I had just gone upstairs to take my afternoon nap when I heard the doorbell ring. When I opened the door, there was a man whom I didn’t know waiting on the sidewalk.
Long
story short, the man was Andrew the Roofer who had come to collect his check. As
he came into the house, he noticed the piano to the right.
As
he waited for my mom to write the check, we chatted about music. He explained
that he didn’t appreciate having to take piano lessons as a kid, but he now appreciates
knowing music theory and being able to play the piano.
He
said, “If Dan weren’t asleep, I’d play a little song for you.” I said, “Oh, it
won’t matter. He can’t hear the piano all the way back in his room.”
And
so, after Andrew the Roofer got his check for the hard, physical labor of
roofing, he, mom, and I went to the music room where he sat down and began to delicately
play the keys.
He
played for at least ten minutes, becoming more and more comfortable the longer
he played,
clearly
enjoying himself and the momentary escape that the music gave him.
Having
no idea that my mom is practically a professional pianist, he asked her to play
a little for him. She, of course, blew him away. He sang along to the melodies
he recognized and when she finished playing, he just said, “Wow. You didn’t
miss a beat,” and then requested Greensleeves 😊.
Mom
once had a busy UPS worker stop for a moment on the porch to listen to her
play, but she’d never had a roofer come into the house to sit at her piano and
play for himself!
As
Andrew the Roofer was leaving, he said, “This has inspired me to get out my
keyboard and play more often.” I smiled. And after he left, mom and I looked at
each other and said, “That was weird. And neat.”
And
it was.
The
power of music had spoken.
And
I got to bear witness.
…
A
few months ago, Barb The Art Teacher gave me some tins that she’d collected
from her Aunt Pat. On Thursday night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I
thought to myself, “You should make B something with her Aunt Pat’s tins.” B
texted me the next morning to tell me that her Aunt Pat had died the night
before. Coincidence? Maybe. But I can’t help but think not.
And
so I went into the studio and began to peruse Aunt Pat’s tins. I deconstructed
some things and pondered what I could make, but nothing spoke to me until suddenly
it did. Early in our careers, B and I sat outside of our classrooms on the
picnic tables behind the school and had a pomegranate seed spitting
competition. A few years later, it became a joke with B and me that “Art is not
art unless you put a bird on it.” One of Aunt Pat’s tins had a pomegranate on
it. Another had a bird.
When
I put them together, it was as if it was meant to be.
The
power of art had spoken.
And
I got to bear witness.
…
As
we enter 2024, may we bear witness to
Music
and
Art
and
Goodness
and
Light.
God IS goodness.
And goodness abounds.
Amen.
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