He was four years old. Dressed in a miniature tuxedo and carrying his baby violin, the audience cooed collectively as he walked onto the stage. His chubby face sombre with concentration, he began to play.
“Twinkle, twinkle little star.” It was just a simple tune. Perhaps it was the first the child had ever learnt; the notes were scratchy, drawn out, and missed here and there. “Twiiiiiiiinkle, twiiiiinkle….starrrrr.” Compared to the other children in the concert program, this little boy was a beginner of beginners, but he was utterly unconcerned about how his piece compared to the more complicated melodies that came before him. He played on.
It was a masterpiece. The audience went wild! The applause was thunderous. Cheers and wolf whistles rang out across the room as he took his triumphant final bow. I clapped as enthusiastically as the rest of the crowd as the boy trotted off stage, cradling his instrument.
Looking at my own life, sometimes it feels like my attempts to please God are like the four-year-old’s “Twinkle, twinkle little star” to another child’s Beethoven. Simple, scratchy, and sometimes out of rhythm. But God loves it. He goes wild for the smallest thing I do because I love him. Instead of being worried about my "melody" and my ability being compared to someone else, I should just continue to play. Knowing that God thinks it’s beautiful.
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