It's so easy to become content with the way things are. We tend to define ourselves in ways that allow our lives to go on without much risk of change. Major personal growth often does not happen until some kind of challenge forces us to go deeper, to drastically change the way we view ourselves and the world we live in—maybe even how we view God and our relationship to Him.

That was certainly true for me about ten years ago. I was on the board of a local symphony in Hawaii that appeared to be on the edge of extinction. Not only was the symphony in debt, but an organization that was designed to present beautiful music was producing only discord in its internal operations. And the public was unhappy because an entire season had to be canceled—the musicians and management were unable to reach accord on a new labor agreement.

As a Christian Scientist, I was familiar with the concept that harmony exists right where we may be seeing nothing but discord, because God creates only what is like His own all-good nature. Yet in the case of our symphony orchestra, it wasn't always easy for me to see beyond the conflict and discomfort to that higher order and reality. It took a major change in my thinking, and my willingness to get involved.

Displeased with the conductor, management, and board of directors, the musicians eventually left our established orchestra to start another musical organization. Nearly all our staff had to be laid off because of lack of income, and the board chairman decided to resign. No one was interested in taking his place. Things were at a standstill.

Then a former board chairman called me and suggested that I take over as chairman. The idea terrified me. What could I possibly do or offer that hadn't already been tried? I wasn't a corporate president or a wealthy philanthropist. Nor was I the kind of extroverted person the job appeared to require. At some deep level I knew it was the right thing to do, but I resisted the idea.

The former chairman suggested a second time that I take over—and in a brief moment of bravado, I called the current chair and left a message on his answering machine telling him that I was willing to succeed him. As soon as I got off the phone, I panicked. What in the world had I done? But when I started to call him back, I realized that if I did not volunteer, there would be no one—and that having no chair had to be worse than having me. My wry-witted husband said, "Look at it this way, the only direction you can go is up."

So, I was given the position of symphony chair.

The next several years were ones of tremendous challenges and growth. But I prayed my way through each challenge. And in my prayers there were two main ideas that kept me going: 1) There really is only one Mind, and that Mind is God; and 2) God is Love. In praying for the organization, I reasoned that because God is the one and only Mind, it would be natural for everyone involved—the board, staff, and musicians—to desire to have a viable symphony orchestra. With this Mind in control, and not many competing individual minds, discord could be healed and we all could work together.

I aimed to express God's nature as Love by making the concerted effort to love the musicians, the audience, my fellow board members, and the performers. As I did this, I found myself becoming less self-conscious and more confident. I found that I was good at running meetings, organizing committees, strategizing, and even fund-raising. The musicians returned after a year of constructive talks. The board was expanded, and a new executive director and conductor were hired. Attendance at concerts rose, and so did contributions. The symphony came back to life.

Although challenges continued to come up, the overall atmosphere of harmony within the organization—the mutual feeling of goodwill and respect among musicians, board, and staff—only grew stronger.

In Science and Health, Mary Baker Eddy described the benefits of realizing our God-given spiritual nature: "A knowledge of the Science of being develops the latent abilities and possibilities of man. It extends the atmosphere of thought, giving mortals access to broader and higher realms. It raises the thinker into his native air of insight and perspicacity" (p. 128).

The Bible is full of stories in both the Old and the New Testaments about people who were freed of limitation and suffering, through spiritual awakening—such as the paralyzed man that Jesus healed at Jerusalem's pool of Bethesda. Yes, willingness to accept one's God-given potential can produce initial discomfort. But when we see the discomfort not as something to avoid, but as a sign of expansion out of the safe and the ordinary into "broader and higher realms," spiritual awakening and its inevitable benefits will follow.

Looking back, I am grateful that I did not do the "safe" or "comfortable" thing. The leap into what at the time seemed a scary unknown enabled me to express more of my spiritual individuality and to contribute something meaningful to my community.

Christ Jesus certainly understood the difficulty of leaving the familiarity of a comfortable but materialistic outlook for a spiritual perspective. He said, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword" (Matt. 10:34). Perhaps he was referring to the need to shake things up now and then—to reexamine our most basic assumptions about ourselves and the world around us.

Stepping forward to say "I'll do it," when no one else will, may feel overwhelming, even frightening. But if the impulse to accept comes from that source beyond and above the human ego, it can only lead to spiritual growth, with divine Love applauding us all the way. |CSS