swub
Nov 28, 2009
Undergraduate / UC Prompt 2 "My left hand lay cramped as a deformed claw" Cons. Criticism wanted [5]
The prompt is:
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are? *
Please help! My conclusion doesn't seem to wrap up in the way I want it to.
My left hand lay cramped as a deformed claw, as if my fingers had a case of chronic arthritis. After a grueling workout of sliding my hand along the rough bronze metal, the tips of my abused phalanges calloused in protest. Yet, I still pressed on, ignoring the screaming pain of my joints and the fear in my mind, in order to satisfy the hunger in my gut that I was really meant to do this. "This" was the performance that occurred at Peniel Presbyterian Church every Friday night and every Sunday-without fail.
It started with the resignation of the praise leader. Being a pastor's kid, I considered it my responsibility to fill any small vacant position in order to keep the church running smoothly. Even if I had no experience in that position, whatsoever. This reckless thought enticed me into being appointed praise leader of my church youth group. It was the most foolish decision that I have ever made and, yet, the most gratifying. My irrational decision would transform from a small obligation into me posing in front of the whole congregation with guitar in hand, leading the people in singing "Amazing Grace."
The praise leader's dominant voice acts as a guide for the lost voices that wander around the room and fuses them into melodious vocals. However, singing is not the iconic symbol of being a "praise leader"; it is the guitar on which he strums. Our youth group had had a leader with these qualities, until he left. We had to resort to singing praises in a capella. Without a lead vocal, our praises sounded like a chorus of tone-deaf birds. Cringing at the sound, I knew I needed to do something. Praise always requires a passionate leader.
There were plenty of problems with my solution: I had never fingered a guitar before and the thought of performing in front of an audience petrified me. Nevertheless, I was unfazed. Determined to conquer my fears, I attempted to learn the basics of guitar in a month's time. Transitioning between fingerings proved to be an obstacle for me at first; my fingers were unable to wrap around the neck of the guitar efficiently. My confidence faltered. Doubt crept into my mind. Was I cut out for this? It was not long before I realized that this impossible task might be, in fact, impossible. During the chaos we call junior year, I was also juggling responsibilities like community service and AP classes. Cramming my brain with chord positions and strumming patterns seemed to be the least significant on my list of "to do's."
Whenever I exhausted my supply of motivation, I would convince myself that this was my responsibility. By mastering the guitar, I would cultivate my confidence and overcome my glossophobia while demonstrating leadership all at once. I started small at first, plucking strings along with the melody. Then I strummed the chords, transitioning at a hurried pace. During this process, I soon realized that I continued to pursue this goal not because I was obligated to do so, but because my love for playing the guitar was genuine.
Finally, the long awaited moment came. On a Friday night service, it was my first time leading praise. Beads of sweat surfaced upon my brow as I inched my way to the podium. "Dear Heavenly Father," I prayed. "Please give me strength." And before I knew it, the praise was over and I was sitting in the pews. It felt natural to stand there, professing my love for God in song. I had actually forgotten to feel fear.
Yes, I still make mistakes. Yes, I embarrass myself when my voice fluctuates and cracks. But now, I shove my cowering thoughts into the corner and persuade myself that it is not the end. As I settle on the edge of my bed with my guitar resting on my knee, I sometimes still wonder whether the blood and tears I invested into the guitar were worth it. Then, as I see my battle scars-calloused fingertips and a hunched back-I know that I am walking away from this experience with fulfillment.
The prompt is:
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are? *
Please help! My conclusion doesn't seem to wrap up in the way I want it to.
My left hand lay cramped as a deformed claw, as if my fingers had a case of chronic arthritis. After a grueling workout of sliding my hand along the rough bronze metal, the tips of my abused phalanges calloused in protest. Yet, I still pressed on, ignoring the screaming pain of my joints and the fear in my mind, in order to satisfy the hunger in my gut that I was really meant to do this. "This" was the performance that occurred at Peniel Presbyterian Church every Friday night and every Sunday-without fail.
It started with the resignation of the praise leader. Being a pastor's kid, I considered it my responsibility to fill any small vacant position in order to keep the church running smoothly. Even if I had no experience in that position, whatsoever. This reckless thought enticed me into being appointed praise leader of my church youth group. It was the most foolish decision that I have ever made and, yet, the most gratifying. My irrational decision would transform from a small obligation into me posing in front of the whole congregation with guitar in hand, leading the people in singing "Amazing Grace."
The praise leader's dominant voice acts as a guide for the lost voices that wander around the room and fuses them into melodious vocals. However, singing is not the iconic symbol of being a "praise leader"; it is the guitar on which he strums. Our youth group had had a leader with these qualities, until he left. We had to resort to singing praises in a capella. Without a lead vocal, our praises sounded like a chorus of tone-deaf birds. Cringing at the sound, I knew I needed to do something. Praise always requires a passionate leader.
There were plenty of problems with my solution: I had never fingered a guitar before and the thought of performing in front of an audience petrified me. Nevertheless, I was unfazed. Determined to conquer my fears, I attempted to learn the basics of guitar in a month's time. Transitioning between fingerings proved to be an obstacle for me at first; my fingers were unable to wrap around the neck of the guitar efficiently. My confidence faltered. Doubt crept into my mind. Was I cut out for this? It was not long before I realized that this impossible task might be, in fact, impossible. During the chaos we call junior year, I was also juggling responsibilities like community service and AP classes. Cramming my brain with chord positions and strumming patterns seemed to be the least significant on my list of "to do's."
Whenever I exhausted my supply of motivation, I would convince myself that this was my responsibility. By mastering the guitar, I would cultivate my confidence and overcome my glossophobia while demonstrating leadership all at once. I started small at first, plucking strings along with the melody. Then I strummed the chords, transitioning at a hurried pace. During this process, I soon realized that I continued to pursue this goal not because I was obligated to do so, but because my love for playing the guitar was genuine.
Finally, the long awaited moment came. On a Friday night service, it was my first time leading praise. Beads of sweat surfaced upon my brow as I inched my way to the podium. "Dear Heavenly Father," I prayed. "Please give me strength." And before I knew it, the praise was over and I was sitting in the pews. It felt natural to stand there, professing my love for God in song. I had actually forgotten to feel fear.
Yes, I still make mistakes. Yes, I embarrass myself when my voice fluctuates and cracks. But now, I shove my cowering thoughts into the corner and persuade myself that it is not the end. As I settle on the edge of my bed with my guitar resting on my knee, I sometimes still wonder whether the blood and tears I invested into the guitar were worth it. Then, as I see my battle scars-calloused fingertips and a hunched back-I know that I am walking away from this experience with fulfillment.