I don’t want to write today.

Because the only story I have within me to be written, I’d rather not write. As my mother once told me, “Sometimes the truth doesn’t need to be shared… because sometimes it doesn’t reflect well on your character.”

Although right now would be one of those times, this story wouldn’t make sense unless I told the whole truth. Anyway, it’s not a newsflash to any of you that I have flaws. Lots and lots of flaws.

The other day, as I drove my car to work, “the mood” gripped me. As it wrapped its icy fingers around my soul, I grinned and slipped the gearshift into racing mode, smashed my foot against the accelerator, and felt myself being slammed against the leather seat.

The tires emitted a glorious sound and as if on cue, “the mood” heightened.

80… 90… 100…

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, my heart palpitated within my chest, and my fingers drummed insistently on the steering wheel.

With my corner fast approaching, I eased up on the accelerator.

Just when the needle of my speedometer had fallen below 60, a police car topped the hill. After allowing him to pass, I smirked and punched the accelerator again. Once again, the tires were music to my ears.

Music to my ears. A symphony. A choir. A chorus of angels. Heavenly angels. My tires. Rubber meeting asphalt. Screeching. Squealing.

With a new clarity, I saw “it”.

I saw The Director in the heavens, hands raised in rhythm, motioning to the earth below.

In praise to Him, somewhere a whale slaps its tail against the Atlantic.  Deep in the jungle, an ensemble of brightly colored birds sing. A baboon beats against its chest. Waterfalls thunder against the rocks. A stream burbles. A mother sings.  Laughter of children fill the air.

God’s music.

I punched my foot against the accelerator again. This time the screech from my tires annoyed me. My smile disappeared and again, I saw “it”.

I’m that kid, the one in the back row, cheeks bulging and forehead creased in concentration as I jab clumsy fingers against the valves of the tuba raised to my lips.

A sound escapes, half fog horn-half tires screeching.

The Director winks at me, encouraging me to keep trying to be a part of His music. We both know the off-key tunes I make don’t always blend in perfect harmony with His music. I smile back, thinking to myself, “Despite it all, He never quits reminding me. He never gives up on me.”

As I climbed from my car, I heard music.

The birds were singing. The snow was melting. Squirrels scampered about, chattering to each other. Spring had arrived.

As if thinking on its own, my foot started tap tap tapping to the rhythm around me. I smiled as I felt the sun against my face. Like some sort of Tennessee hillbilly, I started whistling. And suddenly, I began gyrating on this earthen floor, moving to the sounds of God’s music…. in praise to Him.

And The Director smiled.

-Duane Scott

 

the music within me

by Duane Scott time to read: 3 min
33
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