When I first began piano lessons I would read each note, pause, then play. I would struggle and halt. I would forget a note here and add one there. My fingers lacked the skill required to play smoothly.
Little-by-little, note-by-note, my fingers became accustomed to the keys. I began to shake off my halting insecurity and play with fluency. No longer did my fingers struggle to find the right keys. Symbols began to register as notes and keys. Fingers that had once been clumsy were now graceful. Thought and pause were replaced with habit and grace. Slowly, ever so slowly, I learned the art of playing the Piano.
I invested countless hours in this pursuit. I had chances to quite and there were times I wanted to. I struggled with time and concentration, keys and form. I waded through countless music books, years of work and more than a few tears. But in the end, none of this would have mattered had it not been for the teacher.
When I think of all life’s many intricacies the eighty-eight keys of the piano are dwarfed. While the dynamics of the piano are difficult the dynamics of life seem impossible. My fingers seem to be forever halting over the keys of life. Yet for this, the most complicated of arts, there is a teacher.
Though my fingers are clumsy he is eternally patient. Though the music seems impossible, He is ever encouraging. When the melody is almost right, He presses for perfection; and when my highest is reached, His praise is given freely. He is the author and teacher of the melody. And though I am hopelessly lost in this labyrinth of notes, He leads me through the melody of life.
Read more articles by Lysette Kent or search for articles on the same topic or others.
