Devotionals

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It is glossy and black. Beautiful to even the most untrained eye. The smooth white keys stand out like a smile. From its small black keys to its elegant brass pedals it is a thing of beauty.

Within this instrument lies the potential to create heavenly melodies or horrid dissonance. As my fingers touch the keys I know that whatever sounds will emerge will do so because of me. The potential is there but only my fingers can make it realized.

The weight of responsibility presses down on me. One wrong note can spoil the whole piece of music. I have but to slip, misjudge, or misread and the perfection I have worked so hard to attain will crumble. Even as I begin to play I realize the futility. I cannot play indefinitely without error. I have no hope of capturing this heavenly melody. I will fail.

So what then? When the finger slips, when the eye misreads; what then? The note has been played. It cannot be recalled. The melody now lacks perfection. But there is still beauty to be salvaged.

This is where the teacher comes in. He pulls up a chair, leans over my shoulder and gently, ever so gently, points out the error. He is humble yet He teaches with absolute authority. He knows the song. He has played it, and unlike anyone else, He played the perfect tune.

As He leans over my shoulder I realize that though my fingers don’t know all the keys, His do. Even when I stray from the rhythm he maintains the beat. When my heavenly tune becomes little more than a string of dissonant chords He is still there. He places His fingers over mine and plays the melody of love over my mistakes.

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