I played the piano and the clarinet when I was a kid. These days that skill is mostly forgotten–except for a handful of memorized songs I can still peck out on a piano. If I picked up a clarinet now, I’m not sure I’d even remember the finger positions for the notes on a page. After decades without practice, whatever ability remains is either deeply buried or mostly gone.
As a child, I practiced often. My parents required thirty minutes of daily practice. At the time, I didn’t enjoy sitting on that hard wooden bench, running through scales while the metronome ticked relentlessly beside me. I don’t remember playing the piano beyond sixth grade, but I kept up the clarinet through high school. Marching band was my favorite. It demanded early morning hours of practice– playing the clarinet and the precision of marching.
Recently, an early morning reading made me reflect on what I’m practicing now. These days, it’s not the piano or clarinet, but the practice is just as real. The question that landed in my heart was this: Am I practicing the problem or practicing the presence of Love?
When I get stuck in my head, ycircling the same issue again and again, I call it circling the drain. It feels like a slow, spiraling descent. I mentally rehearse conversations, revisit what was said, wish for a different outcome, imagine better endings, and sometimes, I just wallow in self-pity. It’s a mental practice that feels as familiar as playing “Chopsticks”–easy, repetitive, and entirely unhelpful.
Practicing the presence of Love is something else entirely. It lifts me. It encourages and softens. It inspires forgiveness and peace. I remember my worth–and the worth of others. It shifts the goal from being understood to being understanding. It brings a gentleness toward others and a grace for myself. This kind of practice feels more like practicing a complex classical piece–beautiful but demanding.
Just like I’ve forgotten how to play the clarinet, I hope to forget how to practice the problem. This past week, I watched a pianist, violinist, and cellist perform. Their music left me in awe–not just because of their talent but because of the hours, the dedication, the practice that led to that moment. Their performance was seamless, not because it was easy, but because it had been practiced with care.
That’s how I want to be in practicing the presence of Love–disciplined, consistent, and wholehearted. A life shaped by daily, intentional practice.