More Than Satisfactory To Me

One of my closest college-friends was completely tone deaf. For years, she refused to sing in public because her elementary music teacher told her she couldn’t sing. As a little girl, her teacher’s words crushed her spirit, and I knew this. Therefore, I vowed never to tell a student that he or she couldn’t sing.

The truth is that everyone can sing. Some people may have more talent than others and some people may sing melodies best sung in the shower. Yet everyone can sing.

So I try not to discourage my students in their singing or in any other musical endeavor. Realistically, most of my students will not continue in their musical studies. I try to prepare those who will, but I also try to mold all of my students into responsible and respectful partakers of music.

I expect my students to pay attention to our lessons and to try the challenges that I present them, but I don’t grade them on performance capability as much as I grade them on performance effort.

All that being said, I find myself writing quite a few comments when I do grades—especially since my grades are limited to Satisfactory, Needs Improvement, and Unsatisfactory.

He is an excellent musician when he is focused, but his non-task related talking sometimes keeps him from learning.

She has worked really hard this semester. I am very proud of her.

He is a strong leader. When he is on task and has a positive attitude, then his classmates follow. When he is distracted or has a negative attitude, his classmates follow as well. We are working to channel his leadership skills for good.

I worked on grades this afternoon. I demonstrated a lot of hope and grace.

As I drove home from work today, I found myself showing myself much less grace.

I wasn’t trying to be overly harsh or judgmental. I wasn’t beating myself up for anything in particular. I just noticed that my self-talk wasn’t very positive. It hasn’t been for the past few days. I noticed myself saying things to myself like my friend’s elementary music teacher told her.

I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I spontaneously started singing, “Sometimes I feel like I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. But sometimes I feel like he can’t do a thing through. Look at me, I am nothing. Look at them, they are everything. Look at me. I am nothing. Look at me.”

Then I mashed into, “I do not understand what I do in this life, Lord, for what I want to do I don’t do but what I hate I do. It is no longer you who has control of me. It’s my humanness. It’s Satan’s evil scheme. Oh, Lord, I’m running to you with open arms and a broken soul. Oh Lord, I’ve tried it on my own, I’ve wondered so far from home, with persistence I’ve run. But now I want to slow down. So help me see clearly what I need to see the morning I wake up. Slow me down, and help me hear the rain fall instead of looking for the sun to come up. Slow me down.”

Last night, after answering a friend’s inquiry, “What’s been on your mind lately?,” she responded by asking, “Not to sound cliché, but have you prayed about all of this?” I said, “I feel like my life is pretty much a running dialogue with God.” She said, “I know. But sometimes that’s different than intentional moments of prayer.”

I had an intentional moment of prayer this afternoon.

“Okay, child, I’m looking, and I’ll tell you what I see—the beautiful you that I created you to be. I don’t care what they can say and I don’t care what they can do, it’s you I love. It’s you. Look at you,” Deanna, “You are something. Don’t look at them. They don’t have everything. Look at you. You are something. Look at you.”

And as long as you keep trying—or even when you don’t—you are more than satisfactory to me.