Mouthpiece

My saxophone, sadly, has been sitting under my bed for these last few months. I think of the lost dreams of playing in San Martin plaza, or on a corner in general, and it actually makes me less inclined to pick it up and try again. A couple of friends have asked me about when I'm going to play and I shrug. I fear failure is the bottom line. On another level, I wish I had a teacher to help me get better, show me proper technique, and challenge me with various exercises.

Speaking of exercise, this sort of training is exactly what I have been receiving from Cecilia at a local gym. She doesn't exactly focus on me alone, but has been able to push me at times I would like to quit, or get by without working as hard. But back to the saxophone...

Or at least back to a story my parents have often related about a time when I was a little girl and I was busy drawing on a scrap piece of paper at church. During his sermon, the pastor had asked, "Is God a liar?" At which point I, head down, seemingly focused on my efforts with the pencil, shouted back.

"NOOOOO!!!"

The pastor apparently froze for a second and then regained himself. "Exactly," he said.

Eva pulled me aside just the other day to tell me about a conversation she was having with God one night. I had already gone to bed and was well into my REM cycle when she asked a question. "Was I prudent in that situation?" she had asked, in her mind.

Out of seemingly nowhere, I replied, "Yes." Except to stay true to the story, I said, "Sí."

It surprised her, as much as it surprised me when she later shared the story. I mean, has that ever happened to you? A sleeping person offers an answer to a question that you asked to God and God alone, in a language that is not native to the sleeping person?

I've been reading the book of John and contemplating what it means for John to be a mouthpiece for Jesus, and even for Jesus to be a mouthpiece for God.

Then it all comes back to the saxophone. I open the box to look at all of its parts: the mouthpiece, the reed, the body of the horn, the neck strap, the tools used to clean, the wax, the cork, etc. etc. Obviously there is the, every-part-counts metaphor. But it's something else. It's a surprise to me, to have been so clearly, and yet so simply, used in this way. Whenever I go through the downs of the rollercoaster missionary life and ask for yet another confirmation of my time here, I get one. God is that faithful.

Why can't I pick it up and try again? I have so many excuses I'd rather not go into. Why can't I let the fears pass and just go for it? How do I trust that this instrument is staying till the end, no matter how well or how poorly I play it? Ahh.. there's the metaphor I was going for.

Chau.