Letter from Rebecca Sharaya

Dear Sister,

I’ve always been a bit of a Martha. You know, the one who is running around doing all the things and angry no one else is helping or noticing, who even Jesus had to remind to relax and enjoy her guest? That’s me. As someone who is a perfectionist, I have always struggled to find the balance between doing what is necessary and doing way too much to meet my own perfectionistic standards.

Music has always been a big part of my life, as I grew up in a household where singing and dancing around the living room were a regular occurrence. Music also has been a source of some of my perfectionism I believe, as there is always more you can do to practice, yet unfortunately, the absolute perfect performance is typically just out of reach. We’re human, so it’s nearly impossible to not make a single mistake, and some of the most beautiful musical performances have small errors in them that just serve to make them seem more beautiful, more human, more authentic.

I still have a vivid memory of crying as we pulled out of the school parking lot from my first band concert. I was so upset because I had missed a note when I was playing the bells, and I was worried that everyone would notice and that people would think I wasn’t a good musician. My parents lovingly reassured me, reminding me that no one is perfect, and that overall, it had been a good concert.

This began a long road for me as a musician. I continued to play music after that first concert, playing in band, jazz band, orchestra, marching band, and all the other ensembles I could fit into my time in middle school, high school, and even college. I studied music therapy and psychology, and I continued to learn more about music, and I continued to strive for perfection. I would spend hours in a practice room, agonizing over every stroke of my drumsticks, every fingering on piano, every specific rhythm and strumming pattern for the guitar, hoping beyond hope that I would be able to play well enough to do justice to the composition.

I think sometimes my knowledge of God having a greater plan is like this: feeling that I have to do it perfectly because God, the divine artist, must have written my own life’s symphony to sound a certain way. Even though I don’t necessarily have the sheet music, I feel compelled to play my part perfectly, and this terrifies me a little. And everything around me—whether it means to or not—seems to reinforce this message, as our culture pushes us to compare ourselves to one another, encouraging us to become the perfect wife, friend, or employee.

As a music therapist, I use music to accomplish goals, and I specifically work in hospice, providing support to individuals with a terminal illness. This often looks like a lot of playing patients’ favorite songs on the guitar, singing old hymns, and holding hands and giving hugs as family members say goodbye to their loved ones.

A few months ago, I was visiting with one of my patients, a woman in her 90s who lived in the memory care unit of a skilled nursing facility. I played several of her favorite songs on my guitar and sang with her and engaged her in conversation. Seemingly out of nowhere, she said, “I wish I could be better. I’m just not sure that I’m good enough.” How can a beautiful, sweet, caring woman on hospice be wondering if she is good enough? For the same reason her newlywed, burnt-out, perfectionistic music therapist is. Because it’s hard to believe in our worthiness in a world that is always asking for more. It was an awakening for me to be able to tell this woman that she is good, she is enough, she is good enough.

Still, in her confusion, she didn’t seem to get the message, not responding to my reassurance and repeating her concerns about not being good enough. It makes my heart ache. And I finally know how my husband feels when I am yelling about how I am not good enough in my anxious rage at not being perfect or how my parents felt after that band concert so many years ago. I’m sure it’s how God feels too. Frustrated, saddened, but so willing to say again and again, “you are enough.”

My husband pointed out to me recently that I seem to have overcome my desire for perfection in music. He’s right. I have somehow figured out that music is a way of expressing myself, and that means I will try my best, but I can’t be frustrated with the result if it isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. Though I continued to internally struggle over my mistakes (yes, sometimes even still crying over mistakes at concerts), I eventually began to trust myself. I began to recognize that the world didn’t end if I didn’t play every chord correctly in every song and that the songs I was singing and the chords I was playing were still good. I allowed myself to be okay with the fact that I am not a human jukebox and sometimes my patients will ask me to play songs I have never heard of. I reminded myself that I love to make music and that this is a beautiful gift to be able to share with the world every day. Yes, I still have to spend time practicing and striving to be better, but I have come to recognize that I am good, and I am doing enough.

I’m still working on how to translate this idea I’ve developed with music into the rest of my life. But what gives me the strength and determination to move on from my perfectionism is the word of God in Isaiah 43:4, “Because you are precious in my eyes and glorious, and because I love you.”

I am enough because God loves me. You are enough because God loves you. Though God’s sacrifice for us is more than we can comprehend, he has chosen to love us, imperfections and all. He created me to be a woman who has an eye (and ear!) for detail and who loves to make music. I am grateful for that gift, even if I miss a note every once in a while. Those imperfections, those late entrances, those missed notes…they’re what make us human. And they are what make your symphony different from mine, uniquely beautiful, just like God intended when he composed it.

Love,
Becky