Between the Notes

“C’mon,” my two-year-old nephew said as he took my hand. “Play me.” (Let me translate for you. Play with me.)

“What do you want to play, buddy?”

“Pano,” he said. (Let me translate again. “Piano.”)

So, we sat down at the piano together. I started to play and, for a moment, he just listened.

Then he joined in.

Now, I’m a mediocre pianist at best but let’s just say it got a lot louder and lot more chaotic when he started banging on the keys.

That, of course, didn’t bother me. We were just spending time together. We weren’t trying to make a masterpiece.

But as I listened to him play – or rather, make noise – I thought about how so often my life is just that. Noise.

There’s nothing beautiful about it. It’s chaotic and cluttered – and usually that’s my fault.

I choose chaos and clutter by what I allow in.

See, ours is a culture that wears busyness as a badge of honor. We boast of our full calendars. We brag about our frazzled lives. We are worn out and proud we are.  If I slowed down long enough to think about it, I'm sure it would sound crazy. But, alas, I rarely slow down, so it seems perfectly sensible to me.

What if God never intended our lives to look like that? What if when He told us to rest He actually meant that? What if by grasping for more we were actually experiencing less?

"It's the space between the notes," says Noah benShea, "that make the music."

Without the space between the notes, music disintegrates into noise.

There will always be more notes we could play. That doesn't mean we should.

Allow for space between the notes.

Stop making noise. Start making music.

Hurried

The gate attendant announced that we would be boarding shortly, so I put my book away and got in line. When they called my group, three grown men shoved past me to get on the plane first.

We were in the first boarding group. We had assigned seats. The overhead bin space was not going to be full. There was no reason to hurry.

But, hurry is what we do.

I’ve been noticing the symptoms of hurry a lot lately.

I was in Utah for vacation, driving on a windy, narrow mountain road with my siblings, when a truck came barreling up from behind. Our pace (the speed limit) was evidently too slow for him, so he swerved into the opposite lane to get around us. Mercifully, no one was coming, because he certainly wouldn’t have been able to see around the bend if anyone was.  As it turns out, he was going the same place we were. He “beat” us there by seconds.

I was trying on a shirt at a small boutique later that week. Through the dressing room curtain, I heard a customer tell the saleswoman that she was ready to try on her clothes. The saleswoman told her that there was only one dressing room (mine, for the moment) and, as soon as I finished, she would be able to use it. She kindly offered to hold the woman’s clothing if she wanted to continue browsing while she waited.

“But, I’m ready to try my clothes on now,” said the clearly impatient shopper. “So, what do you suggest I do?”

I confess that a part of me wanted to take my sweet time in that dressing room.

Hurry is just what we do. It’s a habit.

Often, we don’t even realize we’re doing it, much less know why we’re doing it.

“Hurry,” writes John Ortberg, “is not just a disordered schedule. Hurry is a disordered heart.”

I don’t know what’s disordered in your heart. I know – at least in my more honest moments – what’s disordered in mine.

I prioritize productivity over people and movement over memories. I think more about what’s ahead of me than what’s right in front of me.

Life is short. Too often, it’s way too short.

Let’s slow down. Let’s learn to wait. Let’s find out what we have been missing. Let’s take a deep breath. Let’s stop and, quite literally, smell the roses.

Let’s get our hearts back on track.