I know my bias is showing, but it seems like finding an actor with musical skills should have been a piece of cake.

The other thing that bothered me about “Mr. Holland’s Opus” was its overdrawn sentimentality. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where the movie was heading. Bottom line is, though everyone else raved about it, I didn’t like the movie that much.

Until recently. I was cycling the other day when the closing scenes of the movie flashed through my mind. As I recollect, Richard Dreyfuss’ character, Mr. Holland, is cleaning out his desk. He’s spent (wasted?) a lifetime working at a nondescript high school as a small time band director. His dream was to write a great American symphony, but the demands of making a living short‑circuited his plans.

He’s not famous. He never published. He merely taught high school, a temporary job which grew into a lifelong vocation. And now the budget bureaucrats have voted to eliminate his position, forcing him to retire. An old man, he ambles beside his wife and son out of the school for the last time.

Hearing commotion in the auditorium, he opens the door and is shocked to discover that the entire student body has gathered to pay their respects to the beloved band teacher. On the stage is a former student, now state governor. Behind her are other students, now adults, from all walks of life, seated in sections with instruments in hand.

The governor said, “Mr. Holland, I know you are very disappointed that you were not able to publish your symphony. Instead you spent a lifetime teaching us. But never forget this: We are your symphony, your magnum opus.” She calls him to the stage and he directs the symphony which he has been crafting at home all these years.

Yes, it drips with syrup. And he directs it poorly.

But it wasn’t the poor band directing which captured my imagination while cycling toward Bartlett Lake. No, I was reflecting on my life, its changes, its challenges, its dreams, its ups and downs.

Frankly, I’m in a lot of transition right now: dreams which seem like nightmares, questions without easy answers, challenges which are clearly overwhelming (kind of like that hill on Stagecoach Pass). Will I ever get that symphony written?

Or maybe the symphony I’m writing is different than I’d imagined. Maybe, like Dreyfuss.

Perhaps I’m influencing people in far deeper ways than I realize.

I don’t know about that. My movie isn’t over yet. But I do know this: I could kind of go for that syrupy Hollywood ending. Even if it’s poorly conducted.

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago,” (Eph 2:10).