[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Tuesday, June 25, 2013

[Paul]

Hello and good day to you all, no matter what time of day it is when you read this.  I hope and pray that, by God's matchless grace and His providential care, that you are all doing well or that your day went well.

Right now outside my doors and windows it's quite hot outside, I've caught up on all my emails, and there's absolutely nothing I wish to listen to on the radio, so I thought that I'd write out this daily thought message for you now.  I know that some of you like to read stories of an inspirational nature because you've told me in either emails or phone conversations, so to accommodate you and others, here is one.  It's entitled "The Piano Lesson" by Roberta Messner of Huntington, West Virginia, and is rendered as follows:

It was the one thing that had been constant in my life--my Steinway grand.  Did I have to give that up, too?

I turned the key in the door of my little log cabin and headed straight for the couch.  It had been another brutal day at the hospital.  Nursing was hard work--everyone knew that.  But I was also suffering terrible headaches.  I have neurofibromatosis, a chronic condition that causes benign but painful tumors to grow inside my head and neck, even after my surgeries.  On bad days--days like today--my condition caused unrelenting pain, nausea and dizziness so severe that just taking a step forward was a challenge.  Worst of all was the anxiety it created.  I'd burned up all my sick leave.  Now I faced another surgery on a tumor surrounding my left eye socket that was the size of a grapefruit.

"I'm afraid this won't be easy," the human resources manager at the hospital where I work had told me, a stack of forms between us.  "With all the leave you've taken, you can't be off more than five weeks.  If you are, your position will be terminated."

Five weeks.  The doctors told me post-op recovery for a surgery like mine was six to eight weeks, minimum.  I was 50 and had been working at the same hospital for 25 years.  Since my divorce a couple years back, I'd been on my own.  I needed this job and the health insurance that went with it.  What would I do if I lost my coverage?

"Lord," I asked, lying there on my couch in the dark, "how am I going to handle all this?"

"Give your piano away." The answer was clear and unambiguous.  Maybe you think I'm strange, but I've been talking to God all my life, like a conversation.  To me, it's completely natural.  I knew a clear answer when I heard one, and anyhow, I'd already heard this answer.  Every time I turned to God lately--whether in prayer or while reading Scripture--He only seemed to have this one piece of advice for me.

I opened my eyes and took in the hulking shape of the big Steinway grand that sat directly across from the couch, a purchase made during my better days.  The piano took up most of the space in my living room, just as it had taken up a huge part of my life.  It had rescued me from despair on occasions past counting.  Singing is just another way of praying, as I see it, and there was no better way for me to forget my troubles and remember how blessed I was than to sit at the piano and sing my heart out.  So now I was supposed to give it away? It just didn't make sense.  "Seriously, Lord, I need Your help here."

The next day the pain in my head had subsided enough for me to struggle into work.  When I got home that night, I was exhausted but able to sit at my piano instead of collapsing on the couch.  My hands moved to the keys and started playing a soft arpeggio in B-flat, the intro to "God Will Take Care of You." By the second verse, I was singing with all my heart.  "Through days of toil when heart doth fail, God will take care of you! When dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you!" No one believed those words more than I did.  "Lord, why do You want me to give my piano away?"

"I know how much your piano means to you," the inner voice I know so well said, "but it can mean more.  Give it to a church.  I'll show you which one." God didn't give me any more peace in the following days.  It seemed like every time I turned to Him, all He wanted to talk about was that piano.

Finally, one evening while I was trying to get some sleep in spite of the relentless pounding in my head, the name of a church came to me, Union Missionary Baptist.  It was nearby.  I hadn't visited it many times, but I knew and liked the pastor.  "All right, Lord, I get the picture.  If it turns out they need a piano, I'll offer them mine."

Then, the next day, I ran into a friend who knew I went to that church from time to time.  "They have a pretty nice piano there, don't they?" I said, trying to make the remark sound casual.

"Yes, I believe so," the woman said.  "They have a grand piano in their sanctuary."

"See, Lord? The last thing that church needs is another piano.  Since my divorce, it's the only thing of any value I have left.  I'd be a fool to just give it away!"

A few days later, I ran into another friend.  We got to talking, but, mercifully, my Steinway--and my dilemma--wasn't on my mind at the time, at least until she brought it up.  "You're so lucky to have that nice piano, Roberta," she said.  "The other day I ran into one of the women who plays piano at Union Missionary Baptist.  She told me the keys have a flat, dead sound so that it feels like she's pounding on them.  It grates on her nerves.  Wouldn't you hate to have to play a piano like that?"

For a moment I didn't say anything.  "Roberta?" my friend said.  "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I finally said.  "I need to tell you something." So I explained my situation about the piano and the absurd urge I felt to give it to Union Missionary Baptist.  Would my friend think I was nuts?

"That's a wonderful idea," she said.  "But are you sure? You're going through a lot lately.  And that piano is a godsend."

A godsend.  My piano was precious indeed.  But it really wasn't mine, was it? It was God's, just as everything in my life--and my life itself--was.  I didn't always "get" God's plan, but I knew I always had to trust it, whether it was my piano or my job or my ongoing health crisis.

"Are you really giving this piano away to a church?" one of the movers asked as they were rolling it out of my living room.  "She's a beaut! All I can say is you must be on some powerful medications." I laughed.  Yes, I was ready to trust God with everything.  Even my piano.

I had my surgery not long after.  I came out of the anesthesia feeling remarkably strong, which was unusual.  Maybe I'd be able to make it back to work under the five-week mark after all.  The next morning the surgeon came charging into my room.  "Roberta, I have some wonderful news.  During your surgery we got the idea to try something called platelet gel to curtail the bleeding.  It's a compound that's been used with great success on the battlefield.  Well, it halted your bleeding so well we were able to remove much more of the tumor than we originally thought we could without causing nerve damage.  Roberta, I think this is going to be the last surgery we'll ever have to perform on you."

I'd undergone more than 20 surgeries.  They'd become a painful fact of life, and doctors had said I'd always have to have them.  This was nothing short of a miracle!

I was back at work well under the five weeks, feeling fitter than I had in years, especially when I sat down to play my new piano.  Yep.  This time I got an upright from a local dealer.  He'd heard about me donating my Steinway to the church and gave me such a deal it was like a gift.  I have to admit, it fits better in my cabin.

I won't say my health was my reward for giving away my piano, but I do know that, when I trust God's loving guidance, the rewards are unimaginable.

Well, if you didn't find that story inspirational and encouraging, I don't know what would.  Suffice it to say that there are a lot of lessons to learn from reading and pondering Roberta's words.  By the way, are there any readers here from West Virginia and in particular from Huntington? If so, do you know her personally? This inquiring mind wishes to know.  I know there is one reader who lives near the West Virginia border, but about several hours from the city on the Big Sandy River.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last evil days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul