Risking Busy for Peace
Risk Prompt asks “Name a time when a risk you took paid off.”
I really already answered this prompt in a blog, and while there’s another “risk” I could talk about, I want to save that one for another day.
I thought maybe I’d just pull a risk taker from the Bible to talk about tonight, but God had other plans for me today. I had an “aha” moment tonight.
My daughter was gone from school today to an all day clinic for our Conference Honors Band. She had the choice to go for band or choir and ultimately chose band because the teacher had to make cuts. She would have felt bad if she took her choir spot and knew someone missed out on an opportunity because she didn’t take her spot.
Last year she didn’t do either because she had an Academic Meet scheduled for the same night as the concert. She didn’t want to have to choose, so she took her name out of the running for the Honors groups. It wound up the rescheduled the Academic Meet because so many students were involved in both.
Seventh hour she comes bursting into my classroom. I go through my typical list of questions after something new.
“How was your day?”
“Did you have a good time.”
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Did you get any better at anything you already knew how to do, then?”
“Mom, we played our instruments all day.”
“Yes, that’s what an all-day clinic is.”
“We got chapped lips and worse. That’s what happens when you play your instrument continuously all day. You don’t get better. You get worse.”
And with that statement she breezed right out of my classroom.
I disagreed with her statement. Practicing is good. If a little practice is good, then a lot of practice is great!
Tonight as I sat in a packed auditorium watching a band warm up, I wasn’t listening to the notes as much as I was thinking back to the conversation in my classroom earlier.
“We got chapped lips from playing so much, and we got worse.”
That’s what she said.
Well, if you’ve ever played an instrument, especially a wind instrument, your mouth is pressed upon a mouthpiece and your lungs are forcing air through the instrument. It’s work. It’s continuous. It can be draining.
Sure, if you’re sitting in the stands listening it may appear that the instrumentalists are relaxing in chairs while their instruments simply spew forth beautiful melodies, but the truth is there is a lot of muscle control at work.
I sat there tonight thinking about working for an extended amount of time, chapped lips, getting worse, and risk.
And that’s when it hit me.
You resigned from all of your leadership positions in the church with the exception of VBS almost a year ago. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a comfortable decision. It was a risk.
Nothing about the decision was easy. I’ve second (and third, fifth, tenth, one hundredth…) guessed myself. As the months have passed, I’ve seen no rational reward from that decision. Continued frustration. Continued stress. Continued questioning. Continued seeking.
And today it hit me.
Six months after you resigned you started writing.
Your risk is paying off.
Ten months after you resigned you are spending more time in prayer, in the Word, and doing what you were created to do instead of creating more things to do to try to find your niche.
In the middle of a crowded gym, with a large group of students warming up instruments with a clinician, I heard God’s whispers.
You’re finally being still. You’re finally in a place to hear Me. You have a long way to go, but don’t think you haven’t moved.
He simply wants me to be still and know that He is God. Without any assistance from me He will be exalted. Sometimes I need to be still, and listen, learn, let Him love me.