Experienced parents will tell you, if they are wise, that you learn as much as your children when you parent. My older son taught me something when he was three that has changed the way I practice my faith.

My story begins in a parent-child music class. As a three-year-old, he had taken a new and definitive interest in the cymbals. Baby versions of the cymbals make a muffled sound, but these were real ones with a diameter about the size of a kickball – complete with wooden handles for a firm, loud crash! He would wait patiently until the end of music class for free music play. The vat of instruments would come out, and he could sift through it to find his prize.

It was the start of a new semester and I was with a new group of moms. I noticed other children getting quiet instruments and lightly strumming or plucking them on their mothers’ laps. Meanwhile, my son was proudly marching around with his cymbals crashing. The sound was rather annoying and I felt like everyone was watching. I made a couple of comments to the moms around me, “They are his favorite. You can see why I don’t have them at home!” I tried to fight the fact that I was embarrassed.

That night at dinner, I asked him if he had enjoyed music class. He said, “Mommy, the cymbals are loud,” and he hung his head down. Although his social awareness wasn’t fully developed, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had come to that realization because of my actions that day. I decided right then that I did not want my embarrassment to cost him something he looked forward to.

After all, the cymbals were included in the vat to be played.

The event made me think about my faith in two respects. First, I wondered in what ways I hold back from mentioning or living my faith, something that makes me feel alive, because I am worried about what other people think. Just like an unsure mom in a music class, we don’t always know the reception we will have. It’s therefore easy for the fight of faith to turn into one of political correctness. There is a line we sometimes dance around, not sure exactly where it lies. But my prayer is that it does not rob us of our enthusiasm for God and that we can regain a childlike freedom, too.

Second, I thought about how God can use whatever we’re drawn to for His purpose. I have often heard it said that our calling is where our passion and the world’s greatest need meet. There was something about the cymbals that attracted my son, and God used it for His glory to teach me a lesson. There is something that each of us is drawn to as well. God doesn’t want us to settle for a drum, the sticks, or a tambourine when He has something different in store. May we have the courage to sift through the vat of our lives, pull up what excites us, and start playing. Who knows just how God might use it.

Scripture reminds us, “God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another. Do you have the gift of speaking? Then speak as though God himself were speaking through you. Do you have the gift of helping others? Do it with all the strength and energy that God supplies. Then everything you do will bring glory to God through Jesus Christ.” {1 Peter 4:10-11 NLT} This passage acknowledges that we are to serve God in the “various forms” we’re drawn to, and that we are to do it with God-given strength or boldness.

Two years later, I can still see my son marching with his cymbals crashing in that music class. It’s an image of bravery, of unencumbered joy, and of living life with abandon. I want to live my faith like that and I want to experience the joy that awaits.

Could you please pass the cymbals?

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