Growing up, Sundays evenings between 4 and 6 were the times that I least looked forward to. Reason? That was when my piano master would arrive! A neat, dapper man with meticulously hand-written music, he would proceed to drill me for 2 unpleasant hours and prepare me thoroughly for the piano exams that I appeared for, every October. Much as I disliked being separated from my Sunday evening cartoons and my friends playing happily (and piano classlessly) outside, the lessons weren't really an option for me. My dad being one of the best pianists in Chennai, I was naturally expected to follow in his footsteps, whether I liked it or not. And I, liked it not....very definitely not!Piano playing, as delightful as it seems to the casual observer, is really the fruits of a horrendous number of practice hours. And I, really wasn't the hardest of workers at things that didn't come easily to me! So I did all I could to avoid this slogging that I loathed so much. Unfortunately, no amount of hiding up trees and in cubby holes could get me out of the hated classes. I even vividly remember being retrieved once, none too gently from under the staircase where I had secreted myself in the hopes that they'd all give up looking for me and send my instructor away! No such luck. Kicking and flailing I was escorted firmly in and deposited on the high piano stool to partake of my weekly dose of Western Classical music. Sigh...
And so it was that I cleared 5 piano grades, certified by the Trinity college of Music, London. By that time, I had insisted on being taught by my dad himself. Unfortunately that turned out to be worse...unable anymore to take his impatient knocks on my head everytime I played a wrong note (which was often), I put my foot down and refused to touch the piano again much to my father's great disappointment. Once again my Sunday evenings became free and life became wonderful without having to worry about reading little black notations dancing between the staves, or trying to get both hands to cooperate at the same time!
It's been years now and I can hardly play anything except for the odd hymn or 'Fur Elise' and regret has slowly started to creep in. It raises its ugly head everytime my father praises a young person proficient at the keys, for it reminds me I am still a disappointment to his dreams of making me a concert pianist. It gets worse when on being introduced as the brilliant man's daughter, the crowd of adoring fans that surrounds my father after every performance pounces on me demanding delightedly if I played as well as my father! Those are the moments when I look at the embarassed look on my father's face and wish I could just melt into goo and disappear through the cracks in the floor.....
Realisation has dawned on me today. I know tons of people who would give their right hands to be trained by a piansit like my dad, but aren't able to 'cos he's not into training and teaching. And you won't believe the number of funny looks I get when I say I stopped because I didn't want to learn under him. I had a master of the art at my disposal, to teach and to correct and to make me greater than he is. But I availed it not simply because I wasn't willing to put my back into it and strain every sinew till I stepped out of my father's shadow and made it on my own. So many years lost, so many opportunities forfeited. I know now that the simple truth is this - I have been a lazy fool.
Looking at a spiritual parallel of this life experience, I find the commonalities amazing. Many a time we refuse to walk the narrow way, straining at the bridle the Master has laid on us, fearing it would be too difficult, too much hard work. Like stubborn donkeys, we dig in our feet and obstinately refuse to put in the effort that it takes to work hard at a relationship with God. We seek an easier, comfortable life where there's less risk, less hurt, less pain. We choose worldiness over godliness and materialism over spiritualism. We opt for sunny summer days without God rather than dark stormy nights hidden under His wings. Result? Spiritual flab, not muscle.
Toiling at the yoke Christ lays on us day and night in terms of disappointments, painful circumstances, failures and brokenness, is certainly not the path to a happy life. But it is the only road to a fruitful life. It is through endurance, perseverance and hard work that the soul becomes primed to take on the character of the Son and peel away the worldly layers revealing the divine image of God within, in which He first made us.
An easy life that has not the commitment and grit of a Christ-centred existence, results simply in a soul whose glorious origins remains unrevealed and unknown. What majesty is there in a soul that remains a lump of clay, however well it may be wrapped in silk and lace. How much more glorious to sweat and bleed for His sake and blossom instead into the wordlessly beautiful character of Christ in you!
James 1:12 says - "Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. "
I'm going home to sit at the piano today. Better late than never, I've decided. It works the same way for your soul too you know.....and I'm sincerely hoping you'll take the hint!
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