When Jonathan and I were at the King's College Choir performance I couldn't help but marvel at the purity of the cathedral boy's voices. There was a moment they were pin-drop quiet, and still rich with melody. It reminded me of when I sang in the A Cappella choir at Concordia. It was always the silent high pieces that were the most difficult. Somehow we had to find a way to reach the notes without straining, because in a silent piece, straining was heard by everyone.
The only way we reached those notes was with confidence. Without it, our voices would scratch their way to the top and our hesitancy would stain the purity of the song. It was the same situation when I played french horn. I had moments in a concert when I knew I wasn't going to hit the note, and I told myself over and over that I would fail so that when the time came, I didn't even try to hit the note. I stopped just shy and hoped that my dad (the director) wouldn't hear my mistake and that the other instruments would cover it up. It was the same when I played sports. My parents always told me that while I had natural talent, I lacked confidence. As a result I lacked the competitive nature that has gotten my brother Andrew so far this year in his senior b-ball season. Part of me grieves for what I could have done athletically if I had confidence, and part of me realizes that I did what I could and it wasn't something I wanted badly enough. But what about those things remaining in my life that I desperately want to succeed at? What about my writing career? What about my music that I have tossed to the side in recent years?
When I'm alone and night has covered the room in darkness, that's when my desires and doubts come out the strongest. That's when I feel the most ambitious and the most helpless. The only thing I can do at that point is pray for confidence--pray for strength. Because when daylight comes, it's time to act.