GIFT

"What do you think are the most valuable things Mrs. Linda and Dr. Harriss taught you as piano teachers?" I was making conversation as we ran errands in town yesterday.

She thought a moment. "How to read music. Chords and cadences. They gave me the tools to play anything I want." She paused, then added, "And this: Mrs. Linda taught me that the music is not about me. It's a gift to be shared with others."

* * *

"I don't even know why I'm visiting this church. I am not like the people here. I don't even have anything to offer this church, no way that I can serve."

It had been a dark couple of months. On top of everything else that had been lost, she'd been asked to leave the church she loved. "It will just make everything easier," she was told. How many ways can a heart be broken?

No one at the new church knew about the hidden wounds. They just saw a quiet, withdrawn, pale young woman. They didn't know how bright and bubbly she had once been.

A middle-aged woman walked over and sat down beside her on the pew. "Hi! My name is Melodee," she smiled. "We are so glad to have you worshiping with us this morning!"

Melodee, it turned out, was the church pianist. Just the week before, Melodee and her husband had put a contract on a house several states away.

After service, Melodee ran up, her eyes glowing. Melodee took her by the hand. "Did I hear right? Do you play the piano?"

"Yes."

"Praise God!" Melodee explained that she and her husband would be moving in two months, and that they had been praying that God would provided another pianist. "Would you please pray about maybe playing the piano for church? I think you might be the answer to our prayers!"

* * *

She's been playing for worship a couple of months now. Even during practice sessions, there is a sparkle in her eyes and a smile on her face. "I LOVE helping with the music at church," she told me - yet again - as we drove home from practice last week. "I am having so much fun."

* * *

I wondered Sunday morning if anyone else noticed she had no music on the stand in front of her as she played an offertory. All she had was a melody in her head, a set of tools given to her by two wonderful teachers, and a gift she was eager to share with someone else.

The tune - "His Eye Is on the Sparrow" - an old favorite; the arrangement, entirely her own, made up in the moment, flowing from her heart, through her fingers, to the keys.

* * *

Why should I feel discouraged,

Why should the shadows come,

Why should my heart be lonely

and long for heaven and home,

When Jesus is my portion?
My constant friend is he:

His eye is on the sparrow,

and I know he watches me.

- Civilla D. Martin (1863-1948)