If you’ve studied music, you’re probably familiar with the terms “dissonance” and “consonance.” Dissonance occurs when two notes are played at the same time, but instead of being harmonious, they clash with each other. This may sound awful, but it’s used in music to create drama and tension. Like a cliffhanger in a movie or book. It makes the listener uneasy until one of the notes is released or replaced, and the song is once again in harmony (consonance).
Honestly, I didn’t think I would talk so soon about this particular subject. But I’ve thought about it a lot over the last year and was reminded of it when I saw a picture on a friend’s Facebook account the other day. Most people who have only met me in the last few years would never know this, because I pretty much don’t talk about it. It’s a point of vulnerability with me that probably won’t make a whole lot of sense until I explain further. So let me give a little back story…
From the time I can remember, we had an upright piano sitting in the living room of our house. Kids are always fascinated by pianos, and my brother, Peter, and I were no different. We both started piano lessons at the same time when I was 5 years old–honestly, I can’t even remember if my feet touched the pedals. My parents were very good about keeping us disciplined to practice and after a few years, we became involved in competitions, theory and performance exams, and The Piano Guild. After we moved from Florida to Colorado, we became involved in the same sorts of things in that state. Now, I was one of the least competitive kids on the planet, so the whole competition thing didn’t exactly excite me, but my piano teacher and parents really really wanted me to do it, and so I did. However, when I was 11, I started playing in church every once in a while, and by 14 I was one of the regular church accompanists. This opened up a passion in my heart for church and sacred music that competitions just didn’t.
The town I grew up in in Colorado was extremely small–there was only one stop light in the entire town. Pretty much everyone knew everyone, especially if you went to the same church. To give you an idea: when I was 15, my dad, my boss, and my primary physician were all elders in the church. I wouldn’t have been able to get away with anything even if I tried (which I didn’t). In towns like that, and churches like that, you become well-known in your little sacred bubble. So I became well-known for playing the piano. Eventually, I was asked to play for a local theater troupe, an art show, and other community events. I enjoyed becoming known for being good at something because I had never stood out or really been good at anything (at least in my own mind). I don’t think I was arrogant exactly, but it was definitely a confidence booster to receive people’s praise. It also kind of became my label in that town.
Shortly after turning 17, I graduated from high school and held a senior recital. Around that same time, my piano teacher sat me down one day and wanted to talk about my future in music. God bless her, she had done some research and found a few colleges that had music ministry programs. Apparently, she thought I wanted to become a church music director or minister. I must have stared at her like she had lost her marbles. I looked at her dead in the face and said, “Women can’t be pastors!!!”
Listen–you can take the girl out of the fundamentalist cult, but you can’t take the fundamentalist cult out of the girl (at least until there’s been some therapy).
That was the end of the discussion. I could tell she was disappointed, but I never ever saw myself as a leader. I had been told on multiple occasions by my family that I was a “chameleon,” a “go-with-the-flow”; someone who just wanted to blend in with my surroundings. I thought only men could be leaders, especially in the church.
A few years later, I moved back to Florida to attend college and told almost no one that I played the piano. I played a couple times as favors for people, but I eventually left that label 2,000 miles behind me in a tiny Colorado town. I’ve never put that label back on, mainly because church music has changed so dramatically over the last two decades, and also because I’ve completely lost confidence in my ability to play.
Here’s where the rub of dissonance comes in: I now understand that women can be pastors and leaders (shocking, I know). I feel like I potentially lost a really great opportunity to explore something I was passionate about and make it a career. That being said, I know God works all things for my good, and He has a plan even in all of this. But you also can’t just take a passion that God has placed in your heart and snuff it out. It’s not that easy. so over the last few years, particularly after I moved into my own place, I’ve had all these great intentions of sitting down and playing again. But I have a downstairs neighbor fighting cancer, so I don’t want to bother her by practicing the piano right over the top of her head. I tried to remedy that by buying an expensive keyboard that I could put upstairs and use headphones with. So I got the keyboard but when I sit down to play I just get weird. Even when I’m totally alone, I get self-conscious and hate everything I play. I eventually give up and stop. But when I give up, I feel even worse. It seems that there is something in the back of my mind, a wound I can’t place my finger on. I don’t really know what it is, and I will definitely be asking the Holy Spirit His opinion on it.
I know I usually end my posts on an encouraging note, and I really hope to have a part two on this soon where I can lay it to rest and have something really encouraging to report. Until then, I think it’s OK to be vulnerable and say I don’t have all the answers but I’m searching. I would love to sit down at the piano again and enjoy playing–but enjoy playing for the glory of God, not for the praises of men or a confidence boost. Has anyone else ever felt this way about something? I’d be really interested in hearing your story. Drop me a line at hello@sarahgrace.blog or drop a comment below.