Where the Music Came From

With the notes of August's rhapsody still ringing in my mind, I come to write, because it is my release.

I just saw the movie, August Rush, finally. I've been wanting to see it since the first time I saw it advertised, but life was the obstacle and I missed it. I'm not sure why it didn't do well. I wasn't prepared for it, because I had thought it must not be that good. No one else seemed to notice it.

I'm not sure why the things that resonate so explicitly in my brain seem to bore everyone else. But whatever the reason, I found the story of August Rush to be an exhilarating adventure, played as a symphony from the first word to the final scene, building and deepening and rising and falling with perfect rhythm and sequence so that I felt as if I had heard a work of art in music, not seen a forgotten movie from months ago.

But then, the music is in me too. I knew what August was talking about. I am not the prodigy, but I know the power and the language of music. I can feel music in the wind, on a busy street, in the laughter of my children, in the cadence of the rain and thunder and the chorus of the crickets on a summer night. When I listen to music, whatever its form, I can hear the heart of the composer.

I suppose I should explain the picture. If you look closely, you'll notice that I am standing to the right of a conductor. That is my college professor, Dr. Stewart, whom we all called "Doc." He was leading our college chorale in an impromptu concert in a busy Roman restaurant during our concert tour to Italy in 1995. I don't know how I came to be in possession of this photo. But I love it. It reminds me of a time when the music was alive in me. Not just alive. On fire within me. Burning with a passion to communicate the hope and the life I had found in knowing Christ. I could have taken a different route, and followed that music to the ends of the earth, just like August, as he was looking for his parents.

Life intervened, and I fell in love. Got married, had children. Music is still a part of my life. I'm trying to teach my five year old the basics, and nagging her to practice. I sing in the choir every week. Once in awhile I even sing a solo in church. But this movie reminded me that I miss the music being alive within me, giving music to my fingers on the piano or my soul echoing through my vocal chords to sing what had previously not existed in all of music.

My old out of tune piano will have to suffice, though I'd give almost anything at this moment for the soft, cool keys of a baby grand in a concert hall, with that sharp tone of perfect pitch in each strike of the keys. I'd certainly love to regain that voice I was working on back in college before life stepped in and distracted me.

Maybe it's not about losing the music when life begins. Maybe it's about passing the music on. And maybe, if I try hard enough and long enough, I can ignite that fire again within me, and set aflame my children with the sound of their own song that lays buried within their being.

After all, wasn't my own song coaxed out by my Grammy, who gave me her ear for music, passed along through my dad, and my mom, who made me practice and take music seriously, and good old Doc, who gave me a voice in a land across the sea where my heart changed forever?
And how could I not mention my Creator, who placed in my soul each note, every song I've ever had the privilege of singing? For that's truly where the music came from.

May my praise echo back to Him in some form that may give Him glory, for He is the author and conductor of my symphony.