Jamie was a patient soul.
I would walk in and sit on the piano bench. She'd straighten my posture and have me start scales. She'd tap on my tense shoulders when I started to concentrate too hard. She'd remind me to turn the page at a particular measure. And inevitably, she'd rifle through her things until she found it. My most hated click box.
The metronome.
My eyes would plead, “Do we have to use it?” She’d respond, “We were at 78 bpm, correct?” And then I'd sigh. And we proceed.
How I hated that thing.
Little known fact, childhood Melinda was actually a really good pianist. I'm certain my mother will never forgive me for quitting, and I don't blame her (it's a long story. Life got in the way). The keys spoke my language. Words failed, but they did not. Music had a way of making me step into the brains of Beethoven, and Bach, and Joplin, and understand what they were trying to tell the world. They couldn't speak anymore, but I could. This was the place where my heart poured out most. It was a passionate thing to put hand to ivory, and there is a reason instrumentalists regard it as a transcendent experience.
It is really difficult to feel all of that when there is a very insistent “tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick” in the background. The little black demon square has an exceptionally distasteful way of forcing a dreamer back into reality. Pure evil, I tell you. Who needs tempo when you have the song?
A few years ago, I wrote this post about Jesus stripping me bare and asking me to give Him my nothing. And in some ways, I have to learn that lesson over and over again. I am a person who struggles immensely when I feel that I have nothing to offer. It's a rough lesson for me when I can only approach Him empty-handed.
When I say empty-handed, I don't mean that I haven't given Him enough time, or service, or tithe. My heart and my head know fully that I cannot earn His love or approval. That's not how grace works. That's not what He paid for. I understand the full terms of His incredible ransom. What I mean, is burnout.
Sometimes we get to a point in our lives where we can only really get from day to day. We are so very buried in details. They serve as the “tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick” in the background noise of life. We are in survival mode. We worked an 80 hour week, AGAIN. Our jobs are not bringing us the joy that they once did. We love our kids, but we are running on 4 hours of sleep and it's only Tuesday. We thought we took care of this one health problem, but it's shown up again. We just fixed the roof, but now the garage door is broken. We finished one class, but now we have to write a 15 page paper for another one. We just paid off the credit card bill, but there's still student loans to work on--and now the car has a flat tire. Self help books and therapists tell us to get some rest, or take a break for our own sanity--but there's just no way to do that right now. We just have to keep going somehow. Tick. Tick. Tick.
It's true that in these moments what we need most is worship. Thankfulness. Diving deep in the Word. Praying feverishly until we get answers. But good heavens...who has the energy?
Please don't stop here and listen for the things that I'm not saying. Fruit is a thing that happens when we abide in Him. The presence of Jesus is an intimate matter to be taken seriously. But it's also the place to be honest. I’m not saying we give Him nothing. I'm saying we give Him our nothing. The part of our heart that doesn't have anywhere else to go. I remember standing in the middle of a Swiss mountainside, exhausted and sick, and admitting all the things that I should have been doing but just couldn’t. I should’ve had a better attitude. I should've been more for my students. I should've been trusting what God was doing. But I couldn't. I didn't have anything left, not even polite behavior. And it was there--not in the numerous worship services or bible studies--but there that Jesus met with me. I told Him that I had nothing left to give. He said He wanted that.
Just because we’ve hit burnout doesn't mean that we've lost the Song. Jesus is is in that. Rest assured, beloved one--He has not left. Sometimes we are somewhere in between, but it doesn't mean that He’s given up on us. Remember--the metronome serves a purpose.
You may be like me and learn to love the metronome (truth be told, I don't think I could get through a Sunday without a click track anymore.) On the flip side, you may want to find the highest cliff in the highest mountainside and chuck it over the side (childhood Melinda wouldn't blame you one bit). But if I can offer any encouragement, it's this: one day, your teacher will reach over to the little black box and turn it off. She'll stow it away in her bag of sheet music and turn to you. As you await the next task, she'll open your music back up and say,
“Ok. How about we just play?”
