For Wilshire Baptist Church
I’ve been to the eye doctor recently, hoping to get my eyes back in playing shape. I’ve been trying to wing it too long.
The problem I’ve had is when I play with Wilshire Winds, my vision gets wonky and I have trouble seeing the notes. Actually, I can see the notes, but sometimes I can’t tell if they’re on a line or in a space. And, if a composer has thrown in an “accidental” notation, I can’t tell if it’s a sharp, a flat or a natural. Guess wrong and the result is noise rather than music.
The timing of this problem is interesting: I didn’t notice it until after I was treated for a malignant tumor in my right sinus that was resting on my optic nerve. Maybe that’s the cause, or maybe it’s just something else that comes with age. Whatever, I began to find my eyes tiring and blurring during extended sessions at the music stand or the computer. I’ve tried using reading glasses when we rehearse and play. That’s helped a little with the music, but when I look up at Shana, our director, she’s fuzzy, and so is the congregation behind her.
So, I went to an ophthalmologist. He declared my optic nerve in fine shape, but he suggested a new progressive lens prescription to improve medium-range reading. Next stop was an optician, who as luck would have it had an intimate understanding of my situation. He said his customers include members of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, and they have the same need: to see the music and the conductor.
And then he shared a story about an older musician dealing with advancing macular degeneration. “I told him, ‘There’s not much I can do for you, but you know the music so well, you can wing it.’ And the musician replied, ‘Yes, I can wing it with the music, but I can’t wing it with the conductor. I need to be able to see their direction.’”
I heard that and told the optician, “That’s it exactly: I can’t wing it with the conductor because she sets the tempo, stops and starts us, an reminds us of dynamics, balance and tuning. Those are directions I need to see.” And, I added, “Unlike your Dallas Symphony client, I can’t wing it with the music. I’m not that good.”
It’s appropriate that “winging it” came up in these conversations, because the phrase is said to come from 19th-century theater to describe actors learning or reviewing their lines at the last minute while waiting in the “wings” – the sides of the theater. Apparently, it’s an old tradition in the performing arts, but I don’t like to do it with music.
You know where else I don’t like to wing it – where I’m not good at last-minute preparation? Everyday life. I need direction in handling the issues that come around every day. Sometimes they crawl along, and then suddenly the tempo speeds up and I’m struggling to keep up. Or sometimes a situation needs a quiet, gentle touch, and other times it needs a loud, bold response. Either way, I need direction.
During Lent we are encouraged to slow down, quiet down and focus on “the conductor” who has promised to lead us through this life – from the first downbeat to the final fermata. There’s no promise of sweet melodies or perfect harmony all the time, but if we trust God’s direction, even the dissonance will have purpose and eventually resolve.
I’ve had a couple of Winds rehearsals with my new prescription and I’m seeing much better. The notes aren’t a blur on the page, and when I look up, I can see Shana. It’ll take more time to make sure my posture and head tilt are just right for maximum effect. But the brain has an amazing way of taking all that input and making sense of it. So too does the Holy Spirit.