Hope for the Out-of-Tune

Today, the Piano Tuner comes to tune the piano.

We have to be very quiet so he can listen.

I learn that the Piano Tuner makes minute adjustments to the tension of the piano strings. He's listening for how the notes on my particular piano interact and tunes my piano based on its unique features.

The piano will not, on its own, stay in tune.  The whole instrument experiences continual stress from both internal and external sources.  Even slight changes in atmospheric pressure can undo my little piano within just a few weeks.   

So we call the Piano Tuner, and he sets the instrument right.

I listen, watching him work. "Is it hopeless?" I ask, embarrassed for how long it's been.

"Not at all!" 

When he's finished, he plays extraordinary music--warm, beautiful, rich, and resonant--that I didn't realize could come from this piano.

There's hope for the out-of-tune!  There's hope for me yet!  

Lord, come and set me right today.  Make any adjustment you need; apply or undo any tension.  Let music flow out of me that's tuned perfectly to your perfect ear. 

I know how quickly and how thoroughly I go out of tune (not just with my horrible singing voice!) in attitude, ambition, and action. I remember the great hymn and sing out:  "Tune my heart to sing Thy grace."

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How does God tune the out-of-tune in you?

Be Careful What You Pray For

This afternoon, a group of children practice their instruments together in my home.  One girl drags in an enormous baritone horn, another assembles her flute, and still another positions herself at the piano.

These brand-new musicians (two being my daughters) all want to practice their first song:  Hot Cross Buns.

It's loud, squeaky, and all out of sync.

I'm listening to it all, and I remember how I prayed that God would fill my home with music.  I know nothing about music.  I don't even know how to read music.  But I knew I wanted to raise musical children; it seemed right and good and wonderful.

That year, I said in despair to a friend, "I don't have a piano, and we'll never be able to afford one."  My friend said, "Well, you need to ask God to send you a piano and to fill this home with music!"

So I did.  And He did.  The next day, a friend texted to tell me the church down the road was giving a perfectly good piano away because they were getting a new one.  Did I want it? 

Within an hour, I had a dolly and a truck from U-Haul, several strong students, and a piano entering into my living room.

And today I have a concert happening before my eyes.  

I think about that prayer as my house explodes with music.

I've never heard a more beautiful sound.

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Journal:  Did you ever ask for an extravagant thing that you received?

It's Not Just About Us

My oldest wants to learn flute, and she nods her head and glances at me when the director says, "When you practice your instrument, it's not just about you.  It's about your community of musicians.  You don't just let yourself down when you don't practice.  You let down the whole orchestra." 

He's talking about citizenship.  He's talking about personal and community excellence. 

The Italian Mama tells me about her son's marching band debut at the football game.  The band director said to the band, "When you put on your uniform, you aren't just representing yourself.  You represent this school, this town, and the whole community of musicians."

I like thinking about our obligation to ourselves and our communities.  It's never just about me. 

Living with flair means I know that I'm responsible to a community.  I want my children to leave my home and represent themselves, our family, and our community well. 

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Journal:  What would change if we walked out of the house and thought about representing ourselves, our families, and our communities well? 

Does Happiness Have a Sound?

Lately, I've been amazed at how loud the autumn leaves are.  They crunch underfoot, and those left in the trees chatter as the wind blows.  And then there's the haunting whisper of a leaf as it descends--barely audible--but still vibrating whether I perceive it or not.

I stop everything and gaze at that leaf.  It arrives on the ground soft and silent.  

What beautiful sounds never reach my ears?  If I stop and think about it, I'm hearing so many things at this exact moment I'm surprised I'm not crashing from auditory overload.

I know I'm growing older.  Movie soundtracks seem too loud and assaulting.  I can barely handle the frenzied circus beat of a video game.  I've been known to scream out, "Can't we just have some quiet?"

I want enough quiet so I can hear beautiful sounds:  the purr of a cat, the clink of ice in a tall glass of water served to guests, the hush of wool socks on the hardwood floor.  I want to hear the gurgle of homemade sauce simmering and the teasing fingers of the first drops of rain on the roof.  

And the measured sigh a page of a book exhales when I turn it. 

I take my hearing for granted.  One day, I might lose it all together.

I want a beautiful soundtrack to accompany this day.  I want to be still enough--aware enough--to hear it.  Living with flair means I manage the auditory track.  Might I be a gatekeeper for my ears and my living space?   Might I create a culture of beautiful sounds in my home--the kind of sounds that delight and don't disturb?

2 Lessons from an Italian Mama in 100 Words or Less

1.  The mistake people make with their sauce is not letting it simmer long enough.  No rush here with my sauce or my life.  

2.  As I listed ingredients learned from my first Italian cooking lesson, my Italian Mama neighbor leaned over my shoulder and said:  "Don't forget the most important ingredient." She paused, closed her eyes, put her hand over her heart, and said:

“You must put on your Bruce Springsteen music.”

Italian Mamas have soundtracks--undercurrents-- of passion, good hearts, and kitchen talent.  What soundtrack, what undercurrent, flows beneath my life?