Paul and I went out on a date Friday night. At the risk of looking a bit pretentious, we had a rather “artsy” evening. We went to Edibles for dinner (hooray for Salzburg Crepes!), a brief stop at an art opening at Gilded Square Framing & Gallery, and then on to a concert at Bethel Christian Fellowship for the Eastman School’s Emerging Artist Concert Series.
During one of the pieces, there were two people playing one piano (Lebenssturme for piano, four hands by F. Schubert). As I sat there listening and taking in the amazing sounds, I was struck by the hands of one of the pianists, Albert Kim.
As Albert played his part of the piece, I was amazed at how smooth and light his hands were. They floated and hovered over the keys even when the notes were incredibly intense.
And then I started to think about the irony of watching him play. Just two hours before, we were offered a free piano from a friend. Yes, we would soon be the proud owners of such a fine instrument.
And as I watched this young man play the piano with such confidence and grace, I could only fearfully consider the abuse that our new piano would take. Instead of Albert Kim on the piano, I pictured Michael… and the sounds coming from the piano suddenly weren’t quite as pleasant.
But thankfully, my thoughts didn’t stop there. I began to think about the fact that at one point, Albert Kim’s hands were just as unaccomplished as Michael’s. At one time in his life, Mr. Kim probably had to pound out “Hot Cross Buns” and he probably hit some wrong notes and was off-tempo. But Albert Kim worked hard. Albert Kim trained his hands to romance the piano and to create such glorious sounds.
And then I began to marvel at the amazing thing our hands truly are. What would we be without our hands? Our hands do so many things for us each day and we don’t even give them a thought!
I’m on the verge of turning 34 tomorrow. I really wish I could say that in my 34 years, my hands had accomplished something great. I wish I could play the piano, even modestly well. I wish I were an amazing chef who loved cooking dinners. I wish I had a talent for scrapbooking or photography, or even figuring out how to use the electronics in my house. But my hands weren’t made for any of those things.
As I have written these thoughts, I have been studying my hands. They are dry…they always are this time of year. I wash them a lot and that doesn’t help. I have three rings on my fingers…all of them from Paul. I have a horrible nail biting habit that I thought I kicked a year ago but then I relapsed.
My hands may not scream out my accomplishments but they do tell my story. They are dry from washing my hands frequently after changing diapers, wiping up children, scrubbing floors, and removing laundry stains. My hands are dry because of loving my children. My three rings tell the story of the greatest gift God has ever given me. I am honored to be Paul’s wife and to wear that love as a sign on my fingers each day. And my nail biting? That speaks to my humanity. I’m not perfect.
Every so often, with deep gratitude for all we have been given, Paul and I will look at each other and say, “It’s a simple life, but a good one.” My love for kids is more passionate than I ever knew love could be. I am married to a man I admire and adore. And I know that while life isn’t always perfect, I really wouldn’t change a thing. I am delighted and grateful for the 34 years I have been given and I know my hands have served me well.
