What Do I Have to Do to Get a Cake Around Here?

In our church we have a habit of celebrating special events with cakes—delicious icing-laden sheet cakes. Today we had one for a couples’ sixtieth wedding anniversary. A few weeks ago we had one in honor of a church member who had been selected as Charlevoix’s “Citizen of the Year.” Several months ago, we had one in honor of a member who had been playing the organ and piano in church for fifty years. This morning as I was getting ready for church I was thinking about my own musical duties for today—play keyboard for two worship services, play some hymns at a nursing home in the afternoon, and then lead some music for a small group gathering in the evening.

I remember how it all began back in the fourth grade in a Christian School where the singing of hymns was part of our morning routine. For the first time, I had a teacher who did not play the piano so we either had to sing acapella or count on some students from the sixth grade to play for us. One weekend I decided to be the fourth grade accompanist and proceeded to learn the hymns one by one. I started out with “In Sweet Communion” which was a song my mother suggested because it was only a few lines long in a simple key signature.
In sweet communion, Lord with Thee I constantly abide.
My hand thou holdest in thine own to keep me near thy side.

Pretty soon I had a list of songs on the chalkboard that the other little fourth graders could choose from and I was on my way to a lifetime of playing. My parents did not have a lot of money, but they did send me regularly to lessons. I went to Mrs. Albers’ house every Saturday morning with the $1.25 that she charged for lessons clutched in my hand. Her dog Cleo, a little black bull dog would try to greet me at the door but, since I was afraid of him, he would be sent instantly to his little bed.

Mrs. Albers taught me well, even though I didn’t practice enough and successfully avoided the theory part. I never realized how important music would be to me as I got older; I remember sitting at the piano singing and playing my way through happy times as well as broken-hearted times. My rebellious sister bought the music to “Jesus Christ Super Star” and I loved playing it. I remember singing the lyrics to “Hosanna:” “Why waste your breath, moaning at the crowd? Nothing can be done to stop the shouting. If every tongue was stilled the noise would still continue—the rocks and stones themselves would start to sing!” My mom would hear me and wonder where I had gotten that great music. She would not have approved and I never told her it was a rock opera.

One Sunday evening, after I had married and moved up north, our pastor asked if anyone could play the piano. After looking around and seeing no volunteers I raised my hand. That decision eventually led to regular piano playing, choir accompaniment, Christmas Cantata, praise team and much more. I’m really an average musician, but I’m willing to try a lot of things and have kind of figured out how to fake my way through things. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that being able to play anything in a hymnal is kind of a dying art and I’ve always just kind of taken it for granted. (By the time I was in the sixth grade, there were at least five of us who could accompany singing.)

I’ve had to stretch and grow because there’s lots more music to be played now. I’m so proud of myself for acquiring the recent ability to read off a chord chart—no notes on lines—just letters!! Sometimes I have to use my listening skills and figure out something from a C.D. And that theory stuff that I was never interested in, has become a fascinating and gratifying puzzle that I finally figured out after teaching other students for about twelve years.

There have been some Sundays, especially during the Christmas season, when I feel like I’m at the piano all day. Those are the days that I imagine my parents sitting on a love-seat in heaven with a cup of coffee, listening and high-fiving each other and acknowledging that the hard-earned $1.25 a week they paid for lessons was well worth it. I think they know how much I appreciate them and how I’m making up now for all of those times they had to nag me to practice. And my piano teacher, last I heard she was still teaching. I had a chance to thank her a few years ago. And, when I think about it, I accompanied my first hymn in the fourth grade at about eight years old. Let’s see . . . fifty-eight minus eight is . . . hey! I’ve been at it for fifty years too! I believe my cake is coming any day now!