life, my friends, will be a thing of beauty.