A Piano Lesson |
Mary-Ellen Grisham |
Between the ages of eight and fifteen, I took piano lessons from a gifted Italian woman who could play the piano with or without music. She could embellish and chord any piece of music or even do so from only the sounds of someone playing a simple melody. She was brilliant and kind. My father had the idea that a woman should learn to play the piano, and he had always wanted a daughter of his to do so. While I had a good singing voice, I had little aptitude or natural skill with the piano. Nonetheless, I persisted with lessons and at least a half-hour of practice every day. I learned some simple hymns, some popular music, and did my own renditions of some classical pieces such as Moonlight Sonata. I did not always observe the tempo and dynamics of the original, but I much preferred my own version much to the chagrin of the musically inclined. When I was around nine or ten, the subject of performances arose. My teacher insisted that every student of hers should perform at annual programs given in an old movie theater, set up for our shows. The first year I arrived to perform, but never went inside. Some boys began teasing me at the door, so I turned and went home. Mrs. Merello was so disappointed in me. The next year she was more determined than ever that I should perform. I memorized a simple piece and could play it nearly perfectly, but I told her I would never get through it as a performance. She decided that we would play together. The day of the performance I was so nervous; my fingers were shaking, but she helped me shake out the nerves. We went on stage, and I began to play. She joined me at the other end of the keyboard, making my simple piece sound like grand concert material. One place I got lost, told her, and she said to just pick up the next part and go on. We never broke the sound, and she adjusted her embellishments to wherever I was in the piece. At the end, she whispered for me to stand and take a bow. I was nearly sick with humility, but I did as told. The audience just about brought down the house with applause. Mrs. Merello took my hand, and we bowed again. Then I exited the stage as rapidly as my feet would carry me and made for home. Mrs. Merello could never understand why I did not stick around to be introduced to people after my amazing performance. I suppose I could draw a Christian meaning from this experience something like the way God adds power and meaning, inspiration and grace, blessing and accomplishment to our simple skills and efforts. But that would not be exactly the truth. What I actually learned was a profound lesson in humility. Even with my best, I could not achieve greatness, but with the loving help of another, I could be better than anyone ever expected. I knew my limits, but I also learned the grace of love, of kindness, of helpfulness, and the importance of doing the best that I could do. Without excuses or explanations, I learned to accept the outcome of my humble best and (without jealousy or humiliation) to accept the graceful help of another. So maybe God smiled because He knew I would welcome his gracious and loving help with whatever I did. And through the years, His guidance helped me to be better than I ever thought I could be.
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