The Piano Keys

I started to take piano lessons when I was six years old.
An upright piano was purchased and was given a prime location in the living room.
The piano bench was the go-to place to take pictures.
The piano bench was the perfect spot to capture a moment.

I remember the lamp that swiveled in the direction of the sheet music.
I remember the philodendron plant that my mother had on top of the piano, right in the center.
The green leaves cascaded down over the wood.
I remember the vast number of songbooks that were hidden inside the piano bench.

I did not like to practice.
I could not wait to finish each day.
I found the songs boring even though I was told they were necessary.
I was learning new skills but wanted to play songs that I knew.

I did not like that certain fingering was required for the songs I was learning to play.
I thought that as long as the songs sounded good, it didn’t matter what finger I used.
Being left handed, my right hand was much weaker.
The right hand plays the melody; the left hand just plays accompaniment.

Not so with me.
My left hand was so much louder than my right.
It was something that needed to be worked on, diligently.
It was not natural for me and made playing the piano more of a chore than a delight.

Every day my mother would remind me to practice.
Every day I did so reluctantly.
When she would forget to remind me, I would conveniently forget to practice.
Until one day she noticed that it had been a while and my lesson was on Wednesday afternoon.

The lesson came and it was a disaster.
There was no pretending.
I was not prepared.
I was wasting the teacher’s valuable time.

I was about nine years old when it happened.
Old enough to know better.
I remember the day I came home from school.
The piano lid was closed; the cover that remained open was pulled down tightly over the keys.

Why is the piano covered? I asked my mother thinking that she had just dusted it.
You don’t practice, she said in a matter of fact tone.
I have decided to give the piano away to a little girl who will practice every day.
I looked at her to see if she was serious.

She was.

I knew my mother.
She probably knew just the family and just the little girl that would be getting my piano.
Looking back and remembering, I am still amazed at what she did.
It was either the most brilliant thing she could have done or the most foolish.

The piano stayed closed all evening.
I had to look at it every time I walked by.
It made me very sad to see the ivory keys covered.
It made me very determined that no other little girl was going to have my piano.

I boldly walked up to the piano and opened the lid.
What are you doing? My mother asked in a firm voice.
I’m practicing, I said as I pulled out my books for next week’s lesson.
I began to play the boring songs that were not so boring and diligently watched my fingering.

I still marvel at what my mother did.
It could have backfired terribly.
I could have realized that this was my out, my excuse not to play the piano any more.
My mother knew something I had not known: I really wanted to play the piano, I really did.

Why do we wait until we are close to losing something before we realize its value?
Why does something become more precious to us when it is taken away?
What if we loved people as if this day was our last day to love them?
What if we appreciated all of our blessings as if we will lose them all in a moment?

What if?

The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD. (Job 1:21)

Can we still praise God when something we love is lost?
Can we still bless the name of the Lord when something important is taken away?
Can we ask God to help us value the gifts He has given us while we still can?
Can we not neglect to thank God for the many blessings He bestows on us each day?

There are no guarantees.
We must treasure what is before us this day and not wait until tomorrow.
Tomorrow may never come.
Today is all we have to enjoy the gifts God has given us.

Life can be so incredibly daily.
There is work involved in day-to-day living.
Anything worthwhile does not come easy.
Anything worth while comes with a cost.

We must not take our blessings for granted.
We must not have a ho-hum attitude about the abundant life God has given us.
I have learned a great lesson from my mother’s idea.
Love what is before you now, work at it, and be thankful for it.

I still play the piano.
My husband bought me a baby grand piano many years ago.
It is in a prime location in the living room.
The lid is always open.