by Brent M. Jones
Starting at about four, my mother would have me kneel at my bedside and say my prayers. The importance of that part of my life story has changed over the years, and I see it differently. I value this experience, and I am grateful for it.
The early assumption that God was listening and that taking problems to him would be helpful has been a comfort, even without confirmation of having been heard at times. This sentiment is summed up well in a quote by C. S. Lewis: “Life with God is not immunity from difficulties, but peace in difficulties.”
Others have shared how they were taught similar lessons at a very young age by saying a prayer many are familiar with: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I have thought about this often: If a person dies and his soul is taken, what is the soul, and what exactly is taken?
If the soul is eternal and lives on when the body dies, it must be made of different materials. If that substance is spiritual, then where does it reside within our living bodies? Is it separate or part of our living flesh?
Some have referred to the soul as the seat or location of our character and emotions. It is sometimes explained as the spirit within a person and the person’s mental abilities, personality, feelings, memories, perception, thinking, and even skills. Wherever our soul goes, if our particular skills are needed, perhaps our work ethic learned in obtaining those skills is part of the package.
Whatever it is that will go with me, if I die before I wake, I want to understand as much about everything as possible and make sure my knowledge is worth taking along.
Louis Armstrong once said, “Musicians don’t retire; they stop when there’s no more music in them,” and “What we play is life.” What, then, is that music if you are not a musician? How did that music, or that passion, get to be inside us?
Armstrong is saying that music is a part of his work ethic and life and is needed to exist. This leaves the question of what our music might be and how we keep from losing it. I conclude that my “music - passion” and what makes me feel alive are family, reading, writing, and service, but these items have evolved g and changed as I look back over my life story.
Music can be a connection between our physical selves and our very souls. We feel the music. It reflects our hearts. Music with scriptures are hymns, and we worship through hymns. The feelings of our hearts are conveyed in prayer with music.
Our bodies and faces reflect the images of happiness and sadness. Music and singing open up those feelings. Sometimes we sing for what we long for, using music to help us get by without the necessary things.
What do we long for? What do we have a passion for? Love and kindness are passions that can focus on us and drive our actions. We lose ourselves in those feelings; for some, opportunities for service to others reflect their hearts. When applicable passions fill our minds, we have a little place to worry about ourselves.
For us, what we play, rather than music, can be whatever we love. It can be anything we choose, but we need to feel passionate about it. If you’re lucky enough to love knowledge, learning, or service, then you are indeed blessed. That, like the music for Louis, never stops being an option.
