Playing The Scales - The Scale Of Me Major

Playing the Scales - The Scale of Me Major

Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired. —Mother Teresa

I LOVE THINGS that are extraordinary. I have “extra” highlights in my hair. I’m “extra” excitable. I speak with exclamation points. Even my husband has been blessed with “extra” patience to deal with his “extra” high-maintenance wife. But all this being extra makes me tired.

As a sophomore music major, I became “extra” burned out. So I took a break from my standard classical repertoire and enrolled in a class called Two Pianos, Four Hands. For those not familiar with this concept, you’re partnered with another pianist to play duets. However, instead of playing together on one piano, as you might have done as a child, you play on two pianos. This is a total hoot!

Of course, I had to make many adjustments in order to play this “team sport.” The most important: accepting the fact that I was dependent on my performance partner to be “on her game” and likewise, accepting that she depended on me to perform at peak. I realized that to honor my teammate I had to show up—on time, well prepared, and with an attitude of mercy. But interestingly, the class breathed new life into me, and I could play for hours without getting tired.

The lessons I learned from Two Pianos, Four Hands served me well many times throughout my life, but never did they play such a profound role as in December 2006. I was enjoying life and gearing up for the holidays when my dear friend and backdoor neighbor, Karen James, began her journey through grief. Her husband, Kelly, was one of three mountain climbers who died, a week before Christmas, during a horrific storm on Mount Hood. For days the nation watched, and I, along with my family and friends, prayed without ceasing that Kelly would live to share his testimony of faith.

Karen would call in the middle of the night, and we’d whisper our prayers of hope and mercy into the phone to one another. We were both playing a tune that was totally foreign to either of us—nothing monotonous about this one; each word of each prayer was carefully chosen. We needed a miracle.

Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions. (1 John 3:18)

But God had different plans. Karen and the children returned home without Kelly. For me, the music didn’t stop—but a new score was being written. Is God rewriting your tune too?