Piano Lessons (Part 2)
It’s been a long time since that first time she climbed up onto the piano bench. She’s found herself there so many times since. It’s a familiar place now. It’s a place she belongs. Instead of the sanctuary being nearly empty, it’s almost full. Instead of the crowds filing out while she sneaks behind the green curtains, all eyes and ears are now turned to her. Her hands take their place in the silence.
She’s seventeen now and you can hear her gifts. In every note you can hear her love for the music. You can hear the hard work from eleven years of lessons. Every few months she takes that seat to play something for the Sunday morning service. The hymns of the church are special to her, they are the music that taught her what music is. To play is to worship and to worship is to play.
If you’re fortunate to be invited, the family gatherings have built-in entertainment. Every Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, you can count on a short recital of whatever she’s been practicing recently. From Disney classics to Brahms’ lullabies with a nod to Billy Joel, you might even get treated to a harpsichord minuet to finish the set. A few years ago, she played Moonlight Sonata by memory and Aunt Martha’s legendary homemade strawberry cheesecake seemed to willingly give up the spotlight.
She’s come a long way from plunking out radio hits after school and muddling her way through Christmas carols. She’s played enough that she can identify most composers in just a few notes. She’s worked hard to get this far. A quarter of her meager tutoring paycheck goes to her own lessons with a piano professor at the University downtown. She stays after a few times a month to listen to recitals and takes the late bus home where she tries to play anything she can recall by memory.
She pushes herself. She always has. She asks for music she knows she can’t play… yet. She’s learned to listen to music, which is a lot more than just hearing it. She’s learned to play through mistakes. And she’s learned that perfect isn’t a product of the fingers, but of her ears and her heart. It is the cherishing of it, the working hard at it and the giving back of the gift that are the reward.
Something happens when she puts away the music. Something happens when she lets her fingers explore the keyboard, guided by her heart and her ears. When the notes and the names are gone and she reaches out to the universe of sound from some secret place that is deep within each of us, but it is rare for most to find it. This is a prayer. It is a whisper of her soul to the One who gave it to her, who gave her everything. While she loves to play, nothing brings her joy and nothing brings her into communion quite like those quiet moments alone with her gifts and the Gift-giver.
May you find your place in the silence. May you know how to begin. In whatever you do, may you worship and play at the same time. May the beautiful and divine things in this world touch you deeply. May you work and work hard. May your mind and body and spirit be united. May you give back that which has been given to you. And may something happen when you do. May you find your best self and your best moments alone with the One who made you and who Loves you.
2 Comments
When music is worship, it is a blessing to both the musician and the audience. Beautiful story!
Amen.