Awakenings

My piano lessons started when I was in middle school. I remember starting and being hugely excited to one day play like momma or Yang. Then as my lessons drug on and my teacher shook her head in disappointment as she thumbed through my practice log or lack of practice log I started to lose interest. I wanted to play, but I could never remember to do theory (I was usually digging through my teacher's couch cushions looking for a pencil to complete my assignments as I waited for it to be my turn) and the songs I was assigned sounded so boring and for lack of a better word rinky dink. Oh and the festivals my teacher wanted me to play in- ugh. I would always comply and immediately start a secret plot to somehow get out of it. I hated playing in front of people- and I thought I would faint dead away playing in front of judges at the hymn festival. But, I made it through 2 years. My teacher's head shaking got more annoying and her prices got more insane so I had an out and I took it. I started playing anything I wanted. Anything that sounded hard- hymns, classical pieces, pieces in the backs of all my books. I played everything and cursed my teacher behind her back. I started playing the Children's songs and then the easier pieces my sister played. I found that if I practiced enough I could play well enough to get through most accompaniment piano parts. I was eventually called as primary pianist then relief society pianist, then relief society pianist again in a different ward and then again as primary pianist in yet another ward. Eventually it gets around that I can play and then I always have a way I can help out in church meetings.

Yesterday after church my 2 years of disappointing my piano teacher helped out in a way I could have never guessed. A couple of months ago the mother of this man came to me and gave me a piece of music. It was the only piece that Brother Brown has composed and had written down. Through his different illnesses he has apparently lost the ability to read music. He didn't remember the piece and she asked if I could learn it and play it for him. Yesterday I bucked up all my courage and told him I had the piece ready to play for him. My hands shook and I played the piece as best I could with my stubby fingers as he and his parents listened in silence. I got done, looked up and asked him, "remember it?" His face lit up and, "Yes!" He sat down and played as I stood by his mother and listened to how it was supposed to be played. Both of his parents thanked me profusely- I was just so happy to be a part of awakening Brother Brown to some of his former thoughts. I'll never forget it...music is powerful.