Confirmation Faith Story: Lydia Zabransky

As part of Confirmation at St. Paul, ninth-graders are invited to reflect on their faith and share where they see God at work in their lives and in the world. During three Sundays in the fall, they share these reflections with the congregation as part of their Confirmation Faith Stories. For Lydia Zabransky, faith is something she has learned to hear in the rhythms of everyday life.

 

Music has always been a very big part of my life. My mom, uncle, and grandma are all band directors, my dad plays trumpet, and I play bassoon for the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra. My mom says I was listening to classical music before I was even born!

When I was trying to write my faith story, I started freaking out. I felt like I needed a big moment where everything suddenly made sense and my faith completely changed. I thought, “I’ve never had one of those big, life-changing moments!”

Then my mom said, “Well, write about that then.”

That got me thinking that maybe my faith doesn’t have to be about one big “aha!” moment. Maybe I can see God in my normal, everyday life — in all the little things that create something bigger.

I started thinking of my faith as a big musical ensemble.

In an ensemble, every instrument has its own role in the music. Some parts carry the melody and naturally stand out, while others provide harmony, rhythm, or support in the background. Even if a part isn’t always noticeable on its own, it still contributes to the overall sound and helps bring the music together.

I feel like my faith works the same way.

The percussion section keeps a steady beat. For me, that steady beat is my friends and family. They keep me grounded when life gets busy or overwhelming. They remind me who I am and help me keep going when things are NOT going well.

Then there’s the melody. The melody is what you recognize and follow throughout a piece of music. For me, that’s church, weekly Confirmation nights, and SNL. These are the things that keep my faith present in my everyday life. They carry the main tune and continue telling the story of my faith, week after week.

And then there’s the conductor, God.

The conductor guides the entire ensemble. God knows how he wants the piece to be played. God isn’t there to correct missed notes, but to guide the full group so that they play it with his interpretation. I’m part of the ensemble, with God leading me through the difficult sections—the parts of life that I struggle with—and through the easy sections, the parts that seem to come naturally. God has made me for a reason. God has a plan for me, and is going to help me get there.

As a musician, I know that not every sound is going to be perfect. There are missed notes, tuning issues, wrong rhythms, and just moments when the ensemble just doesn’t click. Sometimes my faith feels the same way. I might feel distant from God, confused, or like things just aren’t making sense. But those moments don’t mean it will be that way forever. I’m still practicing, listening, watching and working through the hard moments and days.

There are also solos.

In music, a solo provides contrast. It changes the sound and gives someone a chance to step outside of the normal structure of the ensemble. For me, those solos are experiences like Camp Shalom and the mission trip I went on this past summer.

Those experiences have given me opportunities to step outside of my normal routine and see my faith differently. I usually need to change things up every once in a while, and those experiences have mixed up the sound of my faith in ways I didn’t expect.

But music isn’t just about sound, it’s also about silence. You have to have rests to contrast the notes, or else you wouldn’t know the difference.

I see God in those moments, too.

I’m an extrovert, so I love being around people and doing things. But I also love sitting on the couch, eating popcorn and frozen pizza, watching my murder mystery shows, and not having to interact with anyone. After a busy week, sometimes I just need to rest and have silence. And I know that God is there during the silence.

I also see God in the moments when the music doesn’t go the way I wanted it to.

I’m a perfectionist and I like things to be exactly the way I planned them. As a musician, I know what I want it to sound like and I want to play it right every time.

But I don’t.

I can think of auditions, rehearsals, concerts, in fact, my practicing yesterday didn’t go as I wanted it to. In those moments, it can be easy for me to focus on everything I did wrong. But those disappointments have taught me something that I wouldn’t have learned from getting everything right.

God gives me a quiet kind of resilience.

God reminds me that those instances don’t ruin the entire piece. Things happen that I can’t control, and I have to trust that God can still work through them with me.

When I look at my faith this way, I realize I don’t need one huge, life-changing moment to prove that God is part of my life.

I don’t know what’s coming up next. I don’t know what piece I’ll learn, how my next audition will sound, or what new challenge is coming.

But I’m committed to keep playing my instrument, trusting the Conductor even when I don’t know what the next measure looks like.

Because to me, faith isn’t about waiting for one big moment when everything suddenly makes sense. It’s about the day-to-day practice of learning how to live, how to play, and how to listen for the music that’s already being made — in life and in faith.