Little Pink Piano

It was Cyber Monday and I didn't come across a thing I wanted. I really didn't look to be honest. I guess I was just interested in sites that offered Free Shipping. But I didn't come across those either. Maybe it was because Cora had a cold and she was not having it all day? Ugh... goodbye Cyber Monday. I did however come across a little pink grand piano with 30 keys and just knew I had to get it for Cora. Not because I want her to be just like me. In fact, I've had about 10 lessons of piano before my teacher told my mom I wasn't teachable because I wouldn't follow the page and that I just kept playing what was in my head.

No, I don't want Cora to be like me, but I do want to her to see what I've seen in being musical. I want her to see how people are affected by music. How it can break and mend a heart. How it can make you forget the pain or remember the good times for five minutes. Generations, millions of people moved by music. Moved to do great things, become great people, simply by seeing a better version of themselves at the end of a melody.

I want her to hear what I've heard. Hundreds of men, women, and children and their stories on how my personal music showed them they're not alone. I want her to hear their stories of where they came from because PEOPLE, good and bad, are the inspiration in everything we do. What they have to say to us and to each other determines the key and progression of each song. And although the people we come to know may never know the melodies they lead, their songs will forever be heard in our lives and the steps we take.

I want her to know what I know. That it's okay to play alone and it's just as great to play for millions. Her worth and identity should never matter on how many people hear, see, or like her but rather what God has made her to be and if that's hitting one key at a time in an chromatic sequence or smashing at them equally in emotion and not making much sense, I want her to know every song, every step and every breath she takes has a purpose for something beyond herself and beyond her circumstances.
So Merry Christmas Cora. I can't wait to hear your song.

Wisdom

When I was around 10 years old I remember my Dad tucking me into bed and asking me if I could have anything in the world what would it be. To be honest, I don't remember my response because I'm sure it was childish but I remember my Dad's. As he was pulling up the covers he told me of a time when God asked a man the same question. My dad told me, "He could have asked for anything this world had to offer, but he asked for wisdom (1 Kings 3)." I remember my Dad telling me that wisdom was the greatest gift a part from God's love that I could ever have because it could never be taken away. He told me it would help me hear God when the world became loud.

That night after he prayed with my sisters and I, I asked God for wisdom. Tonight when I go to bed, I'll ask for the same thing and thank Him for enabling me with it on a day to day basis. Because you see, wisdom is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere (James 3:17). It's everything you would want in order to live this life to the fullest.

So as the seasons approach and you begin your Christmas list, or even your child's, ask yourself, "Are we asking for the right things?"

Beverly & Me

I was singing quietly. It was her time, I knew it, but I couldn't help but want to retrieve every note that left my lips as my stance against death. But I kept singing her hymns and within moments she relaxed and said goodbye to this broken world with her final breath.

I sat at my piano with my 8 month old daughter and cried. I wanted so bad for her to meet her great great grandmother. What a joy it would have been. I was planning to fly out in the middle of this month but her body gave out sooner than expected.

I went to bed early that night and found myself thrown into a mind full of memories and reenactments of the stories she would tell. I saw her standing poised with a smile of ambition as the camera captured her mischievous stare. I saw her passing my great grandfather and looking back to see the young man he was, dressed in uniform on his way to see her at the roof of the hotel. I saw her fighting as a wife and mother to be all that she could be. Her grace never leaving her side and her passion fueling her every move.

As my mind kept flowing with memories, I laid next to my sleeping husband and pictured growing old with him. That's what you do when elderly people pass in your life. You're forced to realize that one day, you will be in that place. His body was like a furnace and so I snuck my frozen feet over to him and placed my hand within his and fell asleep.

And for a moment I wondered if it was all worth it.

The next morning I woke up to a day that needed to be lived, a house that needed to be cleaned, work that needed to be done, and a baby girl that needed to be loved. I was quickly overwhelmed as I woke up to Cora's stirring in her crib.

I sat her down and she watched an episode of Maurice Sendak's "Little Bear" as I scurried over to the coffee corner and made myself a cup.

Suddenly I heard her giggling and turned around to see her up on all fours crawling away, trying to grab a hold of our Siberian Husky, Misha. I ran over to applaud and encourage her to keep moving. She had shown signs here and there but today she just decided she had it within her to get up and go.

It's funny how that happens to us, sometimes unwillingly. When we're set in our ways, or feel like we're unable to progress or move on any further, somehow we find the strength within ourselves to keep pushing forward, to move on to better things.

My beautiful and healthy eight month old reminded me of something incredibly important; God makes all things new. Although simple, she began a new chapter in her life and welcomed it with open arms. In similar ways and as difficult as it can be, the passing that occurs with our loved ones or even just a season we've been living for a long time, give us an opportunity to make unique turning points in our lives; to depend solely on God and trust somewhere inside us there is an instinctive sense of strength through the simple joy of being a creation of God and to know every piece of us, even the broken ones are filled with purpose.

You lived your purpose and you lived it well Grandma. I love you Beverly Lou Wood Blair.