"So how's your best friend? Have you been playing her more?" he asks me... nodding to my ebony plaything.
It had been bugging me for months that she needed tuning - and there was that sticky note that kept causing me grief. Finally, the piano tuner had come and rendered her beautiful once more.
& the thought struck me that i don't care that the velvet is peeling off her music stand.
i don't care that there's a chip in her cover.
i don't care that the whole mess of her is covered in fingerprints of every imaginable size.
i want her to make music... i want the notes to be true and right.
i wanna hear the sweetness in a purer tone.
And the likeness wafts over me like the gentlest spring breeze, how my Father sees past the sagging skin on my belly - and the crease that has begun to form on my brow. 'Cause this body - it's going to age and wear... but o how He gently reminds me about what's inside. What's inside will ever 'sing and make music, always giving thanks to God my Father...' (eph. 5:19&20). & His tools tighten the strings so my pitch is sure... He tears me apart, replacing what's broken and tuning my soul - poor instrument that it is...
"No. i've been too busy..." i say, glancing at my piano - faithful friend. Little boy clings to my pantlegs and Baby boy treats the ground like hot lava, preferring the safety of mama's arms.
& it's hard to find times to play with my best friend...
The gentler clickety clack of the computer keyboard works better for precarious naptimes when moments are easier to steal. "Don't wake the baby..." i shush to any would be music makers. And sometimes, it's true, i can't bear to add one. more. layer... to the wall of sound that exists in my house already.
But then - in a moment found, she calls me to play - inviting me with a slip of misplaced music that falls to the ground.
Sound erupts - simple melodies.
Feisty girl sings, Radar picks up her guitar. Baby holds on to the bench and adds his voice to the din, swinging his diaper clad bottom to the rhythm...
And all...
is an offering...
2 comments:
wish i were a fly on the wall . . . still miss hearing the music wafting across the alley from your open windows to mine :) have a great day P!
It is so much better to be an instrument...however dinged up...haha...than a piece of polished but useless furniture... Keep playing and being played, paige.
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