Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my plumbing to keep
And if I'm thirty before I marry
I pray the Lord no longer tarry.



*Title (inspired) by Doug Serven. Buy his book here (!!)

2. You are prescribed steroids, which create feelings of euphoria and super human strength right before you walk on stage.

3. Everyone's, including your own, expectations are lowered.

Music should never be an end. Music is a beautiful means to communicating one's thoughts/feelings/beliefs, connecting cultures, creating opportunities for community growth, proclaiming a message, asking questions, delving deeply into complex issues, and on and on. But when we--musicians or listeners-- make it an end, we are always disappointed. Fingers get blistered, voices get hoarse, backs get sore, symphonies and operas end--these are all things of which to be proud. They are marks of perseverance and hard work. Standing ovations and monetary donations are further marks of artistry and appreciation. These things feel really good to receive... but they end. Quickly. Not only do audiences leave, but postings about unlucky auditions or worse, diagnoses of chronic ailments that postpone or prevent music-making happen more often than we'd like. If I set my soul's worth on music-making, or even the metaphysical concept of music, I will be crushed. Every time.
Yesterday, a friend said, "You shouldn't be concerned about a relationship right now. You're here to study music and should give it your all. It deserves to be your number one priority." While I agree that I should not spend a good deal of time thinking about a romantic relationship (until the Lord wills/ anytime, God, is fine with me!), I fervently disagree that music "deserves" to be my number one priority. I hope that I never put it at the top of my list for time, energy, focus, and sacrifice. As a music student and one who feels a calling to pursue music professionally, I want to always keep practicing and performing in my top 5... but never top 3. May my relationship with God, relationships/service with/to people, and advancing the Kingdom of God always remain high above everything else.

Yet may we do all we do with excellence. Today, the announcer on WCSC 90.1 FM, the classical station in OKC, remarked, "Our great nation deserves great music." I fervently agree. God is so glorified when we make music and immediately give Him the praise He deserves for creating and embodying it. I am reminding myself of these truths by:
Listen to Handel's Messiah on NPR

Pray for me as a approach the less-than-a-month countdown to my senior voice recital. It's hard to keep things in perspective when you're spending several hours a day practicing for the benefit of making oneself perform awesomely for almost an hour in front of friends, professors, and family. Eeeeeeek.

Last semester I had the revelation that great singing does not come easily. Until my December jury, I assumed that success was bestowed upon a select group of talented individuals of which I was, of course, the queen. After a Christmas break’s worth of humble reflection, I firmly decided to change my attitude and get my hands dirty, so to speak. Now that it is May and I am metaphorically wiping off my hands and nursing the calluses, I wonder if my work has made as much of an impact on my voice as it has on my heart. Regardless, I’m starting to understand what happens after a revelation.

My life is clearly mapped with skyrocketing peaks and abysmal valleys. I’ve had many “camp highs” and am well acquainted with the feelings of ecstasy during and immediately following a positive revelation. I am also familiar with the looming depression that comes when I realize that my realization was too lofty or unattainable. It is exhausting. Because singing is something that has become quite important to both my present happiness and future endeavors, I decided to fight my emotional tendencies after receiving my embarrassing jury grade. For the record, I believe my low marks were well deserved, and I am grateful for the wake-up call that I desperately needed. The theme of my semester, therefore, became consistency.

Consistency is tricky. It is easy for me to rally strong emotions for a short period, or muscle through a tough time when I know it will end soon. Daily, self-disciplined consistency, however, has been almost completely foreign to me. In high school, my parents strongly encouraged me to daily spend time alone in quiet reflection, prayer, and study of the Bible. I did this faithfully, but when I arrived at college the habit faded. This lack of constancy affected many other areas of my life, I think. I have since then had a hard time going to all my classes, returning phone calls, maintaining relationships, and sustaining any real growth. My voice has not been exempt to this pattern. Combined with my pattern of inconsistency, the realization that I was (am) in need of constant hard work seemed overwhelming.

But what could I do? Not delve into depression, because that would be giving into exactly what I loathed. Though I did often struggle with the temptation to despair, I purposed not to. It was one of the hardest semesters yet, but oh, how I have grown. Looking back, I am amused at how complicatedly simple are the answers to life’s befuddlements.

Strauss’s Wasserrose has really been the key piece to teach me the beginnings of consistency and hard work. The “melody” is complex and non-repetitive. The accompaniment, while creating an exquisite underbelly of picturesque harmony, is completely unhelpful to the singer. Each line of text stretches for miles, and I found it difficult to keep the line moving over several pages. The German poetry, while lovely, is wordy; many phrases contain several alliterations. It took Justin and I hours of rehearsal to learn the notes, and many more to synchronize our parts. I was strengthened by his encouragement and labor, and owe most of the piece’s success to him. Though I have much more work to pour into it, I now love to sing Wasserrose. It is impossible to perform without powerhouse breath support, feather light jaw action, and a constant “ping” from the core.

My other songs, though I mostly enjoyed them, did not reveal to me anything outstanding. And really, I think that that is the foundation of true consistency. Day-to-day toil, labor, and faithfulness are not dazzling or revolutionary; rather, they quietly build up the spirit, soul, and body so that they are ready at any time for a performance. Perhaps the mark of an excellent musician is hidden in his or her work ethic. Talent and technique are obviously important, but are irrelevant if not honed by faithful discipline. I hope that my voice reflects the growth that my heart has undergone. I am here to study voice, after all. I am excited about next year’s opportunities: opera, auditions, coaching, recital, etc. I am also glad that this school year is over! Bring on the Louvre, the wine, and the sunshine!

College is really hard, and it's a big deal to graduate with a degree. Not a master's, not a ph.d. A bachelor's degree. 4-5-6 years of 60 hour work weeks, constant self-evaluation, and swallowed pride.
I'm not sure how other colleges operate; I've heard a lot of rumors about hand-out degrees and "easy A's." Regardless of the means by which another student gains his or her degree, I will one day be able to say with honesty that I freaking earned this freaking degree by freaking working my freaking butt off. Freaking.
I don't work hard every day-- I believe in resting. I believe that it's good to have productive, focused, meaningful rest. I know that when I make myself write down everything in my mind before I go to bed, and that list exceeds 2 dozen items, it's time for rest. Today, I chose to skip my voice studio (which meets for 2 hours on Sunday afternoons) in order to rest, since it was to be followed by 5.5 hours of opera rehearsal. Later, I received a nasty, passive-aggressive email from my instructor who was, I quote, "rather annoyed" that I didn't show up, and do I need a personal reminder every time we have studio. Granted, I told him at the beginning of the semester that I want to be pushed towards excellence... so in a way I brought this criticism on myself. The point is, in this degree program there is no room for error. I could share stories for an hour about instances where singers missed one note and were screamed at by conductors in front of 50 other musicians. It's excellence, and it stings.
I'm thankful for my non-music-major roommates who remind me that their departments are similar in pace and vigor. We agree that this level of performance is good, but we hate when older adults smack us with half-sympathetic smiles and winkey eyes and assure us that "at least real life hasn't started yet."
No, maybe "real life" hasn't started yet, but in my opinion, college is much more stressful.
We rush around in who knows what kind of weather (the past week has housed a 60 degree temperature range), participate in 7 different classes (i.e. learn 7 x 48 lectures per semester's worth of information), slave away at low-paying jobs, bend over backwards to please 7 different professors, beg strangers for tuition money, and oh, I don't know, live in poverty and eat tortillas and mustard 5 times a week.
I do it because I can see the benefit of my labors. An undergraduate degree will open many proverbial doors. However, at 55% completion status, I'm merely having a difficult time seeing the end of the track. I've always known that this would be hard, so don't tell me that it isn't.

Tonight I went to Homeland in search of the bare necessities (toilet paper and chocolate). I was kind of cranky-- 10 hour days at Catlett are becoming more of a regularity than an exception. Everyone is tired, I know.
Anyway, as I turned into the aisle to pay, a little boy with a toy gun stood in front of me. Immediately, his eyes lit up and he began shooting me while clicking his tongue. I opened my eyes wide, as if shocked that anyone would commit such a travesty! A giggle emerged between clicks and bangs, but he kept at it. When I clutched my chest and pretended to keel over in pain, he burst into gleeful laughter and ran into his mother's waist.
It was exactly what I needed. Thank you, Lord.

I've been thinking a lot about culture lately. My roommates and I have had several discussions that have attempted to explore every facet of "culture," such as what it means, what ours is, and how it relates to others.
The topic was initially raised when Lindsey returned home from poetry class in a tizzy. The aforementioned class explores racial poetry. Each week, students write poetry based on his or her culture. Aside from the professor's extremely anti-white American racist views, her assignments have provided us with thought-provoking conversation.
"What is my culture?" Lindsey asked.
She asks a valid question. As a white American, I feel confused about the details of my culture. After all, my family's heritage looks a lot like the stew we made last week (English potatoes, German meat, Native American carrots, and a dash of Viking salt). I have had experienced no meaningful experiences, nor has my neighborhood been re-located or oppressed. I am a part of a religious group whose characteristics have been muddied and post-modernized until it seems a lot like every other bumper sticker statement.

This week, I am supposed to write a 2 page paper for my African music class that discusses my culture. Somehow, I am to choose a song with lyrics that accurately reflect Me and My People. The assignment sounds simple, but I am at a complete loss. Aside from the daunting task of choosing a song that embodies "my culture" (hang on while I browse through the thousands of songs on iTunes), I have to actually pinpoint what my culture is.
???

My African music class is currently studying West African dance. Today we watched several videos of various tribal dances; each displayed a type of mimetic* dance. Religious, educational, social, formal, informative, historical... these virtuosic performances of polyrhythmic beat and complicated body motions are both beautiful and practical. The performers today dance dances that have been danced for centuries. Each member of society knows how to dance and play all of their tribe's musical activities. [sidenote: in the Dan tribe, a man's intelligence is based off of his ability to dance and keep rhythm. I think this is BRILLIANT.] Their culture is rich, full, and beautiful.
My "culture" just introduced a new dance into society: "the Creep." My friends and I think it's hilarious and fun to dance to. In light of today's lecture, I almost feel ashamed. While cultures in Africa celebrate their history and society as a community through dance and song, my community wiggles around for 2 1/2 minutes to this. Oh, and don't forget the Cupid Shuffle.

I don't hate America; rather, I love living here and am extraordinarily privileged to be a citizen of this country. I'm just confused. I don't know how to write my paper, but more importantly I don't know about my culture. Do any white-middle class-female Americans have a clue?

*Mimetic: imitation or reflection of a specific idea. In this context, it refers to a dance that symbolizes a specific aspect of cultural life.