My Gift

I was thinking today while I was playing the piano in primary--not something I should ever do again if the kids want to be able to recognize the melody!  I was thinking about how my piano playing is a great metaphor for life.

When I was very young--7 to be exact--my grandmother bought me a piano and had it delivered on my birthday.  I didn't ask for it and was very surprised when it came.  I've said many times that they brought the bench in first and I was excited to have a fancy tea party table.  It was something that my grandmother thought I would love and excel at.  I started lessons right away.  It was really fun and I enjoyed it.  My aunt Jeanne was an accomplished pianist and taught me every week. 

I progressed, not as fast as I'm sure I could have.  I didn't practice the way I should have.  My parents didn't push as hard as they would have if they had been shelling out for the lessons.  That's pretty good.  In those three sentences I said, "coulda, shoulda, and woulda" without even meaning to.  Those three words sum it up pretty well.

In high school I got busy with many things.  Looking back, none of them were nearly as meaningful as music.  Every time my grandma came over though, I always played something for her.  I'm sure she realized I wasn't any better than I was the time before.  Then I left for college.  I got my first calling--pianist for relief society in a student ward.  I have to say I was teetering already, but that first week when somebody snickered at my playing, that was it.  I never went back.  I was inactive for nearly 2 years.

We've had the piano in our home almost our whole marriage.  Sometimes I played.  Sometimes I didn't.  When my grandma died, my dad asked me to play at her funeral.  That was terrifying, but I really thought I could hear her humming along that day as I played.

I had a pretty good run teaching Lucy the basics a couple years ago.  Then she got busy with softball...   We weren't paying someone for the lessons and it got away from me.  Now I play for primary.  Poorly.  I'm all the ward has.  I practice some days.  It's hard.  Ian's picture is on the piano and I refuse to move it.  He loved it when I practiced.  So, it's hard some days to practice.  Some days my vision isn't the best.  I can't wear my reading glasses to play because then when I look down at the keys, I get dizzy.  Some days my hands hurt or my two fingers are numb--residual from the freaky nerve damage in my twenties.  So, really it's a good thing I never mastered correct fingering, right, because some days only part of my fingers work.  But I play for the primary.  I play for the Lord.  I play because my husband asked me to.  It's a good place for me.

Okay, so, the metaphor.  I was given a gift.  I was excited about it, used it, built on it--a little.  Then, I wasted it, turned away from it, even resented it--a little.  Mostly I ignored it.   Isn't that just like life?  The forks in the road really do take us all over the place.  Decisions really do matter.  I don't think we are punished for ignoring and wasting our gifts from God, (any of the myriad He can give) we just don't get the enjoyment and blessings that could be coming our way regularly.  He still loves us and tries to help us see the beauty of those gifts.   He never gives up on us getting to the full potential of our gifts, but often we make it so hard on ourselves, even impossible sometimes.

I've wondered a few times if he wants me playing the piano now to help my hands, to keep them limber and free from pain.  That sounds like God doesn't it?