I remember the days of recitals. My own, I always prayed that the rapture that I'd heard of so often would happen at that moment. The freeze ups, the forgotten notes were worthy of rescue. Needless to say, the rapture didn't happen, just Indian war chants, Pa rum pa pa pum drums and eventually the quiet reflections. In all of the variedness, we are reminded that we are here for a reason...to evoke the emotions of those listening. Emotions that are full of excitment, peacefulness and calmness and often simple pride of accomplishment.

Sometimes you can hear reminders of famous composers from days past. Occasionally you hear the 'tic toc' of a pianistic clock. Many times you are taken to the memory of an old childhood hymn where visions of funeral fans and flies are everywhere. Rustling waters and breezes from trees often blow through the seats as we are swept away in relaxation and meditation.

Often I am put to shame and regreful of the negligence I have to practicing a talent that I am capable of sharing. However, like many gifts, when kept to ourselves it becomes rusty and creates insecurities. There are times when the teacher in me returns with a desire to correct the imperfections. "Pedal, Pedal, its blurring!" Then reality returns as I remember that I am no longer the teacher. I hear the staccatos and crescendos and am compelled to exemplify dynamics in my life. I too, need a little staccato in my life at times and there are days that I should perhaps crescendo or perhaps diminuendo somewhat.

My life is an instrument. God, make me an instrument of you!