Thursday, February 3, 2011
On the heels of a few long, yet beautiful days...
So the (older) boys are tracked out of school right now. Today marks the 1/2 way point. If I seem anxious for their return (to school) in a week and a half, please forgive me. ;) Aside from normal housewife and motherly obligations, I regularly teach 18 lovely young people how to play piano, and even more, develop an appreciation for music. 18 students who I genuinely love. 18 students who require a litle (yet, a lot) of my time and energy weekly, most of which is just after Rodney walks in the door at 5:30 pm. I say this not to have a pity party, but just to document for the future me (who I hope will enjoy reading this journal way down the road) how I spend much time, in this particular season of my life. It a good thing - wonderful, even.
Tonight, I have found myself looking around old General Conference addresses on lds.org Because of my relatively new calling in the Young Women's Organization, I love to look at talks that center on topics that would uplift the girls who I now associate with regularly. No doubt, it's good for my soul, and it is my hope that some of the light and knowledge I gain by studying will rub off on them... My favorite tonight has been this one by James E. Faust. I just want to remember this little excerpt, and figured that a post here in my "journal" will be remembered well into the future.
There is a story of a young piano student. His mother, wishing to encourage him, bought tickets for a performance of the great Polish pianist, Perewski. The night of the concert arrived and the mother and son found their seats near the front of the concert hall. While the mother visited with friends, the boy slipped quietly away.
Suddenly, it was time for the performance to begin and a single spotlight cut through the darkness of the concert hall to illuminate the grand piano on stage. Only then did the audience notice the little boy on the bench, innocently picking out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.'
His mother gasped, but before she could move, Paderewski appeared on stage and quickly moved to the keyboard. He whispered to the boy, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And then, leaning over, the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side, encircling the child, to add a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held the crowd mesmerized.
In our lives, unpolished though we may be, it is the Master who surrounds us and whispers in our ear, time and time again, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And as we do, He augments and supplements until a work of amazing beauty is created. He is right there with all of us, telling us over and over, ‘Keep playing.’