Yes, I mixed two completely different allusions in the post title. Deal with it.
Rob and I like to joke that I have the spiritual gift of filling in.
The truth is that I suffer from musical ADHD and don’t like to play just one instrument. (plus there’s that whole psychological thing with my unwillingness to put in the work necessary to improve when I pass the threshold of natural talent and how I will therefore move on to another new thing until the aforementioned threshold is once again reached…and then there’s that part of me that begs and pleads and hungers for compliments no matter how humble I try to act… but we won’t go into that…)
Our church orchestra being the size it is, I usually have some freedom with what I play, if I play at all. But for the last year and a half, a majority of my Sunday mornings have been spent on the electric bass.
Each Saturday when Rob would say, “I’m going to need you on bass tomorrow,” I would put on a smile and reply, “Sure.” But on the inside? This was happening. The bass is boring; nobody ever remembers the bassist’s name. I’d rather be playing the flute or the electric guitar, but I was needed in a place where I did not want to serve. I was not enjoying myself on Sunday mornings.
And then my husband gave me a challenge to work on. A challenge where I had to spend two days of my afternoon naptimes working with a metronome. A challenge that forced me to fix my technique. A challenge that translated into me becoming more creative with all my bass parts.
And the strangest thing happened: I actually started liking the bass. When listening to music, I now listen for the bass line to try and find practical applications. The bass is harmonic and rhythmic and melodic, and it’s been so much fun to learn how to handle all three roles at once.
God has taught me an important lesson about myself. For years, I’ve claimed to love to serve “anywhere” on the worship team, but my attitude about the bass showed that I actually just loved to serve in fun, high profile places. If there were no challenging sections or solos in the music, I wasn’t interested. That’s not right.
Why should it matter if I’m playing the boring instrument where no one will remember my name? It’s a Sunday morning; only one name matters.
