There’s a percussionist at our church. Chimes, shakers, cymbals, and congas all designed to accent the what the drummer is doing.
He puts his whole being into it. He has a flare for the dramatic. There may be half the song when he doesn’t play at all, but the whole time he’s preparing. He’s pulling his mallets out, adjusting his mic, getting ready for the big moment of crashing a cymbal, or shaking a tambourine.
When his big moment comes, you’d think he was playing for the Pope. Grandiose gestures, raising his hands, flinging his long hair from side to side. This is what he was made for.
Ironic. Most of the time you can’t even hear him.
The band is big and loud. Something tells me they’d be fine without him. But something else says they need this guy.
His enthusiasm is contagious. His expertise is obvious. Every move is strategically planned. He executes with precision. I love that he loves what he does. And on those rare occasions when the music comes down, you can hear his triangle.
Perfection.
Maybe nobody can hear you in the crowd. But whatever you do, play to an audience of one. Do it in the name of Jesus, and do it well. Show up every day. Be faithful.
Because in that moment when the noise subsides, we want to be able to hear your triangle, and see your light come shining through.