Piano Lessons (Part 3)
The sounds from the living room are strangely similar to those in that sanctuary three decades ago. Entire hands slamming onto the keys at once and noise might be a more accurate description than music. But the ever-patient teacher hears something in those sounds and graciously applauds the 5-year old student’s nearly unrecognizable attempt at Hot Cross Buns. The boy’s father sits in a recliner a few feet away rubbing his temples and struggles not to cringe. She lets the sounds of the final chord fade and congratulates the student for making it to the end of the song. To her joy and his father’s chagrin, the boy begins the song again.
She turned 30 last year and they celebrated at a surprise party in a nice restaurant not far from the University where she took lessons as a teenager. It was easy to reminisce. After high school she started taking classes. A Bachelor’s degree and then her Master’s. Her favorite part has always been the lessons. She loved taking them and that love grew into a deep passion for teaching them.
It is no small task to teach beginner musicians, or perhaps beginners at anything. I might suggest that if there is any truth at all in calling, as in a unique and divine appointment to do something beyond the means of others, to teach children, or anyone with no experience, to pick up an instrument and a sheet of paper in the hopes of cultivating a love for music may be one of the highest of such divine appointments. To daily endure the fumbling fingers, the stumbling rhythms, the mangled chords, the stage fright of recitals and the novice panic of when to begin, and the tears of making a mistake all with the hopes and dreams of finally finishing a song well is truly proof of grace.
She’s been married a while. Family life has been good to her. They have two kids and the young family keeps her busy. When she isn’t teaching, the piano sits in the corner and is used less and less. It isn’t for lack of opportunity, either. She still plays occasionally in church and is on the accompanist rotation for the congregational hymns that are still her first musical love. Lately, she’s been the substitute for the church choir pianist who is getting older and older and whose ears are getting less and less reliable. Other than that, she really hasn’t been playing much at all. There’s just too much to be done in the house and with the kids. Homework and groceries, after-school activities and their music lessons, soccer and field hockey practice and those piano lessons are just about all she can fit into her week. She already feels pangs of guilt for not spending enough time with the kids or with her husband.
The egg timer dings and brings her back to the boy’s final notes. The lesson is over. They laugh. She pats him on the back and gives him some tips to practice for next week. She walks the boy and his father to the front door and waves as they drive away. The boy is smiling from ear to ear and she remembers something.
Walking back to the piano, she runs her finger through the fine layer of dust that accumulated that week. She plays a G and sits down at the bench for the first time in years. The bench is strangely high, adjusted for the young students. She lowers it and her hands find the keys again. Her foot rests naturally on the sustain pedal. It turns out there’s even more dust on the symphony within, but she soon finds a song. A smile finds its way onto her face and something that has rested too long inside her slowly wakes up.
May you teach through mistakes and find your moments of joy, no matter what they sound like to somebody else. May you know your deepest passions and talents, and may they be the same. May you know that those gifts come from above you and are for those around you. May you live life well, celebrating others but not forgetting yourself. And may you never, ever lose the symphony, or the sculpture, or the painting, or whatever masterpiece that is inside you. Yet if by some chance you have, may it rise again within. May you never be too busy too play.