Music and Breath

Music is a thread that runs through my life. Regardless of what ministry I’m part of, music always creeps in. If I’m asked to preach, then I include a song as part of my message. If I’m asked to lead a retreat, then music plays a big part. If I’m asked to lead a workshop, then music is played at some point during the session. If I’m asked to teach piano lessons, then I can’t just teach piano. I must teach all kinds of music. History, composition, theory, and more.

Music connects souls. It speaks a language that words cannot. It stirs memories, raises emotions, breaks down barriers, and motivates change. I am so grateful that I grew up immersed in music and followed its passion to college. Honestly, there were times in my studies when I began to hate it, yet, as I wrote one night in my favorite college practice room: “Music is the passion that burns within my soul, the passion of God’s heart, the piece that makes me whole…”

Both indirectly and directly, music is a huge part of what makes me myself.

The rest of what I wrote that night said, “But lately I can’t find the beat and lately I just can’t sing and lately I just can’t feel the way I used to feel. So help me…”

I wrote those words during my sophomore year of college. If you’ve heard of the sophomore slump, then you know I was in it. The journey that has followed since that time has been beautifully long and hard and has been met with loneliness, fear of rejection, actual rejection, really poor decisions, life-changing learning, transformed theology, enduring friendships, and acceptance of God’s unconditional love and grace. Through it all, music has been my constant companion, either giving me an outlet of personal expression or providing me with someone else’s story with which to connect.

At one of the lowest points on my journey, one of my closest friends, with whom I connected because of a shared interest in music, kept telling me to breathe. I thought, “Of course I’m breathing. I’d be dead if I weren’t. Why do you keep telling me to breathe?”

Then one night as I wrestled myself to sleep, I noticed that I had, indeed, stopped breathing. After the inhale, I subconsciously held my breath until I couldn’t hold it any longer and then exploded on the exhale. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. I understood why she didn’t offer cheap advice or words of assurance. I understood that the best thing she could do was sit with me and breathe.

Breath helps calm us. God breathes in us the sustaining breath of life. Breath gives life and rest. Breath turns chaos to music.

“Keep breathing,” she said.

And I did.

And I kept making music.

I hope I always will.

And I hope that you’ll join me.