by Becca Kinzer, @BeccaKinzer
Years ago in grade school, I had a dream. You might think it was to be a writer. But no. It was to play saxophone in the Kewanee High School Jazz Band. Why? Because my older brothers played in the jazz band. They wore cool pants and straw hats. They had fun nicknames like Basie and Snooky and acquired adoring fans wherever they went (at least according to my brothers).
Seated next to my parents on hard wooden chairs in the high school auditorium year after year, I watched them perform, imagining myself up there someday with the saxophone. Why the saxophone? Because Lisa Simpson from The Simpsons played the saxophone, and well. . .I was in grade school. That’s the only reasoning I can give you.
It all should have worked out, except for one little problem.
The year I started band, the school district’s music director changed things up. The saxophone wasn’t an option. The closest instrument I could choose was the clarinet—an instrument I knew wasn’t allowed in the jazz band.
But young dreams die hard. Undeterred, I chose the clarinet with great plans to switch over to the saxophone and nail that jazz band audition when the timing was right.
But then came the next problem.
The timing was never right. At least not when it came to my great plans.
When I approached the music director about switching instruments, he told me the last thing I wanted to hear. He didn’t need another saxophone player in the jazz band. He needed a clarinet player in the concert band. In other words, he needed me right where I was.
Ugh. What about the cool pants? The fun nicknames? The adoring fans (that may or may not have been real)? Didn’t he understand my dream was the jazz band?
He did. Which was why he suggested I practice the saxophone in my free time in case a spot opened up further down the road.
Not thrilled, I began taking saxophone lessons that summer. I practiced throughout the week in my bedroom. To this day my parents can’t hear “When the Saints Go Marching In” without developing an eye twitch. But it didn’t take long to begin wondering what the point was. Why keep sacrificing my free time to practice an instrument I may never get to perform?
By the end of summer, I placed the rented saxophone back in its case and closed the lid to my dream.
Years later I developed a new dream. And yes, this time it was to be a writer. Not just any writer, a published writer. Why? Well, for starters, they wear cool pants (usually pajama pants), and I want to wear them. But also, when God places a dream on your heart, sometimes that’s the only reasoning you can give.
Which is why this time I haven’t stopped practicing. And neither should you. God needs all of us working, playing, serving, and writing right where we are, but that doesn’t mean your publishing dream won’t happen further down the road when the timing is right.
The summer before I started my senior year of high school, a good friend to the music director approached me to let me know they needed a saxophone player in the jazz band. “You still interested?”
If I’d kept up with my practicing, maybe. If I hadn’t filled my time with too many other activities, maybe. If I hadn’t already given up, maybe. I had to tell him no.
Don’t let the lid to your writing dream close. When a spot opens up, you’ll be glad you stuck with it. And let me tell you, friends, those publishing pants are going to look great on you.
Becca Kinzer is a critical care nurse in Illinois. When she’s not taking care of sick (and preferably heavily-sedated) patients, she enjoys making up fun romantic stories filled with humor. After all, laughter is the best medicine. Although penicillin is pretty good too. She is a 2018 First Impressions Contest winner, 2019 Genesis Contest winner, and proud member of ACFW and My Book Therapy. Find out more at beccakinzer.com.