“First off, Margaret, let me say that I think that you are right where you should be right now.  You are in what I would call God’s greenhouse.  What I mean is that a greenhouse is an environment where growth is accelerated.  It’s not comfortable in there.  Hot, wet, a lot of pruning—not a particularly clean environment, either—but the best for growth.  That’s where I think you are.

“…[A]nd although there are things I could probably tell you, do for you, to ease this course, I dare not because I believe this struggle is for your strengthening.  And if I begin cutting the bonds, loosening the cords, you will emerge weaker for it.

“Perhaps it’s a little like nature, the way a moth larvae changes into a butterfly.  It is the struggle against the cocoon that sends blood into its wings so they will be strong enough to navigate the wind.  Without that struggle, the wings would come out, but they would be deformed where it matters the most—inside.  Pretty, but no strength.”

—quoted by Margaret Becker in With New Eyes: Fresh Vision for the Soul

I’ve been home from Boston for a week and a half now, but I’m still not entirely ready to share what I experienced there.

Oh, I’ve written and submitted a 500-word summary of the week to the church newsletter, and sent thank-you notes to the financial backers who made the trip possible.  I’ve even incorporated a lot of the ideas I got at the conference into my worship planning for the next six months.  (Yes, I am the kind of guy who plans worship services six months ahead of time.  Raise your hand if you’re surprised.)

But I think the most powerful lesson I brought back with me isn’t one that will show up in worship—at least, not directly.

More than once during that week, surrounded by hundreds of professional musicians for this workshop or the other, I had a conversation with God that went something like this:

“Wow.  These people are really good.”

“Yes, David, they are.  But why aren’t you singing?”

“What do you mean?  I’m singing.”

“Your lips are moving and there’s sound coming out of your mouth—barely.  But you’re not singing.”

“Oh, give me a break.  It’s 9:30 in the morning.  I can barely croak out a high E, and this chart is hanging out on G like it’s the food court at the mall!”

God sighs.  “You are a child of the 80’s, aren’t you?”

“Well, come on.  Just listen to these guys—I feel like I’m surrounded by members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  Did these guys start warming up at 4:00 this morning, or what?”

“Well, ‘these guys’ come mostly from classical choral backgrounds.  You perform music that is very different stylistically, and your voice is perfect for what you do.”

“Yes.  Exactly.  Thank you—even though ‘perfect’ is a long shot.  But why do you want me to sing now, here?  This is Mozart we’re singing, not Avalon!” 

“Okay, first of all, I’m the Omniscient Creator of the Universe.  When I use the word perfect, I do so deliberately.  Second, do you honestly think anyone here is going to look down on you for having a voice that’s different from everyone else’s?”

I look over at Doug, the resonant bass whose voice I’ve been secretly admiring all week.  He catches me looking, smiles self-consciously, winks, and chucks my shoulder with a playful fist.  “Hm,” I admit, unenthusiastically.

“Exactly,” says God, with a bit more self-righteousness than I’m quite in the mood for.  “Now will you sing, please?”

(You did know God was a wiseacre, didn’t you?)

I wish I could say that conversation was an isolated one.  But lately for as long as I can remember I’ve struggled with feelings of inadequacy.  And for some reason, even though I came back from Boston feeling really good about the work I‘m doing at the church, and especially about my work with 3.12, I still find myself caught between the way things are and the way I think things ought to be.  Shouldn’t I be able to just work more efficiently?  Write faster?  Play more accurately?

The answer, God keeps telling me, is “no—the way you are today is perfect for today.”

‘Course, that doesn’t take away the vague smell of manure.

More from the greenhouse in my next post….