May the Lord of peace Himself give you His peace at all times and in every situation.

-2 Thessalonians 3:16

For some reason or other—maybe because I’m homeschooled, or perhaps because I’m cloistered in a monastery—public presentations aren’t naturally my strong suit. To put it frankly, I’m terrified of making a fool of myself in front of a crowd. However, evolving into a pianist of tolerable skill hasn’t coddled my insecurities: it has merely shoved me onto the stage. Every time my teacher scribbles another performance date on the calendar, I can feel my heart somersault, stop, and finally wind up like an alarm clock—tick-ticking like a time-bomb or Indian drums counting down the moments ‘til that day. And every time, God whispers once more, “Don’t worry.”

I remember my first solo recital a couple years ago in my city’s nearly 1200-seat theatre: months before, I was freaking out. But I determined to pray every day, giving up my fears to Better Hands. A week or so before the big day, I conjured up a little game, per say, to keep my thoughts focused while playing. I was Peter, and be it Bach or Beethoven, every song on my repertoire represented a wave. The trick was keeping my eyes on Jesus, for if I dared to nervously eye the waves, I’d sink. Finally, the day arrived. Instead of drowning in worries, I felt flooded with peace—and a tingle of excitement. Although I have experienced nervousness beforehand, hardly ever again, have I stepped onto the stage nervous.

A couple months ago I performed as the concert pianist with the state orchestra. After months of practice, my fingers had memorized every single one of Haydn’s notes—even if my brain hadn’t. Nevertheless, on the day of the concert, I took the risk and played without music sheets, something my teacher has never insisted upon. The dreaded happened: halfway through the first movement, I went blank, grappling through several highly discordant measures. Thankfully, I found my footing before too much damage ensued, and by the final movement I was performing my best. My participation ended, and the orchestra continued with the program. Yet as I sank into my seat, instead of sensing a burden lifted, a vicious little voice kept nagging at the back of my mind recalling my moment of blatant imperfection. “How can you rest after such a terrible mistake?” it hissed. I wanted to scream that I had done my best. The following hour I pretended to listen, but a war was raging within me between perfectionism and mercy. Mercy won—banishing my disquiet.

The Father has used every one of my encounters with the stage to draw me closer to the Prince of Peace. Only Jesus can quiet my fears. Moreover, my calm does not depend on my performance. Peace rests only in its Source. The truth is, the Father holds everything in His hands—my flips and my flops. No matter what, it’s going to be okay, because God is perfect and His plan for me is perfect.

 

 

This post was originally published, here, on my other blog Harvest of Stars for a creative writing class.