Sore Fingers

Tonight we had music team practice for Sunday morning worship. The set is a good mix of driving, upbeat choruses, majestic, theatrical anthems, and meditative hymns. This in and of itself is something for which I'm grateful. 

But the gift I notice tonight is the gift of sore fingers. 

It was the third time or so through a particularly energetic chorus, and my body was beginning to feel the strain that comes when one enthusiastically guitars (yes it's a verb) for over an hour. Dave was there on electric, and he tore through a riff with the overdrive screaming through the speakers, and I smiled. Peeping just above the top of the piano, I could see Dean's eyes, closed, his face uplifted, his mouth crying out what was in his heart, and I smiled bigger. It was an odd moment: to find in the middle of a rehearsal, a practice, a drill, this... rapture. This communal love of music and of God. 

Ordinarily I play with restraint at rehearsal, so as to save my energy and endurance for the inevitable sixth repetition of the same song. But at this moment I let loose. I laughed out loud a little, and let the music fill me. I looked down at my hands and was delighted to see how fast my fingers were moving, how easily the notes sprang from my guitar, how runs and harmonies were coaxed forth effortlessly by hands calloused from years of practice. 

And then we finished. The finale, a flourish of notes, and then I knew that of course that what I had done was not effortless. I had unknowingly committed a great deal of effort to produce that music, and now my fingers felt what had been asked of them. My right hand was so cramped I could barely let go of my pick. 

And I smiled. I wouldn't want it to be effortless. I wouldn't want to not have to try. Where's the satisfaction in that? My body is amazing, the things I'm capable of doing are incredible, and yet I have to strive to do them. I have to try, and try hard. What I am grateful for is that I can try. I can work hard and hurt myself in trying to produce something beautiful. I know that because there is pain when I finish, I can improve. I can work harder and grow more skilled and more calloused so that one day,  I can produce the same result without the consequence of pain. I can get better. And that is an encouraging thought. 

I love getting carried away in music. I love trying too hard, pushing a little too far, and making myself sore. I love being reminded that I'm good at something, and that I can, in time, get even better. And so I thank you, Father, for cramped hand and sore fingers.