The Hut
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The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his
little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky.
The worst had happened everything was lost. He was stunned with grief and anger. "God, how could you do this to me?" he cried. Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him.
"How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied. It's easy to get discouraged sometimes when things appear to be going badly. But we shouldn't lose
heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain and suffering. Remember, next time your little hut is burning to the ground, it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God. For all the negative things we have to say to ourselves, God has a positive answer for it.
You say, "It's impossible".
You say, "I'm too tired."
You say, "Nobody really loves me".
You say, "I can't go on."
You say, "I can't figure things out."
You say, "I can't do it."
You say, "It's not worth it."
You say, "I can't forgive myself."
You say, "I can't manage."
You say, "I'm afraid."
You say, "I'm always worried and frustrated".
You say, "I don't have enough faith."
You say, "I'm not smart enough."
You say, "I feel all alone." |
- contributed by Sandie
- contributed by Skylar
Resolutions to Follow
- contributed by Peggyane
- contributed by Mary from L.I.
Deaf Mother and Son
- contributed by Sandie
A Soldier
- contributed by Sandie
I thought for the music lovers in the group (like me) they might enjoy hearing original artist Classic Swing, R&B, Blues and Jazz in WMP audio.
http://community.webtv.net/W-Media-Player/ClassicSwingRBand/
Deaf Mother and Son
At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story.
My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa.
I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons -- something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a protégé though I have taught some talented students. However I've alsohad my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby.
Robby was 11 years old when his Mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys)! begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano.
So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his Mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf... I've just got to play!" he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece.
I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he' run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?" Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C. Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next.
His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo... from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age.
After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that, Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf... remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well.... she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I've never had a protégé but that night I became a protégé... of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
This is especially meaningful to me since, after serving in Desert Storm, Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly.... playing the piano.
A Soldier
The following passage is from a sermon by John Hagee: I want you to close your eyes and picture in your mind the soldier at Valley Forge, as he holds his musket in his bloody hands. He stands barefoot in the snow, starved from lack of food, wounded from months of battle and emotionally scarred from the eternity away from his family surrounded by nothing but death and carnage of war. He stands though, with fire in his eyes and victory on his breath. He looks at us now in anger and disgust and tells us this... I gave you a birthright of freedom born in the Constitution and now your children graduate too illiterate to read it. I fought in the snow barefoot to give you the freedom to vote and you stay at home because it rains. I left my family destitute to give you the freedom of speech and you remain silent on critical issues, because it might be bad for business. I orphaned my children to give you a government to serve you and it has stolen democracy from the people. It's the soldier not the reporter who gives you the freedom of the press. It's the soldier not the poet who gives you the freedom of speech. It's the soldier not the campus organizer who allows you to demonstrate. It's the soldier who salutes the flag, serves the flag, whose coffin is draped with the flag that allows the protester to burn the flag!!! "Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen.
