A story from Can You Stand to Be Blessed? by the pastor T.D. Jakes:
“I am told that Mozart, one of the great composers of all time, sat late at night writing what was to be a masterpiece of symphonic excellence. Hours passed in the cozy quaint parlor where he worked, feverishly bent over the piano and then his notebook, writing and arranging with the compassion of a mother hovering over a dearly beloved child. Finally, as the sands of time poured silently through the glass and the heaviness of the day came crashing down upon his eyelids, he decided to stop and go to bed. Stumbling upstairs to his room, he changed with all the agility of a sluggish child who merely wants to go immediately to bed.
“Strangely, once he was in bed, he found sleep evasive and he tossed and turned into the night. The work continued churning around in the chambers of his mind. You see, he had ended the symphony with an augmented chord. An augmented chord gives the feeling of waiting on something else to be heard. It is the feeling of being suspended over a cliff.
“Finally, when the composer could stand it no longer, he rose, tossed his wool plaid robe across his willowy shoulders, and stumbled down the steps. He went through all that to write one note. Yet how important that note was. It gave a sense of ending to the piece, and so was worth getting out of bed to write. People can never rest while living in a suspended mode. This composer then placed the quill back on his desk, blew out the lantern once more, and triumphantly retraced his way up the stairs and back to bed.”
I chanced upon Can You Stand to Be blessed? in a used bookstore—what a gift! Once in a while, I read a random page for a shot of inspiration. When I came upon this Mozart story, I knew I wanted to share it.
There are so many things to love; The image of Mozart composing with the “compassion of a mother hovering over a dearly beloved child”—what a splendid way to describe artistic creation! Then there is the theme of the story itself—that Mozart couldn’t rest until he completed his work of art—until he “gave a sense of ending to the piece.” Making his work better and stronger was worth getting out of bed for.
And so it is with us, I believe. Like Mozart, when we create something we feel that matters, it is worth all the effort we put into it. It is worth working on until we feel it is complete. And when we go the extra mile, even when we are tired, we feel that we’ve done our work well. Like Mozart, we experience a sense of completion. And how fulfilling it is to rest, pillowed peacefully by a feeling of satisfaction. Write on!
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