I’ve always enjoyed music. It has been a constant companion since I was a little guy at the piano with my sister Martha, and probably even before I can remember. But I can remember the first time I recognized the therapeutic effect of music in my life.
It was the end of a long week and a long Friday. I was in a bad mood for what ever reason, and I wasn’t in any mood to go to church and practice with the worship band. I arrived and I was in a foul mood. I can remember the feeling. I didn’t feel like being around any one, I suspect it showed.
We set up the equipment and I picked up my guitar. We began to play. I was in such bad sorts that I didn’t even want to stand and face the group. I can recall laying on my back on stage and going through the motions of playing some of the songs.
But, about fifteen minutes in to the music, I remember being flooded with a sense of well being.
It might have been God responding to my begrudging worship. It might have been God responding through the mechanism of music creation. But I felt as though the act of making music had some how transported me from a cranky unpleasant mindset to a peaceful place. I found the rest I needed at the end of what ever had gone on that week and that day.
Now, it isn’t always so dramatic, but I recognize the need to pick up an instrument and float on the waves of peace that are created by making music. I am drawn to anything I can make music with. It can be hypnotic. I can lose sense of time.
It doesn’t have to be great music. It can even happen when I’m just making a rhythm with a percussion instrument, or practicing on a new instrument I’m trying to learn. As long as I can create something which is musical, I can find that place.
Music is therapy for me.
