Listening to the Rhythm

In May of 2009, I attended a concert in which a West African drumming ensemble was playing. It spoke to a part of my soul I hadn't heard from before. I wanted to get up and dance. But I sat on my hands and kept from making a spectacle of myself.

I was born in West Africa, the youngest child of missionary parents. But my family returned to the States when I was less than two years old. My mother was born in West Africa to missionary parents. When my mother died in 2006, we did not have organ music at her memorial service. My sister found a drummer who played West African solo pieces.

The music I heard at the concert was so different from what I heard at my mother's memorial service. The concert was loud and it was rhythmic. When the concert was over I rushed home to tell my husband that I wanted to learn to play the djembe, a wooden hand drum shaped like a goblet. I thought my husband would tease me or tell me to sleep on it. He said, "I think you should take lessons."

So now I take lessons every week. For my birthday, my husband bought me a beautiful djembe from Mali. I rarely sound like the music I heard in May of 2009. My Germanic blood outweighs the early years of my life spent in West Africa. My drumming instructor is an encourager but certain rhythms seem so alien to me that I can't seem to duplicate them. Other times the music we make, as several drums play together, is so right and so fun and so unlike the other music of my life.

I am learning to let go and listen. At first I tried to count out each bass, each slap and each tone so that I could perfectly duplicate the teacher's sound. Now I am trying to listen and to feel the music. I am trying to hear the music without worrying about getting everything just exactly right.

It is the challenge of my life....letting go of the search for perfection and instead find the rhythm, the harmony and the balance that gives joy to life.