Hard Things

At an alumni event last month, I saw a favorite professor of mine. He jokingly asked me if I remembered crying during a private lesson. I didn't immediately remember the particular incident he referenced, but I joked back that I remembered shedding many a tear in the practice rooms. It didn't bother me at all, as I knew he wasn't being intentionally rude, just recalling a memory. Later, he saw me again, and apologized for bringing it up and said he didn't intend to make me feel bad. He said that he knew I only cried out of frustration, and that it was a sign that I cared about doing well. I assured him that it was ok, and that he didn't upset me. Upon further reflection, not only was I not offended that he brought it up, I was glad. Because in trying to remember what might have provoked those tears on that particular day, I was reminded of many difficult sitations I found myself in during my undergraduate years. I transferred from a community college to a state university during my father's battle with cancer. I was living away from home for the first time. My financial aid got held up and a precious family friend loaned me money to get started until it came in. Not to be arrogant, but other than algebra, school had been easy for me up to that point, and taking 18 hours my first semester as a transfer almost killed me. My grades were less than stellar. My private lesson professor had to give me what I call a musical makeover, as I was doing almost nothing correctly when I got there. In March of that first year, my father passed away. I was grieving, depressed, and still kept going. I knew my education was important to my father. I don't remember what my final GPA was, but I know that after that I made mostly A's and B's, with a C in Physics that I didn't know how I got, but sure wasn't complaining. I have always said I could do math until they added letters, and science until they added math. I went on to teach, with some great successes, and some not so great failures. At the end of those failures, I cried for a day or so, then put on my big kid underpants and did the next thing I knew I had to do. I went on to grad school, where thankfully I graduated with a 4.0, and an invitation to the honor society, which I didn't want to spend the money on. I still regret that. My point in all this, is that I CAN DO HARD THINGS. And so can you. Always getting the A, always getting the spot (on the team, in the ensemble, etc), isn't an accurate predictor for future success. Every day, we can push through the hard, or we can give up. Every day, we can make a better decision than we did yesterday. And sometimes going through, and persevering through the hard things, builds a grit in us we will need. At the end of it all, if I have more laugh than frown lines, then I will count THAT a great success.

Old Black Water, Keep On Rollin'

There's something about water. It intrigues me, soothes me, invigorates me. It's both familiar and calming, and mysterious. It can even be scary and dangerous, but that doesn't make my love for it grow cold. I love the sound of waves pounding a shore, water trickling down a stream, or cascading down a fall, or rain on a roof. The ocean is my favorite. I want to see it, smell it, and hear it. I've always especially been drawn to it at night. Don't worry, no nighttime ocean swimming. I'll not be a shark's bedtime snack. My favorite time on the beach is from around 4 PM until bedtime. When the last of the pink swirls downward on the horizon, and the moon is high in the sky, I find myself staring at its reflection on the dark water. I love to sit and walk on the beach at night, and then sit on the balcony until the waves lull me to near sleep. Even when on family vacation, I will do everything a mother does at night before turning in, and then steal out to the balcony or deck one last time to say good night to the ocean. I love the immense darkness of it, when all I can really see are the whitecaps in the moonlight. Even without moonlight or white caps, I would know it was there. Eventually my eyes adjust until I can see there is something just a little blacker than the night. Something great and fearsome, yet beautiful and majestic. I've also begun to notice over the last few years the blackness of the Tennessee River when driving over it at night. Sometimes lights from clifftop homes or the dam reflect on it, like a painting of lights on a black canvas. Something about it seems to beckon me. I imagine plunging in like a mermaid, feeling the exhilarating cold wash over my face. My diving probably looks more like a labrador retriever jumping off a pier, but hey, this is my fantasy. The reality is, I would never get in the river at night either. But in my imagination, I do. Beneath the blackness, there is another world. Ethereal, with shades of blue and purple, and lights coming from underneath. Maybe a lost civilization. Maybe fantastic creatures. But for sure, the spirit of God is there. He's everywhere, but the water makes me feel closer to Him. Genesis 1:2 says that the earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters, and the Spirit of God hovered over the waters. The earth is no longer formless and empty, but if He's hovering there, I want to hover, too.