I got in a conversation on Facebook about pianos just tonight. The conversation started out with the person wishing they had more time to sit down and play the piano. They remarked how playing the piano was their "balm in Gilead". Others chimed in about wanting a piano and suggested pieces to play. All pretty innocent. I then chimed in with my part:

Laugh if you will, but my digital piano which weighs about 20lbs is my 2nd soulmate (my wife is 1st). Plug it into the computer and I can get a nice Steinway, Yamaha, or Bosendorfer sound at a push of a button. Yes it is 88 keys and weighted. It is empowering to me to sit and play to amuse myself. I have even captured some of my 'amusement' and posted them to Soundcloud. :)

I truly do believe that about my piano. I can sit down and start playing and be transported away on a journey. Sometimes my journey may be influenced on how I am feeling at that particular time - unhappy, frustrated, sorrowful, whatever. But it seems that when I am done playing, I feel spiritually lifted. For a sampling of my clearly imperfect music, check this out.

I did receive some commentary about my piano not being a "real piano", to which I made a follow-up comment:

Well, when one lives in a hobbit hole, you have to take what you can get. I took zero lessons so my fingering is also HORRIBLE. But guess what? I play to amuse myself.

Again, I truly believe that. If I had the room and the finances, I just might have a baby grand or even a grand piano sitting there. But, I make due with what I have. As was eluded, I never took any formal lessons. Unlike the child who was taking lessons, doing scales while they bawled because they had to do it - I loved sitting down at the piano of my cousins house. I devoured their Schirmer books and felt pride for what I accomplished. I could plunk out chord structures and do inversions. I could never get that finger-cross thing down, so my speed is not the greatest. But, I play to amuse myself.

I remember being called as a primary pianist. When I was called, I warned them that my playing skill was not up to a normal piano person, but I accepted the call. Thankfully, the Children's Songbook had chord names above, so I could at least get the melody and some sort of counter harmony going. It's when the extra music came for the Primary program that I struggled immensely. Even playing piano in public was unnerving for me. But I persisted. It wasn't perfect rhythmically because of finger stumbling and nerves, but it was done.

Why am I talking about this? As I blogged before, we all have talents and in order to magnify those talents we are given tools. In my case, my little electric piano. Could I magnify my calling better if I had a full grand piano as my tool? I doubt it. The tools given to us are just that - tools. A person can dig a hole with their hands, a shovel or a backhoe. The same goal can be reached no matter which tool is used.  Granted, the shovel and backhoe would make the job easier, but using the rudimentary God-given tools given will help.

I read a blog about a person being called as choir director who never had any musical training. She used the tools found in the back of the hymn book. And along with prayer, she had the choir making music!

I believe, in the hymn book the passage that says "...make music for thy Lord to hear...", it does not mean that we are required to be completely trained in music or have the most expensive tool at our disposal. I believe that the Lord cares not about our ability, but our availability. I have always loved the poem, "The touch of the master's hand":

The Touch of the Master's Hand

'Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.

Myra Brooks Welch
    
We are like that old battered violin, or cheap keyboard. We all have the potential for making sweet music if we place our trust and our lives of the true Master's Hand.



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