A Beautiful Disaster

I have had some pretty intense performances in my life but I think tonight's might have to top the cake.  Musically it was a mess but it was also a precious learning experience that I won't soon forget.  This whole weekend has been very intense and perhaps that partially explains the events that unfolded. 

For months I have been anticipating a very full weekend as I had a high profile concert scheduled the day before what I felt might be my last performance of Lamb of God with the bonus of having the composer present.  To add to the "excitement," a few weeks ago my husband started having some very worrisome symptoms and we both became quite concerned. 

A procedure to diagnose what we were convinced was very bad news was scheduled for Friday of this weekend.  We have been through 14 years of disability and scary medical uncertainty and I've learned to not borrow trouble most of the time but I became overwhelmed by the "what ifs" last week.  By the time Friday came, I was exhausted and a bit of a basket case.  After being given an unexpected negative diagnosis, I had a mix of relief and confusion as I tried to comprehend how they found nothing with the tremendous amount of blood he had lost.  I was of course delighted but the weight of it took awhile to ease.

On Saturday morning we had a touch-up Lamb of God rehearsal and it was really special.  It was a mix of testimony meeting and singing and the tears flowed freely.  There was such unity and love in the room as we sang it truly for ourselves.  Insight after insight came, followed by hugs from nearly everyone in the choir and I left with my heart exceedingly light.  An afternoon of happy errands filled my day before proceeding to the Pantages for one of my biggest gigs to date.  My heart was full for the privilege to perform with such a wonderful ensemble and I had an absolute blast on stage.  The four Copland songs were so well-received and the Oklahoma medley and Summertime felt amazing.  I was on a tremendous high afterwards and so grateful for such an amazing weekend.

I awoke Easter morning with a hop in my step and excitement for the day ahead.  I had a good day of church, finished some cards and a thank you gift and eagerly headed over to the church to prepare for our performance.  We began as usual but it wasn't long before I started feeling that things were off somehow.  We were behind schedule and we weren't able to do all the soundchecks we wanted to do and I was starting to get anxious.  I went to a sideroom and prayed to be at peace before meeting together for our testimony meeting.  That peace came as we talked together and bore testimony.  The composer Rob Gardner told of some of his experiences as he first created this work.  He shared how he was composing up to the last minute before he went to record with the London Symphony.  It was about three hours into the twelve hour session before he realized that he was conducting the London Symphony and it was only then that he really engaged in the work.  There was a sense of unity and excitement as we prayed together.

The opening number began well and I was delighted to see so many faces in the choir looking up at me and expressing the Hope that this piece so clearly conveys.  Then as we began the second song where an oboe solo carries the melody, the oboe inexplicably broke.  It became completely unplayable.  It wasn't just a bad reed but a completely unusable key that made it impossible to play anything.  Panic arose as I realized how prominent the oboe is throughout this piece.  The other woodwinds were trying to help her fix her instrument and I was trying to figure out what we should do when that anxiety started to affect others.  There were some missed entrances, wrong words and sound issues and all of a sudden it felt really unstable and I realized I was steering a train that was in great danger of coming off the tracks.  We've had a few scary moments before but nothing like this. 

I was wondering why this was happening tonight.  I so dearly wanted this to be a great performance as it was my last one and the composer was present and it was Easter and wanted my offering to reflect the depth of my devotion to my Savior.  Last week's performance was almost perfect and so beautiful and powerful and I had fully expected this to exceed that high bar.  I wanted to cry- not from joy but disappointment.  As I silently prayed that somehow we would get through this, the thought came to my mind that THIS is the Lord's work and no power could derail HIS work.  The power of this principle was consuming and ran deeply throughout my body as we sang "I am the Resurrection."  It was a dramatic shift much like the moment Rob had described in his testimony.  I felt empowered like I had never felt before to not let the fears conquer us.  When mics started clicking and going out in the next piece, I again felt that idea loud and clear and threw my entire self into the work as we sang "Hosanna."

I had to fight the whole performance and everyone fought with me.  The woodwinds distributed the oboe parts and were transposing and covering the parts as well as their own so that the oboe melody wouldn't be missing.  My sound people were working intently to try to correct the problems, narrators made adjustments when one mic was clearly down and I felt the prayers of the choir and orchestra as we fought with everything in us to stay together despite the continuing issues.  As we approached the last couple of songs, it was hard to hold it emotionally together.  The Spirit was strong in spite of everything and I wept freely. I suspect most people in attendance were completely unaware of how dire it felt and how precariously the production clung together because God gave them what they needed too.  I could hear the tears behind me and felt hearts softening.

This performance was completely opposite what I had envisioned and yet beautiful in its own way.  As my husband and I discussed it, he described it like the moment when Joseph Smith goes to the grove to say his first earnest prayer and how a thick darkness threatened to destroy him (Joseph Smith-History 1:14-17  https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/js-h/1?lang=eng).  Joseph wrote, "But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction..." he was delivered.  It took the show almost falling completely apart tonight for me to really see Christ as my deliverer. 

At the same time, the truth that He is in charge is something that I will never forget.  When I let my personal fears overtake me this last week or during this performance, God's power was clearly evident to me.  It was clear and unmistakable to me.  I am confident that He has a plan, even when everything seems to be going wrong.  I know that He is keenly aware of me personally and loves me deeper than I can comprehend.  Though this was not the beautiful performance I dreamed of, it was the performance I needed and for that I am grateful. 

My Lamb of God story

In October of 2011 I was at a crossroads.  I felt strongly compelled to not audition for theatre companies and it was a difficult pill to swallow.  My children were getting older and it seemed my time had arrived to do something I had long wanted to do, only to feel  that it was not what God wanted for me.  I cried bitter tears after I had to turn down a role I really wanted and skip auditions for shows that I was certain I would be a strong contender for.  This may be hard for most people to understand but I deeply mourned a loss in what I deemed was part of my identity.  It was far more difficult than I can perhaps express.

So while I mourned, experience has taught me that God always blesses us when we turn our will over to him so I tried earnestly to discern what God wanted for me instead.  I had already explored the door of having more children and that door was painfully shut.   I thought perhaps it was for me to do more writing and composing so I worked on some scripts and tried to write songs, most of which were not as good as I thought they should be and left me feeling inadequate.

On one October night, I struggled in vain to write and thus decided to listen to a broadcast on creativity on the Mormon Channel.  It featured composer Rob Gardner and he discussed his creative process for composing.  I liked his approach and found several ideas to help me in my efforts.  But….then they played a recording of “Gloria.”  It was perhaps the most beautiful song I had ever heard and I began to weep.  It struck me to the core.  I kept rewinding and playing that song over and over and continued to weep.  I was struck not only by the beauty but by the immense joy and hope we find in our Savior. 

I sent Karen Hemming from the Mutli-stake Cultural Arts Committee from our church an email suggesting that they consider programming this oratorio on their next season.  I was sure to say that if they did this oratorio that I wanted dibs on that solo.  A few weeks later I received a Facebook message from Karen, right as I was going to bed, saying that they had gotten permission to do “Lamb of God” that spring.  I was thrilled….until I read the next line.  They wanted me to conduct it.  I was so completely overwhelmed and it took me an additional five hours to settle down enough to let sheer exhaustion compel me to sleep.  I had never conducted an orchestra and I was completely overwhelmed by the prospect of doing justice to this epic piece.

As if being overwhelmed weren’t enough, I was in a car accident just ten days before our first rehearsal.   I sustained a concussion and began a prolonged period of migraine headaches and constant nausea and dizziness.  As the severity of my injury became more apparent, I was strongly tempted to pass the reins to someone more qualified and not impaired.  I had a hard time seeing how I could possibly conduct but week after week miracles were seen.  I would have a plan in place for someone to take over but within minutes of beginning rehearsal, my vision would stabilize, the nausea would abate and my mind was clear.  We had powerful experiences together as the music literally healed me.  The symptoms would return immediately upon the rehearsal ending but I was amazed by the tender mercy of temporary healing that allowed me to momentarily feel whole.

I was not the only one to experience this remarkable healing process.  It seemed everyone in the choir that year was suffering a great heartache, a daunting trial, a spouse at death’s door, complete ruin or some other personal valley.  As we learned this music, it healed us and helped us to know that God was keenly aware of our difficulties and completely in control.  We learned of his deep and abiding love for us.   God didn’t heal my concussion for an additional nine months but he did teach me to trust in him and that he would meet every single need. That first year was completely transformative for me as the Spirit repeatedly bore witness of the Savior and taught us to trust Him.

We had similar experiences in our second year and I wondered how we could possibly improve.  That clarity was given and we have continued to have life-altering spiritual experiences as we have prepared this music and let its testimony be united with our own.

As I began this season, I had the distinct impression that I would not be returning to conduct for a fourth year.  Much like October of 2011, I feel torn by what I perceive is God’s will for me.  I have cried many tears this week about it.  It seems that surely there could not be anything more rewarding than this work that I am engaged in.  I know that I have had a profound impact as we worked to bring out the beauty and truth in this work and I shudder to think that I might not have been available to conduct this if I had disregarded those impressions and pursued other performing experiences instead.  It has been one of the most rewarding musical experiences of my life thus far.

But at the same time, I have felt the changes in the wind and know there are other things ahead.  Some of those changes are wonderful and terrifying at the same time and I suspect there are things that need my attention that I simply cannot anticipate.  But if conducting “Lamb of God” has taught me one thing, it is that He is in charge and that all will be well if we just trust in Him. 

The person I am today is a much better person than I was three years ago.  The music by Rob Gardner has been a big part of that transformation.  But it has only been the tool used by my Savior to mold me into the person He needs me to be.  As we sing tonight, my hope and prayer is that we are likewise a tool to help others feel what God needs them to be. 

Death, loss and fear

On Wednesday night, I had the privilege of being the soloist for the Faure Requiem with Pierce College Choirs and Northwest Sinfonietta.  The Faure was a great success and it was a lot of fun to sing but the program also was a personally moving experience.  The theme of the program was death and loss, which sounded like an odd choice for a spring concert, but it was some of the best programming choices I've heard in awhile.  It was clearly a personal experience for the conductor and as a result my mind evaluated the losses I've sustained in my life and what those losses mean for me.

My first acquaintance with death was at age 15 with the sudden death of my grandfather in a plane crash.  Papa was a perfect man in my mind.  He had promised to teach me to fly when I turned 16 and some of my fondest memories are fishing with him.  There were no funeral services so the next day I continued with plans to go to Girl Scout camp where I was working as an aide to a disabled camper.  I had a few hours of free time the next day and vividly remember my experience praying in the forest alone.  I don't think I had ever cried so hard and yet had such a peaceful feeling.  Suddenly, everything that I had been taught all my life about our Heavenly Father's plan for happiness made sense to me.  I knew that I wanted to live my life in a way that would allow me to see my Papa again.  Since that time, I've also experienced the deaths of my other grandfather, a dear friend, and my father.  Each has brought deep feelings of sadness as well as a confirmation of that lesson learned at 15 to live my life fully and valiantly so that we could be reunited again.

But even as I had this confidence that we could be together forever, I also have had great fears of being alone.  When I was a young mother at age 25, my husband had his first serious brush with death.  Within the space of that year, he had at least 10 close calls.  It rocked me to my core and I was terrified.  I was young and still figuring out who I was and had two little children who needed me to stay strong.  I met several widows during this time and seeing them actually scared me more.  I didn't think I was strong enough to survive.

Now fourteen years later, my husband miraculously is still with us.  He continues to take his journey precariously close to the brink of death on occasion but most of the time now remains predictably stable.  I like predictable and stable.  I've learned that I can do hard things, especially when they are predictable and stable.  I now know much better who I am and am not as terrified about how I would survive if and when he is called home.

But at the same time, I've realized I've lived all of these fourteen years in fear.  Many years were excruciatingly hard and I was fully convinced that the next cold or virus would take him.  Whole years of his life were spent nearly comatose.  I would lie next to him at night afraid to go to sleep because I didn't know if he would be breathing the next morning.  Living under that specter of impending doom and trying to plan a future are rather anachronous.  And while he has gotten so much better and stronger in recent years, somehow that fear has been slow to fade because I know that death will still one day come for him.

I've spent all these years mourning a fear that has fortunately not materialized.  And while there has certainly been grief associated with the lost opportunities and memories that his health issues have stolen and the heartache of watching his constant pain, that same time has been filled with bountiful tender mercies, critical life lessons and precious time that I never thought I'd have.  I let that fear stay with me despite assurances that all would be well because I somehow thought it would protect me; that it somehow made me stronger and would help me survive when his time came.

But I've also come to realize that faith and fear are not compatible.  Fear robs me of putting my whole faith in God.  Fear robs me of loving my husband with 100% of my heart.  Fear weakens me and ultimately leaves me more vulnerable to the very thing I fear. 

A quote from my seminary lesson this morning read, "[Make] a choice of peace and protection and a choice that is appropriate for all.  That choice is faith. . . Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen, and choose faith over pessimism." (Richard Edgely, Nov. 2010).

I realize that the way I feel is a choice and that I can choose to replace fear with faith.  That isn't always easy but I can see that there's so much more to lose if I let fear govern me.  Because death and loss aren't always the same thing.  Losing someone because I was not courageous enough to work through the hard parts would be far worse in my opinion.  Loving with my whole heart leaves me more vulnerable but the sweetness of surrendering my whole heart will hopefully be enough to sustain me.

What will I choose today?

My daughter has been raving about Lois Lowry's book "The Giver" so I decided to read it today.  It's no wonder that this book won the Newberry Award.  Written in 1993, it predates many of the distopian books that are popular at present (Hunger Games, Matched, etc.) but offers a unique take in the form of the wise title character.  Without giving too much away, this man shows great compassion in the way that he teaches young Jonas and carries the burdens for others.

The one thing that struck me is how glorious it is to have variety because that allows for choices and agency.  The society in this book had chosen to standardize everything and create a very predictable and safe existence.  While there was no hunger or contention, there also was no beauty or color, joy in families or opportunities to think for one's self.  12-year old Jonas says, "If everything's the same, then there aren't any choices!  I want to wake up in the morning and decide things!  A blue tunic, or a red one?"  We have an inherent need to choose.  Choice allows for a variety of experiences and those experiences serve to teach us, even as they sometimes teach us pain and less pleasant emotions.  While no one wants to experience pain, feelings are a great privilege.  Feelings, emotions and senses offer richness to life and give the difficult moments purpose.

I am really grateful to have the freedom to make choices for myself.  There are good choices and not so good choices but they are mine to make.  I can not choose the consequences for my choices though and am grateful that consequences help me understand the best choices for my life.  Bad choices help me understand why I want to make better ones in the future.  And likewise, the most joyful moments of my life have not been a result of happenstance but as a wonderful consequence of good choices.

So the question becomes, what will I do today to really value this privilege to choose?

"As for me and my house, we will choose the Lord." - Joshua 24:15

Music in my soul today...Entering the realm of blogger

 A few months ago I was in a meeting where the instructor shared a message about how we can learn through the writing process.  That class was profound to me as I felt truth in the message.  Though not a daily journal writer, I have long found writing my thoughts down to be therapeutic and instructive.  Writing down my thoughts has led me to aspire for the best version of myself and helped me to see God's plan for me.  When writing about a discouragement, I often have seen the blessings in being led down a different path.  When processing heartbreaking loss, I have felt enveloped with love and compassion.  When writing about being overwhelmed, simply detailing the work to be done has helped me see how the various tasks can coordinate together or made me realize that something needs to change and be dropped to restore balance to my life.

For the past few months, I've had frequent thoughts about blogging my thoughts and experiences.  This thought has actually been around for a couple of years but has intensified of late.  I would witness something thought-provoking and make a mental note that I should write it down and share it but inevitably life would get busy and the thought was soon lost.  My hope is that perhaps this blog will help me capture more of those moments and that maybe someone will read it and be edified.  Even more than that, I hope this blog helps me recognize the many tender mercies in my life.

The title of this blog is "Music in my soul today" and comes from a hymn titled "There is Sunshine in my Soul Today." (If you don't know this hymn, you can find it at: http://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/there-is-sunshine-in-my-soul-today?lang=eng or listen to a lovely rendition by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPuLP6KFvFA).  I've always loved this hymn as it details the joy that I so often feel in my life.  Living in the Pacific Northwest, we are not often blessed with natural sunshine and yet I feel so much light in my life from following Jesus Christ.  The second verse is particularly a favorite because it states, "There is music in my soul today, A carol to my King."  A carol is defined as "a song of joy", "a hymn of praise" and "singing in a cheerful manner."  As a working musician and teacher, my life is literally filled with music from morning to night and it brings me great joy.  But even greater joy has come to me as I've followed Christ and his teachings.  My hope is that everything I do and say serves as a carol to express my gratitude for the joy His gospel brings me.