Harrowed Up by Rejection

As I drove home yesterday morning, with tears streaming down my face, my mind raced with thoughts that I believed were true. Honestly, I still wonder if they are, but I cling desperately to hope that they aren't.

"Why do I keep trying? I always fail!"

"I can't sing! Anyone who has told me otherwise has been sparing my feelings all these years."

"I'm sick of trying, and I don't want to do it anymore..."

"I think it would be best if I never sang again. It doesn't bring me joy anyway-- only pain."

For the past month I have been helping out a friend of mine who is the music director at a local church. Since their congregations can't meet in person, they have been streaming live services on Sunday, and I have been one of their singers, along with my friend Laura. Yesterday's duet was especially embarrassing when I began to sing and my voice cracked to where, for a few seconds, I wasn't even singing the right notes. It didn't take too long for me to recover, and we finished the piece. 

But I couldn't get that mistake out of my mind. I held on to it, allowing it to fester. I replayed the moment over and over in my mind until, finally, I could get into the car and review the moment from the video on YouTube, confirming just how bad it was. That's when the tears came and the negative, or what I perceived as honest, thoughts consumed me. 

Many of you know that, coming into college, I had wanted to teach music professionally. Music had become a passion of mine from the first moment I touched a piano at eleven years old. It brought me so much joy, so much comfort. I would often set aside homework so that I could sit at the piano and play and sing. As opportunities came in middle and high school to participate in competitive show choir, my passion blossomed, and I knew my course in this life would be focused on music. 

I arrived at Brigham Young University as a freshman, having worked with my choir teacher through the summer to learn a couple art songs for my audition for the School of Music. I worked hard and came in confident that my dream would be realized. After all, I had been encouraged in this dream all throughout high school, even receiving the Outstanding Musician Award my senior year. 

I took the theory test, passing with quite a good score, and then went to my vocal audition. 

I could hear the other singers. They sounded like they had much more than a summer's worth of vocal training. And then I found out that most of the auditions had taken place earlier in the year, which I hadn't known about. Students from out of the state had submitted videos of themselves singing. Also something I didn't know could be done.

I suddenly felt discouraged, inadequate. I felt small and immature and foolish. Somehow, I mustered up the courage to walk into that room and audition. 

Word came within the month that I had been rejected. I was devastated, but I had signed up for a voice class on campus, and my teacher was confident we could prepare for auditions the next semester. 

So we did. Come January I auditioned again. I also interviewed with the head of the music education department, which didn't go well. He asked me to stand up and pretend I was approaching a music class for the first time. So I did, expressing to "the class" how excited I was to be there with them. He turned to me and said, "What would you do when they make fun of you for what you just said?" I didn't know. I walked out of there wanting to bury my head in the sand.

Once again, I was rejected.

During the summer before my sophomore year, I found a vocal coach back home to help me, because I was determined to not fail again. But I did. For the third time, I received a rejection letter.

And it was then I knew I would never be good enough. So, I did something very unlike me. I gave up.

I retreated. I let them win.

I prayed about a new course of study, and I chose English Teaching, mainly because I was a decent writer, and I also still wanted to be a teacher.

I continued with voice lessons throughout my college years, and even after I graduated. I participated in recitals and master classes, and even a couple vocal competitions. All I wanted was to prove them wrong, to prove that I did have a place there. And I have been trying to prove to myself that I'm good enough for the past two decades. But every time I make a mistake, I feel like I am reliving those auditions all over again. The judgment, the criticism. The rejection. And it's painful. Extremely painful. I can't help but think to myself, "They were right. I will NEVER be good enough." 

Recently, in my scripture study I have been reading about the Book of Mormon prophet Alma, and his experience of conversion. As he thought about his sins, of seeking to destroy the church of God, for three days, his soul was "harrowed up" before he remembered what his father had taught him about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. When he turned to Jesus for forgiveness, then "he could remember (his) pains no more" and "(his) soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was his pain." I have reflected over and over again upon the idea of his soul be harrowed up, plowed up or torn apart. Although, my anguish doesn't come from sin, it comes from rejection. Truly, my soul has been "harrowed up" for over twenty years, those wounds still being deep and painful. Even thought they aren't fresh, they still feel fresh. I have often wondered why-- why it just won't go away.

I talked with Kevin about my experience yesterday, and he reminded me of a baseball game we had watched the night before. It was game between the Nationals and the Yankees, and one of the pitchers lost his grip on the ball as he threw it. The ball went flying up in the air to the right, making the catcher run to catch it. We had laughed a little at the mishap, Drew joking that even the kids on his baseball team hadn't thrown a pitch that bad, but the pitcher didn't seem phased by it. He just continued playing. Kevin reminded me that the pitcher went on to strike out that batter, even after having thrown that wild pitch. 

He watched the video from earlier in the day, and admitted that what happened in the beginning sounded pretty bad, but that he was proud of me for shaking it off and finishing the duet. He said the rest of it was beautiful and inspiring. 

It's true that I bounced back. That is my nature. I've always been stubborn and determined. 

But those wounds... I think my problem is that I have been trying to heal those wounds myself, seeing the ability to "prove myself" as being the magic cure. Even my prayers have been focused on granting that desire. Regardless of what words I may pray, the desire of my heart has been what God really sees. He sees my pain, but he also sees my pride. He longs to bring healing, but only when I can let go of my pride. Only when I let go of that desire to prove anything to anyone will He begin to heal those excruciating wounds. 

And then, like Alma, will I be "harrowed up by the memory" of my rejection no more.

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