Some days I feel like the drum, other days I feel like the music

I remember walking into church that morning and the worship was amazing.  Everyone was engaged and everything was just spot on!  I slipped past the crowd and slid into the pew just wanting to be left alone because the 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡   I sat on the left side of the church, which was an unusual space for me to be because as we all become a creature of habit, I was usually one to sit on the front right side.  Today, I guess I just needed something new.  I peered past the crowd of people, past the backs of everyone’s heads, past the raised hands and gazed at the singers and band members.  My eyes eventually made its way to the drummer.  He sat alone behind the Plexiglas in the far back middle of the platform and just banged away on the drums.  His hands were flying hitting everything he could with so much force and speed that somehow the result of his efforts created a rhythmic sound that kept the entire church in cohesion.  He was the most obvious person in the room because without him, nothing we were doing would have been possible, much less enjoyable.  𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣. There were so many people in the room and yet no one even noticed him and probably never gave him credit for the effort he provided or the contribution he made.  However, it wasn’t really the drummer that captured my gaze.  It was the drums.  My heart was so literally broken, so grieved by the loss I was experiencing that as his hands furiously flew in the air and each stick hit a drum head or cymbal I felt the ache as though each stroke was hitting my chest, breaking my heart one beat after another.  “𝓜𝔂 𝓖𝓸𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹!  𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮? ”, I remember crying privately.  “𝓜𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓻𝓾𝓶, 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓘 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮.  𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼.” 

I remember seeing the drums getting beaten and realized for the first time that I’d never thought of it that way before.  Had no one else noticed?  How can we all be in the same room, hear the same music but not think of the pain it felt like to be the drum?  It was center stage, getting hit repeatedly.  How can it be invisible?  It’s how my heart felt.  Being a room filled with people filled with pain myself and yet feel so invisible.  How could I feel so alone in such a large room with so many people?

After worship we took communion and I remember planting my head into the palms of my hands and crying.  This time not silently, but audibly.  Yes, it was a kind of grief that’s only socially acceptable in a funeral, not during communion and not during church service.  The kind of cry that happens when you are so broken with no relief in sight and all you can do is collapse into your own pain.  I literally said out loud in between sobs, “𝓘’𝓶 𝓼𝓸 𝓼𝓪𝓭.  𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓰𝓸 𝓸𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸.”  I remember not caring that the two girls sitting in the pew in front of me could hear me crying as I leaned forward, speaking to God but being so close to their backs that I was practically whispering it in their ears. 

Communion was finishing and a woman saw me emptying my pain out alone in the pew.  She knew what I was going through and was very familiar with grief, abandonment, depression and rejection, so when she saw me from a distance, she pushed through the crowds of people to get to me.  Without breaking my private moment with God, she sat on my left side and put her arm around me.  “𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓸𝓴𝓪𝔂, 𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓪, 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓸𝓴𝓪𝔂 .”  As if the flood gates from my heart had not broken out already and my cries were not painfully loud enough, they broke at that moment.   Tears streamed from both sides of my face as I cried unashamedly. 

It’s sad that we tell others who are hurting to come to church because God will heal them but when we ourselves are in pain that there’s a unspoken culture of the church that will award you with a badge of honor if you keep it so private that it looks like you’re not going through anything.  That day, I wanted no awards from empty people and didn’t care if my bleeding heart was messing up the church carpet, I only wanted healing.  That was the roughest season of my life but through it God revealed the root of my pain, which had nothing to do with the immediate circumstances that I was going through.    

That day God reminded me that some days you do feel like the drum and that you are getting beaten at every turn, but it won’t be like that every day.  Some days you will feel like the music.  That one day I would hear the drums beating again and it wouldn’t feel like painful sticks hitting against my broken and aching heart but like music to my ears.  My heart would rejoice again. 

𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙢.  I’m thankful that I allowed God to walk with me through that season but more thankful for the people He put in my life to help me heal from it.  Imagine what the music in our lives would look like if we didn’t have the drums to keep the right tempo and straighten out the wrongs that could take us off the path, He has for us?  He’s created us for the music but will also use the beats of the drum to draw us to Him.

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮?  𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘?  𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙝𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙃𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙?