God must really love me.
There's a pretty common saying that people say sometimes, especially people of the secular world.
"God must really hate me."
Said whenever Murphy's Law strikes, or when everything just seems to go wrong, one after the other. When life is generally being sucky, and it really feels like there's some greater force out there pressing all these burdens onto you.
I had one of those moments a while back, in June, right before my final piano exam.
I have very little talent. Everything I do, anything I can possibly achieve is done through heaps of hard work and practise. Piano is one of those things where in order to play as well as other people, I must put in twice their amount of effort and time. And even then, my achievement falls so short of theirs.
So last year and the last six months I had been practising with all that I had for this one last piano exam. If I don't have the talent, then I'll make up for it. If I don't have the skill, then I'll earn it. I put so much time and effort and hard work into getting this far, for the last nine and a half years. I didn't want to lose it for anything.
But the week before my piano exam, I cut my hand open. In a really stupid way. Cutting open the palm of your hand, especially along the muscles between fingers is really hard to heal. Practising hurt but I did it anyway, because a little pain meant nothing compared to what I had put into playing piano.
The day before my exam, I got really sick. It was stupid because I never usually get sick. I'm always healthy, but I have a tendency to get sick only from stress. My whole family got sick the week before, so it was inevitable I guess. But I had been doing my best, probably pushing my body too far when I think about it- my mentality was to just hold on. That I'm not allowed to get sick until after the exam is over.
There was a point the night before where even though common sense told me to sleep and try to recover, where I sat and played anyway. I didn't even notice at first, but eventually had to keep getting up to grab tissues because tears kept running down my face.
And at that point, there was that feeling of absolute and utter hopelessness- of being completely unable to do anything.
The "God must really hate me." moment.
So I kept thinking to myself, over and over again:
God must really love me.
There was this point right before that I texted two of my closest friends. Really simple. Please pray for me. And I didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want anyone to call, to have to say anything, all I really needed was someone to reply. To text back an ok. or a sure thing.
Nobody replied for three hours.
Thinking back on it now, I often abandon my own phone and don't get back to messages for up to a day. Thinking back on everything, all the things that bother me and worry me, it all becomes so trivial and silly.
Because all those years of hard work and practise, I didn't want to lose it all, to not be able to play my very best the next day. And it was like a little battle in my head. Like, I really didn't need this. I didn't need this sickness at all, that cut? Big deal, I can deal with that! But why did I have to get so sick right now? Why was everything such an effort, such a pain, why did it hurt so much?
Crap, I'm such a whiner.
This went on for a bit while I was playing. And then eventually I let go.
God must really love me.
God must really, really love me.
It's all so stupid and ridiculous once it's all over. Once that silly exam, nine and a half years of work to that final barely 30 minute exam- and it all means nothing. What? So I got sick? Big deal, people get sick all the time! What have I got to complain about?
Why wasn't I capable of acknowledging that I had done everything I could, to be satisfied that I would have tried my best, regardless of whether I was dying or not?
And this final sense of peace, of just letting it all go, to give it all to God came in. And even though I felt like I was dying, it was all okay. Because God was there, and He already knew.
God must really love me.
You know, it just all didn't matter, really. Even though I was still sick the next day, the fact that I was well enough to walk over and play the piano was enough.
I'm a really petty person. Really. I can find reasons to complain about everything, I can find faults wherever, I can feel like I'm being treated unfairly. I make mistakes all the time, I think everything's about me, when it's so obviously not. I forget people, I hurt people unknowingly, I say stupid things, and I'm not capable of anything without God.
But yet He still loves me.
I have to remember that, all the time. Because the peace that God's love gives me surpasses anything that could make me feel bad about myself, because it has the power to heal any illness, to clear my mind and set me straight about what's most important.
And to know that, to accept that, to believe that, to have that peace holds onto you through everything that might happen. To forget about the petty things, and remember why you are playing the piano in the first place. To be able to let go, and trust in Him fully. That gives greater joy than anything I could accomplish myself.
Just so you know, I passed my exam.
God must really love me.
"God must really hate me."
Said whenever Murphy's Law strikes, or when everything just seems to go wrong, one after the other. When life is generally being sucky, and it really feels like there's some greater force out there pressing all these burdens onto you.
I had one of those moments a while back, in June, right before my final piano exam.
I have very little talent. Everything I do, anything I can possibly achieve is done through heaps of hard work and practise. Piano is one of those things where in order to play as well as other people, I must put in twice their amount of effort and time. And even then, my achievement falls so short of theirs.
So last year and the last six months I had been practising with all that I had for this one last piano exam. If I don't have the talent, then I'll make up for it. If I don't have the skill, then I'll earn it. I put so much time and effort and hard work into getting this far, for the last nine and a half years. I didn't want to lose it for anything.
But the week before my piano exam, I cut my hand open. In a really stupid way. Cutting open the palm of your hand, especially along the muscles between fingers is really hard to heal. Practising hurt but I did it anyway, because a little pain meant nothing compared to what I had put into playing piano.
The day before my exam, I got really sick. It was stupid because I never usually get sick. I'm always healthy, but I have a tendency to get sick only from stress. My whole family got sick the week before, so it was inevitable I guess. But I had been doing my best, probably pushing my body too far when I think about it- my mentality was to just hold on. That I'm not allowed to get sick until after the exam is over.
There was a point the night before where even though common sense told me to sleep and try to recover, where I sat and played anyway. I didn't even notice at first, but eventually had to keep getting up to grab tissues because tears kept running down my face.
And at that point, there was that feeling of absolute and utter hopelessness- of being completely unable to do anything.
The "God must really hate me." moment.
So I kept thinking to myself, over and over again:
God must really love me.
There was this point right before that I texted two of my closest friends. Really simple. Please pray for me. And I didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want anyone to call, to have to say anything, all I really needed was someone to reply. To text back an ok. or a sure thing.
Nobody replied for three hours.
Thinking back on it now, I often abandon my own phone and don't get back to messages for up to a day. Thinking back on everything, all the things that bother me and worry me, it all becomes so trivial and silly.
Because all those years of hard work and practise, I didn't want to lose it all, to not be able to play my very best the next day. And it was like a little battle in my head. Like, I really didn't need this. I didn't need this sickness at all, that cut? Big deal, I can deal with that! But why did I have to get so sick right now? Why was everything such an effort, such a pain, why did it hurt so much?
Crap, I'm such a whiner.
This went on for a bit while I was playing. And then eventually I let go.
God must really love me.
God must really, really love me.
It's all so stupid and ridiculous once it's all over. Once that silly exam, nine and a half years of work to that final barely 30 minute exam- and it all means nothing. What? So I got sick? Big deal, people get sick all the time! What have I got to complain about?
Why wasn't I capable of acknowledging that I had done everything I could, to be satisfied that I would have tried my best, regardless of whether I was dying or not?
And this final sense of peace, of just letting it all go, to give it all to God came in. And even though I felt like I was dying, it was all okay. Because God was there, and He already knew.
God must really love me.
You know, it just all didn't matter, really. Even though I was still sick the next day, the fact that I was well enough to walk over and play the piano was enough.
I'm a really petty person. Really. I can find reasons to complain about everything, I can find faults wherever, I can feel like I'm being treated unfairly. I make mistakes all the time, I think everything's about me, when it's so obviously not. I forget people, I hurt people unknowingly, I say stupid things, and I'm not capable of anything without God.
But yet He still loves me.
I have to remember that, all the time. Because the peace that God's love gives me surpasses anything that could make me feel bad about myself, because it has the power to heal any illness, to clear my mind and set me straight about what's most important.
And to know that, to accept that, to believe that, to have that peace holds onto you through everything that might happen. To forget about the petty things, and remember why you are playing the piano in the first place. To be able to let go, and trust in Him fully. That gives greater joy than anything I could accomplish myself.
Just so you know, I passed my exam.
God must really love me.
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