Hey everyone… I know it’s late, but I have it up! I hope y’all enjoy this segment of my fictional story, When Life Hands You Lymes. We are almost at the end of the story that I’ve been posting on here for twenty months now. Exciting, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
My music dream began back when I was twelve and our family went to Europe for the first time. Sitting in the cathedrals, I was awestruck at the beauty that poured forth from mere humans. My whole existence was changed in that moment when I realized that I, too, could become something bigger than myself. That I could do something that would inspire people. Something that would compel people to move forward and try their best.
The next few years I dedicated much of my time to practicing on the piano and violin. Closing my eyes I could see the music sheets, the technique books, the stern faces of my teachers and the applause of my parents dancing across my memory. Mostly though it was endless hours spent in the practice room, blocking out the rest of the world so I could focus.
Then came the sick years. Music became my escape. My companion during the lonely nights. My friend when humans couldn’t understand. Music was my breath of fresh air. The hours I spent with my music increased as my time doing everything else decreased. As I began to seek God more, my music became a wordless prayer, telling Him what my brain couldn’t put into words.
Then came the days when I thought my dream was over. When I thought I’d lost everything I’d worked toward and faith became so much more than a word. It was my valley of darkness. The lowest of lows.
Yet somehow God resurrected that dream even after it had been embalmed. How it had happened, I’ve stopped trying to figure out. I think there is a time in each person’s life when they need to open their hands, their heart, their soul and offer God the dream they hold closest to them. In His hands the dream will be safe. It will be painful, heart-breakingly painful, but in the end it will be worth it.
Once the crevices of the heart having been cracked open and purified in a way only God can, then He replaces our dream. Only this time it’s grown into a God-sized dream. The kind of dream that can’t be accomplished without His help.
I used to dream of my music being able to change people’s lives. Of people finding renewed purpose and extra strength as they listen. I would imagine an ill child in a hospital, sleeping peacefully as my music played in the background. I would imagine elderly couples dancing around a living room filled with fifty years worth of memories as my music gave them something to twirl to. I would close my eyes and picture the soft strains of my music playing as a young man got down on his knee in a romantic, candle-lit gazebo.