Speed Dial

As I sit alone at night watching YouTube videos of past choral experiences,
I envelop myself in atristic feelings.
I remember the joy of making beautiful music,
The way it sounded resonanting in my ears before it hit the audience,
The way it brought me to tears in rehearsals.

Singing is what brought me closer to God.
Songs like Psalm 23, and selections from Handel's Messiah are my roots.
The first songs I could feel God working in, talking specifically to me.
Like a phone call.

Then there's the countless love songs, that make me extremely happy and jealous at the same time.
Winter by Z. Randall Stroope is a slow choral piece that says,
"Come close to me, my strength, my life."
I can sing that song and pretend like I know what this feeling feels like, but I can only imagine.
So I wait. God, I'm waiting.

Rene Clausen wrote a beautiful piece to his wife for Valentine's Day (this makes me happy and jealous too....and puke a little bit)
that says, "Oh my love's like a red, red, rose that's newly sprung in June. Oh my love's like a melody that's sweetly played in tune. I will love the still my dear, 'til all the seas run dry. So deep in love am I."
God knew I'd have a tough Valentine's Day and this would pull me through. It's like He left this song on my voice mail, to listen to later.
And it worked.
The cadences, melodies, harmonies, and emotion take over me.
Music is more than meets the ear to me.
It's an experience.

As I watch the sea of bright pages turn simultaneously, or like a giant wave across the deep angelic choir, I remember why I do what I do.
It's for God.

So whilst my directors push me to become a better musican, I will stay true to my love for music, and use it for the glory of God. No matter how much fun they try to suck out of it.
Whilst I am humbled by the fact I am not nearly as talented as my comrades, I will praise God for everything he DID give me.

Music is my anti-drug, my release, my paint.
My passion, my hobby, my heartbeat.
My direct line to God.