Debut

This past Sunday was the yearly Children’s Praise and Talent Celebration. It’s an opportunity for the kids of the church to do something they enjoy to the glory of God in the morning services. There was lots of art work, some music, and a few memory recitations. Both sets of grandparents came, and we had a wonderful Sabbath together.

My youngest made a diorama of Mount Sinai with Moses descending, carrying the Ten Commandments. Unfortunately it was completed after our camera broke, so I don’t have a photo. :-( But it was a real labor of love and I was proud of her for investing so much time and effort in it.

My older daughter and I played a duet of “Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee.” Fortunately it came off very well. She wanted very much for it to be perfect, and we’d talked several times about how everyone makes mistakes, and it’s important to just keep going. But I was relieved that it went well and didn’t turn into a character lesson.

She had given me a duet book for Christmas, but it was holiday music, so we didn’t dig into it. Apparently she was still taken with the duet idea, because she suggested it again when it came time to think about what to do for Praise and Talent Sunday. (I found this book online.) There may come a time when growing pains will put us at odds, but I felt honored that at this point in her life, she wanted to do something together.

Piano duets are a happy memory for me. Here is an excerpt from a post I wrote back in 2008:

The real story of me and the piano starts with my father, who grew up relating to his father from another room. He wished for a dad who played with him, but faced instead the closed door of the office as my grandfather built up his medical practice.

But at night, after Dad was tucked into bed, Grandpa would emerge from his office and head for the piano. Chopin would waft up the stairs, then some Beethoven, then some Debussy, then more Chopin. My dad can still list off—with awe in his voice—the different compositions he would hear as he drifted off to sleep.

Then it was my turn. When my grandparents would come for Sunday dinner, I was the one who would go to bed to the sound of piano duets. The air between Dad and Grandpa crackled with tension most of the time, but at the piano they would sit side by side, looking at the same page, trying to move at the same pace, speaking in a language that found order and beauty for both voices. They would sit down at the piano in the late afternoon and still be at it when I went to bed. Always, they would get cocky and speed up. Always, they would crash and burn. And always, they would laugh—helplessly, till the tears would roll. “This is a real Polish horse-race!” Dad would exclaim, wiping his eyes. (Don’t ask me to explain that… I still don’t get the joke.)

The grate in my floor was designed to let the heat roll upstairs, but it made an excellent window too. The light and heat and sound flowed into my air, and I would train my ears and sometimes my eyes downward through that grid, listening to them harmonize, clash, celebrate, defy.

Here’s to parents and children making beautiful music together — in this case, as an offering to the Lord.