For so much of my life, my self-worth was tied up in my accomplishments.  One of those has been performing.  I feel that I have a God-given talent to sing.  I especially like singing in a group where there is a tight blend and close harmonies.  Because my primary love language is words of affirmation, I’ve thrived on having audience members come up after and tell me how wonderful I was.  That’s how I could tell that I was valuable.  I’ve liked being in the spotlight and hearing applause.

For many years I directed a trio and then a quartet which performed frequently here in the Rexburg area.  It was fulfilling, but also stress-inducing.  My perfectionistic self worked overtime to assure that our performances were as flawless as possible.  I spent countless hours acquiring accompaniment tracks, audio equipment, matching wardrobe accessories, and excellent singers.  I’d choose songs with mass appeal, interesting arrangements, and high-quality tracks.  I’d ruminate about different options for the “show order” (which songs to include in a given performance and the order in which we’d sing them).  I’d attempt to “equalize out” the pieces to give a similar number of solo segments to each singer, so that there were no superstars or divas.  I’d make extra efforts to arrange rehearsal times that fit the already-full schedules of four busy artists.  I’d make multiple copies of practice CDs for the singers so we could rehearse on our own.  I’d make sure I bought at least four copies of each piece of printed sheet music, so that I wouldn’t use photocopies and violate copyright.  All of this took a lot of time and mental energy.  (Whew!)

But I “gave that up” some time ago when my hard drive crashed and I lost the accompaniment tracks I had collected over many years.  I was also just a couple of months into my counseling sessions with my therapist.  I took it as a sign that it was time to focus on other issues (my OCD).  So I emailed the other singers and told them that I was quitting the group.  This is a really difficult thing for a perfectionist to do.  I don’t want to be seen as “a quitter.”  But I felt it was for the best.  In the past few years I’ve performed only a handful of times (aside from singing in my ward choir).

So I was both excited and wary when I got an email asking if I would provide a musical number for an All Employee meeting at BYU-Idaho, where I work.  Excited that someone still wanted to hear me sing.  Wary that I might be tempted to start up the group again, and that I might revert again to needing the applause.

I contacted the old group members and asked if they’d be willing to do this performance.  They were all agreeable.  I found an nice, easy arrangement of a hymn and we set a rehearsal time and location.  The practice went well and the blend quickly came together again.  We’ll perform the song this coming Friday on campus.

This will be a test for me.  Is my self-worth stable enough that I won’t be searching for accolades?  If no one tells me we did a good job, will I be OK with that?  If we make mistakes and the performance isn’t high quality, will I feel responsible and blame myself?

We’ll see.

To be continued . . . with Part 35

I recently finished the book “In the Grip of Grace” by Max Lucado.  At the beginning of the book he shares “The Parable of the River.”  Here’s a very rough and abridged retelling.  You should actually take a moment and read the whole thing.  It will only take a few minutes and is worth your time.

Five brothers live together in their father’s castle.  Because of disobedience, the four younger brothers fall into a rushing river and are swept downstream.  Finally they arrive in a strange land, very different from the safety of their home, and far from their father.  In time they learn to hunt and survive.  From the beginning they agree to always remember their home and hope of returning someday.

However, one by one the first three leave.

One son joins the savage inhabitants of the land, building a mud hut, and indulging in their hedonistic ways.

The next son ends up judging the first pointing his finger in disgust and comparing the wayward son to his righteous self.

Another son begins stacking rocks in an attempt to build a path back to the castle, intending to save himself by earning his way back to his father’s presence.

The last son is visited by the eldest, Firstborn brother.  “Father has sent me here to bring you home,” the eldest says.  Entrusting his brother, he climbs on his back and begins the journey home.

After the parable, we are invited to ask ourselves which of the brothers describes our relationship with God.  Have I adopted the ways of the world?  Am I trying to emphasize my own righteousness by pointing out how much better I am than the sinners?  Do I attempt to work my way back to God on my own strength?  Or do I recognize my inability to make it back on my own, and rely on the merits of a Savior?

I must say that my perfectionism tends to make me like the rock-stacking son.  The pressure to be self-sufficient is strong.  I have a list of requirements for salvation, and it’s my goal to check them off one by one.  If I can just be extremely good, then one day I’ll earn my place in Heaven.

The problem with that kind of thinking?  I live in a fallen world.  It’s not possible to be that good in this life.  I’m a natural man—carnal, sensual, and devilish.  So I continually fall short and beat myself up for it.

The goal in life of not to show how long I can go without a Savior.  The more I turn unto Him and receive His grace, the more I experience the mighty change of heart.  “There shall be no other name given nor any other way nor means whereby salvation can come unto the children of men, only in and through the name of Christ, the Lord Omnipotent” (Mosiah 3:17).

To be continued . . . with Part 34