Music lessons. We’ve all had them, be they for piano, guitar, trumpet, etc. And I’m probably not the only one who hated logging in that daily practice time.
My poor mom. I was a real musical prodigy, as I sat on the bench, banged my hands on the keys, and cried my crocodile tears. “You’ll thank me someday,” she said. And, of course, I was doubtful.
My piano teacher didn’t have it much better, as I creeped and crawled through the lesson book, one excruciating week at a time. Two steps forward, three steps back. I think the summers I took off were as much for her sake, as my own.
So imagine the pressure when my beloved teacher from childhood days visited our church on a recent Sunday. You must understand . . . she was good. The kind of music director a pastor dreamed about, that could follow his leading without pause, no matter what antiquated song he pulled from the back of his brain on a whim. And there she sat as I led worship. I’m glad to report nothing too horrific happened. We had a good song service, and I didn’t knock the keyboard off its stand or forget the words to every song I ever knew.
I wonder what her thoughts were as I stood up there playing. Perhaps she marveled a bit to see her hard work finally pay off. Thanks to her efforts, my mother’s dogged persistence, and a handful of other patient instructors, I am now a music director in my own right. And it only took fifteen years.
Maybe some of you have your own little prodigies at home. Whether they be your own children, or someone else’s. I’m sure there are times you want a summer vacation as they bang through John Thompson or whatever course you’ve chosen.
Maybe my musical testimony can give you a hint of encouragement. They can make it. It might take a looooong time. But they can make it. And so can you!
P. S. Thanks, Mom!
My poor mom. I was a real musical prodigy, as I sat on the bench, banged my hands on the keys, and cried my crocodile tears. “You’ll thank me someday,” she said. And, of course, I was doubtful.
My piano teacher didn’t have it much better, as I creeped and crawled through the lesson book, one excruciating week at a time. Two steps forward, three steps back. I think the summers I took off were as much for her sake, as my own.
So imagine the pressure when my beloved teacher from childhood days visited our church on a recent Sunday. You must understand . . . she was good. The kind of music director a pastor dreamed about, that could follow his leading without pause, no matter what antiquated song he pulled from the back of his brain on a whim. And there she sat as I led worship. I’m glad to report nothing too horrific happened. We had a good song service, and I didn’t knock the keyboard off its stand or forget the words to every song I ever knew.
I wonder what her thoughts were as I stood up there playing. Perhaps she marveled a bit to see her hard work finally pay off. Thanks to her efforts, my mother’s dogged persistence, and a handful of other patient instructors, I am now a music director in my own right. And it only took fifteen years.
Maybe some of you have your own little prodigies at home. Whether they be your own children, or someone else’s. I’m sure there are times you want a summer vacation as they bang through John Thompson or whatever course you’ve chosen.
Maybe my musical testimony can give you a hint of encouragement. They can make it. It might take a looooong time. But they can make it. And so can you!
P. S. Thanks, Mom!
I laughed OUT LOUD when I saw ole' John Thompson's Modern Course - what memories! Well, from a teacher's perspective, I'd say that sometimes I'm suprised - those students who suddenly blossom when you had little hope. But then mostly it's just joy - the sounds you hear are "music to your ears" - truly no pun intended!
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