Confessions of a Music Teacher

Talking with a member of our symphony the other day (a trumpet player, no less), I explained that I teach music. His eyebrows went up. “Already?” He asked with surprise and wariness. Already, I answer. The conversation moved on, but my mind went elsewhere—“Should I already be a music teacher?”
There’s some law somewhere that says that music teachers are a strange breed. Being something of a nerd myself, I think I fill this requirement admirably. I can act as goofy as kids (which the kids love and I love to think the parents surreptitiously enjoy), but I can be the bad guy, too. I inevitably love kids, games, and that moment when the light bulb goes on and something I’ve been struggling to help a child with clicks. You could even say that moment is the chocolate (the euphoria-producing chocolate!) of music teachers. Another odd thing—we music teachers can spot a fellow music teacher from across the room—whether it is the tell-tale drumming of the fingers on the lap, the twitch of the mouth and grasping for a metronome when someone plays something just a little off, or the lighting up of the eyes when someone mentions music. We are so obvious.
The next thing a music teacher must have is students. Crucial. Students aren’t quite as strange as us teachers, but they are adorable. On the first lesson, the student is inevitably bashful and quaking in his shoes. I ask myself: am I that scary? I remember one boy who hardly opened his mouth during that long silent hour of his first lesson. When I asked him if he played any sports, he whispered, “No,” at which his dad laughed uproariously. “You played soccer last fall—remember?” and then he turned to me apologetically, “He’s really not this shy, you know.” Um, yes—a year later and let’s say the boy has warmed up to me. (-: That same boy is quite opinionated, and if he thinks I made a mistake he will adamantly argue with me—“No, no, that isn’t right because…” until he realizes once again—“Oh, wow, you’re right!” I love him for it, though.
Parents are usually necessary in order to have students, so I figure I need them too. Parents may not be as adorable as students, but they sure make for some interesting stories. There was the one who seriously informed me that she is the employer and I am her employee. (Somehow, that rubs us music teachers the wrong way!) Or the one who missed the last lesson of the year, didn’t call, and didn’t pay. Time passed. More time passed. She didn’t answer my phone calls, so I called on a different phone and she miraculously answered. Her ironclad excuse? How about I whisper it—she was stuck on the toilet for a long time with, um, bowel movements. Most parents, thankfully, come up with better excuses than that, and, in all seriousness, most are incredibly supportive, multi-tasking, loving, taxi-servicing people who are the crucial component to their child’s success in music.
So I have the nerdiness, the students, and the parents, but I think I have something else that makes me smile when someone asks, “Already?” My final confession is a dark one, but I’ll admit it—I love teaching. Every week—month after month, year after year, I see these kids and spend time with them. When they make it to the top of the C scale and back, I am as rewarded as if they climbed Mt. Everest. When they come to a lesson with their piece suddenly memorized (because they just “felt like it”) I shake my head in amazement. When they tentatively bring me the amazing pieces they write, I am as proud of my little Mozarts as if they just wrote a classic. Those are the reasons I teach “already”—for the unique opportunity to nurture, disciple, and encourage my students all while passing on the love of music. And when they move on, I miss them horribly. That is, until the next little towhead marches seriously into my studio, climbs up on the bench or grips his violin, and smiles up at me. It’s a quiet first lesson, but it’s wonderful.

Little House in the Big World

"The little house was fairly bursting with good food stored away for the long winter. The pantry and the shed and the cellar were full, and so was the attic.

"Laura and Mary must play in the house now, for it was cold outdoors and the brown leaves were all falling from the trees. The fire in the cookstove never went out. At night, Pa banked it with ashes to keep the coals alive till morning.

"The attic was a lovely place to play. The large, round, colored pumpkins made beautiful chairs and tables. The red peppers and the onions dangled overhead. The hams and venison hung in their paper wrappings, and all the bunches of dried herbs, the spicy herbs for cooking and the bitter herbs for medicine, gave the place a dusty-spicy smell.

"Often the wind howled outside with a cold and lonesome sound. But in the attic Laura and Mary played house with the squashes and the pumpkins, and everything was snug and cozy."

~From Chapter One of Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Standing Room Only

There is a sea of people stretching out to the horizon. There are more than you have ever seen at the hugest arena. More than ever have gathered in D.C. to protest. The array is endless—person after person, the sun glinting off their ebony, blond, and brown hair, their brilliant robes swinging in the wind. There is the sudden sound of music—a symphony of the best musicians—and the combined rustle of thousands of people fills the air, which pulsates with movement. In one motion, the crowd falls forward on its knees, and every head is bent in reverence to the 90 foot gold statue that holds the preeminent place. As the eye scans the crowd, all heads are bent at the same level, except—something jars the sight. Everywhere, these thousands upon thousands are kneeling, but for three lone men. They alone stand erect, upright, their shoulders back, their eyes lifted to heaven. Their jaws are set, their faces are peaceful, and they are perfectly still other than the flurry of their robes about their feet. It is impossible not to notice them, for they are the only three who stand in worship of their God, and they are about to face the ultimate test for their stand.
Normally around this time, I would tell you that I have a symphony concert tomorrow and Sunday. I would inform you that we are playing Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue with a pianist who performed Rachmaninov’s 3rd to perfection, and that we are performing the spine-tinglingly gorgeous Lincoln Portrait by Copland. However, in addition to those pieces, this time our symphony is playing the music from the movie Harry Potter. Several months ago as I stared at the program, I sighed, "No!" but I knew right away what the Lord wanted me to do. So, because of the witchcraft that Harry Potter involves and glorifies, Mikaela and I will not be playing it.

I share this now to unite those of us who are Christians with head-noddings of encouragement and challenge. I know that some of you may not agree with me, but I also know that those who are Christians will always say that you should stand on your convictions.
Several years ago, in a performance in the park, we were faced with the same choice. We sat on stage, violins at our side, while everyone else played this same piece of music. Tomorrow will be the same, except that we will have to walk off the stage. I knew all along that this was what the Lord wanted me to do, but I also knew how awkward and humbling this experience would be. What I didn’t know was what gracious blessings the Lord would bring for this paltry hardship! For the first few weeks, Mikaela and I sat together in the back, trying to look as normal as possible while not playing. Through the course of the fall, though, we've inevitably had to sit with different people in the front. The first time this happened, we prayed a quick prayer, and then we each explained to our stand partners that we wouldn’t be playing the music because we were Christians and had a conviction against it, and, amazingly, our stand partners both asked us later, with genuine interest, why it was that we would not play it. That was the first blessing—a wide-open opportunity to explain that I was a Christian and what I believed! I got to experience this blessing three more times (-: and I can only pray that God planted some seeds because of those opportunities.
So you see, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego are my heroes. They could have joined the crowd, bowed for only a few minutes, and then tried to forget about it. They didn’t. They could have taken the king’s second chance once they found out that their lives were actually at stake, but they didn’t. They stood, perhaps with some of the discomfort and dread that I myself feel, but certainly with the upholding sense of God’s presence that I experience. They were willing to give their lives; I am only giving up my pride, but we both are standing alone in obedience to God.
We all are faced with choices every day, and just because they are not as dramatic as facing a fiery furnace or walking off stage doesn’t mean they are any less important. I share with you this passage from one of my favorite authors and poets for it is one of the most powerful things I have ever read:

So you see, standing alone is not just Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego standing when everyone else is kneeling. It can also be Daniel kneeling when he thinks nobody else is watching. Standing alone is not just refusing to play a song that everyone else is playing. It can also be refusing to listen to a song when nobody else is there. Standing alone is not just making the choice to remain pure before marriage. It is also making the choice to dress modestly. And, when you look at it plainly, standing alone is no real sacrifice, because a sacrifice implies that the cost is greater than the gain. Make no mistake: the gain of standing alone is so infinitely and incomprehensibly greater than the cost that there is no such thing.
In Jim Elliot's own words and hand-writing: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose." Amen?

Pictures from: http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/images/danielward/2004/11/02/wanderer.bmp
and http://www.wheaton.edu/bgc/archives/faq/20.htm

The Great Squeeze

Saturday night found our family at Fort Nisqually (near Seattle, WA), braving the 50 degree temperatures to participate in an elaborate event: the candlelight tour. We rode the "time machine" back to the year 1857 and crept through the camp as ghosts--unacknowledged by the over one hundred men, women, boys, and girls who gossiped, argued, sang, danced, played games, made music, ate, laughed, and prepared for the next day of hard work.

It was a beautiful experience (check out the blog of a Fort Nisqually reenactor and friend, Sarah)! As we completed our journey and "travelled" back to our rightful place in history--2009--our tour guide warned us of a strange phenomenon that occurs to those who travel back in time. "You will forever be time travelers," he predicted. "Only now you will be moving into the future at the rate of one second per second. And, in addition to that, you will no longer be passive bystanders or ghosts observing the warm interiors from the dark outside. Instead, you will be able to change history as you travel forward in time and make a better future for the generations to come."

Sunday morning, we were excited to join our dear Christian brethren at Pilgrim Bible Church in Steilacoom for worship. After service, lunch, and much fellowship, we trekked the few blocks down to the heart of beautiful and quaint Steilacoom to participate in the annual "Apple Squeeze" festival. Thousands of apples and two dozen cider presses get drafted into service to provide hundreds of people with the opportunity to squeeze their own fresh cider.

We met up with some friends and enoyed apple pie, vanilla ice cream, and fresh cider. Unparalleled!

Steilacoom is right on Puget Sound, with the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, the Olympic Mountains, and the Kitsap Peninsula all visible over the water.

Back: Papa, Lauren, Mama, and Mikaela
Front: Jonah, Micah, Susanna, and Melanie

The Art of Family: The Big Picture

100% of us have (or had at one point) families. Profound, I know. The point of the matter, though, is that 100% of us likewise have the same shortcomings—conflict, pride, or feeling closer to a friend rather than family. Though some may have more difficult situations than others, we all are imperfect with imperfect families. Mikaela and I rarely fight, but I remember a few ones from when we were still in our first decade that were humdingers. Specifically, a vision of chasing each other around the room and over beds, noses stuck up in the air, with the goal of grabbing the Bible from the other person wafts through my memory. That’s all I recall about the strange fight, but I also remember the remorse afterwards, slowly walking up to her, and whispering my penitent apology. Then there was a hug and we were back to, “Do you want to ask Mama if we can share a Popsicle together?”
I love each person God has put into my family, and I rejoice at every tiny step towards further closeness, but each day I stumble in that journey. In the “Art of Family” this would be akin to dropping a huge paint splotch on the Mona Lisa—not pretty. Whether it’s an impatient, rude answer to the billionth question in a row, a purposely ignored opportunity for service, or a choice to elevate a friend or stranger over my family, I find myself constantly messing up. Thank God for His forgiveness and the forgiveness of my family!
The victories are precious too. Recently we were asked to perform as a family at a local retirement home in front of the residents as well as a local church’s senior group. In the past, some of our quartet practices have been tragically unproductive. “So-and-so, stop playing on the piano while we’re talking. Stop jumping up and down on the couch, and—no don’t go get a drink of water. Yes, we need to play it again. No—don’t loosen all the pegs…Aagh! Too late! All right, let’s try it again now. Instruments up, AND-A-ONE-AND-A-TWO…OK (sigh), go to the bathroom. YES, we ARE going to play this again. Stop playing Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire! It’s not even Christmas!”
We learned many necessary skills for getting along and working together, and it suddenly paid off with these latest rehearsals—they were actually fun! We laughed at our mistakes, worked hard to improve, and felt a little sad when we were done. I am not ready to suppose that I have mastered the art of family, but we are all maturing (slowly) and it was sweet to see that we could work together, have fun, and produce beautiful music that brought joy to others.

By way of personal application, Jonah might at this point offer up his favorite verse which he loves to quote at opportune moments: “And the older shall serve the younger. (Genesis 25:23b)" ( :
I would like to consider another passage, though, that is not too much different. Philippians 2:3-4 and14 says, “Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others….Do all things without complaining and disputing.”
That is the crux of the matter, the paintbrush that you use for the art of family. This is the fifth installment, and now I am finally getting to the life-changing part. Here’s one more revelation of a verse, the one that directly follows the command to never complain or argue. I have heard this verse hundreds of times, memorized it, and admired it, but never before today had I connected it with the command to serve with humility and love, especially in one’s family. Why is this so important? You are to perfect this art of family “that you may become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world. (Philippians 2:15)”
Isn’t that thought-provoking? Isn’t it a revelation? Our shining light doesn’t come from deeds of greatness, from writing a great blog, or from showing love when it is easy. Tirelessly serving our families, loving them in spite of their flaws, helping them be the men and women God designed them to be, answering that billionth question with love, and using their accountability to mature ourselves—that is how we can be children of God, the only lights in our dark and increasingly cobwebby corners of the world. That is God’s ultimate design to pierce the black blackness of the world. And so I wonder—is your light switch on?